When the Guardians, Sphaeera, Enartion, and Theowart, had formed the world as a celebration of their being, they found such joy in it that they bade the First Comer Ethriss to create others so that they in their turn might celebrate the miracle of being.
And with his three soul-friends, Ethriss created many others and taught them the Guardians’ ways and gave them of their power so that they could create and take joy in being.
And amongst these was man.
But Sumeral, the Great Corrupter, saw the flaw that must be in all things, and hated it and all the creations of the Guardians, especially those of Ethriss. And He saw that man was possessed of greater power of creation than any other. So as the Guardians slept, He came to him and with soft words said, ‘Blessed are the gifts of Ethriss that bring such joy unto yourself and your neighbour.’ And He passed on.
But in the word ‘neighbour’ He laid a subtle snare, and discontent was born, and men began to seek him out, saying, ‘You are wise. Tell us, are we as blessed as our neighbours?’
And Sumeral did not answer, but showed them the gift of the power of creation that Ethriss had given them, and said, ‘In the use of this power will your joy be increased.’ Which was both true and false, for though joy may lie in creating, it is in the totality of the creating and the created object that the true joy of being lies.
And men found indeed that joy was to be found in the power of creating, but under His guidance their creations were flawed, and knowing there was no true joy in them, men’s discontent grew, and they sought Him out further.
But He dismissed them, saying again. ‘I have told you. In the use of this power will your joy be increased. Trouble me not. Create yet more.’ Though privily He would say to some, dropping His soft, sweet words into the gaping maw of their desire, ‘If your neighbour’s creations are more joyous, perhaps it is a flaw in the way of things that should be mended.’
And when they asked how this might be done, He said yet again, ‘In the use of this power will your joy be increased.’
And looking on the perfection of His beauty, many men believed Him, and began to gather power to themselves not only to create yet more of His flawed designs but to mar the creations of their neighbours. And their discontent grew beyond measure, until the time came when many were utterly lost in bewilderment and followed His words blindly.
Thus His stain spread across the world, and the air and the sea and the earth became fouled with the poisons of His works, and many humbler creatures were slaughtered utterly. And He led His followers to create war, and wage it upon those who remembered the Guardians and the ways of true joy, for His own discontent grew also.
But in His arrogance and hatred He forgot the Guardians, until the clamour of war awoke them and they opposed Him. And the conflict was terrible, for men were now as skilled in the use of Ethriss’s gift of creation as they were blind to its true purpose, and there was no limit to their awful skills.
Yet Sumeral feared Ethriss and the Guardians, knowing that in each of those who followed Him there lay still an echo of the truth of Ethriss’s way and that the light of knowledge and truth must eventually destroy Him. So He took His three most cruel regents and taught to each a different portion of His skill in the use of the Power that had come from the Great Searing. And though He knew that their lust and folly would prevent their conspiring to overthrow Him, yet He kept from them the secret of life so that that which they desired the most, to be forever, would be always at His whim. And thus they were bound to Him utterly.
These three He called His Uhriel: Creost, to whom he gave power over the seas and lakes and rivers, to bind Enartion; Dar Hastuin, to whom he gave power over the air and the skies, to bind Sphaeera; and Oklar, His closest and most favoured, to whom he gave power over the land and the mountains, to bind Theowart.
And when Ethriss learned that Sumeral had so in-structed and bound these men, he knew that all being could be lost, for now the Guardians must oppose the Uhriel, and could no longer aid those few armies of men that stood against Sumeral’s vast and cruel legions.
So, silently, he sought amongst the wisest of those who opposed Sumeral and taught them to understand the Power of the Great Searing so that they might learn further, unaided, and with their own skills grow to aid both the Guardians and the armies of the Great Alliance of Kings and Peoples.
And these he called Cadwanwr and together they were called the Cadwanol.
And silently, with the aid of Theowart, he built the Caves of Cadwanen for their home, a fortress under the mountains, so complex and intricate that its labyrinth of chambers and passageways could have swallowed an entire army and left the occupants undisturbed. Though in its deeper parts he came upon a mystery of which he spoke to no one save to say that the caves were without end.
For their further protection however, the Cadwanol filled the caves with myriad traps and deceptions created from the Old Power, as Ethriss had taught them, so that even he could not enter readily without their will. And he was pleased.
And in great secrecy, protected at first by Ethriss and then by their own skills, the Cadwanol learned and grew and prospered, aiding both the Guardians and the armies of men. And for many generations Sumeral was ignorant of the strange presence that so constantly disturbed His plans.
And when He learned of them, it was too late, for they were both cunning and powerful and through their efforts He could not then turn from His conflict with Ethriss nor could His Uhriel turn from their conflict with the Guardians.
Thus did the Wars of the First Coming become, for their greater part, the wars of men.
Yet the most terrible battles fought by the Cadwanol came in the aftermath of the destruction of Sumeral. For in His deep plunderings He had released from the rocks many strange creatures. Some, it was whispered, as fell as He and even older, though lacking His great power. Those He could win to His service, He did; and those He could bind, He did; but the remainder He ignored, trampling them underfoot or handing them to others for sport.
Thus when His spirit was struck down by Ethriss, and His body by the Fyordyn, many of these creatures fled back into the depths. Some to hide in fear, some to seek their old home and forget the horrors of the world they had been thrust into. Some to wait His Second Coming.
Only the arrival of the felci saved the Cadwanol from destruction.
Appearing mysteriously one day from somewhere beneath the habited depths of the Caves of Cadwanen, one passed through the many traps and deceptions that should have bound it, and presented itself to the Cadwanol, who were celebrating His passing.
Long-haired and long-tailed, with a sinuous body and a neck that ended in a pointed, inquisitive head, it looked more like a river creature than a cave dweller. But it waited for no curious outbursts from the assembled gathering.
Rearing up on its hind legs it said. ‘Defend your-selves, wise men,’ in its dark, and what was to become unmistakably characteristic voice, edged even in that grim moment with a touch of mockery. ‘His allies live and gnaw at your roots.’
Then it turned and left before the Cadwanwr could recover. As they called after it in confusion, it turned and said. ‘Hurry, or they’ll be gnawing your bones soon. And my people are dying. We need your help and you ours.’
Then followed a terrible carnage in the uncharted depths of the Caves, as the Cadwanwr found themselves fighting the blighted remnants of Sumeral’s fouler allies.
They came in great numbers, fighting with fang and claw, sword and axe, and His terrible weapons of fire. The felci in their turn opposed them with fang and claw, and the Cadwanwr with sword and spear, but in the dark and treacherous passageways they could not stay the onslaught.
Then, in their last extremity, their leader gave his life by using the fire of the Old Power.
For the close confined tunnels were choked with His creatures, and as he sent out the fire, it curled and flared around, and returning, consumed him. But as he perished he was transformed and he fell upon the enemy, sending a great light blazing through the ancient darkness, destroying those it fell upon and scattering the remnants, gibbering and blinded, into the darkness.
And as their leader’s lingering sacrifice faded, the Cadwanwr pursued the retreating creatures, slaying many, until silence filled the caves again.
Then, saddened, they returned to their Caves and began to seal them against the return of such horrors. It was no light task, and they were assailed many times before the work was completed, and though each time they were attacked with diminishing force, their losses were sore.
It was many years before the depths were deemed to be free of these grim remnants of Sumeral’s long reign.
Oslang frowned a little as with a pass of his hand he sealed the heavy door. Andawyr noted the expression but made no comment; no one liked wandering about so deep below the mountains. They were very nearly at the lowest habited level of the Caves, and though nothing had stirred in the outer depths for generations, the bitter aftermath of the Wars of the First Coming were etched deep into the lore of the Cadwanol.
No bright summer light was brought down here by mirror stones. Only torches lit the passages and rooms and, bright though they were, they seemed to struggle against the oppressive mass of the mountains above.
Yet, paradoxically, the sensation that Andawyr and many of the others felt at this depth was not one of being burdened from above, but of being exposed, as if at a great height above some strange mysterious world into which a careless step might plunge them.
The two men walked for some way along a bare passage. One day, Andawyr thought, as he invariably did on the rare occasions he came down so deep, we must face this strangeness and push out further and deeper. But at the same time he set the problem comfortably low on his list of priorities. Then they were at their destina-tion. Stopping outside a sealed door, Andawyr hesitated, but Oslang stepped forward purposefully and opened it.
The room was circular with a wide column at its centre. From the far side of the column, an uncertain blue radiance spilled round into the whiteness of the torchlight.
Andawyr grimaced and hesitated again. Oslang pushed him gently. Still reluctant, Andawyr moved round the column towards the source of the blue light.
It came from an alcove set into the column. Inside the alcove lay the sinister bird that Hawklan had inadvertently brought into Andawyr’s hidden quarters at the Gretmearc. One of the myriad eyes of the Vrwystin A Goleg amp;mdashOklar’s creature.
It was sitting motionless, but as Andawyr moved closer it burst abruptly into a frenzy of activity, its eyes and beak wide and its wing and claws beating frantic-ally. The blue light surrounding it swirled.
Though no sound came out of the blue depths, both Oslang and Andawyr stepped back involuntarily, Andawyr lifting his arm across his face as if for protection, his eyes wide with fear.
Then, like an echo of the bird’s reaction, Andawyr’s face twisted into an expression of seemingly uncontrol-lable rage and he levelled his hand at the demented creature. A stream of white light came from it, striking the bird and sending it crashing into the back of the alcove where it continued to struggle desperately. Light still streaming from his hands, Andawyr stepped forward as if to reach in and throttle the bird.
For a moment Oslang stood stunned, then he seized Andawyr’s arm powerfully. ‘What are you doing?’ he said, his voice hoarse with fear and disbelief.
The white light faltered, and Andawyr rounded on him angrily. But with a further effort, Oslang managed to drag the smaller man away. The light faded com-pletely and almost immediately Andawyr’s face became apologetic. He put his hand to his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘That awful amp;mdashthing amp;mdashI just want to… ’ He drove his fist into his palm.
‘I understand,’ Oslang said. Then, with a faint smile: ‘You always were inclined to be a little physical.’
Most of the tension faded from Andawyr’s face and he too smiled, though sadly. ‘No, you don’t,’ he said. ‘And I pray you never do.’ He paused. ‘Why do you think I’ve put off coming down here so long?’ Oslang did not reply; Andawyr had made little or no effort to hide his fear. Andawyr’s expression became distant. ‘I’m afraid that the Slip from the Gretmearc will trouble my dreams for a long time yet,’ he said softly.
Oslang looked at his friend. This was the first time he had made any personal reference to his explosive and terrifying return journey from the Gretmearc. Without exception, the brothers of the Cadwanol had been concerned about his silence.
‘You faced the creature as it truly is, in the Slip?’ Oslang asked hesitantly.
Andawyr nodded. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said. ‘For the heartbeat that took, but… ’
‘Some heartbeats can last a thousand years,’ Oslang offered.
Andawyr nodded again, his face distressed. Then his jaw became determined. ‘But I faced it. I was frightened beyond belief. I still am. But I didn’t flinch from it. I saw it, became it, and controlled it, until it too knew fear, I’m sure.’ He put his hand to his head. ‘The Slip seemed to last forever. Dreadful.’ He shuddered. ‘I felt I was becoming so weak. If it hadn’t been for Hawklan’s sustaining touch, I don’t… ’ He did not finish the sentence. ‘And then suddenly I was here.’
‘You were indeed,’ Oslang said, eyes wide and eye-brows high. ‘Every warning in the place screaming out.’ He lifted his hands protectively at the memory.
But Andawyr was not listening. ‘I became it,’ he repeated. ‘Saw what it saw. Heard what it heard. So much and in so many places amp;mdashI wonder… ’
The two men looked at one another silently. Slowly Oslang’s eyes narrowed. ‘No,’ he said softly, anticipating his leader’s thinking. ‘It’s a corruption. We can’t use it ourselves. That’s His way. A trap baited with the lure of power for a good cause. It would bind us in some way, you know that.’
Andawyr pulled a wry face. ‘You may be right,’ he said. ‘But it sees and hears many things in many places and we’re woefully short of information. We’ve far greater knowledge of the Old Power than our forebears.’
‘True,’ Oslang said. ‘But that doesn’t mean we’re any wiser. He probably knows more as well. For all we know, you might have been allowed to capture this’ amp;mdashhe nodded towards the still struggling bird amp;mdash‘this thing, just so that you could be so tempted.’
The flickering blue light reflected on Andawyr’s face. He scowled. ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But I doubt it. Oklar wouldn’t sacrifice such sight for any prize.’
‘Oklar will do what He tells him,’ Oslang said, bluntly. ‘And the binding of the Cadwanol would be no small prize.’ He suddenly raised his voice. ‘Good grief, you yourself pointed out how we’ve grown inclined to sit and wait for news to be brought to us. Who knows how that came about? What would we become if we controlled or thought we controlled this?’
‘Better informed,’ Andawyr said, his brow furrowed.
‘Stop it, you’re frightening me,’ Oslang said heat-edly. He jabbed his finger at the bird. ‘With this bound here, Oklar’s as blind as we are. And I’d rather us both be blind than risk sharing his sight.’ His voice fell. ‘Even if we could use it, it would be like a crutch. It would atrophy what’s left of our true inner sight, and it would fail us in the end. You know that, don’t you?’
For a moment, Andawyr seemed about to flare up at this opposition, but Oslang’s gaze allowed no such excess. Gradually, the little man’s face relaxed and he slumped slightly. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ he said resignedly. ‘I’m sorry. It was just a passing thought.’ Then he stuck out his bottom lip pensively. ‘Even so, we may have no alternative one day,’ he said quietly.
Oslang grunted. ‘We’ll talk about it on that day, then,’ he said firmly, laying a reassuring hand on Andawyr’s shoulder.
He was relieved. Their brief confrontation had been oddly harrowing, but at last Andawyr had voiced his hitherto unspoken fears and desires, and that was highly significant. Mundanely, he said, ‘Now perhaps you’d like to do what you came here for, and check our work. You’ve been putting it off for long enough and I’ve been very uneasy about it. We can’t afford the risk of it escaping, especially today.’
Andawyr nodded and began looking round the al-cove intently. The bird’s frenzy heightened, but he ignored it. Then, seemingly satisfied, he turned his attention to the rest of the room, starting with the door.
As he reached it, there was a scratching noise and a voice called his name. He opened the door and the sinuous brown form of a felci slid in.
‘Kristabel,’ Andawyr said delightedly, kneeling down on the hard floor. With her tail as a counterbalance, the felci stood on her hind legs so that she was face to face with him. She cocked her head on one side, then reaching out with her forepaw she took his nose between her powerful claws and shook it gently.
‘Andawyr,’ she said, her voice deep and rich, and full of affection, though slightly ironic. ‘I thought the nose was familiar.’ Then her lip went back, revealing her formidable, rock-chewing teeth, and her silvery chattering laugh filled the room.
Andawyr gently cupped her head in his hands. ‘Are you better?’ he said anxiously.
‘Yes,’ she drawled, disparagingly. ‘A lot of fuss about nothing. I’ve been rocked worse than that. It was only a thin vein I went through, that’s why I didn’t notice it until it was too late.’
Andawyr’s face was pained. The felci were subterra-nean creatures with teeth and claws that could burrow through almost any rock. The thin vein that Kristabel referred to was cyffspar, a strange contaminant of unknown origin which in small quantities caused the felcis to hallucinate, and in larger quantities caused a convulsive and unpleasant death. It was, however, found only near the surface and as such was rarely encoun-tered by the deep-burrowing animals.
‘You were very fortunate,’ Andawyr said. ‘You’re not normally so careless. What drew you so close to the surface?’
Kristabel dropped on to all fours and scuttled around the room. ‘No idea,’ she said, offhandedly. ‘Just following my nose. Still it was all for the best, wasn’t it? You were in a mess when they brought you back.’
‘I’m in your debt, Kristabel,’ Andawyr said seriously. The felci chattered to herself and, muttering ‘Silly man,’ stood on her hind legs to peer into the alcove.
‘Oh dear,’ she said, before Andawyr could pursue the matter, her voice heavy with irony. ‘Still here, I see.’ She chattered provocatively at the bird and thrust out a paw towards it. In the blue light her teeth glinted malevolently and her eyes turned into black pits. Unexpectedly the bird, still frantic, retreated to the back of the alcove. ‘I think that’s the last time you’re going to be allowed to go to the Gretmearc alone, young man,’ she continued, then, laughing: ‘Such trouble you caused with your pet. Who’s a naughty boy, then?’
Oslang intervened before Andawyr could rise to the felci’s bait. ‘The defences,’ he said significantly, pointing his thumb at the trapped bird.
Andawyr nodded and continued the inspection that Kristabel’s arrival had interrupted. ‘They’re excellent,’ he said finally. ‘You’ve all done a very good job.’
Oslang smiled.
‘However… ’ Andawyr continued, lifting his hand.
‘Keep away from my seal,’ Oslang said sternly.
Andawyr looked at him reproachfully. ‘However,’ he repeated, ‘a touch here,’ amp;mdashhe ran his hand around the edge of the alcove, Oslang watching him intently amp;mdash‘and here, should do it.’ He stood back.
Slowly the flickering blue light steadied and the bird closed its eyes and became motionless. Kristabel made a disparaging noise and dropped back on to the floor.
‘That’s better, isn’t it?’ Andawyr said. ‘And I’ll add my seal to yours if you wish. Just to make sure none of us fall into temptation.’
Oslang ran his hand around the alcove as Andawyr had done. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, his voice awed. ‘You could undo and reseal my work and I’d never know.’ He turned to Andawyr. ‘This work is amazing. How… ’
Andawyr’s hand rose to silence him. ‘I’ve taught you all I can,’ he said. ‘You yourself have improved beyond measure even in this short time, but I can’t give you the experiences I had to face. Just keep learning and you’ll keep improving.’ His manner became very serious. ‘Trust me, Oslang. Everyone is stronger now than I was when I was tested. Should you be so tested yourself, you’ll not find yourself wanting.’
Before Oslang could reply, Andawyr turned to Kristabel. ‘What did you want, my dear?’ he asked.
‘Nothing at all,’ the felci replied. ‘But they do.’ She looked upwards. ‘They’re all sitting around waiting for you, like little schoolchildren. I do think it’s sweet the way they all follow you around. They’re so excited.’
Andawyr levelled a cautionary finger at her. ‘Be-have,’ he said sternly, opening the door. The felci laughed again and scurried out into the passageway.
As she loped off, another felci appeared from a side passage and deliberately bowled her over. There was a brief scurrying scuffle which ended with the two animals running off, side by side, laughing uncontrollably.
Andawyr watched them until they disappeared from sight, leaving only the lingering echo of their distant laughter. He shook his head. ‘They’re marvellous,’ he said, smiling.
‘But?’ Oslang caught the doubt in his leader’s voice.
Andawyr’s smile broadened. ‘But I can never escape the feeling that they regard us as pets,’ he said. ‘Kept here for their entertainment.’
Oslang affected a worldly indifference. ‘Oh, is that all?’ he said. ‘Personally I’ve never had any doubts about that whatsoever.’
The atmosphere in the Work Hall was charged with expectation. The only members of the Cadwanol who were not present were those who had been given the responsibility of manning the Caves’ physical defences, and for the most part, these were the younger members of the Order.
The ceiling of the hall was domed, rising up in con-trast to the floor, which consisted of tiers of broad steps tapering gradually downwards to end in a small central circular area. The whole was simple, restful and focussed.
Three sloping aisles radiated up from the central area and it was down one of these that Andawyr strode purposefully.
Reaching the centre, he looked round at his waiting brothers. By tradition, when the Order met formally, no one occupied the first tier. Thus the leader would be set beneath all those who had chosen him.
As he turned round, he held out his hands, palms upwards. ‘These recent weeks have seen profound changes in us all,’ he began. ‘I think now that I’ve taught you such of my own new knowledge, my new under-standing, as can be taught in so short a time. More, I suspect, can be learned only through the passage of time or through terrible individual trial. Neither of those fall within my gift.’
He paused, and the silence of the mountains above seemed to fill the hall.
‘Soon, many of us must leave to start again the end-less search for knowledge that Ethriss charged our forebears with,’ he continued. ‘But for all our vaunted knowledge and our new-found strength, we’re as nothing against the power of Sumeral and His Uhriel, and while we’re all here together, we must attempt the task that we’ve charged ourselves with amp;mdasha task for which we have no guidance, but one which only we can undertake.’ He paused again, as if reluctant to take the final step into the beginning of what must be a new age.
‘Here, today, we must seek out the Guardians and waken them.’
The step taken, his voice became more matter of fact. ‘We know nothing of the fate of any of them after the Last Battle. Theowart, Sphaeera and Enartion were rarely seen by men throughout the entire War of the First Coming, and it’s not recorded where they were during that battle. However, it is recorded that, like Ethriss, they were human in their form on the few occasions they were seen.’
He began to walk up and down, pausing occasion-ally to emphasize points with a jabbing finger. ‘Nor do we know anything of the fate of Ethriss. After the melee that followed the fall of Sumeral, he was gone. Some say he was struck down by Sumeral’s last spear cast, but… ’ He shrugged.
‘And of course, we know nothing of the bodies of Sumeral and the Uhriel. They too could not be found after the battle. And so, my brothers. We have… nothing.’
He opened his arms wide as if to encompass the entire hall.
His voice fell. ‘Nothing that is, until I found myself pitched into conflict with an evil so ancient that hitherto I’d only read about it. Nothing, until I found myself aiding a hunted man who could be Ethriss himself, dormant. Nothing, until I found myself held in Narsin-dal, touched and bound by a power that could only be Sumeral.’
He looked slowly round his audience. ‘Brothers. If Sumeral and His Uhriel are among us, and are seeking the still sleeping form of Ethriss, then the Guardians will lie somewhere, waiting our call.’
Then his voice rose. ‘Who doubts this?’
Interminable discussions over the weeks had laid low all possible doubts, and the Hall remained silent.
‘Who doubts our will?’ he continued, his voice still loud.
Again, there was silence.
Then finally, ‘Who doubts our strength and our skill?’
Yet again no voices were raised, but the Hall filled with a murmuring rustle as all present raised their hands.
Andawyr laughed, and cut through the silence with a clap of his hands.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Our new knowledge has taught us an old lesson and given us a small measure of our ignorance. However, I don’t share quite all your doubts.’ The words he had spoken to Oslang earlier returned to him. ‘I told you I’ve taught you all I can. And that more, much more, you’ll learn for yourselves as time passes and circumstances change. But trust me… ’ He turned round again, gazing intently at his listeners. ‘Whatever frailty you may feel within yourself, remember that as individuals each of you is stronger by far than you’ve ever been, and as an Order we’re stronger by far than we’ve been for generations.’
He relaxed and smiled. ‘Brothers, let me be prosaic. Amongst other things, we’re farmers. In our answer to the need for food lies all our answers. We must till the fields we have, with the tools we’ve made. To do otherwise would be to starve.’
There was a ripple of movement around the audi-ence.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘Who here feels himself so frail that he will not give his best endeavour to this task?’
The movement stopped and no hands were raised.
Andawyr closed his eyes. ‘Then the time is now, brothers,’ he said softly. ‘All words must cease.’
There were no precedents for what they were trying to do, nor any guidance to be found anywhere. Their main hope lay in the certain knowledge that Sumeral and the Uhriel had been wakened, and that therefore such an awakening was possible. Through the weeks of debate they had decided eventually that a raucous display of the Old Power was not the way. Had such a display been used to rouse Sumeral, then surely they would have felt it. And who could have done it? Also, to use the power to such an extent now would be to announce their presence to Him beyond all doubt, and risk bringing Him down upon them.
Someone, Andawyr could not remember who, had said, ‘Perhaps it was some act of faith that wakened them,’ and from that chance remark had developed the idea they were now about to attempt.
Let there be a great silence. A man may sleep soundly through hubbub and uproar, yet wake suddenly at the lightest footfall. So might that not be the same for the Guardians, who had slept so long in the intermina-ble clatter of the world they had formed?
As Andawyr fell silent each of the Cadwanol in his turn closed his eyes and entered into his own stillness, as if preparing for some great trial with the Old Power. Each took with him such knowledge as he had of the four Guardians and their domains.
Then, very slowly, each reached out to the other.
A joining of the minds of two or three individuals was not uncommon for certain uses of the Old Power, but it was no easy feat, being easily disturbed by the normal urgencies of daily life and the natural self-centred imperfections of the human personality. For virtually the whole Order to be joined thus would verge on the miraculous. Yet, under Andawyr’s new-found strength and calm, it began, imperceptibly, to happen, until soon it was far beyond anything that had ever been achieved in the past. As each doubt came to Andawyr, he acknowledged it and let it pass unhindered.
There had been little difficulty in dealing with the problem of the cluttering pressure of daily routine, but when questioned about the possible effects of individual weakness, he had simply said: ‘You know the gravity of our need. You know some of your imperfections. Let them, and such others as you find, fall away amp;mdashsink from sight in the stillness we shall make. Trust me. You have both the strength and the courage to do it.’
At one point however, doubts and fears began to accumulate and cloud his clear stillness. He felt his own doubts begin to cling about him. Would they fail? Would he fail? Would he, who had had the arrogance to attempt to bring this about, destroy it with his own weakness? If that happened, such a joining could never be achieved again, and who then would even attempt to waken the Guardians? The stillness wavered.
Then, apparently irrelevantly, the thought came to him that if any force had, over the years, subtly dulled their wish to travel and seek new knowledge, it may not necessarily have been malign. How else could so many of the Order have been here, and been so rested, so introverted, to attempt this extraordinary deed? And if no external force had induced their seemingly inexcus-able lethargy, was not this now a fitting atonement?
Andawyr’s reproach about their neglect had struck cruelly at every member of the Order, including himself and, not being fully debated, had grumbled uneasily beneath the surface of their normal activities over the past weeks. Now, the unexpected appearance of this alternative interpretation of their seeming inaction spread through the merging minds like an absolving flux, trailing a great lightness in its wake and carrying all his doubts with it.
An act of faith, Andawyr recalled, and the lightness spread.
Then, without a perceptible change, the one mind became freely his and he allowed it to enter into the deepest stillness he had ever known.
But there was still an unease; the faintest ripple on the surface of this deep and silent lake.
What breeze blows yet? Andawyr felt the question form around him.
Expectation, he answered, after a timeless moment. And with sure ease, he let it go.
The stillness became almost absolute. That it was flawed here and there reassured him.
Into it he formed the names of the Guardians. And around each name was the totality of his mind’s knowledge.
Share our stillness. Let us know your presence. You are needed. Your creation is threatened again.
Stillness.
Silence.
Then he was aware that he was listening to the Guardians.
‘… cannot be as it was. All things are changed.’
How long had the voice amp;mdashvoices amp;mdashbeen speaking? They were faint and distant amp;mdashtired? Weak?
Vague images formed in his mind. Three figures, as faint and distant as the voices. Or was it one figure? That they had no reality, he knew. They were images; his mind needed to accept the reality of the voices.
He let them form and change in the stillness, and he listened. ‘We are not… as we were. We sleep and… do not sleep. We are… ’
The emphasis of the last brief phrase eluded An-dawyr, but he ignored the temptation to pursue it.
‘Understand… ’
Then he was earth and water and air. Strong yet weak. Resolute yet fearful. Complete but incomplete. Lost. Searching.
Alone they were not enough. That thought was vivid. All could be lost. The sudden pain was unbear-able. Life must fight where life was assailed.
‘Ethriss.’ A cry, a plea? A recognition?
For the merest instant, his mind, the mind of the Cadwanol, touched a stirring form. But it was bound. Hidden? He sought it again, but it was gone.
Then the voices too were gone. They would not return. Lingering in the distant echoes of their passing was the sense of their need. Ethriss had to be found.
That evening, Andawyr and a few of the senior brothers sat in the Council Chamber. They had agreed before the attempt to wake the Guardians that they should meet and discuss whatever had been its outcome. However, while conscientious habit had brought them there, a meditative silence pervaded the room. The torches had been extinguished, and bright moonlight washed in through the window openings.
Andawyr stared out at the Riddin countryside, its familiar outlines subtly changed in the moonlight. An occasional night bird flew black across the tinted sky, to disappear into the darkness.
In the silence following the enigmatic passage of the Guardians, Andawyr had slowly guided the Cadwanwr back to the solid reality of the Work Hall until each was himself again. No one had spoken as the companionable silence of gathered friends gradually replaced the deep silence of their strange and unique communion. Then, without command, the gathering had quietly broken up.
Even now, so many hours later, the spoken voice seemed a coarse, inadequate means of communication.
That the joining of the minds of the Order had been a success was beyond doubt. A success the like of which had never before been achieved by the Order. But the contact with the Guardians had been strange and disturbing. What had they expected? Andawyr thought. The proud, armoured figures of children’s tales? The icy disdain of creatures too far above humankind to concern themselves further? He did not know. But he had not expected the faint, almost whispering voices with their enigmatic words. Nor had he expected the strange ambiguities he had sensed. Least of all had he expected to be suddenly as they were, sharing their vision and their concerns, and worst of all, sharing their doubts and fears.
Yet he had shared. They had allowed it. Indeed they had brought it about, for he couldn’t have achieved it. It had been thrust upon him. They had deemed it necessary that the Cadwanol understand something. Now each Cadwanwr must ponder what that was.
‘What did it mean, Andawyr?’ A soft voice echoed Andawyr’s thoughts. It was Oslang’s. Andawyr smiled in the moonlit darkness. Traces of the joining lingered still. Looking round he saw that some of the others were smiling too.
‘It means that we’re wiser than we were,’ Andawyr replied. ‘We’ve reached the Guardians, and they us. It was perhaps foolish to imagine that we could talk with them as if they were… ordinary people. But for all the strangeness of their words we know now that they live, my friends. They live. And we know that they, like we, search for Ethriss. We have allies that we knew nothing of.’ He paused. ‘But… ’
‘Put your faith in the Guardians, but keep your sword sharp,’ Ryath said.
Andawyr chuckled. ‘A Fyordyn expression I think,’ he said. ‘But apt. We’ve sought for guidance and it wasn’t what we expected, but we needn’t concern ourselves too much about that. It was guidance nonetheless and the lessons of today’s work may be years in coming.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘They may serve a purpose too subtle for our poor understanding. We shouldn’t forget that we’re their servants, not they ours.’ Gently he slapped his hands together. ‘The lessons of history, however, we know already. Tomorrow some of us go back out into the world, to listen and learn and teach.’
‘And to search for this man, Hawklan?’ someone said.
Andawyr nodded. ‘Above all to search for him. He is Ethriss as I live. And he is vulnerable.’
He paused. ‘He must be found, or we’re all lost.’