Heirn sat bolt upright, wide awake, his mouth gaping. He had been about to cry out in terror in the tangling depths of a dark and vivid nightmare.
Not since he had been a child had he known such a dream.
Yet, on the instant of waking, it fled. And, with each pounding heartbeat, its black tattered shadows flickered further away, beyond any hope of recall.
But still he felt compelled to remain motionless – some lingering fear telling him that they might mysteriously return if he moved too soon.
Gradually his breathing eased. He reproached himself for a fool as the familiar night sounds of his home enclosed him. There were faint hints of music coming from an inn in a nearby street, the occasional unidentifiable bump echoing through walls and floors from some other occupant of the building, and the usual intermittent clatter of night-time traffic – footsteps, voices, rumbling wheels. The sounds from outside were a little louder than usual because he had left the window wide open in an attempt to keep his room cool in the unusual and persistent heat that marked this summer. It had little effect. Even when there was a breeze silently searching the streets – which was not the case tonight – it was rarely sufficient to disperse the heat that had been assiduously stored by the brick and stone buildings during the day and which they released each night.
The dream had left him sweating and clammy. Rooting through the folded bedclothes at the bottom of the bed, he found a solitary thin sheet and, lying down, pulled it over himself. He made no effort to sleep. It would have been to no avail anyway; he was too wide awake now – indeed, it surprised him that he had slept at all after what he had seen and heard that night.
At Atlon’s request, on leaving the forge Heirn had taken a detour which led them through deserted alleys and across open derelict sites. It was not a way he would have chosen, but it should have been safe enough at that time of day, and both Atlon and Dvolci seemed convinced that the Kyrosdyn who had accosted them at the forge was following.
They were walking quickly along a narrow cobbled road between two windowless buildings, Atlon leading his horse, and Dvolci trotting along beside them.
‘I can’t see anyone,’ Heirn said, looking round yet again. His new companions’ seemingly obsessive concern about the Kyrosdyn was beginning to disturb him.
‘He’s there nevertheless,’ Atlon replied. He glanced significantly at Dvolci who ran off down the alley.
‘So what?’ Heirn asked impatiently. ‘He’s only one man. And low in the Order, I’d say – probably a young novice judging by his manner. If needs be I’ll thicken his ear for him.’ Atlon did not respond, causing Heirn to raise his voice. ‘Why would he follow you? To rob you? They’re a peculiar lot, but they aren’t street thieves.’
An angry voice behind them forestalled any reply.
‘Stay where you are!’
Atlon stiffened. ‘Keep moving,’ he said urgently, taking Heirn’s arm and increasing his pace.
‘I said, stay where you are!’
The voice had the same petulant arrogance as when its owner had addressed them in the forge and it was suddenly too much for Heirn. It was bad enough that he should be subjected to that kind of attitude in his own forge where possible customers might be allowed a little licence. But in the street – with friends!
He turned round angrily.
‘No! Come on,’ he heard Atlon say, but he pulled free from his grip and raised a hand, both to reassure him and to tell him to continue on his way. This was a matter between two locals, it wasn’t something for outsiders.
The Kyrosdyn was striding purposefully towards them. Heirn held out his hand as if to slow his progress before he came too close.
‘Who the hell do you think you’re talking to like that?’ he shouted.
Without breaking step, and even though he was still some distance away, the Kyrosdyn waved his arm as if to brush the irritating impediment aside.
Something struck Heirn, sending him crashing against the wall.
Even as he was staggering backwards, he took in the sight of Atlon turning, his face alive with anger and fear, his mouth forming the word, ‘No!’ At the same time, he saw the horse, seeming to mimic its owner, rearing and backing away, white-eyed, its hooves clattering noisily on the cobbles. Then he struck the wall, and for a few winded moments he was unaware of anything.
When he recovered, the Kyrosdyn had reached Atlon and was confronting him. Furious, and though he had no idea what had happened to him, Heirn made to lunge at the hooded figure. But he could not move. Something was holding him against the wall.
‘Who are you?’ he heard the Kyrosdyn demanding of Atlon, his voice muffled and distant. ‘And who has taught you to dabble with the use of crystals?’ He stepped forward menacingly.
Atlon reached out and held him at arm’s length. He indicated Heirn. ‘Let him go,’ he said.
The Kyrosdyn looked down at the hand on his chest. ‘You dare touch me – one of the Chosen?’
‘Let him go,’ Atlon repeated, his face suddenly grim.
The Kyrosdyn closed his eyes and his face became tense with concentration.
Atlon stepped away from him. In stark contrast to the Kyrosdyn, he seemed to be completely relaxed and calm. ‘No,’ he said, with a menacing softness that made Heirn stop struggling against his unseen bonds. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing.’
Then the Kyrosdyn’s eyes were wide and his hands were extended towards Atlon. It would have been an absurdly theatrical gesture, had it not been for the malice that his posture radiated. Heirn felt the force restraining him falter and shift, but not enough to allow him to move. Atlon leaned back a little and turned away with a pained expression as if a blustering wind had thrown dust in his face. As he did so, the Kyrosdyn staggered back several paces and collapsed on to his knees.
Then Heirn was free.
His immediate instinct was to seize the Kyrosdyn and beat an explanation out of him, but before he could move, Atlon seized his arm with an unexpectedly powerful grip and began dragging him along the alley.
‘Quickly, run.’ He slapped his horse, which set off ahead of them, then he let out a piercing whistle. Heirn tried to remonstrate, but Atlon’s urgent tugging kept him off-balance.
They had gone barely twenty paces when a high-pitched shriek reached them. Resignation filled Atlon’s face as he stopped and turned. The Kyrosdyn was clambering unsteadily to his feet. To Heirn it seemed that the man was shimmering; it was as though he were looking at him across a scorching landscape.
Atlon stopped and lowered his head. ‘Go on, Heirn,’ he said, his voice soft again. ‘There’s nothing you can do, and you could well get hurt.’
Heirn backed away from him hesitantly. Born and bred in Arash-Felloren and having prospered honestly, he was neither fool nor coward, but Atlon’s initial desire to flee, and the now awful resolution in his quiet voice left him floundering. As he hesitated, he looked again at the swaying Kyrosdyn. There was a manic quality about the man which contrasted so starkly with Atlon’s calmness that it gave him the truth of Atlon’s words. He had no explanations but he knew that something terrible must surely flow between two such opposites. And there was nothing he could do.
Nevertheless, he would not leave.
Something brushed past his leg, making him jump violently. It was Dvolci.
‘Do you want me to deal with him?’ he asked Atlon, baring his teeth.
Atlon, without taking his eyes from the Kyrosdyn, shook his head. ‘The state he’s in, there’s no saying what might happen if he tried to fight you off. Or who else might be drawn here. I’ll try to calm him, but speak to the horse – he’ll attack if I go down. Tell him to guard Heirn. And get them both away safely.’
Dvolci replied with a reluctant grunt and backed away. ‘Stay by me,’ he said forcefully to Heirn as he passed him. ‘And if I say run – run! Don’t argue!’ He clambered up on to the horse and perched himself on its head. Though still obviously frightened, the horse not only made no attempt to dislodge him but quietened a little as he bent forward and whispered to it. It edged sideways a little, towards Heirn.
‘What’s happ…?’
‘Shh!’ Dvolci slapped down Heirn’s pending question. Even as he did, Atlon was straightening up and holding out both hands to the Kyrosdyn, palms upwards, as if greeting a friend.
‘Turn away from this,’ he said, very gently. ‘No harm’s been done so far, and there are other, wiser ways for you to travel through your life.’
‘He’s wasting his time,’ Dvolci said, as much to himself as to anyone else. ‘The man’s corrupted beyond redemption. Too little skill for the Power he’s using, and even less judgement.’ He hissed angrily.
The Kyrosdyn did not reply but reached out with both hands, as he had before. This time, Atlon did not move other than to open his arms wider. Heirn could see nothing passing between the two men, but where before the Kyrosdyn had staggered a few paces, this time he was lifted into the air and thrown back twice the distance. He landed heavily and lay still.
Atlon started towards him.
‘Leave him,’ Dvolci cried. ‘Let’s get away while we can.’
Atlon hesitated, looking from the fallen figure to his friends then back again.
‘We can’t leave him,’ he said finally. ‘He might be hurt.’
Dvolci muttered something viciously under his breath then ran after him. Curiosity overcoming his fear, Heirn followed them.
‘Leave him,’ Dvolci said again as they reached the fallen man. ‘If he’s dead, he’s dead – and no loss. If he’s alive, he’s still lost.’
Atlon however, paid no heed, but knelt down and began examining the Kyrosdyn. He pulled the man’s hood back and reached out to check his throat pulse. The Kyrosdyn’s eyes opened and his hand seized Atlon’s wrist.
Despite himself, Heirn stepped back, startled by the suddenness of the action and the expression on the young man’s gaunt face.
‘Thief,’ the Kyrosdyn said hoarsely.
‘No,’ Atlon began. ‘I was just…’
‘Thief.’
Still holding Atlon, the Kyrosdyn brought his other hand to the elaborate kerchief about his neck and pressed it tightly. Atlon frowned uncertainly at this strange gesture. Then suddenly, he cried out in alarm and started back, struggling to break the grip on his wrist. But it was too strong. His free hand shot out in front of Kyrosdyn’s face as if he was protecting himself from something. An image came to Heirn of himself making the same gesture in front of his overheated forge, though he could neither see, hear nor feel anything happening here.
‘No! No!’ Atlon was shouting repeatedly, as though he were trying to make himself heard over a roaring wind. ‘No! You’ll…’
His words faded as the Kyrosdyn tightened his grip about his own throat as if some greater effort was needed. Then, abruptly, the man’s eyes were unnaturally wide and full of a terrible realization. Heirn turned away, unable to watch such pain. For a moment, the Kyrosdyn’s back arched and his mouth gaped in a silent scream, then he went limp.
‘… kill yourself,’ Atlon finished, almost whispering, as the man’s lifeless hand released his wrist. With a hasty gesture he drew the Kyrosdyn’s hood forward then placed his ear in front of the open mouth. When he sat up he completed the task that had brought on the attack; he reached into the hood and checked the man’s pulse.
‘He’s dead,’ he announced finally. He bowed his head.
‘What’s happened?’ Heirn demanded. ‘What did you…’
‘Find them!’ Dvolci’s urgency cut across the question and through Atlon’s distress. ‘Find the damned things quickly. I knew they were doing it. I could smell it in the air. I told you you were wasting your time. You could’ve been killed, then what? Anyone who uses the Power like that…’
‘All right, I know!’ Atlon blasted back at him furiously.
Dvolci retreated a step and shook his head vigorously, as though dispatching the budding quarrel before it grew into anything worse, then he began tugging at the Kyrosdyn’s neckerchief. Heirn, fearing some atrocity on the corpse, reached down to take hold of him. But Atlon was already intervening. Carefully he unfastened a delicate clip that secured the neckerchief then gently removed it. As he turned it over he let out a resigned breath. Neatly worked into the pattern of the kerchief was a row of small green discs. Dvolci chattered his teeth as he bit back some comment. Heirn gasped. Though, on his own admission, he knew little about crystals, as with those that Atlon had shown, so now he recognized the brilliant green sheen that was glistening even in the gloomy alley.
‘These must be ten times the value of those you’re carrying,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Who is this man, carrying wealth like that so casually around his neck? I thought he was just a novice, but he must be a Higher Brother. What are we going to do?’
Atlon shook his head. ‘For this one, nothing,’ he said. ‘He’s beyond any help.’ He stroked Dvolci’s head, though for his own comfort, not the felci’s. ‘He paid the price of what he was doing. It was inevitable. I did my best to protect him from himself, but…’ His voice tailed off.
‘I don’t understand. What’s happened to him?’ Heirn persisted. Atlon looked down at the green crystals. ‘Like me, he has – had – some skill in the use of the Power. Unlike me, whoever instructed him led him grievously astray, teaching him to use it – misuse it – through the crystals.’ He folded the kerchief and put it in his pocket.
‘What are you doing?’ Heirn exclaimed, horrified. Then he immediately answered his own question. ‘You can’t do that. Robbing him. Isn’t it enough that you…’
He stopped uncomfortably.
‘Murdered him?’ Atlon asked rhetorically, but without any rancour. ‘I didn’t murder him. I defended myself, then I tried to stop him from killing himself.’ He stood up. ‘If anything killed him, it was these.’ He patted his pocket. ‘I’ll wager they were clear, or scarcely tinted a few moments ago. Now they’re tainted with all it was that animated this poor creature.’
Heirn’s mind was whirling. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said agitatedly. ‘The man was alive, now he’s dead. And you’re stealing from him – taking crystals worth an unimaginable amount. We have to tell someone about this – the Weartans, probably. And find out who those things belong to – his family – the Order – I don’t know.’
Atlon looked down at the dead Kyrosdyn and, for a moment, his face distorted as though he were about to weep. His voice was unsteady when he spoke. ‘You must do what you see fit, Heirn, but Dvolci and I can’t stay. If this man’s typical of the Kyrosdyn, then what they’re doing is unbelievably dangerous – to themselves, to everyone around them, and not least to this city. I have to learn more about it. My people have to be told. They’re the only ones who can do anything. If the Kyrosdyn learn about me, they’ll seek me out, just as he did, and sooner or later they’ll find and attack me, just as he did. The consequences could be appalling.’ He took the neckerchief from his pocket. ‘As for these, to leave them here might be to sentence some passing innocent to death.’ He took Heirn’s arm. ‘I know you’ve no reason to believe me, but I had no true hand in his killing. What happened to him he brought on himself.’
‘I don’t know,’ Heirn said uncertainly, remembering the unseen force that had held him helpless against the wall. ‘This city’s the way it is because too many people walk away from things – refuse to accept responsibility for anything unless they see some gain in it for themselves. I…’
‘We haven’t time for this,’ Dvolci said impatiently to Atlon. ‘If this one felt you moving a horseshoe from the other side of the square, there’s no saying who felt what’s just happened.’ He turned to Heirn and motioned him towards the body. ‘Just look at him.’ His voice was powerful and commanding. ‘See what those precious crystals did to him. Ask yourself, how could Atlon possibly have done that?’ Heirn stared at him uncertainly. ‘Look at him! Lift his hood back. Look at his face, his hands.’
Frowning and reluctant, Heirn knelt down by the dead man and hesitantly lifted back his hood. The pale sunken face of an old man stared up at him. He started back, then edged away from the body, looking from Dvolci to Atlon. ‘I don’t understand. I could’ve sworn he was a young man. The way he carried himself, spoke, everything about him. This man’s withered almost… he must be incredibly old. Scarcely able to walk, I’d think, let alone strut about the way he was.’
‘Hewas young,’ Dvolci said bluntly. ‘A foolish, misguided young man who used crystals to amplify whatever skill he had with the Power. In his ignorance he went beyond where he should have gone and ignorance is often a fatal condition. Doing what he did, he changed the nature of the crystals and they took back what they had given him… and more. That’s why they’re green now. He was like a child with an assassin’s poisoned blade.’
Heirn was shaking his head. Atlon laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘This is not the time or the place to explain this. Dvolci’s right. He and I must leave immediately, there’s no saying who’ll have been drawn to this. I need your help now even more than before, but I understand your concerns. Do you want to stay, or will you help us?’
Heirn grimaced and looked from side to side, then up at the narrow strip of darkening blue sky above. The high buildings looked back impassively. ‘Say something – one word – anything that’ll help me. I’m lost in all this. Him – young, then old – crystals turning from clear into greens, you say – into a fortune – it’s not possible. And as for stealing them, leaving a dead body lying here for the dogs and the vermin, it’s…’ He fell silent.
‘There’s nothing I can tell you, here, now,’ Atlon said, taking the reins of his horse and turning it round.
‘I can,’ Dvolci said coldly. ‘Look at these.’ He opened the dead man’s robe further. Livid circular scars marred his neck where the kerchief had been.
Heirn winced. ‘Bums,’ he exclaimed softly. ‘Bad ones too.’ He leaned forward. ‘And new?’
‘Portals to the soul I’d say if I was being poetic,’ Dvolci said simply, gently closing the robe and covering the dead man’s face. ‘But choked and fouled drains would be a better description. The crystals did this to him. Quickly or slowly, they’ll do it to anyone in time. Especially these, in this state. That’s why we can’t leave them. Please help us. We came to this city because we were concerned about something in our own land – to learn, nothing more. Now it looks as though we might be back in a war we’d thought finished years ago.’ He placed a paw on Heirn’s arm. ‘This is a fearful place for us both. I can understand your confusion and doubt – you don’t know us and you do know the Kyrosdyn; we’re outsiders, they’re city people. It’s your judgement, but we’re more lost than you can possibly imagine. Help us, please. We’ll tell you what we can, but help us get to somewhere safe.’
Heirn stood up. With a final look at the dead Kyrosdyn, he said. ‘There’ll be other bodies found tonight, I suppose. There always are – every night.’ His face was pained. ‘I never thought I’d be…’ He stopped and straightened up. ‘I’ll take you home as I promised. But I must know what’s happening.’
Heirn levered himself over on to his left side and gazed at the open window, a dim rectangle, yellow in the reflected street lights.
All three had been silent for the rest of the short journey to Heirn’s home; Atlon and Dvolci as if they were listening for something, Heirn increasingly fretful about the wisdom of what he was doing. Scarcely had he shown them into his rooms and sat them down however, than Atlon was looking to tell his tale.
‘This will be difficult for you, Heirn. Just hear me out, that’s all I ask.’ He paused, uncertain how to begin.
‘Sixteen years ago – I’d only just become a senior Brother in our Order – we discovered that… an old enemy… had returned to the land to the north of us.’
‘Is this what you told me back at the forge?’ Heirn interrupted starkly. ‘I’m warning you, I’m in no mood for fireside tales.’
Atlon was unexpectedly grim and his face looked old in the early evening light that was percolating into the room. ‘Yes, it is,’ he said. ‘And it’s no child’s tale, Heirn. It’s a tale of a real war – one in which real battles were fought.’ He tapped his finger to his temple savagely and gritted his teeth. ‘Battles I can still see when I close my eyes at night. Bloody wounds, hacked limbs…’
Dvolci let out a low, soothing whistle.
Atlon fell silent for a moment as he recollected himself. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said eventually. ‘That’s not your problem, is it? It’s difficult to remember that while my countrymen and our allies were fighting and dying, the rest of the world was oblivious to what was happening. And still is. Or that, to them, the enemy we faced was nothing more than an old legend.’
‘This… enemy… has a name?’ Heirn asked impatiently.
It was Dvolci who replied. ‘I think you’d call Him, Sammrael.’
Heirn frowned uncertainly then tried a scornful smile as if that might somehow dismiss all that had happened that day. ‘Sammrael is the name of the man we call the Great Lord – the legendary founder of Arash-Felloren. But heis only a legend – a tale for children. And if he’s anything, he’s no ogre but a heroic figure – a noble man done down by petty and treacherous enemies.’
Atlon’s gaze shrivelled his already waning smile.
‘Listen carefully. As I said, this isn’t going to be easy for you,’ he said slowly. Heirn opened his mouth to speak then changed his mind. Atlon went on.
‘No one knows who, or what, He truly is. It’s believed that He was one of those who came from what we call the Great Heat at the beginning of all things.’ Heirn’s brow furrowed but he stayed silent. ‘His sole intent seems always to have been to destroy the world that the others shaped. No one’s ever fathomed why this should be, but His deeds testify to it, over and over – as do most of the names He’s known by – the Great Corrupter, the Enemy of all Living Things, many others. He’s slipped into legend simply because the last time He was here was so long ago – far beyond most people’s reckoning. Even we made the mistake of thinking He’d gone for ever, and we knew He’d been as real as you or I.’
Heirn protested. ‘You can’t ask me to believe…’
Atlon raised a hand to stop him. ‘I’m not asking you to do anything except hear me out,’ he said urgently. ‘Who or what He is, how or why He came into being is, in any case, of no concern. But His reality is. That’s a matter of unbroken, documented fact. I’m loath to burden you with this but we need your help. You can walk away from us at any time, but I’m asking you not to until you’ve at least heard what we’ve got to say. And when you feel yourself slipping into unreality – when you think you’re listening to the ramblings of someone deranged – remember the horseshoes I moved and how it drew that wretched man to us. And remember the force that knocked you against that wall and held you pinned there.’
Heirn, his face set, looked away from him, but did not reply.
‘It could well be that He did found Arash-Felloren,’ Atlon went on. ‘He’d many citadels about the world and I’ve…’ He paused and took a deep, nervous breath. ‘… I’ve seen His image here once already.’ He stiffened to suppress a shiver. ‘And there’s a feel about the whole place that’s… disturbing.’ He kept his gaze fixed on Heirn. ‘The enemy we faced was this Great Lord of yours – be under no illusions. I felt the touch of His minions. When He last walked amongst us, corrupting and destroying, a Great Alliance of peoples eventually defeated His armies and, as they thought, destroyed Him, though we think now that He was only scattered – dispersed across many different worlds and times.’ His hand fluttered as if to wave away the distractions that were clamouring to be heard as justifications for his story. ‘Whatever the truth of it, some focus, some Power in His old fastness, made Him whole again.’ He could not keep the anger from his voice. ‘And our Order – nearly as ancient as He Himself, and tasked with the duty of watching for His Second Coming and gathering knowledge to protect the world should it happen – saw nothing, felt nothing, heard nothing. Blind, under the rocks – inward-looking…’
‘Enough!’ Dvolci stopped him. ‘That debate’s finished.’ Then, to Heirn, ‘Suffice it that His return was discovered and He was defeated again, this time before He could spread too much of His corruption out into the world.’
‘But?’ Heirn said, picking up the inflection in Dvolci’s voice.
Atlon answered him. ‘But we don’t know how long He’d been… whole. How many agents of His had gone out into the world, or how far. What harm they were still doing. And agents there’d be. That was always His way. Working silently and insidiously, like rot in the heart of an old tree, so that, one day, when the wind blows…’ He brought his hands together in a soft clap.
Heirn cleared his throat nervously, as though half-fearing that he was being made the butt of some bizarre joke. ‘I can accept that you’ve fought a war against someone,’ he said. ‘But you’re asking a lot of me to accept that it was against some mythic creature suddenly returned from the depths of time.’ He looked at his hands. ‘I’ve seen and heard some strange things, but I’m still a blacksmith – a practical man, dealing with practical matters. Men live and then they die – all of us. And they don’t come back to life. How can a man do what you’ve described? It’s not possible.’
‘I’ve no good answers for you, Heirn,’ Atlon replied. ‘He’s not a man – perhaps not even a mortal creature as we understand it. I told you, we don’t know what or why He is, but that’s the case with many things we accept. What we do know is that He’s taken human form twice now and on both occasions brought untold horror into the world – horror that long outlived His apparent destruction. Horror that was eminently practical and of this world!’ He leaned forward and spoke very quietly. ‘We can only assume that, whatever we did to Him, He will try to return yet again from wherever He is. And He’ll succeed if we don’t remain vigilant.’
There was a long silence. Heirn sat with his head bowed in thought. Atlon and Dvolci waited.
‘I don’t know what to make of any of this,’ Heirn said eventually. ‘I don’t doubt your sincerity, but what you’ve told me just makes no sense. Yet…’ He was pinned helpless against the wall again – then looking at the shrunken form of the young man made suddenly old. ‘I can’t just brush it all to one side as so much nonsense. Not after what I’ve seen – and felt.’ His distaste for this conclusion was written clearly across his face. He snatched at practicalities.
‘These agents you mentioned. Do you think they might have come here, to Arash-Felloren?’ he asked.
Atlon gave an unexpected shrug. ‘When the war was over, many people were sent out into the world. Some to track down those who’d committed crimes in His name, others to seek out those who’d simply been led astray. Still others went out just to learn more of the world which we’d so long neglected.’ He looked at Dvolci. ‘As I told you back at the forge, we came looking for the source of the crystals that had been appearing in our land.’
Heirn nodded, though the conversation they had held, sitting in front of his forge, seemed now to have happened years ago.
‘There’d been “incidents”, I think you said.’
‘Similar to what happened to the Kyrosdyn,’ Atlon confirmed. ‘Though nothing remotely as bad as that.’ Almost mimicking Heirn’s mannerism, he looked down at his hands. ‘But, because of who my countrymen are descended from, most of us unknowingly have some aptitude for using the Power. And when that’s done in certain ways and in the close proximity of certain crystals – alarming and dangerous things can happen.’
Heirn’s hand went to his neck. ‘Like those burns?’
‘It can cause those kind of injuries, but they’re only an incidental effect of what’s really happening.’
‘Which is?’
Atlon did not reply immediately. ‘I don’t know that I can begin to explain it to you, Heirn. It isn’t easy to grasp, not least because it’s far from being fully understood. Not even my teachers would pretend to understand it other than vaguely, and most of them have been studying it for longer than I’ve been riding. It’s something that seems to lie near, perhaps even at the heart of everything we think of as being our world, our existence.’ He looked around the room. ‘What we call the Power is some attribute – some quality – that pervades all things; in a way, it connects all things. These chairs, that fire grate, those pictures, those flowers – ourselves even, are…’ He sought inspiration on the ceiling. ‘Different manifestations of it – different concentrations, for want of a better expression.’
Heirn looked at him blankly, and Atlon shrugged unhappily.
‘It’s the best I can do,’ he said weakly. ‘I did say it wouldn’t be easy.’ He pressed on. ‘Put crudely, given the right circumstances, a crystal will draw the Power into itself, through the pulses, the meridians… in a way, storing it so that it can be used later. It’s a hazardous thing to do, full of strange, unexpected dangers. It’s appallingly addictive for one thing. We – my Order – use crystals like that only sparingly and not without great thought for the consequences. It seems however, that your Kyrosdyn use them quite recklessly.’ His expression became distant and he shook his head in disbelief.
‘In attacking me the way he did, that foolish young man went far beyond what I imagine he’d been taught to do. When I resisted him, he drew so savagely on the crystals at his neck that he actually changed their character.’ He brightened a little as a comparison came to him. ‘Like a piece of iron,’ he said, holding up his clenched hands as though gripping a bar. He demonstrated as he spoke. ‘If you bend it a little, it springs back. But if you bend it too much, it remains bent. It’s changed in some way.’ He lowered his hands, uncertain about his effort. The expression on his audience’s face told him nothing.
Heirn looked at Dvolci. ‘Portals to the soul? Choked and fouled drains?’
‘Stab wounds would be as kind a phrase,’ Dvolci replied sourly. ‘The passage of too much too quickly in too small an area.’
‘It was as if the crystals had suddenly become a great pit,’ Atlon said, abandoning his iron-working analogy. ‘Or a great whirlpool into which the energy that animated him, and everything nearby, was drawn irresistibly. Drawn and transformed.’ He looked old again. ‘I didn’t even dare try to save him once it had started. It was all I could do to save myself and you.’
Heirn was silent for a moment, then he held out his hand. ‘You’re right,’ he said flatly. ‘It’s not easy. Show me the Kyrosdyn’s crystals.’
Atlon pulled out the neckerchief and handed it to him. Heirn unfolded it carefully and laid it on a small table. The green crystals were brilliant, even in the fading light. Tentatively he made to touch one, looking at Atlon as he did. Atlon reached out calmly and took his hand. ‘It’s possible you’ve some natural gift with the Power,’ he said. ‘People who work and shape materials often have.’ He closed his eyes then, after a moment, nodded as if confirming something to himself. ‘Crystals like these are something you should handle as little as possible. They won’t do what they did to the Kyrosdyn because he had some conscious skill in using the Power and he wilfully misused it, but they’ll do you no good in the long run.’
He picked up the neckerchief and examined the crystals closely. His face became angry. ‘These have been cut and worked to get the greatest efficiency out of them. It’s first-class workmanship and it shows a considerable knowledge of how they can be used.’
His anger changed into fear and then into a wrenching helplessness.
‘This is awful,’ he muttered to himself, putting the neckerchief down and leaning back into his chair.
Heirn ran a finger over one of the crystals. It tingled slightly – not unpleasantly – but he withdrew his hand quickly as the sensation ran up his arm. Looking at his finger, he saw that the tip was white, as though cold. He felt a peculiar urge to touch the crystal again.
Heirn rolled on to his back. The chimes of a distant clock drifted through the open window. Too early to get up, too late to get much worthwhile sleep. He’d be done for in the morning! But the strains of the day made his body give him the lie and, scarcely had the thought occurred to him than he was falling asleep. The last thing he recalled before he succumbed was Atlon briskly rolling up the neckerchief and returning it to his pocket. Then he had leaned forward and taken Heirn’s hand. As he held it, the whiteness of the finger faded, and the urge to touch the crystal again passed.
Atlon’s gaze had been searching. He asked no questions but he seemed to know of Heirn’s unexpected need. ‘They are subtle beyond any knowing, Heirn. They bind and compel. You, who should be master, become slave. They are His things. And whatever the Kyrosdyn were once, they are His now, for sure.’