The Crown of Silence

by Storm Constantine

  Shan drew in his breath to interrupt, but Sinaclara raised her hand to silence him. ‘Each chieftain allied himself to a different lake. They became the embodiment of the spiritual powers that resided in the landscape there. What they actually did was rediscover an ancient mystical landscape that had been set down millennia before by the descendants of Azcaranoth’s people. Its power was dormant.’

  ‘I thought you said there was little culture, that the early Magravandians were barbarians. How did they possess the knowledge to reawaken the sites?’

  ‘They acted in ignorance at first, but the experience they had at the lakes changed them. Casaban elected to take for himself the seventh lake.’

  ‘That’s impossible,’ Shan said. ‘Taropat has told me about this place. It’s Recolletine, isn’t it? No-one has been to the seventh lake. I know.’

  ‘Of course people have been there,’ Sinaclara said, ‘but there’s no easy way to reach it. How do you think Casaban became emperor? He was wilder than the others. He did not trust them. He wanted their lands for his own. He took it upon himself to learn the lessons of all the lakes. Only in this way could he gain ascension to the seventh, and once he had done that, the others had no power over him. No-one did.’

  ‘But how did he do that? Prince Almorante tried it. He couldn’t. It’s inaccessible.’

  ‘The path is hidden and, once revealed, perilous. But Casaban had advisors. He was king, but he had also a mystic, a bard and a warrior in his court. The mystic gave him the desire to learn, the bard gave him the spirit of freedom, and the warrior gave him might in battle. It was coincidence, perhaps, that four such men should meet in one lifetime, but their union was powerful. They shared a vision and they realised it. Casaban unified the territories, and for many generations it was a nation to be reckoned with. Mewt respected it, and later so did Cos, but Casaban’s descendants were more ambitious than he had been. They worshipped fire and the lessons of the lakes were lost. Still, the might of their chosen element seared the world and continues to do so.’

  Shan nodded thoughtfully. ‘I begin to see a picture,’ he said.

  ‘Good.’

  Shan leaned forward. ‘The lessons of the lakes. Taropat said to me at the beginning that the weakest part of Magravandias would be its heart. That is where I must go. I must reach the seventh lake. I will use the Malagashes’ own neglected power against them.’

  Sinaclara smiled. ‘You begin to see a picture,’ she said. ‘It is more complex, however, than you think.’ She took a drink. ‘Maybe one day you’ll paint the rest for yourself.’

  Shan bristled. ‘What do you mean? Why tell me this if you don’t mean I should go there?’

  ‘Did I say that? Almorante has aspirations to power too, and he is no fool. Tatrini, the empress, wants it for her son, Bayard. She is no fool. Gastern is the rightful heir and he has the sacred blood of his father. They live in that land. They breathe its air, absorb its essence. They are powerful people, and they have knowledge. Do you really think you can best them there?’

  ‘I don’t understand you,’ Shan said bitterly. ‘It sounds as if you think the empire should continue.’

  ‘Unity should continue,’ Sinaclara said, ‘but with awareness.’

  ‘Then what is my task? What has all this been about?’

  ‘Your task is to learn,’ Sinaclara said. ‘You have the Dragon’s Claw, which is the symbol of the warrior. Now you must aspire to its aspect. You have walked the first path, and it seemed hard, but it was not. When you look back upon this time, you will appreciate that. When you see the full picture, you will look back and see how your time with me helped create the composition.’

  ‘Speak plainly to me. Am I to be what Taropat suggested I could be? Or am I merely to become someone like Thremius or yourself, proud of my knowledge, ascetic and isolated, scornful of everyone else?’

  ‘You do not know me,’ Sinaclara said. ‘I am not scornful of you. I have a role, which I must play. That is all.’

  ‘But who decides that role? You enjoy it. You were bored before I came here. Teasing me has given you pleasure. You are like a cat with its prey.’

  ‘If that is your perception, I will not argue with you.’ She reached out and lifted the Dragon’s Claw on its cord. Shan tensed. He could feel the warmth of her hand. Sinaclara ran her fingers over the intricate carvings. ‘With the Dragon’s Claw, you have the key to the way of the warrior. The Dragon’s Eye will give you the sight of the mystic, and the Dragon’s Breath will bring the song of the heavens to your heart, which is the way of the bard. Then you may aspire to the crown of the king, the Crown of Silence, which is the harmony of all the elements.’

  ‘Another artefact?’

  Sinaclara dropped the talisman. ‘Artefacts are only symbols. You cannot collect them like rare vases and hope to become more than you are. You have to learn the lessons beyond the symbols. Now, you have started. It is better to learn than to know.’

  ‘How can that be so? If you never accept you have knowledge, you will never act. There has to come a time when you know. And that is the time for change.’

  ‘You have started,’ Sinaclara repeated. She refilled her glass once more. ‘Part of my fate is to be misread, to be mistrusted. I accept that.’

  ‘Fate? What would Almoretia Crow have to say about that?’ Shan said, smiling.

  Sinaclara shrugged. ‘I told you I didn’t agree with everything she said. I never said I believed in her great nothingness. I just said that imagining it, and living your life as if that’s all there is, makes existence more meaningful. Almoretia Crow was always depressed and wanted to inflict her grim view of life on the world. Despite that, she had a way with words, which I admire. Anyway, philosophers, for all their pondering, are not magicians. Someone who is both has a far clearer view of reality. For a start, they realise everything is unclear.’

  Shan laughed.

  Sinaclara hesitated, then said, ‘Although I wasn’t bored before you came here, your presence has brought a new and delicious flavour to my domain. I shall cherish it once you have left.’

  Shan felt slightly embarrassed. ‘I’m surprised to hear you say that.’

  ‘I know. I saw you come here, a frightened boy in a young man’s body, and I have seen the man you should be start to bloom. I take satisfaction from that, even though I did not do it myself. I was merely the catalyst.’

  ‘Was I really lost in the woods for so long?’

  ‘Yes. But perhaps not in the time of this world. You went into the spirit of winter and attained rebirth at the Tree of Life.’ She leaned towards him once more and reached out with her fingertips to touch his face gently. ‘Now I would show you spring time.’

  Shan’s face burned at her touch. Her fingers traced softly down his neck, tugged at the cord about it. ‘More visions?’

  She stood up. ‘Come with me. It is cold out here.’

  They went into the house and Sinaclara closed the long windows behind them, drew the curtains. A fire burned in the hearth and the air smelled of cooking fruit. Sinaclara’s staff would be preparing her winter feast in the kitchens.

  ‘You must change out of those clothes,’ Sinaclara said. ‘A bath has been prepared for you. Return to me when you have had a good soak.’

  Shan went upstairs and did as she’d suggested. Once he’d undressed, he examined himself in the mirror in his bedroom. A man stared back at him, slim of hip and broad of shoulder. His hair fell over his chest in matted hanks. He looked like a barbarian who lived wild in the forest, but the image did not displease him.

  Once he returned downstairs, he found Sinaclara sitting upon the bear skin by the fire. She had taken off her shawl. ‘Sit with me, Shan,’ she said.

  He sat down beside her. She looked radiant in the light of the fire, her red hair catching the light and shining with its own soft flames. She took the pins from it and let it tumble down over her shoulders, as women who desired men to find them attra
ctive had always done. Sinaclara was beautiful. Was he reading this correctly? She took one of his hands and rubbed it against her breasts. Yes, he had to be. ‘There has to be a first,’ she said huskily. ‘This is something I can teach you in plain language.’

  She taught him well, time and again: how to pleasure a woman thoroughly, how to prolong the act. He was hungry with a virgin’s lust for new experience, she perhaps from long abstinence. The afternoon was waning when he took her for the last time. They had been wild in their passion, but in the twilight, and the sunset of the dying fire, he made love to her slowly, curiously. It seemed his mind shot out of his body and he was up on the ceiling looking down. She was a white star beneath him, his body pumping languorously. This feeling was true magic. Gods had given this to humanity as a holy gift. How was it possible to experience such exquisite sensation?

  It was Sinaclara’s first scream of repletion that brought him back to his flesh, and scream it was, like a vixen. She writhed beneath him, her red hair threshing around him, urging him to speed, but he wouldn’t relent. He brought her to the point of release again and again. Her cries must have reached the farthest corners of the house. And so it was, as he reared up on straight arms above her and roared out his own moment of ecstasy, that the door opened. His cry trailing off, Shan turned his head, expecting to see an outraged servant. But Nip stood at the thresh-hold, her face lit with surprised amusement.

  For a moment, there was silence. Sinaclara’s hair was tangled over her face. She breathed hard and fast, her legs still flexing around Shan’s back, her fingers curling and uncurling in the bear skin, clearly unaware of any intruder. Shan could only stare at Nip in astonishment.

  She sauntered into the room. ‘Thought you were killing each other,’ she said. ‘Had to see. Sorry.’

  Shan pulled away from Sinaclara, hurriedly grabbing his clothes and struggling into them.

  Sinaclara sat up and said, ‘Hello, Nip. How are you?’

  ‘Very well,’ Nip said, smirking.

  Sinaclara reached for her clothes. ‘You must take some refreshment before you begin the journey home. Do you want anything, Shan?’

  He could barely speak from embarrassment. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ he muttered.

  ‘But it’s a long journey. Even if you start now, it will be midnight by the time you get home.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  Sinaclara shrugged. ‘Well, it’s up to you.’ She stood up and pulled the cord to summon Nana.

  While Nip consumed some fiery Jessapurian food, Shan went to his room and collected his few belongings. He stood for a moment in the middle of the carpet, his mind reeling from what had happened downstairs. He realised he would miss this place and its mystifying mistress. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to touch her once more.

  Downstairs, Sinaclara did not indulge in any meaningful goodbyes, but merely hugged Shan, kissed his cheek, and told him to take care of himself. It was as if nothing had happened between them.

  ‘I can return,’ Shan said, ‘or you could visit Taropat.’

  Sinaclara smiled. ‘We’ll meet again,’ she said. ‘Now go.’

  Shan and Nip walked through the forest in silence for a while, Nip carrying a lantern. Shan felt awkward, unsure of what Nip really felt about what she had seen earlier. It was Nip who eventually broke the silence.

  ‘You’ve grown into yourself. Not before time. We knew the Lady would solve your problems.’

  ‘I solved my own dilemmas,’ he said.

  Nip eyed him shrewdly. ‘What’s that around your neck? A gift from the Lady?’

  ‘Yes,’ Shan answered shortly. If he had grown so much, why was he so edgy and defensive? He had looked forward to meeting his friend again, but found he couldn’t confide in her. The journey was not an easy one. Shan wished he was making it alone.

  By the time they reached Thremius’ dwelling, it was well past midnight. Above the trees the sky was clear and hard, lit by a million stars and the swan light of the moon. Frost rimed the bare branches that glistened in the starlight. Shan felt homesick, but for where? He felt cleansed, yet also full of confusion. He was inspired with poignant hope by the stark beauty of the landscape, yet his heart was insecure and lonely. Life had seemed so simple before he’d made the journey to Sinaclara. The Shan he’d been had lived in ignorance, but that blissful state was gone, and it would never return. He had taken a fork in the road, and though it might lead to greater knowledge, it was hard and cruel. Knowledge was a burden. It changed you into an outsider.

  Nip wanted Shan to speak to Master Thremius of his experiences, but Shan demurred. He yearned only for Taropat’s house by the mill-pool, hoping that peace of mind waited for him there. ‘Then I will accompany you,’ Nip said.

  Shan sensed she envisaged a few happy hours spent with Taropat and his liquor supply, listening to Shan’s adventures as he related them to his mentor. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m tired. I’m going to sleep when I get home.’

  Nip looked crestfallen. ‘Is there anything wrong? You seemed fine earlier – more than fine!’ She laughed, a bright sound that trailed off into awkward silence.

  ‘I am fine, and thanks for the offer of company, but I need to think on my own for a while. I’ll drop by in a day or so.’ He reached out and stroked her face, something the old Shan would never have dreamed of doing.

  Nip took his hand. ‘I was worried for you,’ she said. ‘I’ve always seen your pain, Shan, smelled it even.’

  He nodded. ‘I know. You’re my best friend, Nip. I’ll see you soon.’

  He knew she watched him as he crossed the glade and entered the haunted dark of the forest beyond.

  Relief flooded Shan’s body when he saw the welcoming gleam of the windows of Taropat’s house. He could hear the water churning in the pool and there was Gust’s silhouette crouched on the roof, as if the grim had been waiting for Shan to return. He lifted his leathery wings and threw back his head to utter a mournful yet jubilant cry. He leapt gracefully into the air and swooped across the clearing to land by Shan’s side. ‘I’m home,’ Shan said. He wanted to weep.

  Taropat was where he always was: at the fireside, his pipe in his mouth, a book open on his lap. ‘Ah,’ he said, as Shan came through the door, ‘I was wondering whether you’d return tonight. It’s a long journey from the Lady’s domain.’

  Shan dropped his bag onto the table. ‘I was eager to get home. Much has happened to me.’

  ‘You must be hungry,’ Taropat said. ‘Sit down. I’ll fetch you something.’

  Shan sat at the table and put his face in his hands. He could feel his heart beating in every fibre of his body. Now he was back, he wanted to feel as if the past few weeks had been a dream, but he couldn’t. His own ghost sat at this table. If he looked up now, he felt sure he’d see a younger version of himself staring back at him, amazed. He became conscious of scrutiny and steeled himself to face the spectre, but when he dropped his hands he saw only Taropat standing nearby, gazing at him in concern.

  ‘I hope I haven’t done you wrong,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean? Sending me to that strange witch?’

  Taropat put a bowl of meat and gravy down before Shan, along with a plate of bread. ‘No, before that. I have tried to mould you, indoctrinate you. Perhaps I hadn’t the right.’ He poured ale into a tankard and pushed it across the table.

  Shan picked it up and gratefully took a swig. ‘And if you hadn’t done that, I would still be in Holme, half a person. The Magravandians ruined my life before you became a part of it. We share that heritage. We are brothers in it.’

  Taropat sat down and folded his arms on the table-top. ‘I would not dispute that. Yet you seem bitter somehow, even though more whole. Your eyes have been opened and you will never close them again. In some ways, that is cruel.’

  ‘I want to be awake,’ Shan said. ‘Whatever you’ve done for me is necessary and ordained. I am sure of it.’


  ‘I suppose I must accept that. We are both on the web. We each have our part.’

  Shan ate in silence for a while. He knew Taropat would not ask questions but wait for the information to be offered. When he’d finished his dinner, Shan said, ‘A measure of your best port would be appreciated. I want to tell you what happened to me.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Taropat got up.

  There was a strained atmosphere between them, which Shan guessed must derive from the fact that he had changed so much. Perhaps Taropat was unsure how to treat him now.

  Shan told the whole story, omitting no detail. Taropat listened in silence, smoking, and drinking the port. At the end, he said, ‘I didn’t do enough for you. I was blind to the extent of the damage within you. I thought I’d healed you. It was a conceit.’