Melianarrheyal
Page 38
~*~
The Island is a thickly forested land, shrouded in mist. Many of the trees are ever green, but those that aren't are already turning colors, and there is a chill wind in the air. We approach it from the backside, for the port in front is “for foreigners – mostly Desert traders.”
I am glad to have something solid beneath my feet again, although I know it won't last. We are here for only a few days, to ready ourselves for the journey. I don't want it to end. I am afraid of this Island, but I have no wish to return to the waves.
Therrin wants to see everything, and Ty has things to buy for us. They ask me to come with them, but I refuse. I don't know this place and I don't want to be lost. I ask instead for a place to rest, and am shown the house in which Ty lived as a child, wherein we shall be staying these few days. I am given a warm bed in a small and empty wooden room.
I am all alone, with no Therrin to help me, so I whistle to Snake and send the curse to wait outside the room myself. I feel sick speaking to it, but it is the only thing I can do to keep it away. I must be alone. It must not watch me.
I curl up among the soft blankets and watch the mist through the window and wait. Better not to follow them on this strange Island, I think. Better to rest here, all alone, where it is safe. We shall leave so soon – I mustn't even try to acquaint myself with anything outside this room. It will be far away within a few days, and I doubt I shall ever return.
Through the small window I see the mist and the wind in the trees and the little trickles of water that run down the glass. I watch them run together and bleed down the pane. It looks so cold. I wrap the blankets around myself and I whistle to Snake for comfort; he gives it to me. It is as though I can feel his coils around me, always with me.
I am glad of this time alone, this time to simply be, without the waves or the dreams or the people, to be nothingness, to rest. I am glad to lay still my fear and my thoughts and every feeling I might have.
But my heart still beats within my breast. In this silence I can feel each beat. I might lay still my thoughts, but I can yet feel my heart; it has not yet given up all hope of life. I may have no past left (I cannot think of it, I cannot), and no future (what is there for me? I am nothing but kretchin, and not even that, anymore), and nothing to live for, but I must endure. I must wait until my luck turns, until I find a place for myself, even by chance. I must only wait. And if even the waiting takes all my strength – I must be strong.
When they return, Ty tells me that Ler and Rih are sleeping on the ship tonight, and leaving us this house for as long as we need it. It will not be long.
Ty is warmer dressed now, and Therrin, too, has bought new clothing at Ler's prompting. “You can hardly hope to travel far in that skirt, especially by foot,” she said. “Better to find trousers while you can; they may yet speed your way.”
Indeed none of the people of the Island wear skirts, Therrin tells me, and better clothes were easily found. She wears trousers now, tucked into her boots, and a loose black shirt, and Rillik's necklace around her neck as always. And there is a small leather satchel looped around her shoulder, to carry whatever she might wish to keep close at hand.
The next day we pack everything we can think of: a great deal of food, a few blankets, a length of rope, and a little money. Ty borrows it from his family, claiming it as further payment for Therrin's cooking, and because it is only very little they do not protest this.
“I don't know what coin they use on the other side of the gate,” says Ty. “No doubt ours will be strange to them, and the Anarian silver just as strange; so we must avoid paying in coin if we can. But I shall take a little of every sort I know, to be sure.” So he takes a few gold coins and a few copper, and some strange silver coins that must be Anarian. I have never seen silver used for coins before.
Also Therrin and I are each given a knife. I am loath to take mine, though I know I may need to defend myself. I can only think of Yuit's failed attempts at teaching me to fight. “Even if I take it, it won't help me,” I tell them. “I can't fight. I don't know how to use it.”
“Take it anyway,” Ty says, and presses it into my hand. “It may yet save your life, even if all you can do is hold it out and hope that the enemy runs into it. We don't know what awaits us in the other world; we must take every measure we can to be sure of our safety.”
So I swallow my doubts and take the knife. The weight of it feels strange on my new belt, a constant heavy sign of the deadly sharp blade I carry, with which I might kill someone if I only knew how.
I try to forget it, as I try to forget the curse, as I try to forget the past. And I try to forget the future: I am afraid of that other world, for I don't know what awaits us there. I try to think only of the moment, or better yet of nothing at all.
A mere two days after we landed on the blessedly solid and still Island, Ler and Rih wish us all luck and we set off again, on our way to find the gate of legend.
The boat Ler has lent us is quite small: it can hold us three and our supplies – no more than we three can carry walking, for we intend to abandon the boat once we reach this gate – but it could not hold much more. It has oars as well as the golden sail which marks it as one of Ler's, but Ty warns us that it would be a very long way to row, so Therrin sets a strong wind behind us for much of the time.
Perhaps it is because I have grown more accustomed to the sea, but now the sickness is not so strong, and I am glad of the wind. It means that we shall arrive at new land more quickly. I may fear the other world, but at least we shall be able to walk again instead of rowing. My feet have grown restless here, and I have no room to pace.
In the evening Therrin sleeps earlier than we, so that Ty and I may keep rowing long into the night; in the morning she wakes earlier than we, so that she may set a wind behind us while we yet sleep. In the day we all row together, along with the wind, trying to make better time. At night we drift. Here the curse proves its usefulness already, though I am loath to admit it – it knows in which direction the gate lies, following Ty's instruction before we left, although all the sea around us is the same and we cannot watch which way we drift while we sleep. We follow the line of its black arm, trusting that it will not deceive us.
I don't like it, but Ty packed none of the tools Ler uses to find her way at sea, and he seems quite certain that it has no use for deceit. I push it to the back of my mind, try not to think of it.
Therrin loses her strength quickly from keeping a strong wind behind us for so long, although I think she is quite a talented wind-caller. “Once we arrive, I shall not use my talent again unless I must,” she tells us. “I haven't the strength to do this much longer.”
We do not speak often. The boat is too small to allow for comfort, and Therrin is not alone in losing her strength. My arms hurt from always rowing, and we can hardly lie down to sleep, so we are all of us wearied and uncomfortable by the time we arrive.
Despite all my fear, I am glad to reach our goal, glad to leave the boat behind, glad to reach solid and open land. I have never been so glad to walk.
The thing we sought rises out of the sea long and narrow: a stone path, no wider than my arm is long. The far end of it is perhaps as tall as Ty and half as tall again, and far enough away that I can't see clearly to the top of it. The near end goes on farther than I can see, dropping away steeply beneath the waves.
Beside this path a spire of rock grows out of the ocean, and here we tie our boat and empty it of supplies. We stand on the path with our booted feet whelmed by water.
“The legend says we must walk the entire path – all of it that is dry,” Ty tells us. “The gate is at the end of the path, and it would not admit us if we did not begin here, so it says. But we have little enough choice as to where we begin.”
“Then let us walk,” says Therrin. She leads, and Ty and I follow her. It is several minutes' walk to the end. I am very glad to stretch my legs, but the ground feels strange under my feet after so much water. It is soli
d and still, but I can still feel the waves.
(Every step forward is another step toward the end of the world...)
Now I can see the gate ahead of us: at the very end of the path is a stone arch, beyond which I can see only the sea at first, but as we keep walking it begins to change. It seems to me that there is a veil before the arch, thickening with every step we take, and every so often it sparks with yellow-green light.
“What do you see?” I ask them, unsure if it is only because of the demon in my eye that I can see these things.
“The gate is a stone arch, with only the ocean beyond it,” Therrin tells me; “and you?”
“Green sparks,” I answer, suddenly afraid that it isn't real, that I am dreaming again. “They grow brighter by each step that nears us to the gate. Nor can I see the ocean beyond it any longer, though I can't make out what is there.”
“Really?” She looks at me. “What I wouldn't give for an eye like yours! What does it mean, do you think?”
“Perhaps only that the gate is working,” Ty says.
Perhaps that I am going mad, I think. Oh, I do not want to cross this threshold, to step into these sparks. But I have said I would come with them and now I must hold to that promise. I will be strong. I will come with them and I will give them what aid I can.
Therrin stops briefly before she steps through, perhaps to gather her courage. She takes a last quick look at the ocean all around us and walks under the arch. To me it seems that the heavy veil wraps around and swallows her, and then she is gone.
I whistle to Snake and follow.
There is the feel of lightning all around me, and a tingling that shoots through my limbs, and for a few moments even the demon in my eye can see nothing. There is only darkness around me, veined with yellow-green.
And then I am through, and suddenly I can see again, and everything is light, and my nature talent is overcome with a powerful sense of life. The gate behind us is no longer a stone arch but one made of living wood – a trellis of interlaced branches, overgrown with leafy flowering vines. It glows gently in the same yellow-green color of the sparks, though that glow ebbs as I watch.
Beside me are Therrin and Ty and (to my quiet dismay) the curse (Why must it follow me even here?). We stand in a lush green clearing, filled with brightly colored flowers. It is warm here after the autumn of our own world, and it is very still. The leaves on the great trees that surround the clearing are silent, untouched by even the slightest wind. The trees themselves are larger than any I have seen before. Even the three of us together might not reach around one.
But there is something moving: small, sparkling points of light, which drift around, pale and glimmering, although there is no wind to carry them.
Therrin beside me laughs in delight. “This place is better than I had dreamed,” she says; “it is so bright! So full of life!” Even Ty, who saw the splendor of a noble house without emotion (but I must not think of that, I must not), seems awed: he looks around with open interest, and something that almost looks like reverence.
It is so strange here, so strange. I whistle to Snake for comfort. Would that I had something to hold, to cling to, even something as small as my old wooden charm! But I lost it when I fled Quiyen, and could never find another. (And her blue ribbon is gone – no, NO, I must not think of that, I must not.)
Then there are words in my head, only they are not in my own voice but in high tinkling tones, and they are not words but meaningless strings of sound. I fall to my knees and I put my hands to my head. What is this? What has taken control of my mind?! I whistle to Snake and I hold my head and I wait for it to pass.
Then the sounds are gone, and the foreign thought in my mind speaks without words, only in meanings: and it tells me to follow. I shake my head. I will not listen. I will not listen to this. This cannot be real.
“Come, now, Arrek,” Therrin says kindly. “Let's go.”
I shake my head.
“What is it?” asks Ty, and I tell them: “In my head, there was a voice, it told me to follow but it cannot be real, it can't be, I am mad, I have lost my mind... I hear voices where there are none...”
He puts his hand on my shoulder, and I quiet under its weight. He says: “It is real, for I heard it too.” The contempt is still in his voice, as it always is. He mocks me with every word. He mocks the world around him. But he helped me. Maybe he doesn't mean it, not really.
“And I as well,” says Therrin. “Now come, let us follow. Perhaps they know something of my mother.”
For a moment I am still too afraid to stand up, but she smiles at me, trying to calm me. “There's nothing to be afraid of,” she assures me earnestly. “I'm sure they won't hurt us. Perhaps that is only their way of speaking.”
“Whose?” I think but I do not say. As I come with them, I find out: we are led by three of the drifting points of light. Now that I look at them more carefully, I see with my demon-eye that they are small winged beings who shine from within, though they are so pale that I can nearly see through them.
This world is so strange. But it is for Therrin that we are here, and she is delighted by its strangeness; and though I do not like or trust anything I see here, I will be strong and I will endure it. I must.
There is nothing else I can do.
As we walk away from the summery green clearing, the wood quickly grows cold and bleak. Autumn's chill has caught us up all at once. The bright colors are gone: all is gray now, or nearly gray. The trees and the ground and the sky all have the same dead color. The ground is barren, and the trees bear no leaves.
Ty runs a hand across one of the great dead trees, and a fine dusting of something like ash comes free and swirls in the lifeless air. And it is lifeless: I can sense my own life, and Ty's and Therrin's, and the three glimmering beings that lead us; and behind us the gate, where there was more life than I have ever felt before; and ahead of us, in the distance, another life, thin and meager; and that is all. The forest around us is dead.
And even Ty and Therrin are meager and fading in my mind. I fear this deadness. I fear that my nature sense is fading without reason, dying, that I might lose it as I lost my sight.
“It is cold as stone,” Ty says of the tree. “In fact I should not be surprised if this place looked very much like the stone plain in twenty years or so. It is a dying land.”
“Then we must find some way to stop this,” says Therrin, her lips tightening with determination. “I will not see my mother's world brought to ruin, if I can save it.”
Ty snorts. “What will you do? You know nothing of this world, nor of how this bane came to it.”
“I intend to find out,” she says.
At last we reach a little cottage. It is built into a great rock – unless it is a great tree? Here they look nearly the same. It is overgrown with strings of dull gray moss, but there is light from the windows, wan, hardly warmer than this desolation around us.
The wordless voice in my mind tells me to stay; and the glimmering beings fly away, perhaps back to their gate. We are left alone, the three of us and the horrid shadow.
The door opens, and an old woman steps out. She is dressed warmly against the chill, and her head and shoulders are covered with a cloth, and her face looks old, very old. She grins without teeth and ardently jabbers words I cannot understand, and ushers us into the little cottage. I don't want to follow her, but I must follow Therrin and Ty, and they allow themselves to be ushered.
We are sat down at a little table inside. Things are not quite as gray here as the forest outside, but neither are they as bright as our own world. There is something wrong here, something missing, something dead.
A fire burns merrily in the hearth, heating the bubbling cauldron hung over it and filling the cottage with the smell of food. It is a pale fire, yet brighter than anything else I see here. The walls are lined with shelves, and these filled with bottles and bowls of things I do not recognize.
Therrin interrupts the woman's swift spee
ch, touching her elbow. “I don't understand,” she tells her. “Your words mean nothing to me.”
The woman frowns at her and is silent.
Therrin looks to Ty now: “Do you understand her?”
“No,” he says. “It is not a language I know.”
The old woman looks us over again. She nods – perhaps to herself – and fills three wooden bowls from the cauldron, and sets one before each of us. She speaks again: only one word, now, again and again, nodding at us encouragingly.
“Thank you,” says Therrin with a polite nod, and eats. Ty is quick to follow. I am loath to eat this stranger's food – I do not trust her after all – but all my life I have survived by begging and stealing, and I am hungry, so I swallow my distrust and eat of the soup before me. It almost seems to spark on my tongue with a strange flavor I have never tasted before.
And I have tasted even noble foods – but no, I must not think of that.
“And now can you understand me?” asks the woman; but she does not speak our Thiluan Common, only the same meaningless jabber of before, and yet I know what she is saying. I whip up my head to stare at her, and whistle to Snake. I must be dreaming this. It cannot be real.
“How can this be?” asks Ty, frowning – and he, too, uses the strange tongue. I whistle again to Snake, afraid. Perhaps I am going mad after all. I must be.
“Then it still works,” says the old woman. “I'm glad; that was nearly the last of it. You speak the shared tongue now, strangers, which can be learned by any who eat of the food of this world.”
“Any? Then surely the animals can speak it as well as you?” Ty's voice is the same as always, filled with scorn and doubt, but his words are strange. And yet I can understand him. This cannot be.
“Once, that was certainly so. But there is a bane on this world, and that little which still grows has lost something it once had. It cannot be said to be of this world. It can hardly be said to be food, though it certainly sustains those who live here – if they can be said to live.”
“But surely – when hunting –”
“Ah, yes. When we all spoke the shared tongue, there was a code we all followed: we must never use the shared tongue to lure our quarry nearer, nor must we pretend that we have any intention but to harm it; and if we are the quarry, we must not beg for mercy. We may run or hide, or even bargain for our lives, but we must never use the shared tongue to beg the hunter to let us go. After all, if we left every living thing alive, we should all die of hunger.
“Besides, not every animal wishes to speak, having the choice. Many are happy to live with their instincts, understanding the words we speak but not the meanings behind them.”
I am still too flustered by the strange sounds I hear and understand to pay much mind to what she is saying about this shared tongue, but this I can understand. Many times I have done this very thing. When I am in a certain state of mind I cannot know what people are saying, even if I hear and understand each word they speak: I cannot or will not think long or well enough to know their meaning. It was like this in Qualin just before we left the well no I must not think of it I must not.
(And she hoped to abandon me and then she handed me off and I never believed it was true because I could not comprehend it, although I heard every word she said.)
Now I listen to them, to what is happening around me. I try not to think of the strange words they use, only of what they are saying. I listen in the hope that listening will root me to this present and stave off the past.
“And the bane on this world – how did that come to pass? And what is this world?” asks Therrin.
“That is a sad tale, and an old one. A thousand years ago we lost our names. These are the Unnamed Lands now, child – that is all we know to call them.
“A thousand years ago, the dragons still flew over these lands. There was one among them, by the name of Karr, who made a pact with an ambitious human man. So the man rode about on the dragon's back, and named himself King; and because he wielded Karr's power, the people accepted him. Some even began to worship him, as King and as Savior, for he brought a peace and unity they had never seen before.
“For a while he seemed to care for the people, but he was always building his power. He built a white castle, far to the Northwest, and there he lived; and he had three treasures crafted, which he bound both to the kingship and to Karr's soul. When this was done he had the dragon under his complete control, and was able to betray the terms of his pact.
“Karr could not rebel while his master held the three treasures, but the other dragons came for him. They could do nothing. The King was very powerful now, and Karr forced to obey him; and the dragons would do nothing to harm their captured brother; and so they were all driven to a great cavern far to the West of here, and there they were sealed in sleep.
“Thus began the bane that has been spreading across our world for the past thousand years. All we who lived in this world lost our names, and these became the Unnamed Lands; and slowly, all turned gray and cold and lifeless.
“Now the King grew mad with his power – madder – and he flew with Karr through the gate to the other world – to your world – in the hope of conquering it and adding it to his realm. There were those of us who saw that he had imprisoned the dragons and so cast a bane upon our world, and that he was evil; and so we followed him, to bring him down.”
Here Therrin interrupts: “'We'? Then you lived a thousand years ago?”
“Yes, yes,” says the old woman. “I'll come to that. This is not my story. Now listen:
“The people of your world had never seen a dragon before, and they were afraid. One of their greatest cities was destroyed at once, so they gathered to defend their world against further attack. Thus we had their aid, and together we were able to put a sleep on Karr and bind him to a place in that world, beneath the ground. When he was gone we found it easy to kill the mad King, and put a stop to his evil.
“We knew that we must not kill Karr, for he was – aye, he is – the only hope for the restoration of our world. He and his rider must free the other dragons. But we knew also that if the wrong person freed him and took the kingship we might have gained nothing by killing the old tyrant. So we wove our spell in such a way that Karr himself must choose a new rider, a Prince or a Princess of our Unnamed Lands, and that this rider must have the three treasures in order to free him, as they will also need them to free the others.
“But as we did this a seer among us saw what would be, and so we knew that it would be a thousand years before Karr could find his Princess, an orphan girl born of both this world and the other. The people of that world were glad to learn this, for they were certain of Karr's evil, and might well have killed him were we not there to stay their blades. They were glad that he should have no chance to destroy them for the next thousand years. But we were dismayed. The land all around the place where we bound him turned flat and gray and dead, and we knew that this fate awaited our own world as long as it was without dragons and without a name. We did what we could to make it last a thousand years, and it has lasted; but it is almost dead now, and we must have our Princess soon. We cannot flee.
“The only things which mattered to us now were those things necessary to free the dragons. The first thing we did was to preserve the gate. We had to be certain that its magick would not fade, so we preserved it exactly as it was: it was summer when Karr and the King flew through a thousand years ago, so it is summer still, there. Indeed, not one night has fallen.
“Next we took the three treasures and hid them away. We had to be certain that only Karr's chosen one could find them, so they were well-hidden, and only one person was allowed to know where all three of them can be found.
“I was chosen to be that person.
“So that I might tell the Princess the way when she came, I was given protection and long life – and that is how I have lived these thousand years, though it is long past the day when I might have died. I have stayed near the gate, a
nd whenever anyone comes through it the fairies who guard the gate bring that person here, to me.
“And you have come through, and you have been brought here. But you are only the second people to come through in a very long time – who are you?”
“My name is Therrin Shiaran – of House Lithuk,” says Therrin. “I must be the person you speak of, the orphan of both worlds. I came seeking my mother's people, but now that I see how this world is dying I hope to help in any way I can.”
The old woman eyes her, but does not respond. She turns her eyes to Ty and me.
“Ty,” says Ty.
“I am Arrek Suyiol,” I answer quietly, almost against my will. I do not wish to speak to her, nor to anyone in this broken world. And at this worst of moments I notice that I am not wearing my eyepatch. The old woman says nothing of the demon, but her eyes linger on it.
My mouth forms the strange sounds of the shared tongue, though I do not mean to make them. I know I could speak my own Thiluan Common if I should need to, but if I speak without thinking it comes out as this – and I have no control over my tongue. It makes these sounds I have not heard before this day. I want to tear it out of my mouth, but I must be strong, and I must not draw attention to myself. I bite down on it and try to hold still now.
“And she?” asks the woman at last, looking at the curse.
(Still there, it is still there and it looks so like her.)
“That's only Curse,” Therrin says after a moment. “Pay her no mind; she will live until she ends, but that is all she does. She cannot speak.”
The old woman grunts and turns her gaze back to Therrin. “I do not deny that you look very like the people you claim as parents; but you must prove that you are their child. You understand that I must be careful. The treasures must not fall into the wrong hands.”
“What proof can I have? My mother died before I knew her.”
The old woman thinks. At last she says: “There was something I gave her before she left, which didn't come back with her – a small round stone, reddish-brown, with a certain mark...”
“This?” Therrin takes it from her satchel. “It was my mother's? I never knew; but I have always had it, and always kept it with me, as long as I can remember.”
The woman examines the stone. The mark is a deep, curved scratch. I can't see it well from where I am.
(Something is wrong here, something is wrong with this world; something is missing.)
“Yes,” she says. “This is it. Here, keep it – it may help you yet.”
“How? What is it?”
“You do not know its power? I suppose the Wind People have always had little need for such things, but perhaps your mother found some use in it all the same. Hold this in your hand, child, and you will understand any spoken words you hear, in any language. But be careful: it gives you no talent for speech, only for understanding.”
“Thank you,” says Therrin, accepting it back. “It is a great gift. But tell me: who are the Wind People? And what do you know of my mother?”
“They are your mother's people,” the woman says. “They are pale and have shining eyes, and they live on cities in the clouds and sail through the sky on great ships. They can speak with winds, and know thoughts without speaking. They are a gentle people, and their greatest fault is a pity for all things bound to land. They live only some twenty years – perhaps you may live longer, as your father was human, but I do not know how long.
“They live a ways to the Northeast, but you must not seek them out. You must allow nothing to distract you from finding the treasures and freeing the dragons. You are our Princess, Therrin Shiaran of House Lithuk, and you are our only hope.”
Therrin frowns, but nods. “All right,” she says. “If that's how it has to be. I can visit them later.”
“Your mother was nameless,” the woman goes on, “as we are all nameless. She knew the great prophecy, and went through the gate in order to learn more. She was given the stone by me, and something more by the fairies: a little bottle she carried around her neck, which she was to shatter if she was ever near death and needed rescue.
“For perhaps two years we heard nothing from her. When she shattered the bottle at last, the wish she sent us was to bring back her lover along with her own body. The fairies – all except a guard left behind – went through the gate to rescue her, and found her body wrapped in cloth and floating toward the sea; and her lover's body they stole from the house of his family, for he had drowned himself; and they took them back to me, and I passed them on to the Wind People, that they might mourn them as they saw fit.
“Since then we have known that their child must be the Princess, and we have been eagerly awaiting you. You must save us, Therrin Shiaran of House Lithuk. Find the treasures, and free Karr, and give the dragons back to our world.”
“I will do all that I can,” promises Therrin.
The woman looks at me and at Ty, who has been listening with interest to her tales. “What of them?”
“They're with me,” she says. “Of course I shall let them go if they wish it, but they have saved my life once already for no reason except that they wish to see the prophecy fulfilled. I trust them with my life, and with the fate of this world; they shall not betray us. And I will not travel alone, unless I must.”
The woman grunts: “Hnh. Maybe. Perhaps, because they are from your world, it is as you say; but you must not be so trusting of the people here. The fate of the world depends on you, and the people will not like this. Some will be jealous of your power, and of Karr's, and will hope to take your place as Princess only that they might repeat the mad King's life. Many will not trust you, a stranger to this world, and will guide you astray so that they might try their own hands at your task. You must be careful to tell no one who you are, unless you must; and to tell no one where the other items are, nor whether theirs is the first you've found. And you must hurry. I do not know how much longer this world will last.”
“I will do as you say,” Therrin promises. “What must I know?”
“Swear that you will tell no one of what you hear now, all of you. No one.”
“I swear it,” says Therrin.
“I will not betray this world,” Ty vows. “Therrin is the Princess, so you've said, and I do not seek to usurp her, nor to abandon this world to death.”
I have listened to all she said, though I did not understand much of it. I don't want to speak. This is not my world. This is not my story. But I know that I must, so I appease the old woman: “I will tell no one,” I promise in that wretched unknown tongue. And I will not. I do not lie. And I have no reason to betray them; the fate of this world means so little to me. It is already broken and fading. I don't like it here. I don't like this world.
I have only the vaguest idea of what a dragon is, and that only because it is a part of the shared tongue. I don't like this strange knowledge which I have without learning it. I cannot know what is in my head because it belongs there and what is there only because I ate of the old woman's soup. I wish I had not done so. I wish I had eaten only the food from my own world, where I belong. But perhaps I do not belong anywhere, now.
The old woman says: “You must find the three treasures. Only the Princess may carry them, and you must keep them with you always, and be certain they are not stolen nor even touched by the wrong people. You must retrieve them in the correct order, for without the first you may not find the second, and without the second you cannot find the third. When you have found all three, come back to the gate, and go through it without returning here. Even I may betray you, if I am tempted by the three treasures gathered together and brought before me.”
Therrin says: “I understand.”
“The first treasure is a necklace through which you can see magick, particularly enchantment. It would be easy enough to make a copy, so you must test it once it is yours, to be sure you are not being deceived. It can be found to the West, where it was being held by a necromancer who ruled a dead ci
ty. No doubt he is dead now; but he knew his duty, and he must have made certain that his children would fulfill his task, or else set some eternal servant to do so. When you find him, or his substitute, you must tell him you were sent by the woodland witch – for that is what I once was – and you must give him this, so that he knows you as the Princess.”
The witch gives Therrin a small animal skull, with a mark scorched onto its forehead. She puts it away in her satchel.
“Here is that dead city,” says the woman, showing us on a map: “and here we are now. I can help you arrive there more quickly. I cannot take you to the city, for the one you'd be riding must not know that the treasure is there; but I can have you brought to this wood, quite near the city.”
“Thank you,” says Therrin. “We are glad of your help.”
“And we of yours.
“The second treasure is here, in this lake to the South. If he gives you the chance, you must ask the necromancer for help in arriving there more quickly; but you cannot give the lake as your destination, for he might seek the second treasure for himself. Tell him you must find this village, here. It is near enough the lake that you can walk thence.
“The treasure is a silver chalice. There is a small dragon carved on one side, quite near the rim; by that you may know it. The Princess – the Princess only – can fill the chalice with only a touch and a thought, and the water it holds will separate your thought from your body when drunk. It is a dangerous thing to use, and if you do you must use the necklace to find your way back.
“When you are at the lake, and know where the treasure lies, you must speak these words: shree ara vyanin.”
“Shree ara vyanin,” Therrin repeats. “Shree ara vyanin. I will remember.”
“When you have the second treasure you must follow this river Eastward, and give this hillock as your goal, should the people of the lake ask it. North of that hillock, here, to our East, is the wood in which you may find the third treasure. It is a black knife, and it can cut through any enchantment, even that which holds Karr sleeping. Magick will not affect it, and your necklace will not see it. You must use the chalice to find it, for this treasure is guarded only by solitude.
“Thence you must travel West, back to this wood, and go straight through the gate. The fairies will guide you through. In your own world you must find the dragon, as quickly as you can, and free him, and bring him home.”