A Blackbird In Darkness (Book 2) (15 page)

‘There you are, E’rinel,’ she said. Her eyes were deep blue. Azure light swirled around her. ‘The Lady asked me to find you. You must come with me to the Cavern of Communication. There is news of the Silver Staff.’

He was on his feet at once. She began to lead him towards a bridge, a mere strand of sapphire arching over the glassy lake.

‘Have you seen Medrian?’ he asked.

‘Yes, she was walking alone on the far side of the lake earlier,’ Filitha answered. ‘Calorn has gone to fetch her.’

Estarinel thought, I have been trying to deny what Medrian said to me, but in my heart I know she’s right. Already she is drifting away from me.

A few minutes later, Estarinel was standing in a cavern within the root of a tall rock pinnacle. It was roughly dome-shaped inside, its surface made up of mirrored planes that reflected all shades of blue, indigo and silver. The effect was eerie and he was glad he wasn’t there alone. A throng of H’tebhmellians filled the cave. They were all silent, and it was like being surrounded by pale sentient jewels rather than human beings. He saw Calorn and Ashurek standing together and made his way over to them. He looked anxiously about him but could see no sign of Medrian.

‘She refused to come with us,’ Calorn replied to his question.

‘Did she say why? She knows how important this is.’

‘Perhaps that’s why she preferred not to witness it,’ Calorn said, noticing his look of distress. ‘It’s understandable; don’t worry about her, I think she wanted to be alone for a while, that’s all.’

‘Yes. I’m sure you’re right,’ Estarinel responded faintly. He was startled at how anxious he felt, as if the air of expectancy within the cavern was itself being mirrored and multiplied by the faceted walls.

The Lady was standing in the centre of the cave. Before her there was a smooth, circular, waist-high column of rock that was barely the width of her two hands in diameter. Estarinel was at the front of the throng and could see that the surface was mercury-smooth and reflective as glass. He was reminded uncannily of Arlenmia’s mirrors.

At the apex of the dome was another round mirror. Reflections danced back and forth in the air between the two, like a language of light too fast for any human to understand. The Lady watched this flickering for several minutes; he saw it reflected in her agate eyes.

Beside him, Calorn and Ashurek watched with equal tension. Ashurek had not spoken a word or even acknowledged him. His eyes were less intense, as if he’d buried grief and anger deep within him. But this only served to make his tall, dark presence appear more dangerous.

Now the Lady placed her hands on the glassy stone surface and looked up towards the roof of the cavern. The flickering light became clearly visible, like sunlight off rippling water. Faster and faster it danced until a form could be discerned within it. Delineated by faint white shadow lines, a face hung in the air above the plinth.

Its mouth moved, and some of the H’tebhmellians gasped, but Estarinel couldn’t hear what it was saying. The visage was that of an elderly man with long, pale hair; it was too blurred to be recognisable – except that it appeared to have no eyes.

He began to feel dizzy. No one around him seemed affected, but a sudden unreasoning fear was choking him. His vision turned white, as if mist had suddenly filled the cavern. He could no longer see the faceted walls, or the people around him, the Lady or the face: all was blotted out by fog. Through it, he saw layer upon layer of some translucent stuff like red glass. Behind it, shadows moved. They were faceless, yet they stared straight through him; they were powerful, yet without conscience. Inhumanity radiated from them like death. Then in a second vision overlaid on the first he saw a needle-thin streak of silver. It was not resting on anything, but neither was it floating or flying: it simply was. Around it he sensed a vast darkness, the crushing infinity of the universe. Against this blackness countless stars were arrayed, but these were not the tranquil, frosty flowers seen from Earth. He was aware of each one as an inferno of incomprehensible size and power. No human could draw near to these spheres of blazing energy without being obliterated, consumed to a tiny ash that might as well never have existed. What he was witnessing lay beyond the minute scope of human experience. It reduced him to nothing. And across the immeasurable lightless wastes that lay between the stars, swelling waves of invisible energy ebbed and flowed. Here the needle of silver danced, at one with the great arcs of power yet seeming to mock their strength. Now many long grey arms stretched up towards it as if from another dimension, fingertips straining to touch it, to coax it. It lent itself to their touch, compliant yet seeming to laugh with the vast, silent amusement of a god.

Estarinel’s perception changed; his awareness became gigantic, as if the universe itself were not large enough to contain him. He was soaring through darkness as if round and round the inside of a dark ball. Then the ball split and fell away, and beyond was a sun of such awesome size and brightness that his mind reeled. He felt he was falling towards it and yet would take years to reach its inescapable fiery heart… Then he realised that he was not in fact moving; that the fire was only a dim golden radiance; not vast, but tiny. It filled his vision because it was so close to his face.

He was standing like a granite monolith on a perfectly flat, colourless plain, but the ground itself was moving, carrying him away from the small, glowing sphere. Now at a great distance he saw insubstantial grey beings bearing before them the long Staff of silver. It seemed the only reality in this strange vision. Of their own volition, Staff and sphere touched; the sphere faded and was gone, but the Staff was glowing joyously, vibrating, filling the universe with emanations of power. Estarinel shared in its exuberant strength, felt joy in its mystery and wild triumph as if the Serpent were already dead. But the feeling was momentary. The figures and the silver entity were so far away that he could barely see them.

And now Medrian was at his elbow, and he was flooded by the emotion that she was experiencing: terror so absolute that it was more than fear, because fear at least contains some hope of survival. What Medrian radiated was utter desolation.

He looked at her and she whispered, ‘Not me. Not me. Where is she?’

She looked round at him for a second, then pulled away from him and was gone. He stumbled forward, trying to reach her, and found himself on his hands and knees in snow, physically freezing cold and more alone than he had felt, even at the edge of his parents’ devastated farm.

He must have cried out then; instantly, he was back in the cave. He was startled to find that he was still on his feet, but Filitha and Calorn were supporting him and everyone was looking at him.

‘Are you all right?’ Calorn asked.

‘Medrian – where’s Medrian?’

‘She didn’t come in, I told you.’

‘She was here–’ he put a hand to his forehead and tried to re-orientate himself. ‘I’m sorry – I felt faint for a minute. I’m well again, really.’

But the Lady was looking gravely at him from the other side of the stone plinth. The ghostly face and dancing lights had gone.

‘Estarinel, did you hear what the Guardian said?’ she asked.

‘No – I saw him, but I heard nothing,’ he replied.

‘Only I, and the few H’tebhmellians who have been in constant contact with the Guardians through this cavern, understood what he had to say. However, I thought, from your reaction, that you heard him also.’

‘No.’ he shook his head. ‘I half-fainted – that’s all I know.’

Yet as the Lady began to speak, he found he knew exactly what she was going to say, and he could not erase the image of the grey figures and Medrian’s terror from his mind. ‘Then, if you are well, I shall repeat what the Guardians have told me. There is good news: they have succeeded in, their mission to capture the lost positive energy within the Silver Staff. They are within the domain of the Staff and guarding it until the Quester arrives to take it.’ She was addressing everyone within the cavern, but now she moved towards Calorn, Ashurek and Estarinel, lowering her voice so that only they could hear. Around them the H’tebhmellian women began to murmur quietly to each other, a sound as sweet as the soft chiming of crystal.

‘Now, perhaps you already know this, but I want you to be aware that only one person is permitted to seek the Staff and to bear and wield it. That person is to be Estarinel.’ The Forluinishman betrayed no reaction, but a flame ignited in Ashurek’s eyes. ‘Calorn’s purpose is to guide you into the domain. Then you will be alone, and your journey will be quite unpredictable. But understand this: it will be a route pre-planned by the Silver Staff itself, designed to test your worthiness to use it. It is the nature of the Staff; and the Guardians can do nothing to prevent you undergoing these tests. They may be dangerous and you may fail. That is what I meant when I said the journey to fetch the Staff would be perilous.’

The Lady spoke more bluntly than was her usual way, and Estarinel was grateful that Calorn had forewarned him.

He began to speak, but Ashurek interrupted, ‘Wait. Estarinel seems unwell. My Lady, I believe it would be better if I went upon this dangerous path.’

Estarinel looked at the Gorethrian and saw the avid green fire burning in his eyes. He felt horribly chilled. He wished more than anything that Ashurek could go instead of him; with his long experience of fighting the supernatural, his fearless determination, he seemed the only obvious choice. Yet, with grief, rage and vengefulness burning within him, the idea of the Silver Staff in his hands was a terrifying one.

But how powerful against the Serpent he would be.

The Forluinishman began to speak in support of Ashurek’s suggestion, but stopped himself. Am I becoming as callous as the Guardians themselves? Would I stoop so low as to use a friend’s despair as a weapon to unleash against the Serpent? That makes me a user, a manipulator, no better than those grey beings... Sick with himself, he waited for the Lady’s response.

‘No,’ she said, facing Ashurek calmly. ‘Estarinel is not unwell, and the choice cannot be remade.’

‘For what reason? The tests of the Silver Staff will not daunt me; I am merely being realistic in believing that I have the greatest chance of succeeding in the mission.’ His voice was dangerously quiet; he seemed too controlled after what he had endured.

‘The tests may not be what you imagine. It is required that the Quester be “clear of purpose”.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Clear of the purpose for which the Staff is to be used. Not for some secondary purpose, such as a vengeful one,’ stated the Lady. ‘And in addition, there is another factor that makes it preferable that you do not wield such a weapon.’

‘The Egg-Stone?’ enquired Ashurek.

‘Yes. No one may so much as touch it without being affected in some way. We do not know how much it may have harmed you.’

‘In other words, the Silver Staff could become another Egg-Stone in my hands?’

‘Yes, it may be so. It cannot be risked,’ she replied.

‘I see you are adamant. I will not press the point,’ conceded the Gorethrian with a sharply sardonic smile.

Estarinel and Calorn were both privately surprised that he had given in so easily. They didn’t know whether to feel relieved or alarmed.

‘Thank you,’ said the Lady. ‘Believe me, Estarinel stands the greatest chance of success, and the Quest consists of three people, not just one. Now we will speak of the arrangements for the journey;
The Star of Filmoriel
lies ready to sail–’

‘We will sail immediately?’ asked Estarinel, a mixture of relief and tension mounting in him. Around them, the H’tebhmellians began to sing a haunting air beloved in Forluin; here the mirrored walls of the cavern reflected the clear, crystalline voices of the women until the song became quite unearthly. It was exquisite, distilling the beauty and tranquillity of the Blue Plane into the core of Estarinel’s heart. He did not know how he could bear to leave.

‘Yes,’ replied the Lady gently. ‘The Silver Staff is ready; you are all restored to health. There is nothing else to stand between you and the last part of the Quest.’

#

The Star of Filmoriel
was just as they remembered her: a small, graceful ship of pale wood with a mythical beast’s face on the tall figurehead. White stars gleamed on the three slim masts as she bobbed gently in the lake. Estarinel felt tightness in his throat when he recalled how they had left her, stranded like a dead swan on the White Plane. No thanks to us that she found her own way home, he thought.

They were approaching her across a craggy shore of blue-green rock. Behind them, a great stalk of rock rose up, spreading at its summit into a flat expanse on which crystalline trees grew and strange, lovely animals grazed. Across the clear lake, other rock formations stood rooted, some mushroom-shaped, some taking more fantastic forms. The beauty of the Blue Plane had lost none of the initial impact it had had on Estarinel, and was now more poignant because he felt sure he was seeing it for the last time.

With him were Medrian and the Lady of H’tebhmella. Before them walked Ashurek, Calorn, and Filitha. A group of H’tebhmellians was waiting by the
Star
to bid them farewell. They had made her ready, and were now waiting by the lowered gangplank for the four travellers to go aboard.