He laid a hand lightly on the door handle and one of the doors swung open soundlessly. Beyond it lay an immense chamber filled with rows of shelves running out of sight and reaching up so high that the candlelight could not encompass them. Even the lanterns hanging at the ends of the shelves did no more than scoop halos and circles of light in the overwhelming gloom of the place.
They entered the archive, the thick rugs underfoot smothering their footsteps, and Kerd leaned back to touch the lever, closing the door behind them. It was the first actual technology that Glynn had seen anywhere on Keltor, and she might have asked about it, except that Kerd had set off down one of the aisles. Following, she gazed about in wonder at the thousands of scrolls piled on every shelf! At length, the shelves gave way to a small cluster of tables occupied only by two elderly women and a very old man, all poring over scrolls held up to the light offered by a number of circular lanterns hanging from a central stand.
‘You see,’ Kerd said softly, making her jump. ‘There is no place like this on Vespi.’
‘Nor on Acantha,’ Glynn murmured, thinking of the row of square interlocking rooms with their open skylights in the haven, and the small dark room running off to one side, overheated and filled with draakan scholars fluttering like moths around lighted tables. That had been a mere annexe compared to this huge place.
‘You mean Fomhika,’ Bleyd said.
‘Oh … yes, of course. Fomhika.’ Glynn’s heart bumped at her ribs and she chided herself to be more careful. A man in a blue robe came hurrying towards them.
‘My Lord, you did not let us know you had entered.’
‘I am sorry, Scroll Master. I was too eager to continue my researches. I ought to have brought this servitor scholar to be registered as well.’ It was cleverly done, Glynn thought. Kerd had managed to imply that she was his servant without actually saying so.
The scroll master’s voice was stiffly polite. ‘Usually, My Lord, newcomers to the archives must be registered before being permitted to enter.’
‘Of course, I understand that. But this girl is with me.’
The scroll master hesitated. ‘I do see that, My Lord, nevertheless our rules are very strict for …’
Kerd gave a rather theatrical sigh. ‘I do hope you will not be tiresome enough to insist I bring a chit from Tarsin to permit this servitor access to the scrolls. If so, I am afraid that I will certainly mention your name, Olva, so that his irritation falls upon you rather than me.’
The man looked startled and slightly aghast. ‘I never suggested …’
‘Then have we your permission to proceed?’
‘Very well,’ the scroll master said with bad grace. ‘You are long known to us, My Lord, and I am sure that any servitor you have hired will be as careful as you with our precious scrolls. Of course she may not take anything from this place.’
‘Do you think me a fool?’ Kerd asked in a sharp tone of voice that Glynn had not heard him use before.
The scroll master was clearly taken aback. ‘Of course not, My Lord. But …’
‘Then let us get on with it,’ Kerd interrupted in his old friendly manner, and he turned away. Glynn followed, not daring to meet the gaze of the snubbed scroll master.
Kerd gave her a mischievous grin, then he began to lecture her. ‘The scrolls are arranged in sections. Commentaries, such as your mistress has her scribes produce, are on shelves marked in green.’ He pointed. ‘Personal scrolls such as a man would make of his thoughts or his doings or those of his mother or some other relative, based on chits and scribings by them, may be found on shelves marked with yellow. There are not many of these. I don’t think the scroll master approves of personal histories,’ he added with a grin. ‘Map cloths and travel commentaries are on shelves marked in white, and those purple markings indicate false scrolls.’ Glynn guessed that they were fictional stories, but she did not want to interrupt to ask.
‘Older historical scrolls are in the blue shelves. Of course the eldest are kept in a locked room. To see them, you really do need Tarsin’s permission. What area interests you in particular?’
The words tumbled from Glynn’s lips before she had the presence of mind to censor them. ‘I would like to know more about Lanalor’s portal.’
Kerd merely asked, ‘You believe in the portal?’
‘I believe that strangers have come to Keltor so I guess there has to be a portal for them to come through,’ Glynn said truthfully.
‘You speak of strangers and not demons.’ Kerd said this with a small triumphant grin. Then he grew serious. ‘You know, I have always been fascinated by the idea of people drawn by chance into the Void from some world other than Keltor. I can not help but wonder how they felt and what happened to them. It is a dream of mine that I will one day have a chance to read the Scroll of Strangers on Darkfall. A foolish dream, of course, since no men are allowed there.’
‘Who was the last stranger to come to Keltor?’ Glynn asked.
Kerd shrugged. ‘No one knows for sure. You see, not all strangers reached the safety of Darkfall.’ He gave her a frowning look and Glynn knew he was thinking about the draakan cult. But he only said, ‘When I was a boy I used to pretend to myself that strangers arrived far more regularly than ordinary people were led to understand, and settled among us in disguise.’ He laughed ruefully. ‘I used to look at people from other septs, and imagine they were secretly strangers.’
‘I have wondered about that myself,’ Glynn admitted. ‘I wonder how many of those who came wanted to go back to their own worlds,’ she murmured.
Kerd gave her a quizzical look. ‘You sound as fascinated by strangers as I am.’
‘I suppose I am curious about strangers because I feel myself to be one,’ Glynn said casually. Kerd stared at her in astonishment, and she smiled at him. ‘I don’t mean to say that I am a stranger. But losing my memory has made me feel that I have no place in the world.’
‘You lost your memory?’ Kerd said, scowling in thought. ‘Now where have I heard a story recently about a girl who lost her …’ His face went slack with sudden comprehension. ‘It was you, wasn’t it? Carick wavespeaker’s vessel picked you up and you went ashore at Acantha …’ His eyes widened. ‘That is where you joined the Draaka. Not on Fomhika. That’s why you spoke of Acantha a moment ago!’
Glynn could only nod dumbly. She did not want to tell him about being drugged and imprisoned in the haven for fear he would insist on reporting the Draaka. ‘I went to the haven because I needed coin to travel. They put me to work preserving older scrolls in the haven archive on Acantha and when the Draaka … was invited here, I was chosen to come to serve them. She knows that I have no memory of who I am or even where I come from.’
‘Then you could be a Myrmidor novice on rhiad.’
‘I don’t know who I am, but some have suggested that perhaps I was not affected by algae, but drugged and thrown into the se– great water. I do remember some things. My name and the fact that both of my parents died in an accident. I told you the truth when I said that I had come to Ramidan because of an interest in the past. I meant in my own past. But I wasn’t lying when I told you that I am interested in the scrolls as well …’
‘Perhaps you were a scholar before whatever happened to you, Glynn,’ Kerd murmured thoughtfully. ‘It may be that you have realised this and know instinctively that looking through the scrolls will restore your memory. Even the fact that you are interested in Lanalor’s portal might be a clue, too. I could ask them here which septs have scholars that are particularly interested in Lanalor’s portal.’
Glynn did not want the Vespian to start asking questions that might lead back to her, so she said quickly that she had only become interested in the portal because she had encountered it in her reading on Acantha.
‘Even so, it may be a clue,’ Kerd said judiciously. ‘Let us look at some scrolls concerning the portal and see if it rouses any memories.’
He seemed to have forgotten that he was supposed to be hurrying to his
chambers, but Glynn was glad enough of his presence. Without it, she would have been floundering aimlessly, but instead she was soon reading a scroll written by Lanalor’s sister, Alyda.
‘My brother is a man driven by his desires and emotions. I am a cooler creature and perhaps that is as well, for all things require balancing. His love for Shenavyre was very great, but it was also a sickness of the soul – is it not for this reason that love is named one of the weapons of madness used by the Chaos spirit? Seeing him thus transformed by love, I find myself deeply wary of that state, for is it not most truly a kind of chaos of the soul? One desires love because one is taught to revere it, but when I look about me at the things done in the name of love, I shudder and am repelled. I loved my brother, and that was a pitying sort of love. But his love for Shenavyre shows him no mercy and, in turn, he shows no mercy to himself …’
The scroll ended quite suddenly. Glynn asked the whereabouts of the rest of it and Kerd answered that it had most likely been destroyed. ‘As you know, much of Alyda’s writing is lost to us and some say that is the doing of the Chaos spirit, though why it would bother I do not know.’
Glynn could not help herself. ‘Maybe its aim is to destroy as much knowledge about the past as it can in the hope that no one will know the Unraveller when he comes.’
Kerd gave her a long look. ‘The soulweavers would know.’
‘Would they?’ Glynn asked. ‘Imagine if the Chaos spirit decided to stop them knowing? Imagine how it would be if the Unraveller came and no one knew it. Or only those who serve the Chaos spirit.’
‘A chilly thought, for they would seek him out and kill him,’ Kerd said. ‘But he would not sit about and wait to die. He would seek out a soulweaver, or travel to Darkfall if he knew what he was supposed to do.’
Glynn stared at him. ‘Surely he would know what he was here for?’
‘Perhaps not. It is one of the things scholars argue about,’ Kerd said. ‘One school of thought asks how the Unraveller could know anything, given that he was not yet born when Lanalor created the portal to bring him to Keltor. Others say that of course Lanalor would have found a way to let him know, for how else could he do what had to be done. The first school of thought answer this by saying that his coming and his deeds were foreseen by Lanalor, who had only to make his portal to allow this to come to pass. The second group disagree and claim that finding the Unraveller and informing him of his task is the specific duty for which the soulweaving order was created.’ His eyes met Glynn’s. ‘What do you believe?’
‘I told you I don’t believe in anything. I am only curious about what people believe and think about such matters as these which cannot be proven. What are the signs by which one would recognise the Unraveller, anyway? I know … remember … bits of that part of the Legendsong, but not the whole.’
In answer, Kerd hurried away down the shelves, rummaged for a bit and came back with another scroll. He unrolled it, and read, saying distractedly, ‘This is just a commentary and not a good one, but it does quote from the saga.’
Glynn read from where he indicated: ‘Thou shalt mark the promised Unraveller by these signals – half-blind yet seeing all, who is marked by visioning yet is without Darkfall mark, who lives yet sings the deathsong, who is born, yet is not of the Song of Making, who is gifted from the great water, who is crowned in bright flames.’ She had read the words before, and yet this time she was stunned to note something that had not struck her before. ‘The … it doesn’t say that the Unraveller is a man.’
Kerd gave her an odd look. ‘One only needs think of Alyda and the myrmidons to know that it might not be so. I said he only as a matter of convenience.’
‘What does the bit about singing the deathsong mean?’ Glynn tried to sound merely interested, but a strange and terrifying notion was forming in her mind.
‘There are many theories. Most believe it relates to the living death that is endured by the trapped Unykorn. The arguments are a bit convoluted though.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think that perhaps the Unraveller will have to die to release the Unykorn. There is a lot in the saga about sacrifice.’
‘It … it couldn’t mean that the Unraveller would actually be dying could it? Or that she … he would literally sing about death?’ Glynn’s lips felt strangely stiff.
‘That is not a theory I have heard and I must say it does not seem likely to me. How should a dying hero perform such a task?’
‘I … I don’t know. It just struck me that you could read it that way.’ Glynn’s heartbeat was beginning to slow, for of course her sudden mad notion that Ember was the Unraveller could not be right. The thought of frail, indifferent Ember actually setting out on an heroic quest to free a unicorn was ridiculous, and yet the notion persisted because of her mysterious resemblance to Shenavyre. What a dreadful irony if Ember had been supposed to be the Unraveller, only somehow Glynn had been sucked through the portal instead.
‘Are you all right?’
Glynn swallowed and handed the scroll back to Kerd. ‘I’m fine. I was just thinking that … I ought to go back now.’
Kerd insisted on leading her back the way they had come, and they collected the cage from the dingy corridor on their way back to the garden level and the cliff door. On the way, he talked of Lanalor, but Glynn found she could not concentrate. She kept thinking of the signs and of Ember. The reference to bright flame could so easily refer to her hair …
‘I will not come further than this lest I am seen. Besides, I had best go back and organise a message.’
Back on the sunlit path, Glynn’s fleeting idea that she might have usurped her twin sister’s destiny as the Unraveller seemed ludicrous. She dismissed it from her mind and began composing her excuses about the loss of the pelflyt, weaving the scraps of information she had gleaned from the hall together to be offered to the Prime and the Draaka to deflect any displeasure they might feel at her failure, yet again, to complete her task.
segue …
On Keltor, the windwalker Solen was dreaming of the blonde stranger. Viewed from within, it was not simply a dream but a complex melding of dream and past vision that reflected near present. The blonde girl-woman whirled to face her attacker, her movements balletic and very beautiful. Her assailant was not visible but the flashes of swords showed them to be very skilled. Despite the ugliness of what was happening, the girl emanated serenity, for the Song flowed in her every movement, though she was unable to hear it. Though she was losing.
I chose well, the watcher thought.
‘Glynna …’ the man moaned. He flailed in the air.
All at once the windwalker’s mind, empowered by its feinna abilities, surged out across the Void, dragging with it the watcher who had been deep in the mans mind. It could have pulled free, but the man’s mind was segueing purposefully to the Unraveller’s world, and the watcher could not imagine how this could be. The man had no connection to that world, except that which came through his profound feinna-born link to Glynn, and she was on Keltor. She could have and did segue across the Void to her former world, but this man had nothing to direct him there. The watcher wondered if the answer lay in his resemblance to the man, Wind, who had once instructed the blonde woman on that other world. But was it possible that a mere resemblance to a dead man could effect this much power?
It depends on the will of the dead man … a voice spoke within Solen’s unconscious mind, ghostly yet firm and slightly amused.
‘Who speaks?’ the watcher asked of the disembodied presence in the mind of the Keltan windwalker.
I am what you might become, but this was my choice. By giving myself to endless dream that is death, I am able to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them. An eerie chuckle rippled through the sleeping consciousness of the windwalker. Shakespeare said that. Also a dead man of my former world, whose mind exerts an influence even after his death. You see, I, too, am a watcher, and I have been watching you. The voice was
now serious, though there was a playful undertone.
‘I do not understand …’ the watcher said, amazed.
No, the voice agreed, kindly. Because you have not given everything yet, your vision is limited. Of course, you could not give it all up, I do see that. It was not a desire for immortality or even for a chance to live out your days that made you bargain to keep a tiny piece of life and independent will. It was true altruism if somewhat tinged with demagogy. I am not so limited although I am not omnipotent either. I know what you are trying to do and I have aided you as best I can, for you too are a player in what you seek to control. It is I who am shielding the girl in whom your deepest hopes reside, for despite your brave and conscientious efforts, too much has come to pass which would have revealed her, to her doom, and perhaps the doom of harmony itself. Yet it is that miraculous binding of her lovely mind and soul with the feinna, and her profound connection with this man in whose dreams we swim, that allows me to act. To meddle, as you once put it to yourself. I also calculated that the probability of us meeting in this very way was surprisingly high. So here we are. I am glad it has come sooner rather than later.
‘Who are you?’ the watcher asked again, shattered to know that this voice had access to its deepest mind.
Let us say that this man, whose mind I am using to propel us across the Void, is a dream of me, just as Keltor is a dream of my world.’
‘Keltor is no dream.’
All worlds are dreams; collective dreams within dreams. And each dream is real.
‘Where are you taking us?’
We go to bring hope to one who is close to despair. Perhaps it will make a difference that Chaos is thwarted even in this one small matter. But now I am afraid our dialogue must wait. We are there and there is a thing to be done.
‘Again,’ muttered the man called Solen, seeming to come awake. ‘Who, this time?’
Now that he was awake, or his consciousness, the watcher could see where they had come. They were in a tiny room occupied by a woman and a small boy. It was night and she was Chinese and curled about the boy like a cat around its kitten. She slept, but there was longing in the shape her body made about the child.