The Fall of Fyorlund Read online

  ‘It’s all too much, Gavor,’ said Hawklan, still rubbing his eyes. ‘I can’t make out truth from fiction, and there’s just too much of everything. I feel I’m losing knowledge not gaining it.’

  No reply.

  Hawklan leaned back in his chair and looked across at his friend. Gavor was sound asleep, his foot clutching the top rail of a chair he had commandeered as his perch, and his wooden leg sticking out horizontally, steadying him against an open book propped up in front of him.

  Hawklan smiled. ‘Very wise,’ he yawned, pushing the books he had been reading to one side. He leaned forward and, cushioning his head on his arms, fell fast asleep without the slightest twinge of conscience.

  When he opened his eyes, he found it difficult to focus. Sitting opposite him, next to the sleeping Gavor, was Andawyr, his oval punch-bag face looking gaunt and haggard and very old in the soft light of the now darkened Library.

  Hawklan smiled and opened his mouth to speak. He wanted to tell Andawyr that his arm was better, but the words would not form properly.

  ‘Listen to me, Hawklan.’ The voice was faint and distant. ‘I can speak to you only because of my extremity. We’ve bound the birds . . . I’m held in Narsindal, I may be destroyed at any moment. Go to the Cadwanol . . . in the Caves of Cadwanen at the Pass of Elewart.’

  Hawklan felt pain and fear now in the old man’s presence, but still could not speak.

  ‘They know of you. Tell them I reached out to you when all hope was gone. Tell them the Uhriel are indeed abroad – Oklar, Creost and Dar Hastuin.’

  Darkness came into Hawklan’s mind from some unknown source. Andawyr’s voice became weaker.

  ‘Tell them that they’ve raised and awakened . . .’ The image faltered. ‘Raised and awakened their old Master. I’ve felt His presence and, I fear, He mine.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Hawklan, the Second Coming of Sumeral is upon us. Sphaeera, Theowart and Enartion must be roused.’ His hands came in front of his face as if fending off an attack.

  Hawklan tried to tell him he was safe; this was only a library. Everything was safe in Anderras Darion. But still he could not speak and his eyes were becoming heavier and heavier. Fading in the distance he heard, ‘They need you and you they. Ethriss must be found and awakened or all will be lost, and Sumeral’s power will stretch across the stars. He’s wiser by far now . . .’

  An ominous chilling blackness rolled over Hawklan as the voice dwindled into nothingness, and Hawklan felt a cold malevolent presence before drifting into forgetfulness.

  Slowly, out of the infinite darkness came a tiny bright dancing spark calling his name. Calling it repeatedly, and laughing at him. As it grew, it twinkled and shifted, moving as the sound moved until finally it burst into a myriad sparks and he opened his eyes to a blaze of light and laughter.

  He sat up, bleary-eyed. The Library was bright with daylight carried into the innermost reaches of the Castle by the mirror stones. Tirilen’s laughter was ringing in his ears, and the cause of it was dancing up and down frantically in front of him.

  ‘Ah, ah, ah. Ooh, ooh. Do something,’ cried Gavor.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Hawklan asked sleepily.

  ‘Pins and needles,’ Tirilen announced, still laughing.

  ‘Where?’ said Hawklan, flexing the stiffness out of his own muscles.

  Gavor proffered his wooden leg and Tirilen flopped into a chair, wiping tears from her eyes. Hawklan looked at her reproachfully.

  ‘Not a good attitude for a healer, my girl,’ he said, trying not to smile. Gavor, however, continued his plaint until he was suddenly and miraculously cured by the abrupt entrance of Gulda.

  ‘Well, I can see you’ve slept, young man,’ she said. ‘I suppose you’ll want to eat now will you?’

  ‘Solicitous as ever, dear lady,’ muttered Gavor loudly to no one in particular.

  Gulda glowered at him. Gavor raised his beak into the air with great dignity and, walking over to a conspicuous patch of sunshine, began to preen himself vigorously, scattering dust and fragments of iridescent feathers into the broad shaft of sunlight that fell on him like a great finger.

  Hawklan looked at Gulda and then at Tirilen, who was tossing her shining blonde hair to cut a golden swathe through the sunlight. Suddenly, the memory of Andawyr and the strange horror that had surrounded him, returned with an appalling vividness.

  Outside, the sun disappeared behind ragged storm clouds blowing from the east, and the light in the Library took on a gloomier cast.

  ‘Gulda,’ he said faintly.

  Gulda’s eyes narrowed slightly as she caught his tone. Indicating the door with a movement of her head she mouthed, ‘food’ to Tirilen. As the girl left, Gulda sat down by Hawklan and rested her hands on her stick.

  ‘Gulda,’ he said. ‘I had a dream last night. At least, I thought it was a dream at the time, but now I’m not sure.’ He shivered slightly. ‘It was very strange.’

  Gulda did not speak, but she nodded her head encouragingly. Hawklan’s voice made Gavor stop his preening.

  ‘Andawyr was here,’ Hawklan continued, pointing to the chair where he had seen the little man.

  ‘Andawyr?’ Gulda inquired.

  Hawklan gestured apologetically. ‘Someone I met at the Gretmearc.’ Then, in amplification, ‘Strange little man. I owe him a great deal. He and Gavor saved my life. Said he belonged to the Cadwanol, whoever they are.’

  Gulda’s eyes widened and, for an instant, her fierce expression disappeared into one of profound surprise. For that same instant, Hawklan had a vision of a face that had once been strikingly beautiful.

  ‘The Cadwanol,’ she said softly, to herself. ‘After all this time. Still watching.’ She lifted a hand to cover her face and sat motionless with her head bowed for several minutes. When she looked up, her face was full of self-reproach.

  ‘I haven’t asked you what happened at the Gretmearc, Hawklan,’ she said quietly, ‘although I could see you were keeping something from the villagers. I’m sorry. I’m becoming as foolish as I’m old. Will you tell me everything now please?’ Gavor cocked his head on one side at Gulda’s subdued tone. ‘Everything,’ she repeated. Some of her old manner returned and leaning forward she prodded Hawklan’s knee with her long forefinger. ‘Everything since this . . . tinker Lord arrived that you haven’t told the others.’

  As Hawklan recounted his tale, Gulda folded her hands on top of her stick and rested her head on them, eyes closed and downcast. When finally he finished, she did not move, but Hawklan sensed a tension in her.

  ‘Now tell me of this dream,’ she said. Mindful of her earlier admonition, Hawklan recounted Andawyr’s words and actions as accurately as he could. It was all still peculiarly vivid in his mind and he shivered a little again as he finished.

  Though she showed no response, the tension in Gulda seemed to build then, abruptly, her pale face became even paler, the tight mouth quivered and her long powerful hands shook as they clenched the top of the stick. Hawklan became alarmed, thinking she was about to faint. He put out a hand as if to catch her, and she reached out and took hold of it. Her grip was frighteningly powerful, but the hand was cold and shaking. ‘I’ll be all right in a moment,’ she said faintly. Hawklan winced at the pain that radiated from her.

  Gavor clunked across the table and looked at her strangely. Gulda caught his deep black eye, and her face softened.

  ‘Ah,’ she said softly, almost to herself. ‘Faithful bird. Your people did true service in their time.’ Then directly to Gavor, ‘You’ll have to forgive an impatient old woman her sharp tongue and foolishness. There’ll be no more. I doubt we’ve the time.’

  Gavor had many uncomfortable qualities but pettiness was not one. ‘Dear girl,’ he said. ‘I’d rather have any amount of your abuse than see you wilt like this.’

  ‘What’s the matter, Gulda?’ Hawklan asked.

  She did not answer, but remained with her head lowered for a little while. Then, as though she were a sapli
ng that bowed only while the wind blew, she sat upright. Her face was still white, but it was filled with a stern resolution and dignity that stopped Hawklan speaking further.

  She relinquished Hawklan’s hand and placed her own steadily back on top of her stick. ‘Tell me again what he said. Exactly, mind.’

  Hawklan repeated his tale.

  ‘Do these names mean anything to you, Hawklan?’ she asked.

  Hawklan shrugged. ‘I keep coming across them in these,’ he said, waving his hand over the books scattered across the table. ‘And in some of the tales on the Gate. Andawyr talked about Sumeral. Called him the Corruptor, the Great Enemy . . . the Enemy of Life.’

  Gulda nodded. ‘Didn’t he explain?’

  Hawklan shook his head. ‘A little, but we were attacked before he could finish.’ Gulda nodded.

  The sound of a door closing quietly made Hawklan look up, and Tirilen came quietly into the room carrying food and drink. She walked over the soft carpeting as gently as if it had been a spring meadow and laid a carved tray at Hawklan’s elbow.

  Gavor cast his eye approvingly over the wares offered. ‘Be enough to spare for a famished avian, won’t there?’ he whispered. Tirilen caught the look on Gulda’s face. ‘Shall I leave?’ she said. Gavor looked up in alarm.

  ‘No,’ said Gulda. ‘Eat. And stay. You’re his friend. He’ll need you. And to be strong you must also know the truth.’

  Gavor began to eat with noisy gusto.

  Hawklan picked up a piece of fruit and, toying with it absently, looked at Gulda.

  She in turn looked straight into his green eyes. ‘You must trust me, Hawklan, like you trusted this . . . Andawyr. It was probably because of your trust that he could reach you in his hour of need and give us his message.’

  Hawklan found the piercing blue eyes disconcerting. ‘I’ll trust you, Gulda. I feel no hurt in you for all your ferocity. And you’re a focus for these who’re trying to reach me.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gulda. ‘Your figures in the mist. I’m afraid they’re a mystery to me. I saw nothing . . . but you’re a special person and, there’s a lot I don’t know, Hawklan, a lot.’ She paused uncertainly. ‘However, what I do know, you need to know. Your ignorance is pitiful and probably dangerous.’

  As it had done in Andawyr’s tent, the word ignorance raked through Hawklan like an icy wind stirring long-lain leaves.

  ‘Tell me what you know,’ he said flatly. ‘Perhaps you can thread these happenings together.’

  Gulda’s eyes narrowed at his tone, then she lowered them for a while as if she had either not decided exactly what to say or was trying to recall a tale she had not told for many years.

  ‘Let me speak and then ask your questions, Hawklan,’ she said, reluctantly shedding the last obstacle between her tale and its exposition. Hawklan nodded and Gulda began.

  ‘These people here think of me as just a cantankerous old teacher who’s come back to persecute them in their middle age like I did when they were children.’ A smile flitted across her face, like sunshine off a wave. ‘Well,’ she admitted, ‘I am cantankerous, but only because the old is truer than they can imagine. But I haven’t come back to persecute them . . . although I might.’ Another brief smile. ‘A little, just for old times’ sake.’ Then the smile vanished utterly. ‘No. I’ve come back because something is stirring. Something dark and evil that once spread its stain over the whole world . . .’

  She stared straight ahead with unfocused eyes for some time before grimacing self-consciously. ‘I’m sorry,’ she went on. ‘It’s so long since I’ve spoken of these things it’s not only difficult to know where to start, I didn’t know how painful it was going to be.’

  ‘If it distresses you, Gulda . . .’ Hawklan began, but she waved him to silence.

  ‘No, no,’ she said quickly. And then, in an almost offhand manner, ‘Anyway, it’s of no consequence why I came here. I should be old enough by now not to put too much store in my own assessment of my motives, eh? Now I’m here I see my task is to instruct you. Then perhaps I can return to my own problem.’ Apparently satisfied with this conclusion, she sat up briskly and began like a village storyteller.

  Chapter 21

  ‘A long time ago, out of the terrible heat of the Great Searing came four figures. Shining white and brilliant, they walked the cooling world shaping it with their songs and their love into a great celebration of their sheer joy at being.

  ‘Many shapes it took, for great and endlessly varied was their joy. And when the time was due, they formed it as it is now so that their own creations could create in turn and celebrate their own joy at being.

  ‘And these four were called the Guardians: Sphaeera, Guardian of the Air and the winds and the sky; Enartion, Guardian of the Oceans and Lakes and all the rivers and streams; Theowart, Guardian of the Earth, its mountains and flatlands, islands and continents; and then, greatest of all, the First Comer, Ethriss, the Guardian of all Living Things.

  ‘And the Guardians looked at their work and at the Great Harmony of its Song, and were content. And they rested; each fading into his wardship, so that only Ethriss retained his original form, lying atop an unclimbable mountain, hidden from the eyes of men by Sphaeera’s mists.

  ‘But a fifth figure had come from the heat of the Great Searing, with lesser figures at his heels. And He shone red and baleful and carried an ancient corruption with Him from what had gone before. Brooding in His evil, and detesting the work of the Guardians, but daunted by their power and might, He remained still and silent until they rested. Then He came forth, quietly and with great cunning, for He knew that to wake them would be to court His own destruction. For they would know Him. And He walked among men for many generations, sowing His corruption softly and gently, with sweet words and lying truths, slowly souring the Great Harmony that the Guardians had created.

  ‘And so beautiful was He that none could see the evil in Him . . .’

  Gulda stopped her tale abruptly and looked at Hawklan with a strange sad expression on her face. ‘And He was beautiful, Hawklan, so beautiful.’ Hawklan felt a myriad nuances in her voice but they were snatched from him as the momentum of her old tale carried her forward again.

  ‘And so wise was He that some men forgot the sleeping Guardians and took Him for a god and worshipped him, calling Him Sumeral, the Timeless One. And from their worship He drew great power, both in His spirit and in His possession of men’s hearts and minds. And men multiplied and spread across the whole world, and as they did, so His power grew until it rivalled that of the Guardians themselves.’

  Again, Gulda stopped, as if recalling some long-forgotten memory. She raised a cautionary finger and spoke in her normal voice.

  ‘You mustn’t think to judge these people, Hawklan. Sumeral wrought His damage always with reasoned and subtle argument. He narrowed men’s vision, so that they could see only their own needs and desires. And seeing only these, they became discontented. He blunted their awareness of others – not just people, but plants, animals, everything. He made them forget their deep kinship, their reliance on and their need for all other things that were. He made them forget the joy of being, Hawklan, and knowing they’d lost something, people searched even more desperately for something to fill the emptiness He’d created.’

  She leaned forward, and tapped her raised finger into the empty air. ‘So more and more He showed them how to satisfy these needs and desires. But each gratification led only to more emptiness and to more desire. And each was always at the cost of some previous treasure for which they now felt nothing. I fancy after twenty years in Orthlund you’ll find this hard to imagine, but animals were slaughtered utterly, forests wasted, mountains blasted, great tracts of land destroyed, even the air and the sea became foul with poisons.’

  Hawklan lifted his hand to interrupt. At first Gulda had intoned her tale like some village storyteller. Her narrative was similar to many he had read in the past week, and he was prepared to hear old stories retold if that
was what she wanted. But what was she saying now? She was right, he could not imagine such extremities, not least because, stripped of her storytelling lilt, the simple words seemed to fall on him like stinging hailstones.

  ‘Gulda, I don’t understand,’ he said, his perplexity showing openly. ‘You’re telling us an old fairy tale as if we were children . . .’ He stopped abruptly as he saw the expression on her face. It was not the angry irritation or stern reproof that such a comment might have been expected to invoke, but a terrible lonely sadness, as from an aching pain too deep to be reached by any solace. His eyes opened almost in horror as the healer in him touched on the edge of this torment, and a realization dawned on him. Gulda saw it, and nodded her head slowly.

  ‘Yes, Hawklan,’ she said. ‘You see correctly. This is no child’s tale. It’s the truth. I tell it like an old fireside lay because any other way needs my mind and my heart, and the pain of memory is too much for me.’ Tears formed in her eyes but no convulsion shook her mouth or face.

  Hawklan’s mind washed to and fro like a pebble at the edge of a storm-tossed lake. For a moment he actually became dizzy and he put his hands to his temples to steady himself. Something was shaking his entire being. Here was this silly old woman telling him fairy tales, just as Andawyr had, when he needed answers to his many questions. He cursed himself for his weakness in hoping for so much from this strange creature. And yet . . . And yet . . . she believed what she was saying, that was obvious. And . . . he believed it, too, even though reason railed against it. But . . .?

  ‘How can you know it’s true?’ he asked at last.

  Gulda looked at him and spoke simply and without hesitation. ‘That’s a tale for another telling, Hawklan. And probably not mine. Do you doubt me?’

  Hawklan recoiled from the pain in her look as the bright blue eyes pierced him. This time, they too were filled with doubt, but such doubt that his own fretting of the last few weeks dwindled into insignificance.