As the procession wended its way through the shadowed passages and hallways of the Citadel, the force that Jeyan could feel impelling her limbs gradually lessened. Though she could scarcely begin to order her thoughts, strands of curiosity began to filter into the swirling fear that was consuming her. That she was alive after being twice captured was bewildering, but that she was alive after facing the Gevethen themselves was almost numbing. It needed little coherent thought however, to realize that she had been allowed to live because some torment was being prepared for her.
Her knees started to buckle. If only she could think properly! But the reflected images dancing all around her snatched thoughts away even as they formed. For, like prancing flank guards, the mirror-bearers were making her escort herself as array upon array of ragged scarecrow figures marched and wheeled through the flickering gloom alongside her. Now staggering, now slouching, now staring at her, wild-eyed, now in lines curving into a dark unseeable distance.
Only two things had any semblance of constancy – the retreating backs of the Gevethen, and even these disturbed, moving as they did, now together, now like reflections of one another. Occasionally they turned and their moon faces displaced the ranks of scarecrow guards so that they seemed to be converging on her from every direction.
Then she was walking up steps, and carpeting appeared under her feet. Briefly, hints of bright early morning daylight slanted down on to the troop. They bounced off the mirrors like glinting spear points and the movement of the bearers faltered momentarily.
Senses heightened by terror, Jeyan caught the change and, like a desperate animal, suddenly hurled herself at one of the mirrors. As she touched it, it turned to one side and she passed by it only to run headlong into the wall of the passage. The impact sent her staggering backwards and the mirrors folded back around her as she tumbled to the floor. The ceiling became a panoply of struggling scarecrow bodies hovering over her. Slowly they began to descend, threatening to bury her. As she raised her arms to protect herself so they all reached down to her.
Then, white floating hands were gliding amongst the flock and it was dispersed. The tattered army groped to its knees.
‘There are many ways in which you can be bound, child.’
‘Always there is choice.’
‘But there is no way in which you may be free of us.’
‘You are one of us.’
‘We are your future.’
‘We arethefuture.’
Though no signal was apparently given, the scarecrow army vanished and Jeyan found herself in a gloomy corridor. Ragged shafts of daylight were fingering in through ill-closed shutters and curtains, but they illuminated little, and merely served to dim the few lanterns that were lit. In two lines on either side of her the mirror-bearers stood, stone-faced and motionless, eyes on some unknown distance and the tools of their mysterious art turned about and stood in front of them like shields. Save for three of them, so that as Jeyan oriented herself she was watched by four Gevethen. Hunching forward and peering at them blearily, she forced herself to stand.
A riot of thoughts rushed into her mind simultaneously, paralysing her. She must attack them now, do what hurt she could. She must flee while these bizarre bodyguards were frozen in ceremony. She must stay and plead a case – deny everything – how could a mere girl have killed the great Lord Counsellor Hagen? She must admit the deed and beg for mercy. The Gevethen were speaking.
‘How long will your future be…?’
‘… your future be?’
‘How long will it seem…?’
‘… will it seem?’
‘Questions for you alone…’
‘… alone.’
‘Ponder well.’
‘Always there is choice.’
They turned away.
And the escorting army was back, waiting only her will to march forward again. Though the Gevethen’s echoing words had been spoken flatly, without emphasis, there was a terrible menacing finality in them.
Always there is choice.
How long will your future be?
How long will it seem?
The fear inside her became icy. Brittle shards of rational thought began to form in the stillness.
She could not hope to escape from this place by some mindless dash. Whatever these creatures were who served the Gevethen so strangely, they moved very quickly. There had been only the slightest contact with the mirror she had charged at before it had twisted away from her. And even if she evaded them, how could she hope to escape from the Citadel, a building she had only been in on a few ceremonial occasions long ago? She had no idea where she was. She was trapped in the enemy’s lair – at its very heart.
The word changed its character even as she thought it. She was at the heart of all the ills that had happened to her:their heart.
The hatred within her rose to displace her fear for a moment. She must be like Assh and Frey – the thought hurt – she must be silent and endlessly patient. She stepped forward. Her scarecrow escort matched her stride.
Jeyan’s decision to abandon any reckless escape attempt was fortunate. Helsarn had been doubly shaken; first by the revelation that his captive was a woman and, secondly, that he had failed to discover it himself. It was only a matter of time before courtiers and advisers and, not least, army and Guard commanders, were milling about, seeking to glean to themselves some credit for the capture, and it was essential that he not only keep his name clearly before the Gevethen as the principal actor, but also ensure that no mockery or disdain could be linked with it. He had therefore taken vigorous action to divert attention away from any possible damage to his reputation. Jeyan’s true captor, desperately weakened by loss of blood, had lapsed into unconsciousness as Helsarn’s company had pursued their deliberately leisurely way back to the Citadel, and he had died during the night despite Physician Harik’s best endeavours. As a sop to the army, Helsarn would give some credit to the man for his assistance in the capture.
Thus, though the Gevethen had given no specific commands after they led Jeyan away, Helsarn had taken Commanders’ powers to himself and quickly marshalled enough men to seal the immediate exits to the Citadel and all the corridors along and adjacent to the route which would carry the Gevethen back to the Watching Chamber. It was not a massive operation, but it was elaborate and detailed and proved to be an impressive and highly disruptive piece of impromptu organizing. It more than adequately served to stamp Helsarn’s name firmly on the events of the day. Further, the levying of armed men to his back gave discreet notice to both his peers and his superiors that in the changes which must follow the death of Hagen, Helsarn was an individual determined to gain improvement – an individual better as an ally than a foe. Of course, Helsarn knew, there was always the possibility that this woman had had nothing to do with the killing of Hagen, or even the knife attack on the soldier, though he doubted it. He had felt the ferocity of her intent as she had swung on the rope that was strangling the man, and he had seen the difficulty his own men had had in overpowering her. A man who fought like that was bad enough, but a woman…! He did not care to dwell on the matter. Nor did he concern himself too much with the possibility of Jeyan’s innocence. The Gevethen seemed certain that she was the one who had murdered Hagen and that was sufficient. In any event, she was an extremely dangerous individual and was best out of the way. People like that always had to be dealt with sooner or later.
Thus, as Jeyan, hedged about by ephemeral and shifting images, made her unreal journey through the Citadel, she was shadowed by Helsarn and Vintre and various other of his more trusted men, all ready to offer far harder-edged restraints if need arose. As they neared the Watching Chamber, Helsarn took the risk of moving his group forward to walk alongside the mirror-bearers as a formal armed escort. When they reached it there were only the statue-like door Guards waiting.
Excellent, Helsarn thought. His late and wilfully unobtrusive arrival at the Citadel the previous night, coupled with the fortuitously early intervention of the Gevethen this morning had outflanked the Citadel’s elaborate network of gossips and informers very effectively. He could almost hear the frenzied whispering hissing like a winter wind through the Citadel in the wake of the Gevethen’s procession, and the clamour of frantic footsteps being drawn towards the Watching Chamber. Footsteps that would pace and tap anxiously as they ran into the cordon of Guards he had thrown around the Gevethen’s progress. Now he and his men would be able to guard the door to the Watching Chamber. For a while at least, all would have to answer to him for access to Nesdiryn’s Lords. He was careful however, to keep even the faintest hint of triumph from his face. The Gevethen appeared to be paying him no heed, but he knew from past experience that it would be a mistake to assume he was not being watched.
The doors opened like an expectant maw to reveal the gloomy interior of the Watching Chamber. The Gevethen turned to Helsarn. He dropped down on to one knee immediately, and lowered his head.
‘Such happenings do not fall to chance. You find favour in His eyes,’they said, voices grating.‘And so you find favour in ours, Commander Helsarn.’
‘I am nothing without your guidance and your grace, Excellencies,’ Helsarn managed to say, though he was scarcely able to contain his elation. Commander! Just like that! Plans for the future unfurled recklessly in front of him. He swept them aside. Now was not the time. That which had been bestowed with the merest word could be as easily removed. Now he must listen.
‘We are in Vigil, Commander.’
The mirror-bearers closed about them and they were gone. As Helsarn looked up, the doors of the Watching Chamber were softly closing. He had a momentary glimpse of Jeyan. Unexpectedly he felt a twinge of pity for the slight figure, trapped behind the mirrors and being swept into the darkness. He dared not even speculate on what fate was going to be meted out to her. His concern faded quickly however, turned to nothingness by the touch of his burning exhilaration.
As he stood up and straightened his tunic, Vintre appeared in front of him, saluting rigidly. ‘My congratulations on your promotion, Commander.’
Good, Vintre still had wit enough not to bring the familiarity of their long acquaintance to this scene. Helsarn returned the salute. ‘Thank you, Captain Vintre,’ he replied. He looked in turn at each of the others, still standing motionless. ‘All those who have helped in this will be duly noted in due course. Now we must guard their Excellencies against intrusion while they interrogate the prisoner.’ He nodded to Vintre. ‘Open the exits and corridors again. Tell the men what has happened and order them to return to their normal duties. I’ll speak to them as soon as circumstances allow.’ As Vintre was leaving, Helsarn called him back. He allowed himself a smile. ‘And if anyone’s hoping to see their Excellencies, tell them that they’re in Vigil. All must wait.’
‘Until?’ Vintre queried.
Helsarn shrugged his Commander’s shoulders helplessly. ‘Until the Vigil’s over,’ he replied.
Vintre paused before he left. ‘What about the purging?’ he asked.
‘What about it?’ Helsarn retorted. ‘It’ll have to continue until decreed otherwise. I doubt we’ll be thanked for relaxing it just because the murderer’s been caught. The people have to be shown the consequence of standing idly by while their Excellencies’ servants are brutally cut down.’
When Vintre had left, Helsarn stood his men at ease around the entrance to the Watching Chamber. He would have given a great deal to be away from there and somewhere where he could exult in private about his sudden advancement, but, he reflected, here he was still before the eyes of the Gevethen; here he stood, for the time being, between them and all others. And here he could think and plan quietly, free from the responsibilities of his normal duties and anxieties about who might be reaching their ear.
He did not have much time for reflection; very shortly, the sound of a characteristic footfall reached him along the sparsely lit corridor.
‘Physician,’ he said, as Harik’s tall lank form emerged from the gloom.
‘CommanderHelsarn, I understand,’ Harik replied with a cold politeness that turned the new rank into an insult. ‘I’m not amused by your Guards blocking half the corridors in the Citadel and keeping me from my duties.’
Helsarn became expansive. ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘I had to make a hasty decision. Their Excellencies were personally escorting Lord Hagen’s murderer from the cells. A very dangerous person. I couldn’t take any risks.’
Harik gave a non-committal grunt. ‘He’s in there now, is he?’
‘She is.’
‘She?’ Harik started and his impassiveness wavered briefly. Helsarn enjoyed the effect and let it show in a smug smile. ‘Yes, she,’ he confirmed.
Harik recovered quickly, yet though his armour had closed about him again, he radiated concern. ‘What state is she in?’ he asked.
‘Better than that soldier she knifed,’ Helsarn retorted as though he were punching the questioner.
‘A little more dispatch in bringing him to me and he’d be alive now,’ Harik replied with the same force.
‘Exigencies of the service, Physician,’ Helsarn said off-handedly. ‘If she hadn’t cut halfway through his arm he’d be alive too.’
Harik’s jaw tightened but he did not pursue the matter further. ‘I must see her right away,’ he said. ‘I’m not satisfied about…’
‘Prisoners aren’t your concern, Physician,’ Helsarn said, not allowing him to finish. ‘Unless they have some form of contagious disease. You know that well enough. I’m surprised you should make such a request. This one’s fit enough, rest assured. She and her dogs have left others dead in the Ennerhald by all accounts, and it took four of my men to restrain her.’ He leaned forward, his voice low and filled with a deliberate mixture of surprise and indignation. ‘She even tried to attack one of their Excellencies’ mirror-bearers as she was being escorted here.’ But this provoked no response, as Harik was fully in control of himself again. Helsarn straightened up. ‘Besides, their Excellencies are in Vigil. It’s more than my life’s worth to disturb them.’
Helsarn looked past the Physician, footsteps could be heard approaching. ‘Ah, more anxious petitioners doubtless,’ he said, then, with the polite urgency of someone with weightier matters pending, he concluded his conversation with a rhetorical, ‘Is there anything further I can do?’
Harik turned and left without comment. Helsarn laughed softly to himself as he watched the retreating form. It was rare indeed to see Harik’s guard slip. This was proving to be a remarkable day. Then he signalled his men to line up across the corridor, and, lifting a finger to his mouth for silence, stepped forward to meet the advancing crowd.
As the doors to the Watching Chamber silently closed, Jeyan’s scarecrow army swung away on either side of her and evaporated into a tapering distance, leaving her alone, eyes blinking, as she tried to orient herself amid the confusion of lights and shadows and strange shapes. The Gevethen too, slipped into the distance, mirror-bearers silently moving about them, a strange soft-shelled tortoise of a creature shifting and changing as it slithered across the shining floor. Then there was a sudden flickering and they were gone. Jeyan swayed and reached out to steady herself against a mirror standing nearby. It was part of the bottom tier of a complicated tower of mirrors. To her horror, it swayed as she touched it and she snatched her hand away. A tremor passed through the entire edifice. There was a sound like that of a reluctant hinge echoing down a long passageway, and the hall became alive with dancing lights. Looking up instinctively, it seemed to Jeyan that the whole edifice was about to topple on to her, but it was merely an illusion caused by her leaning back too far and almost immediately she fell over.
As she scrambled to her feet, a figure, oddly mobile in the still-moving lights, loomed up in front of her. It reached out to her as she lifted a hand to defend herself then it retreated as she did. She snarled as she realized that it was only another mirror, but it was gone before she could gather her wits fully. It was replaced by two others. Jeyan spun round, looking to flee, but crouching, twisting forms were all about her except on one side. As she edged towards it, the corralling figures moved with her.
Then she was in front of the throne platform. Its curving sides drew her gaze upwards. From the top of it, a host of Gevethen looked down. They swayed hypnotically. Then they were beside her, their features and forms subtly twisted by the strange reflected journey that had brought them there.
‘Child.’
The two voices grated through her.
‘You have a name?’
She did not answer. The two figures looked at one another, red lips pouted in mocking sorrow.
‘Do you think that our knowing your name will put you in our power, child?’
‘Or that not knowing it will protect you?’
‘Do you think we are magicians?’
‘Conjurors and mountebanks?’
Regretful heads were shaken.‘A superstitious primitive. A simpleton. The great Lord Hagen has been destroyed by a simpleton.’
‘It does not seem possible.’
‘But it is so. The scent of his dying is all about her. What could he have thought, our proud Lord Counsellor, to find himself impaled on the cruel thorns of this sapling from the Ennerhald?’
‘This ragged simpleton.’
‘With no name.’
‘What could he have thought?’
‘He was surprised. He was irritated like a peevish child.’ The words, sneering and venomous, spat out of Jeyan, driven by an anger goaded beyond restraint by the nerve-jangling tones of the Gevethen. ‘He could not believe what was happening even as I killed him.’
‘Ah!’
‘And my name is Jeyan. Jeyan Dyalith.’
‘Ah.’
‘The child of the traitor.’
‘No!’
‘A tainted line. We were right to expunge it.’
‘To root it out.’
‘To lop it off.’
‘Tainted.’
‘No!’ Jeyan screamed and swung the edge of her fist at the nearest moon-faced image. On the instant it was gone and her fist struck only the fist of her own reflection. The impact made her recoil violently. Then the mirrors were all about her and she was staggering to and fro, lashing out wildly, a jerking hobby-horse leading her own wild scarecrow round dance. Someone, somewhere, was clapping out a beat for the buffeting mirrors.
Abruptly, and without signal, it was over. Jeyan slumped to her knees. Aisle upon devout aisle of kneeling figures appeared beside her. But still she was filled with a rage sufficient to hold her terror at bay. ‘Come within arm’s reach and I’ll surprise you too,’ she snarled.
‘Would you?’
The pallid faces and floating hands were beside her again, though the voices still came from the swaying figures above. Nevertheless, their sudden reappearance and an oddly plaintive note in the voices, shook Jeyan. As she struggled to rein in her passion, her mind began to race. She must escape this place. But the problem was the same as it had been before. Even if she could escape this room, how could she escape the Citadel? And, in any event, how could she escape this room? These mirror-bearers moved with uncanny and alarming speed. And, incongruously, she did not even know where the door was.
‘Excellencies, forgive me,’ she heard herself pleading. ‘I’ve been so long in the Ennerhald. And so alone. A madness must have seized me. A madness that required the payment of blood debt for the murder of my parents by Lord Hagen.’
‘Blood debt!’
The tone was awful. Jeyan cowered, truly fearful now.
‘You do not know the meaning of the words, child.’
‘When He comes to collect His blood debt, then you will know.’
‘All will know.’
‘Great will be the winnowing.’
‘The levelling.’
‘And where will you be with your petty vengeance, mote, amid this dusting storm?’
‘Safe under a sheltering wing?’
‘Or crushed utterly and scattered into oblivion?’
Jeyan had the feeling of a great power having been released. A power before which she could not hope to stand. A power which at best she could only seek to avoid. ‘I don’t understand, Excellencies,’ she managed to say. ‘Who are you talking about? Who…?’
In-drawn breaths like the sound of a rushing wind filled the hall, mirrors domed up over her and the power that had marched her from the dungeons returned to throw her face down on the wooden floor. She could not move any part of her body. It was as though a great hand was pressing down on her and that with the least effort she could be extinguished absolutely.
‘It is beyond greater minds than yours to understand such things.’
‘Seek not to know His name, lest you feel His touch…’
Struggling though she was under the unseen weight, Jeyan heard a quality in the Gevethen’s voices that frightened her more than anything she had ever experienced before. It was fear. The Gevethen were afraid! How could there be anything – anyone – who could strike such fear into this awful pair? But the impression was momentary, swept aside by the dreadful weight now pressing her into the floor.
‘Forgive me, Excellencies,’ she gasped. ‘Forgive me.’
The pressure did not ease but there was a faltering in the atmosphere as though her faint plea had sufficed to catch the attention of the Gevethen amid their own fearful concerns.
‘Forgive me, Excellencies.’
For an instant, the pressure increased sharply and a gleeful malice was all about her. Then it was gone and the scream of terror and pain that had been forming inside her leaked into the shadow-streaked gloom as a whimpering sob.
There was a long silence, broken only by Jeyan’s gasping.
‘You distract us with your lies, child.’
The voices were steady again.
‘Do so at your peril.’
‘You stray into regions where Death itself is the least of terrors.’
Hesitantly, Jeyan pushed herself into a kneeling position. She dared not speak and all thought of escape had gone. She knew now that, however it was achieved, the Gevethen could exert a power over her person unlike anything she had ever known, or even heard of. The spirit that had taunted the soldiers in the Ennerhald in the hope that her fleetness would carry her from harm, was silent. Now she must look only to survive the moment.
‘Jeyan Dyalith, do not lie to us.’
‘Nothing can be hidden.’
‘We have known of you always.’
Denial rose in Jeyan but she neither moved nor spoke.
‘As we peered into the darkness we felt your vengeful spirit blooming.’
‘Saw it glowing in the night, along the Ways.’
‘A black magnetic star, luring us forward.’
‘Watched you.’
‘Wanted you.’
‘You are kin.’
Jeyan could remain silent no longer, but she forced her voice into courtesy. ‘Excellencies, I am Dirynvolk. You are from another land. I cannot be your kin.’ Then, with an effort, ‘I am not worthy to be your kin.’
Amusement descended upon her like a cloying mist.
‘True. But that is mere flesh, Jeyan. You are kin to our spirit. True kin. You are one of the chosen. We are few. Power will be given to you beyond your imagining. You will stand with those destined to bring order to an ill-created world where now there is only the squabbling ferment of a myriad petty tribes and chieftains. You will stand with those who will re-create the world in His image, with those before whom all others will bow, with those who are destined to prepare the Way for the coming of the One True Light.’
To her horror, Jeyan felt a distant thrill stirring in response to this enigmatic call.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, searching amongst these strange words for something that might enable her to get away from this bizarre, disorienting hall, with its flickering lights, and its silent moving shadows.
The amusement returned.
‘It is not necessary. Does the axe understand the tree?’
‘Does the plough understand the soil?’
‘You are the blade.’
‘You are the tool.’
‘We the wielder.’
‘Clearing the ancient tangled roots, the foetid by-ways.’
‘Making pure and whole.’
Jeyan could do no other than remain silent. Such questions as struggled through her jangling thoughts she dared not ask, fearful of what had happened before. It came to her that perhaps all this was no more than a subtle torment. Perhaps the Gevethen were playing some elaborate game with her. How far would it go? Would she be lured to within a fraction of some greatness, only to have it snatched from her, and then be delivered into the hands of the Questioners? Zealously placed there by the soldier she had killed, images of a protracted public execution filled her mind. She wanted to vomit, so awful was the sudden terror. Yet, instead, she clenched her fists and gritted her teeth. She was where she was. She was not on the gallows. She must, above all, retain control of herself, of her thoughts, if she was to avoid such a fate. At the worst, she realized coldly, she must find some weapon with which she could end her own life. A simple edge across her wrists and she would enjoy the same fate as the man who had brought her here. The irony almost amused her. The finality of the decision quietened her. Carefully, she stood up.
The minors shifted and all about her were the strained images of the Gevethen, watching, waiting, bird hands hovering.
‘How can this be?’ she asked, looking up at the figures crowding the throne platform. The Gevethen around her gazed up and then down and were gone. She was alone, save for the silent mirror-bearers. There was a long pause.
‘You are kin.’
‘You are chosen.’
‘I killed the Lord Counsellor Hagen. Was he not chosen?’ She braced herself for some brutal impact. But none came.
‘He was flawed.’
‘He served his turn.’
‘One more fitting dispatched him.’
Stepping to the edge, she said, ‘Am I not to be punished?’
‘Is the axe to be punished, for felling the tree?’
‘The plough for turning the soil?’
She leapt. ‘But I did what I did of my own free will. No one urged me. No one bought me.’
Laughter, cold and humourless, rose to a climax that filled the hall. The mirrors about Jeyan began to tremble.
‘Take the Lord Counsellor to her chambers…’
‘… her chambers.’