STEPHEN PAUSED, trembling, staring at his feet, staring at a thousand pairs of feet in shoes, buskins, boots, bare, missing toes, huge, tiny.
It was like what the Vhelny had done to him, except the other memories weren't his.
But that distinction wouldn't matter for long. He closed his eyes and stepped, feeling as he did a myriad of other steps, a thousand different swayings of his body.
His stomach couldn't take that, and he doubled over, vomiting, observing with an odd detachment that in that act he somehow felt more solid, more himself.
But he wasn't. That was the greatest lie in the world, the most fundamental illusion. That thing called Stephen was a culling, a mere snip of what really existed. The rest of him was trying to get back in.
Would that end it? Would he be complete if he gave up the fantasy that this tiny Stephen thing was real?
Maybe.
No.
The voice barged through the rest, pushed them back to whispers. It was gentle, strong, confident, and Stephen felt some of the strength from the first fane come back to him.
No, the voice repeated. That is death. The voices you hear, the visions you experience-those are the dead, those who let go of themselves, who allowed the river to take what was in them. You are stronger because you still have a self. Do you understand? You are still tied together. You are real, Stephen Darige. It's totality that is the illusion. Only the finite can be real.
"Kauron?"
Yes. I'm more powerful here. You've passed the fourth fane. There is only one more. Listen to me. What you feel is your mind trying to accept everything in the river. You can't do that without dying, without ceasing to become who you are. Can you understand me?
"I think so."
Then let me help you fight it.
"Aren't you dead, too? Why are you different?"
Because I walked this faneway, too. Because when my body died, I would not permit the river to have me.
"I-" But the voices were coming back, and he couldn't think. "Help me find the last fane," he gasped.
Be strong, Stephen. Hold on to yourself. Hold on to me. It isn't far.
It seemed far, however. He realized at some point that the light and wind weren't illusions, that somewhere along the way he had left the innards of the mountain and was winding up its slopes. Kauron stayed with him, talking to him and not to the other voices, reminding him that he was the real one. It felt as if the ancient monk were walking right beside him, although when he looked, he could not see him.
"The Vhelny," Stephen managed to ask. "What does it want?"
"Vhelny?"
"The thing you warned me against, the thing in the mountain."
"I don't know. I wouldn't think it would be someone else seeking the power of the faneway, not if he already knew where it was. One would think he would have slain you and walked it himself."
"That's what I thought," Stephen said, pausing to make certain that the hand he was using to steady himself was his own.
"So it's someone who wants you to have the power."
"But the prophecy says he's my enemy. I'm your heir, and he's my enemy."
"If I had an enemy like that, I don't remember. It's possible, I suppose. Ghosts, even ghosts like me, aren't aware of the things they've forgotten. Anyway, I don't think I would know much about prophecies concerning Kauron's heir, would I? They were all made after my death."
Stephen felt a deep shock of dizziness.
Stephen! The voice was back in his head, fainter, alarmed.
Listen to me, Stephen. Focus on my voice.
The vertigo eased back. "What happened to you, Kauron?" he asked. "How did you die?"
"I died on this very mountain," the ghost replied.
"Did the faneway kill you?"
"No. It's a long story. I actually returned here to die."
"Why?"
"I'm not sure. I just thought I ought to. It appears I was right."
"But-"
"The fane is just ahead. The path is narrower than in my time."
"I wish-it's hard to think, to ask what I want to ask."
"I know. I remember. Think about who you are. Tell me about who you are."
"I-I love languages. You're a thousand years old! There's so much I could learn…" He shook his head, trying to focus. Was he still moving?
Yes, inching along. He saw something up ahead, something like a standing stone.
"I, ah-when I'm angry, or frustrated, I make up a little treatise, as if it's going to go into a book."
"Of course you do," Kauron said. "I used to do much the same, especially when I was a novice. I wrote mine down, though, and one of the other brothers-Brother Parsons-found it and showed the others."
"What happened?"
"They made fun of me, of course, and I had to clean the stables for a year."
Stephen had a sudden vivid image of standing ankle-deep in horse muck.
"It's hard to imagine the great Kauron cleaning stables," he said.
"What's so great about me? What did I do?"
"You brought Virgenya Dare's journal here for safekeeping. You must have been important among the Revesturi."
"Like you are, you mean?"
"What are you saying?"
"I was no one. Hardly anyone. I lived in the scriftorium, I found the journal; I found the location of the mountain. My fratrex sent me to bring it here because he reckoned that no one would suspect I was up to anything important, that no one would follow me."
"There are prophecies about you."
"No, it sounds like there are prophecies about you, Stephen. I'm just in them, doing what I'm supposed to do: helping you."
The voices were fading now, and his sense of where he was returning. He was on a spit of stone sticking out from the mountain, a triangle four kingsyards at the base and seven long. It slanted up as it narrowed toward its apex, where stood a little spike. The Virgenyan symbol for "five" was barely visible scratched on it.
"It's funny," Stephen said. "You asked me to talk about myself, but it was talking about you that helped."
"I'm your guide."
"I think we must be very much alike," Stephen said.
"It sounds like it. At least in youth."
"When I touch the stone, it's over?"
"Yes. The knowledge and power are in you, but without the blessing of this fane you can't control it."
"What happens to you?"
"It's my sacrifice to make, Stephen."
"What do you mean?"
"Don't worry. All is as it should be. I've guided you this far. Trust me a step farther."
Stephen nodded, walking carefully forward. Sighing, he placed his hand on the upthrust of stone.
The last of the voices faded, replaced by a feeling of vastness. It was as if a great wave had passed over him, spun him in its waters, and set him back on his feet. Everything seemed new and different, as if he were seeing the world with completely novel eyes.
As if he had been reborn.
This is the Alq, he realized. It's not really a place, it's a state of being.
He sank down to his knees, utterly exhausted. He gazed at the beautiful march of mountains before him and felt a sudden, savage joy at the magnificence of it all, at the thunder and lightning that was the world. His body was tired, but inside he felt alive as never before.
But he knew he'd just begun: There was still plenty he had to do. The faneway wasn't the last step. He still had to find the throne, and he had to find it soon.
Stephen stood up, and although his knees were still a bit wobbly, he felt he could walk. He was sure he remembered the way back to the Aitivar city, but it meant going halfway around the mountain, and it wouldn't do to starve to death. Not now, when it was all there before him, when he finally knew what to do.
Something was rushing toward him on the wind, something hot and acrid.
He turned to face the Vhelny.
He still couldn't see it either with his eyes or with the sense that dug beneath the surface of the world. Or maybe it really was nothing more than shadow.
But no, he felt the slow and terrible potency burning in it.
Congratulations, the shadow told him, and opened vast, obfuscate wings. Stephen felt the tickle of command begin. I can use one like you.
Stephen didn't hesitate, and that fact in itself was a beautiful thing, almost erotic in its intensity. He flung his will at the Vhelny, drawing from the infinite flood beneath the world.
What met him was raw force of a kind he had never sensed before, and he suddenly felt as if he were wrestling with something of constantly changing form, like the alv-queen's lover in the old tale.
But this was terribly real. He felt suddenly pushed back, surrounded, and it was more and more difficult to keep his focus on the demon, to match his power against it. This was not the power of the sedos; this was ancient night come to life, something that had existed long before the world itself or any of its petty powers.
No. I don't know what it is, but it can be beaten. Take- A surge of fresh energy filled Stephen's limbs, and he suddenly understood.
Whatever this was sat the Xhes throne. There had been another, years before, who had sat that, a Sefry warlock, and he had been bound, and now he knew how to do it.
He stopped fighting the Vhelny's energies, let them enter him, take hold of his heart and will. And when the demon had committed itself, was in him, he grabbed those energies like the leash of a dog and twisted them, made them his, laid stricture after stricture until the chaos in the monster was hemmed by order and his command.
No, the Vhelny whispered.
"Yes. And thank you for your congratulations, and to paraphrase, I'm sure you will be of use to me."
I will be free. I will grind everything in you.
"I don't think so. Now, what say you fly me back into the mountain and we find my companions."
You will pay.
But something wrapped around him, and in a moment they were soaring though the air, and he laughed in sheer delight.
He couldn't wait to see Zemle. And Winna. And Aspar. And Queen Anne, especially Queen Anne. The best part was how surprised they would be. He loved it when people were surprised, when they finally got the joke.
Of course he did. That was why they called him the Black Jester.