There were many parks within the confines of Anderras Darion and many people enjoying the quiet calm of the evening. Maintaining an unusually modest and relaxed pace Gulda led her entourage to one of the parks that was quite populous. As they moved through the delicate shifting shadows thrown by Anderras Darion’s myriad lights, they passed also through a winding avenue of soft and friendly greetings before she sat them down finally at a circular array of short benches set on top of a small hillock. Double seated, the benches looked both inwards and outwards. As they sat down, facing each other at Gulda’s directing, a solitary lantern high above them bloomed gently into life. Its light had the quality of moonlight, but without its coldness. In nearby trees, night songbirds began contesting with one another as at a signal. Gavor floated down out of the darkening sky to rest on the back of the bench by Hawklan. The two wolves curled at Antyr’s feet while Dar-volci clambered unbidden on to Gulda’s knee.
For a long time, no one spoke.
‘Whatever else happens, I am so glad I made this journey,’ Antyr said eventually, his voice low as though he were talking to himself. ‘There’s such wonder about this place. Such touches of perfection.’
No one replied and silence enfolded the group again until Gulda clicked her tongue, wrapped her hands over the top of her stick and leaned forward to rest her chin on them, displacing Dar-volci from his roost in the process.
‘What do we have, my friends?’ she said. ‘Or rather, let’s start with who do we have?’ Her tone was rhetorical. Still resting on her stick she looked at Antyr. ‘There’s you, with Tarrian and Grayle and the strange ability you have between you to delve into the minds of others and seemingly into worlds beyond this one. Worlds whose very existence has previously been little more than speculation to us. Then there’s Farnor, scarcely more than a boy, brutally orphaned, with the ability to touch the mind of the Great Forest and some kind of a gift for healing rifts between the worlds, if I read his telling correctly. And his friend Marna, a woman who wants to be a soldier when we’ve no war to fight. Declared by no fewer than four of our Goraidin to be a young woman of considerable resource and courage, which is praise indeed.’
‘I’m not sure she wants to be a soldier,’ Hawklan remarked.
‘I wouldn’t dispute about that,’ Gulda replied. ‘But warrior skills aren’t confined to fighting, are they? And if she wants to learn them she probably needs to.’ She reverted to her summary. ‘Then there’s Vredech. An erstwhile Preaching Brother.’ Her eyes narrowed and her mouth became disapproving.
‘They’re not all bad,’ Andawyr announced, anticipating a need to defend Vredech in his absence.
‘You’ve not seen as many as I have,’ Gulda retorted acidly. ‘Believe me, religion was Sumeral’s greatest gift after war itself.’ Andawyr bridled but Gulda became conciliatory. ‘Don’t fret, old man, I’ll take him as he is, you know that. As his own Santyth says, “Judge not lest ye be judged”, and I’m long past judging anyone.’ A knowing glance passed between Hawklan and Andawyr, though they contrived to keep it hidden from Gulda as she continued. ‘If Antyr’s correct then it seems he too is a Dream Finder, maybe even an Adept, as also is Pinnatte. Another young man, barely Farnor’s age, I’d say, but probably much older in his ways, though you’d never guess it from his speech.’
‘We’ll do our best to help him through that,’ Andawyr said. ‘I’m sure it’s only some kind of shock. But there’s something about him which eludes me.’ Anger began to roughen his voice. ‘Those damned Kyrosdyn, experimenting on people. They…’
‘Ever His way.’ Gulda cut him short. ‘You know that.’
Andawyr bit back the denunciation with difficulty. ‘I don’t know what they did to him, but I think part of it’s still with him,’ he said, more calmly.
Gulda nodded but did not pursue his concern. ‘And lastly we have Thyrn. Yet another young man. The youngest of them all, in many ways. Over-protected, by Endryk’s Account – cultivated, almost – by his parents, then plunged head first into the highest-levels of Arvenstaat’s politics. He seems to be making plenty of friends here, which is nice. I doubt he’s had a childhood worth speaking of.’ Her face became pained, as though the thought particularly disturbed her, but she pressed on. ‘What a strange talent he has. When he speaks of others, they’re there, you can feel their presence. Remarkable. He makes the Goraidin look clumsy and inaccurate.’
‘He’s also got the same healing touch as Farnor,’ Hawklan added.
‘I’ve got people searching into the history of the Caddoran,’ Andawyr said. ‘There could be something of interest there. It’s probably no more than a relic of battlefield message-carrying, like the Goraidin’s Accounting, but it’s odd we’ve none of us heard of it before.’ He became thoughtful. ‘And I find his story more disturbing than any of the others.’ He stretched out his legs and, putting his hands behind his head, gazed upwards past the solitary lantern and into the star-filled sky. ‘The blind man that Antyr faced, Farnor’s Rannick and what was almost certainly a Sierwolf, Vredech’s Dowinne, the Kyrosdyn and their crystals and what was definitely a Sierwolf, by Atelon’s account. All these had a quality of familiarity about them – they all involved the use of the Power in some way. And there’s a pattern in them – a frightening pattern, granted – but a pattern nonetheless – a clear indication of Sumeral struggling to take form in this world again. But what happened to Thyrn feels entirely different.’
‘In what way?’ Hawklan asked. ‘He found himself an inadvertent witness to an exchange between Vashnar and… someone… some thing… full of hatred and malice, someone intent on coming into this world and destroying it. Surely it must have been another manifestation of Sumeral, or one of His creatures?’
Andawyr’s face wrinkled in reluctant disagreement. ‘One would think so, but, as I watched and listened to Thyrn, of all the many things I felt I did not feel myself in the presence of Sumeral. Not a hint of Him. And I fully expected to.’ He glanced at Gulda as if for support in this finding, but she had pulled her hood forward, plunging her face into shadow, and she gave no sign.
‘That’s probably just the lad’s way of telling his story. Maybe we’re reading too much into this skill of his,’ Hawklan pressed.
Andawyr’s reply was firm. ‘No. If you recall, I journeyed through the Pass of Elewart with Sumeral’s presence all around me – journeyed in some terror, I might add. And with you into Narsindal. I’m well attuned to Him.’ He indicated Antyr. ‘I could feel His presence when you told us about the blind man, and it was there in some degree when all the others told their tales. I know it as well as I know the Cadwanen. And it wasn’t there when Thyrn spoke.’ He wrapped his arms about himself and closed his eyes briefly.
Despite this disavowal, Hawklan nevertheless looked set to pursue his objection. Andawyr, however, gave him no opportunity. ‘Everything that Thyrn told us was deeply strange. The very place he described where Vashnar and this figure – this entity – met was unlike anything I’ve even heard of. None of the intricate, elaborate, obsessive patterns, the stark points and edges that typify His work – the frantic scratching after His notion of perfection. And what the figure actually said.’ He leaned forward, drawing the circle of listeners tighter. Only Gulda remained motionless. His manner became intense. ‘Remember, think back. Thyrn’s telling was so vivid, he had us all standing next to him in that strange grey half-world – there and not there – eavesdropping on this exchange. We could feel the figure’s appalling cruelty and bloodlust. And also that it was all too human. When it first appeared it seemed to be a manifestation of many wills, but then it became one distinct individual. Yet when Vashnar asked it who it was, it was puzzled at first, then amused.’
‘“I am remade in my old image by forces that I do not fully comprehend.”’
It was Gulda, reciting the words that Thyrn had put into the mouth of Vashnar’s mysterious companion. Her voice was flat and without emotion but Hawklan noticed that her hands, folded over the top of her stick, were tense, as though she were gripping it to prevent herself from trembling.
‘Yes,’ Andawyr said, slightly unsettled by this unexpected assistance. ‘“For aeons I have been scattered, without form,” it said. “Such an event as we have here – such a coming-together – does not happen once in ten thousand generations.” These aren’t the words of Sumeral or any of His acolytes. Apart from the fact that Sumeral was amongst us less than a single generation ago, He’d never admit to any ignorance, least of all about how He came to be. He perceives Himself to be the true beginning – the very fount – of all things. And His followers always bear His stamp – the mark of the chains by which He binds them – always. It’s unmistakable.’
Hawklan made to speak, but a slight gesture from Gulda kept him silent. Andawyr snapped his fingers, speaking now as much to himself as to the others. ‘“How I came to be thus I do not know.”’ Andawyr was shaking his head as his conclusion became more certain. ‘More ignorance admitted, you see. It’s not Sumeral, definitely. Nor anything of His. Everything that Thyrn recounted cries out with that.’
‘Who was it, then?’ Hawklan asked bluntly.
Andawyr frowned. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said flatly and with no small sense of anticlimax. ‘That’s to say, I’ve no idea who the individual was – the hooded figure. But…’ He stopped and squeezed his nose, then ran his hands through his disordered hair a few times.
‘Say what you’ve got to say, old man,’ Gulda said.
‘It’s vague, unclear,’ Andawyr protested.
‘Nor likely to become otherwise if you don’t spit it out.’ Gulda flicked her hood back and leaned towards him, her stick beginning to tap the turf impatiently.
Andawyr made a series of opening gestures before actually continuing. ‘There was something else the figure said to Vashnar. Though he seemed to be like we are – only just discovering something – somehow he knew that both he and those he called his enemies had been defeated. He spoke of a – conjunction – of some kind. A coming-together thatshouldn’t have happened. He referred to it as his enemy’s treachery but I’ve the feeling it was some kind of simultaneous attack in which everything was destroyed. A mutual killing.’ Andawyr’s voice fell. ‘He said that a brightness moved across the land – and across the oceans. It moved through everything that lived – what an odd phrase. Even odder, it moved, “at scarcely the pace of a walking man”, growing relentlessly, sustaining itself. The Power can be used with infinite delicacy if needs be, but it can’t do that. Everyone fled before it – “Believer and heretic alike”, but none escaped.’ Andawyr raised his arm to his eyes, mimicking Thyrn’s gesture as he had related the tale. ‘“And then there was only a brightness beyond bearing – a reshaping – a remaking.” A brightness beyond bearing.’
Andawyr’s final words were given a power by the very quietness of his manner that made them seem to hang in the night air, ominous and grim. No one said anything. Even the nearby nightbirds fell silent.
Then Hawklan spoke. ‘Assuming that Thyrn’s tale is true -and I’ve no reason to doubt it – what is it about it that so concerns you? Wars enough have been fought in the past. Armies have destroyed themselves before now. Perhaps the brightness is a metaphor for some military disaster.’
Andawyr was disparaging. ‘I doubt it. You felt the character of the man when Thyrn spoke. Ruthless, powerful, fanatical. He spoke of armies and war machines beyond imagining – that could well be exaggeration. But war machines that would “unravel the very essence” of his enemies? It’s a phrase that’s lodged itself in my mind and won’t go away. Nor will that strange, slow-moving brightness.’
Hawklan intruded, ‘But…’
‘Listen!’ Gulda said sharply, silencing him.
Andawyr nodded gratefully. ‘This is very difficult,’ he said. ‘Ideas are corning together – rushing together – that are shaking the very foundations of almost everything I know – or thought I knew.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘When Ethriss formed the Cadwanol, it was a desperate time. He gathered all manner of learned men and women together from everywhere to search into ways of opposing Sumeral. But even then he told them they must “go beyond”. Insofar as any of them thought about it they presumed it was his way of telling them to pursue every avenue in search of the skills and the knowledge that would bring Sumeral down – something they were determined to do anyway. Later, in safer times, the phrase was handed down, and mouthed a great deal – not least by myself – but I wouldn’t say that any great thought was given to what he really meant. Now, I suspect, its real meaning is becoming apparent.’ He looked around at his audience before continuing, rather self-consciously. ‘As we’ve studied, thought, tested, experimented, through the generations, learning more and more about… everything… we’ve unearthed and explained many great mysteries – particularly so since the war. Some of our discoveries – the true turbulent, flickering nature of the roots of existence – the strange, vast arches of time and distance out there…’ He glanced upwards. ‘Present great challenges to the way we think about and perceive things, but strange though they are – and they really are very strange – there’s a rightness about them that builds on what has gone before, that truly measures the world and its many parts and that draws us forward. But there’ve been other problems, in many ways less profound, that have brought us to a halt like a ship suddenly striking hidden rocks.’ He brought his fist into his palm in emphasis. ‘In the past we’ve always tended to resolve – I should, perhaps, say dismiss – these by saying that, despite our best endeavours, our theories must be flawed, our measurements insufficiently accurate etc – quite often with some validity. Lately, though, this hasn’t been enough. Now we know that our latest theories aren’t that flawed, our most recent measurements aren’t that inaccurate.’ He held out an arm towards the mountains, their hulking presence now only implied by the absence of stars. Then he took a deep breath and concluded in a rush, ‘It appears that the mountains are older than they should be.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘Weare older than we should be. The stars themselves are.Everything is older than it should be.It isn’t possible that the world we know could have come into being in the time that has passed since the Great Searing. ’
An uncertain silence greeted this revelation.
‘But the Great Searing is the beginning of all things.’ Gulda’s voice was uncharacteristically unsure. ‘The Guardians themselves came from it, they made everything from it. They…’ She faltered and stopped.
Andawyr slowly shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, very gently. ‘Proofs are there for you to see. Bring your sharpest wits, your strongest fist. You may lay the odd one in the dust, but not all of them – mercy knows, we’ve tried hard enough ourselves. I’m forced to admit to myself now that too many lines of good reasoning and tested experiment go back through time and do not converge at the Great Searing. It was obviously the beginning of many things – Ethriss and the Guardians, Sumeral and some of His creatures, such life as we know. But it was not the beginning ofall things. Not by tens and hundreds of millions of years. I think Ethriss sensed this when he gave us that injunction.’
There was another awkward silence, then Antyr spoke.
‘In the most common of the Serenstad Creation Myths, the creator, the Weaver of the Great Dream, MaraVestriss – your Ethriss, presumably – didn’t create men, but discovered them when his son Marastrumel tried to tear apart the fabric of the Great Dream in a rage. The story says that Marastrumel couldn’t damage the fabric because it was woven from a single thread that was of the nature of the timeless time beyond the Dream and was indivisible. But in the new pattern he made with his violence could be seen the world of men and many others beside – all bearing the mark of both MaraVestriss and his son. And when MaraVestriss saw this, he realized that he didn’t know how such a thing could have come about. And, as he struggled with this, the question came to him, “How is it that out of the timeless time, that which is indivisible, I became?” And then he knew himself to be truly ignorant and he withdrew from the Great Dream, determined to find an answer to his ignorance before he would attempt to repair the damage his son had wrought.’
Antyr’s voice had become that of a fireside storyteller as he spoke the final sentences, but there was no incongruity.
Andawyr blew out a long slow breath and stroked Dar-volci’s head. ‘I think your myth might have more wisdom in it than much of our learning. It’s certainly not unreasonable to imagine that Ethriss asked himself such a question, nor surprising that he was unable to answer it. And given he was wise enough to know that children invariably surprise their parents sooner or later, it’s not unreasonable to imagine he’d look to them to answer it for him.’
Hawklan shifted restlessly. ‘I can’t see what this has to do with our present concerns, Andawyr, but it’s remarkable stuff to be casually announcing on a quiet Orthlundyn evening. How is it we’ve had no wind of it before now?’
Andawyr made a vaguely apologetic gesture. ‘Until quite recently it was just the backwash of unrelated ideas. Profound, fascinating, far-reaching, certainly, but not urgent.’
‘And now?’
‘And now, I don’t know. Bear with me, please. As I said, there are so many things coming together, it’s difficult to order them. But, for what it’s worth, I think that Thyrn has touched on this time before the Great Searing. Or touched on some lingering remnant of it.’ He paused and his eyes became distant. ‘Endryk told us that the place to which both Vashnar and Thyrn were drawn was like the Thlosgaral – dead, and barren – a place that seems to draw the life out of people – a place where crystals can be found.’ Hawklan leaned forward but Andawyr answered his question before he asked it. ‘I could give you several long lectures about crystals,’ he said. ‘But then you wouldn’t know much. Put simply, they can store and transform the Power – amplify it, absorb it. They can be very dangerous to anyone who can use the Power. That’s why we sent Atelon and Dar-volci to find out where they were coming from when they suddenly appeared at the Gretmearc. We used to use them for all sorts of things – latterly mainly the Slips for moving about the Cadwanen quickly, if you recall, but…’ He shook his head thoughtfully. ‘They distort things – distance, even time. As we learned more about them we used them less and less. Now they’re just part of the Cadwanen’s defence system.’
Gulda grunted. ‘Why would Ethriss create them if they were so dangerous?’
‘I don’t think he did,’ Andawyr retorted. ‘In fact, I’m inclined to agree with Atelon – they’re made things.’
‘Which means?’
‘Which means that someone else made them. It’s not possible they came about by some random natural process – their inner structures are far too complex, too ordered.’
‘Just because you can’t account for them doesn’t mean that’s the way of it, does it? How else would they come to be scattered all over the Thlosgaral?’
Gulda’s question ended in a dying fall as she anticipated Andawyr’s answer.
‘I’d surmise that they were made by the people who came before the Great Searing and that they were part of whatever weapon or weapons actually caused it,’ he said, quietly, but very steadily. He had the air of a man who had just attained a reluctant goal but was ready to move on.
‘They could be used as weapons, these crystals?’ Hawklan asked into the ensuing silence.
‘Oh yes. Using them as weapons is easy. It was using them more creatively that always taxed us,’ Andawyr replied. ‘From what we already know, it needs no great feat of imagination to see great arrays of them linked to form weapons of truly appalling destructiveness.’ He met Hawklan’s gaze squarely. ‘Or that could draw the life from – unravel the very essence of – an enemy. Reshape it, remake it. However Ethriss came by them, we should consider ourselves fortunate that Sumeral didn’t, or this world would have been His long ago.’
Hawklan looked at him searchingly for a moment, then said, ‘This is a great edifice to be building on the foundation laid by one young man.’
‘It would be if it were,’ Andawyr replied resignedly but without any resentment. ‘But it’s not. Now I look back on it, it’s been a long time in the making, and it rests on far more than young Thyrn’s testimony.’ He became explanatory. ‘What he’s told us is more like the keystone to an arch. It gives the ideas stability – holds them together.’
‘Apart,’ Gulda corrected absently. Andawyr looked at her, then raised his eyes upwards as he silently mouthed the word ‘apart’. Then, unexpectedly, both of them burst out laughing. Gulda’s laugh was rarely heard. It was that of a young woman. It twined around Andawyr’s guffaw to make a sound that infected both Hawklan and Antyr, drawing them into it even though they scarcely knew what they were laughing at and despite the darkness of the concerns they were discussing.
‘Good for some, picnicking in the balmy evening while others are slaving over their work.’
It was Usche, moving towards them through the soft light. Behind her confident stride came the large and uneasy form of Ar-Billan. Andawyr extended a welcoming arm and signalled them to sit down. Usche’s eyes were wide with excitement but, seeing Gulda and Hawklan, she hesitated. ‘I’m not interrupting anything important, am I?’ she asked.
‘Quite possibly,’ Andawyr replied, still laughing. ‘But don’t worry about it. What have you discovered that won’t wait until the morning?’ He glanced at the papers she was carrying. They were the ones he had given her earlier. ‘Not given up so soon, have you? Or are you going to tell me you’ve resolved my paradoxes and confusions?’
‘Well, in a manner of speaking, I think we have,’ Usche replied, excited again.
‘We?’ Andawyr queried.
Usche indicated Ar-Billan who was sitting stiffly with his hands gripping his knees. Usche bent her head close to Andawyr’s and lowered her voice. ‘He’s got his own way of doing things – a bit laboured, but very clear-thinking once he stops standing in his own light.’
Andawyr chuckled at her matronly manner. ‘Show me what you’ve done, then.’ He took the papers and waved them in her face with fatherly menace. ‘I have to say that this took me some effort, to put it mildly…’
‘I can see that – it’s incredible work. I’d never have…’
‘To put it mildly,’ Andawyr repeated, with heavy emphasis, cutting across her enthusiasm. ‘And I’d come to a complete dead end.’
‘Yes and no,’ Usche persisted, with a mixture of nervousness and pride. ‘Yes, if you wanted complete rigour, though I’ve a suspicion that might be impossible in principle, but no, if you accept what we’ve been listening to these past days – clearly separate and distinct worlds apparently existing simultaneously, and accessible.’ Abruptly aware that she was waving an emphasizing finger in her mentor’s face, she faltered, then added with a slight stammer, ‘Just as a working assumption, of course.’ The hesitation, however, was only temporary and some of her excitement resurfaced almost immediately. ‘The only thing is, I’m not sure what the conclusion we’ve come to means. The reasoning’s sound, I’m sure, but the result doesn’t seem to make sense.’
‘Your logical pathway has led you into a pit, has it, young woman?’ Gulda said, watching the exchange keenly.
‘I’m not sure what it’s led me into, Memsa; that’s why I’m here.’ Usche took the papers from Andawyr and riffled through them. ‘Are you sure these inserted figures are correct? They’re not what we normally use.’
‘Oh yes, they’re correct,’ Andawyr confirmed, soberly, taking the papers back. ‘They’ve changed.’
‘Changed? But…’
‘Changed.’ Andawyr’s tone allowed no dispute. ‘Excuse me for a moment,’ he said to his companions. Then, gripping his nose with one hand he began thumbing his way through the papers with the other. The others watched and listened in some amusement as he emitted a variety of clucks, whistles, and tuneless hummings. After a while, however, he fell silent and his face became serious.
Reaching the end, he carefully stacked the papers and, placing them on his lap, laid his hand on them protectively. Usche looked at him anxiously. ‘Have I done something silly?’ she asked, unable to read his expression.
‘You’ve done nothing silly,’ Andawyr said. ‘Nothing at all. This is fine work. I’d not thought to have seen a way through the tangle I’d created so soon, but you’ve cut through it neatly and elegantly.’
‘Only one part of it,’ Usche said, almost apologetic.
‘It was the part that mattered,’ Andawyr replied quietly.
Something in his voice made both Gulda and Hawklan look at him keenly.
‘But the conclusion?’ Usche asked. ‘What does it mean?’
Andawyr looked upwards briefly. Then he stood up and, without speaking, walked away from the circle of watchers and into the castle’s enveloping shadow.
Deep beneath the towers of Anderras Darion, in the Labyrinth that guarded the Armoury, something changed.