A Blackbird In Darkness (Book 2) Read online

  Estarinel saw her face grow even colder and, in his misery, he felt stirrings of anger.

  ‘Where does the Serpent get its hate from, Medrian?’ he almost shouted. He saw her flinch as if he had accused her of some terrible crime, and regretted his words immediately. ‘Tell me,’ he said quietly, ‘the only thing that will stop the Worm’s venom from destroying all of Forluin is if we kill it, isn’t it? M’gulfn’s will is what gives the poison its power.’

  She nodded, her eyes glittering like jet.

  ‘Then – could it be that the Worm has taken revenge on me? If I hadn’t set out on the Quest, my family would have been spared?’

  Medrian did not answer. Her face became whiter. She could have been carved from snow for all she seemed to care. He dropped his head onto his arms, pain and sorrow overcoming him. This was the worst time he had ever known, the coldest and most desolate knowledge he had yet had to face. It seemed only Medrian in all the world had the power to rescue him from despair, and she was using that power to torment him over the brink of darkness. The only way to save himself would be to turn his love to hate – was that what she was trying to do? – but he knew that would never, ever happen. All that was left was to surrender himself to the abyss.

  Medrian was shaking as though a polar wind were blowing on her. I’ve made my decision, she kept telling herself. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. Oh, but this hard! How can I watch his pain, and do nothing? Have I grown as cruel as M’gulfn? I cannot, cannot sit and watch him be totally destroyed by sorrow – no more –

  ‘No,’ she said. He started and looked up at her. ‘The Worm is not that clever, it won’t specifically have attacked your family. There’s nothing you could have done.’

  And just as she had known it would, her resolve collapsed utterly as she spoke. She began to sob, tears of sorrow for Estarinel and for Forluin running down her cheeks. Like a crippled woman she uncurled herself and crawled across Lothwyn’s rug to him, pulling herself up off the floor and into his arms.

  She hid her face against his neck and whispered, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry – sorry – sorry,’ over and over again, as if the attack on Forluin had been entirely her fault. Estarinel rocked her, stroking her head, his own tears falling into her hair as he embraced her. He did not stop to wonder why she had changed so suddenly and completely. It didn’t matter. He accepted her comfort with unquestioning relief and love as she drew him back from the void.

  Medrian was thinking, this is mad, coming to Forluin was mad, I must have known what would happen. What a fool, to think I was strong enough! She wept as if she would never stop, flooded by sorrow, not only for Estarinel, but now for her own lightless existence, made terrible by the Serpent. And by dread at the thought of completing the path upon which she had set herself. I would never have coveted these few hours of freedom, she told herself severely, if I had known they would only mean surrender to terror and self-pity, all the weaknesses that jeopardize the Quest...

  But it was too late. Estarinel needed her; she could not have done otherwise. And now she was discovering something she had never been able to feel before, the exquisiteness of being held in someone’s arms, far beyond mere comfort. The urge to release her misery was submerged by a stronger need that felt like starvation. Oh, ye gods, I am human – even I – even after all that’s happened to me. To waste these few hours would be insane – they are all I’ll ever have. I may never defeat the Serpent now, but if I have just one moment of love and joy to remember, it can never defeat me either...

  Estarinel kissed her, made joyful by her sudden warmth in the midst of his grief. Whatever had made him love her, the elusive self she had kept sealed beneath Arctic ice, was real; all the love she had been denied from giving or receiving, all her life, was flooding her now like a storm. Again he did not ask why. He ventured into the darkness and at the centre, at last, he found Medrian.

  Chapter Four. The Shana’s Lie

  Calorn followed Ashurek, at a distance, for a long way. He went along a mossy shore that was only a few inches above the blue water that lapped it, half-concealed by strange trees that appeared carved from jade and aquamarine. The moss glittered with water within the imprints of his feet.

  She was sure he knew she was following him. He left the shore and crossed a breathtakingly high, delicate bridge that arched across the water to join an island of faceted cerulean rock. When he reached the far side he turned and waited for her, staring at her grimly.

  ‘You’ve been trailing me like a hound. What do you want?’

  Calorn faced him unrepentantly. ‘I want to know where you’re going.’

  ‘Oh? I wasn’t aware that I was answerable to you in any way,’ said Ashurek.

  ‘But while we are here, we are answerable to the Lady, and I think she’d be none too pleased if she knew what you are planning,’ Calorn said pleasantly.

  ‘Don’t anger me, Calorn. You’re not indispensable to the Quest.’ He turned away from her but she caught him up, ignoring the dangerous intensity of his face.

  ‘Maybe not, but you won’t find the Silver Staff without my help, and nor will you find what you’re looking for now.’

  Ashurek stopped and turned to stare at her again. ‘You’d better explain yourself, and quickly. I’ve no time for conversation.’

  ‘It’s obvious enough to me, ever since the Lady told us the Dark Regions are on the other side of the Blue Plane, that you’ve thought of nothing except going through and rescuing Silvren. Well, is that what you intend?’

  ‘What of it? It’s true the Lady wouldn’t approve. She would most likely expel me from H’tebhmella. But unless someone tells her, she won’t know,’ said Ashurek. ‘I suggest you go back the way you came, and remain silent.’

  ‘Ashurek, I was not going to tell her. On the contrary, I want to come with you.’

  ‘You–?’

  ‘Yes. How do you plan to find a Way through to the Dark Regions? Sometimes mere determination isn’t enough. All my training has been to find Ways from world to world, plane to plane.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I can find the Way unaided. Calorn, you are wasting time.’

  ‘Can you find it? I know where it is already. And you are going the wrong way.’

  Ashurek looked at her bright eyes and unclouded face, and began to realise it would be easier not to argue with her. ‘You’d better show me. But I cannot let you come through with me. It is a more terrible place than you can imagine.’

  ‘So what?’ Calorn grinned. ‘I never was very imaginative. I am coming with you, every step of the way, for I know you will need all the help I can give.’

  ‘By the Serpent,’ said Ashurek, ‘you are as insane as I. Come on then, let’s waste no more time; we must be back before Estarinel and Medrian return, and we are missed.’

  Calorn led him off to the right, over another bridge and down a long, precarious causeway of rock. Horses swam past them on either side, and he wondered, briefly, if the animals had the ability to tell the women of H’tebhmella where he and Calorn were going. More likely the whole Plane was sentient, and in truth no one could go anywhere upon it without the Lady knowing. They climbed around the base of a great mushroom of rock, and came at last to a strange landscape of gnarled, indigo stone.

  The sweet calm of H’tebhmella was still tangible here, but the shining blue water that covered most of the Plane was out of sight. That was disturbing, for the vast lake – always visible from the Plane’s slender islands – had become a familiar, eternal presence. More strangely, Ashurek could sense an introversion about the rocks, as if they were leaning towards each other to conceal a secret. Something about which they felt faintly sad and ashamed.

  Calorn was exploring, moving from rock to rock and touching each one as if the touch could show her what she sought.

  ‘It’s here somewhere,’ she mumbled as she passed him. Ashurek could feel and sense that she was right – that there was a concealed Way to the far side of the Plane very near. And he knew that, w
ithout her, it would have taken him days to locate it, days he did not have.

  Now Calorn was circling a single stalk of rock, probing it with her fingers. With an expression of deep concentration on her face she located a thin rim of stone concealing a shallow depression that apparently led nowhere.

  ‘Here – come on, quickly,’ she said.

  Ashurek pressed himself into the depression and found that, behind the overlapping rim, there was a black gap just wide enough to squeeze through sideways. Calorn was close beside him as he pulled himself through into a small cavern.

  As their eyes adjusted, they found that it was not pitch dark. A soft twilight blue illuminated the little cave, although whether it was light filtering from outside, or the rock itself that glowed, they could not tell. A thin passage led steeply down in front of them. The cavern had a still, neutral air about it. It seemed fully aware of the secret it held, the fistula running through to the Dark Regions, but alongside the sad shame it felt, there was a pride in protecting H’tebhmella, in preventing the Shana from ever coming through to this side. The balance between these two feelings was a stoic neutrality that would not allow itself to express either joy or pain.

  ‘Do you feel these rocks conveying their thoughts to you?’ asked Ashurek. ‘Or am I alone in the foothills of insanity?’

  ‘It’s just H’tebhmella,’ said Calorn.

  Ashurek shut his mind to the feeling that by entering the cavern he was somehow betraying H’tebhmella. He set off swiftly down the narrow tunnel with Calorn following. And so, unarmed, they made their way down towards the Dark Regions.

  The tunnel hardly seemed to be intended for use by humans. As on the White Plane, when the questers had crossed from one side to the other, there was a sickening shift of gravity beneath their feet. Unlike the White Plane, however, the shaft was not a round, wide tunnel. In places they had to crawl, in others it was a bare few inches wide and they had to squeeze through, in danger of getting stuck fast. Ashurek was made anxious, not by the narrowness of the tunnel, but by frustration at the slowness of reaching his destination. He had no idea how long the shaft was, but now they were on their way, he had no intention of turning back.

  It seemed H’tebhmella was not as thick as the White Plane. In less than two hours they felt the nearness of the Dark Regions. The shaft was made entirely of the fabric of the Blue Plane, so where it opened upon the foreign matter of the Dark Regions, it cried silently in protest; a slender throat screaming its revulsion at something unutterably, incomprehensibly vile. Ashurek had to fight to stop himself pressing his hands over his ears – as if that could keep out the terrible scream.

  Looking round, he saw that Calorn was also struggling, her face tense. He hoped her courage would hold. Now the dim blue light that had lit their way had blackness seeping into it, and the way grew even narrower and more difficult. It seemed to Ashurek that the tunnel really was a throat, swallowing and constricting against the entry of that blackness.

  He turned to Calorn and said, ‘Prepare yourself. We’re there.’

  At their next step, their hope of entering the Dark Regions slowly and cautiously was tom away. Gravity spun beneath them, drew them into a vortex. They were falling with sickening speed through darkness. They could have been anywhere, transported to another universe, spinning through space.

  Calorn had automatically relaxed her body in preparation for the impact when they hurtled into a black swamp. A shudder of pain jarred through her as she landed. There was a sensation of bouncing, as if the surface was slightly elastic and had absorbed the worst of the impact. She stretched out her hands and touched the black substance to find it had the exact texture and resilience of flesh.

  Gagging with revulsion, she snatched her hands away, but it was not the touch of the surface that revolted her. She could sense a terrible evil lying underneath, permeating the whole of the swamp as water fills a sponge. A barely audible gibbering filled her ears, as if a million imps lurked below the surface, a sick swarm that could extinguish the brightest hope with their cruelty. And she could feel herself sinking down towards them as if into a viscous ink. The ground was sodden with evil; she had not known such depravity could exist, such soul-consuming emptiness. Amidst the supernatural malice of the black imps hid human weaknesses: guilt, jealousy, irresponsibility. And the swamp was sucking her down, like an amoeba, to join the infinite horrors within it.

  Calorn was brave when faced with something she could fight. Now she was paralysed, but still her instinctive self-control prevented her from voicing terror. As levelly as she could, she called, ‘Ashurek.’ She trembled as the sound of her voice reverberated horribly, as if some venomous monster had spoken the word within her own skull.

  There was no reply. Her whole body was stiff with revulsion and denial as she felt the swamp drawing her further into itself. No, she screamed to herself, the Quest, the Silver Staff, Silvren – my life can’t just end, meaninglessly, now –

  Then, out of the darkness somewhere above her, she heard the Gorethrian’s voice. ‘Calorn?’ The tone was normal, lacking the terrible echo. ‘I can’t see you.’

  ‘Ashurek,’ she gasped, unable to still the shuddering of relief in her voice. ‘In the swamp – I can’t move.’

  In seconds he had located her, grasped her arms and was hauling her to her feet. He was astonished at the reluctance with which the swamp gave her up. It clung to her like latex, finally relinquishing her with a dreadful sucking shriek.

  Still shuddering, she scrubbed black slime from her face, swearing vehemently between coughs. It was several moments before she realised that she and Ashurek were now standing on the fleshy surface.

  ‘Let’s get off here,’ she said brusquely. She could still feel the rabid corruption gnawing at the soles of her feet.

  Ashurek, seeming untouched by it, replied, ‘We cannot. Look around.’ She did so, and found that the darkness was not absolute. She could see Ashurek clearly, and saw also that the spongy mass of the swamp extended in all directions, vanishing into opaque darkness after a few hundred yards. The only landmark was an indistinguishable black shape far ahead of them. They seemed to be trapped inside a dark drum, standing precariously on a skin that vibrated with malice.

  ‘Oh, ye gods,’ she muttered. She tried to move, but each step sent aches of evil shooting through her legs.

  ‘I was lucky,’ Ashurek grinned. ‘I bounced to my feet when I landed. Obviously the swamp did not want me. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Calorn snapped. ‘But there are dreadful things in this morass. I can still feel them.’

  ‘The Regions are formed of evil, as I warned,’ Ashurek said thornily, half to himself. ‘The Serpent designed them cleverly, to contain everything man might fear... or lust after.’ He pointed to the black landmark and said, ‘We’ll make for there, for a start.’

  They began to walk, the fleshy surface bouncing slightly at each step. Calorn gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the sadistic hints of horror knifing into her feet. Her glance flickered everywhere, to either side, behind and above them, as she tried to take in everything she could about this unknown Region.

  ‘Look,’ she said suddenly. ‘Up there.’

  He stopped, but she carried on walking, reluctant to stand still on the evil marsh. ‘What?’

  ‘The tunnel back to H’tebhmella. Can’t you see it, like a faint half-closed eye?’

  Then Ashurek understood. The Dark Regions had seemed cave-like to him before, as if enclosed by a low roof of rock. Now he realised that the ‘roof’ was the other side of the Blue Plane. Instead of lying upon the surface, the Dark Regions hung suspended from it, gravity inverted. So they had fallen from the mouth of the tunnel and landed upon the ground; and now their escape route was some forty feet above their heads. As Calorn observed, the faint light emanating from it glowed in the roof-rock like a sorrowful eye.

  He cursed to himself, then, catching her up, muttered, ‘We’ll worry about our escape lat
er. Let’s find Silvren first.’ Calorn brushed her long red-brown hair back from her face and smiled to show that it would take a good deal more to daunt her. She was eager to know how he planned to find Silvren, but the restless glitter of his eyes made her realise it was unwise to ask.

  Again he felt himself grinning like a skull. The blackness of the Dark Regions matched exactly the blackness of his mood; it was as though the grin was a challenge, daring them to offer some additional evil that might destroy his resolve. Abruptly the challenge was answered.

  Something flapped over their heads, uttering an echoing squawk. Ashurek recoiled. In an instant the creature had brought back to him, in exquisite detail, all the suffering of his time in the Dark Regions, which had so broken his spirit that he had agreed to go and take the Egg-Stone from Miril. He remembered the nightmare expansion of time that made him think he had been there for weeks, the insidious, subtle tortures, the grinning faces of the Shana. The feel of the place was the softness of rotten flesh and the hardness of petrified bone. And the smell – punctuated by the acrid stenches of decay and every foulness, the smell was the stomach-turning tang of metal and the dusty, timeless odour of a crypt. The very ground seemed to emanate despair.

  And he remembered that Silvren had been imprisoned here for months and months.

  The creature flew over again, close to their heads. It uttered a cry that was both mocking and desolate. Ashurek walked faster, as if that could suppress his anguish at the familiarity of the cry that he had heard so often during his internment in the Dark Regions. It still haunted his nightmares.