Mirror 04 The Way Between the Worlds (68 page)

threat to deter us from ever using the Mirror again, for it's a reworking of
an old Aachim doom symbol. We were all terrified when we saw it. Even Tensor,
though his lust for the Mirror's secrets outweighed his fear of it.'
This year the honour of the final night of the Graduation Telling had been
awarded to Llian's friend Thandiwe, though of course she could not tell the
Tale of the Mirror. Instead she retold the very first Great Tale, Nulki's
Saga, a tragic story from before. It, alone of all the Great Tales, dated from
the time prior to Shuthdar's stealing of the golden flute. Though Thandiwe was
a chronicler rather than a master teller, she told the tale very simply and
touchingly. Even Llian was impressed.
Karan was astounded at the difference in Thandiwe. Less than a year had passed
since their meeting, but Thandiwe was no longer the girlish student pining for
her lover. At the conclusion of her tale she was acclaimed as a master
chronicler, and on the stage in her simple black gown she looked the equal of
any of them.
The following night Llian began the first part of the Tale of the Mirror. The
tale was in four parts, to be told on four successive nights. Two years had
gone by since his retelling of the Tale of the Forbidding that had begun the
tale.
'The first part of the Tale of the Mirror is called A Shadow on the Glass,'
began Llian, 'and it was that fleeting appearance of Yalkara's face on the
Mirror in Fiz Gorgo ...'
The Tale of the Mirror was finally told. Llian bowed his head. There was
absolute silence. Then, up the back someone let out a great roar. A young
woman echoed it from across the hall, and suddenly the whole room was on its
feet, roaring, yelling and screaming their acclamation. Ovation followed
ovation until it was put to rest by the students swarming onto the stage and
carrying Llian across and back, and up and down the hall through the audience
a dozen times.
At last, exhausted by cheering, they set him down again and trooped back to
their places. Old Wistan shuffled up to the stage. He was quite frail now, and
a thickset master had to help him up the steps.
Wistan nodded to Llian, rather curtly, and moved forward to the front of the
stage. 'A fine tale!' he said. 'A wonderful tale, I'm sure we all agree. And
now comes the time that I have been waiting for all my life, as no doubt many
of you have too. Every master chronicler is here tonight.' He read out
sixty-four names, one by one, very slowly and deliberately.
Karan, sitting in the front row in the place of the guest of honour,
thirty-one masters to her left, an equal number to her right, was absolutely
burning with impatience.
Wistan reached the end of the list. The last three names were Thandiwe, Llian
and himself. 'My fellow masters, distinguished visitors, students, I will be
brief. I hereby nominate the Tale of the Mirror to be a Great Tale. The master
chroniclers have all read the documents, spoken to the witnesses and checked
the facts. Now you have heard the tale told by a master. What say you? Is it a
Great Tale? Yea or nay? Answer one by one, if you please, and the Recorder
will register your vote.'
He paused for effect. Karan felt a momentary twinge of unease, though it
passed swiftly.
'Master Quendryth, what say you?'
A small, white-haired woman stood up at the very end of the row. She nodded to
Llian, to Wistan and to her fellow masters. 'Yea!' she said in a husky voice.
'It is a Great Tale.' Without further word she sat down again. 'Master
Laarni?' called Wistan.
The dark-faced man next to Karan sprang to his feet. 'Yea!' he roared, making
sure there was no doubt of his opinion. 'A Great Tale! A very Great Tale! Note
down my vote carefully, Recorder!' He sat down with a thump that rocked the
whole row of seats.
'Master Cherith?' cried Wistan. A fleshy, black-clad woman of barely middle
age rose from the other side of the room.

'Yea!' she said softly. Then she smiled, infecting the whole room with her
good humour. 'A Great Tale it is, Master Wistan.'
'Master Thandiwe?' said Wistan.
The youngest of all the masters, Thandiwe stood up. Karan noticed Llian
staring at her and again felt a little stab of jealousy. Thandiwe looked truly
breathtaking tonight, in a sheath of red satin that hugged her voluptuous
form. She gave her vote, for the Great Tale, and sat down quickly.
So it went on, back and forth across the front row. Finally all had voted but
one, the Master of the College of the Histories. Llian could not vote, of
course. Again Karan felt that twinge of unease. This honour meant everything
to Llian. Wistan had hated Llian once. What if, despite all, he still did?
Wistan said not a word. The room was silent. Karan's unease grew. Then
Quendryth's seat creaked and Karan realised that the master of the college was
waiting to be asked.
'Master Wistan,' said Quendryth. 'You have checked the documents, questioned
the witnesses and heard the Tale of the Mirror. What do you say? Is the tale
worthy of the highest honour?'
'The tale is worthy of my vote,' said Wistan, then paused. He looked ancient,
exhausted, grim of face.
The pause stretched out to minutes. Karan could hear the heavy breath of
Laarni beside her. She couldn't breathe at all. Her chest hurt.
'And what is your vote?'
Wistan took a deep breath. He swayed on his feet. 'It... it is a Great Tale,'
he whispered, and had to sit down. 'The Tale of the Mirror is a Great Tale,
the twenty-third.'
The roar shook the tiles in the distant roof. The whole room stood. Slowly
Karan rose too, moved to tears. Oh, Llian, she thought, you have what you
wanted at last.
Llian now stood alone in the middle of the great stage and the tears ran down
his face unchecked.
When the clamour finally died down, Wistan took the stage again. 'There are
two final matters to be attended to,' he said. 'I have been master here for
more than fifty years. I have seen the college safely through the war and into
the new age. I have heard the Great Tale. My health is failing rapidly and I
no longer have any reason to keep going. It is time to pass the burden on.
Tonight, before we leave, we will elect a new master.'
A stir went through the audience, like a wind blowing dry bracken across the
yard. Wistan held up a shaky hand. 'The old world is gone forever. A new
master is required, and a fresh start for the new age. Propose none of the
superannuated old guard. Go for youth, talent and integrity, and trust that
wisdom will develop. I call for nominations!'
'Master Llian,' sang out a voice in the crowd.
Llian stepped forward, nodding his acceptance. Even after all the acclaim he
positively shone with eagerness for this final honour. It would signal that
the outcast Zain was accepted at last.
Karan was torn between conflicting desires. Did Llian want to be master more
than he wanted her? If he got it, he
would have to live in Chanthed. But how could she cling to him if he wanted to
go?
The Recorder carefully inscribed his name in an ancient red book. 'Other
nominations,' called Wistan from his chair.
'Master Laarni,' shouted a master across the aisle from
Karan.
'Do you accept the nomination, Laarni?' asked Wistan.
The dark man beside Karan stood. He bowed to the stage and to the man who had
nominated him. 'I do not! I am of the old age.' He sat down again.
Wistan scanned the room. No one moved. 'Come on!' he said irritably. 'There
are half a dozen here tonight worthy of the honour.'
After a long pause, two others were nominated. Both declined. The election
seemed a fait accompli.

Wistan's face spasmed. He stood up, creaking forward painfully to the very
edge of the stage, and his cloudy eyes sought one face among the row of
masters. 'There must be a vote,' Wistan whispered. T nominate Master Thandiwe
Moorn.'
Thandiwe almost fell off her chair. A mutter of astonishment went through the
hall. Llian looked incredulous. Then Thandiwe stood up and Karan's heart went
out to her, for the young master's face was as red as her gown and she was
trembling almost to fall down.
'Do you accept the nomination, Thandiwe?' asked Wistan.
'I am unworthy of it, much less the position,' she said
softly.
'I think otherwise. The new master of the college must be young, as you are.
Must be brilliant - no one could disagree that you are. Must love the
Histories as much as they love life itself. But most of all, the new master
must have impartiality and integrity. I say you have all of these attributes.
Again I propose you.'
Thandiwe looked him in the eye. 'You are wise and I am not. Surely you see
what I cannot. I accept the nomination.'
'Then take your place on the stage and wait our judgment. Are there any
further nominations?' There were not. 'Come, Masters, we must discuss the
merit of the candidates.'
Burly Laarni supported Wistan into the adjacent debating chamber. The masters
followed and the door thudded closed. The audience began to chatter among
themselves. Llian and Thandiwe sat on their separate chairs. Llian leaned
back, and it took all of his teller's self-control to maintain a blank face.
Thandiwe looked as if she wanted the floor to open and take her away from the
torment.
Nothing happened for a very long time. From the other side of the door Karan
heard raised voices, a long and spirited debate. Finally the door opened and
the masters emerged. They spread across the back of the stage, muttering to
one another. The two candidates were urged forward. The masters all put slips
of paper into a box, which the Recorder counted out and, with painful
slowness, entered into the red book.
Finally the Recorder looked up. 'It is done, Master.'
'Have you a majority for one candidate.'
'I have, Master Wistan.'
'What is the majority?'
'Forty to twenty-two.'
Wistan smiled. 'A clear win! A good start for the new master. And the name of
the winner?'
The Recorder handed Wistan a long slip of paper. Wistan walked along the line,
showing the votes and the count to each of the masters except the two
candidates. Each nodded their acceptance of the vote. Wistan came to the front
of the stage, between Thandiwe and Llian.
'Will the candidates rise?'
Llian and Thandiwe stood up.
'The winner,' said Wistan, displaying the biggest smile anyone in the college
had ever seen, 'by the margin of forty votes to twenty-two, is Master Thandiwe
Moorn.'
The audience was stunned to silence. The momentary look of consternation,
followed by dismay and humiliation,
on Llian's face must have delighted his enemies. He hid it quickly. Forcing a
smile that fooled no one, Llian put out his hand to Thandiwe. He would have
been delighted for her had she beaten anyone else, but this was more than he
was capable of.
'You will make a fine master,' he said. 'I wish you well.' Thandiwe could not
smile back. There were tears of disbelief in her eyes. She kept shaking her
head. Llian bowed to her, to Wistan and the assembled masters, and turned to
leave the stage.
Wistan motioned him to stay. 'Thandiwe Moorn, you have been elected the

seventy-fifth Master of the College of the Histories. Do you accept the
election?'
Thandiwe firmed her shoulders. 'I do, Master Wistan,' she said softly.
'You will take up your position upon my death, which is,' he gave a wry smile,
'expected imminently. I congratulate you.' He shook her hand.
Again Llian turned to go. 'Stay a moment, Llian,' cried Wistan in a voice
suddenly loud and firm. "There is one last matter to attend to.'
Llian sprang back to centre stage as if he expected a consolation prize.
Wistan gestured the masters forward.
'Master Llian,' said Wistan, 'you have made a new Great Tale, and been
acclaimed for it. You are a great chronicler, and a great teller too, no doubt
of it. Perhaps the greatest of the age that has just ended.'
Llian bowed to Wistan and to the audience. Again Karan felt that prickle of
unease.
'But Llian, as I said to you more than once when you were a student here,
Genius without ethics is a deadly commodity. Just how deadly I never realised.
A great chronicler you may be, Llian, but you are not a worthy master. Your
tale proves your dishonour. You betrayed your calling in Katazza by
collaborating with Tensor, and betrayed it again in the Night-land.'
Wistan held up his hand as Llian began to defend himself. 'You've had your say

-four long nights of it - and now I will have mine. Those crimes might have
been forgiven, done under duress as they no doubt were. But not what you did
next. You meddled in the Histories, Llian. You manipulated Men-dark in Thurkad
just to find the answer to a historical curiosity. The result - a hundred
prisoners burned to death in the citadel cells, and a priceless library of the
Histories destroyed.'
He paused. Llian looked as if he had been punched in the face.
'And then in Shazmak you did it again. Perhaps worse! You manipulated Tensor
using your teller's gifts ..." Wistan almost choked on his fury, 'causing the
death of noble Rulke and all the consequences that flowed from that to this
day. Have you anything to say now, Llian?'
You stinking hypocrite! Karan thought. The whole world hated and feared Rulke
until his death, and did all they could to destroy him.
'No!' whispered Llian. 'Nothing at all. Everything you say is true. I accept
your rebuke and vow to mend my character.'
'This is not a rebuke!' snapped Wistan. 'You are corrupt, Llian. You are
unworthy to be a master chronicler. You must be taught a lesson.'
Llian bowed his head. 'I've learned that lesson!'
'You haven't! How could you, a Zain, think to be master of this college?'
Wistan's voice positively dripped malice.
Karan wondered whether the friendliness of the previous year had been
hypocrisy, too, or if Llian's behaviour had merely reinforced old prejudices.
Wistan had desperately wanted the honour of the Great Tale, but now that he
had it would make no concession to the detested Zain.
'I raised the least of us to the position of the greatest,' Wistan continued,
'to demonstrate that you could never be acceptable to us!'
Llian went white. The whites of Thandiwe's eyes could be seen. She was
quivering with fury.
'Accordingly, by my right as master of the college you are hereby stripped of
the honour. You are master chronicler no longer. Give me your badge.'
Llian was so shocked that he staggered and would have fallen off the stage had
not Thandiwe caught his arm. He fumbled in his pocket, brought out the
master's badge that was more precious than his life, and handed it to Wistan.
Wistan looked around at the assembled masters. 'Does anyone disagree with this
judgment?'
Several masters scowled and scuffled their feet. 'No point, is there?' shouted
Laarni. 'Not all of us together have the power to reverse your decision!'
Wistan drew a small ceremonial mallet from his robes, smashed the badge on the
floor and swept the fragments off the stage with the side of his foot. 'Leave
us, Llian! You have no place here among the masters.' Then Wistan put on a