Exodus of the Xandim (GOLLANCZ S.F.) Page 12

  Yet Athina couldn’t save herself, Corisand thought. She wasn’t infallible.

  ‘I wish I could change myself the way that you can,’ Dael said suddenly.

  ‘What would you turn into?’

  Dael looked away across the lake, his eyes distant. ‘Oh, a Wizard, a Phaerie – somebody with magic. Then maybe I could follow Athina. Maybe I could find her again.’

  Corisand stopped walking for a moment, and turned to him. ‘Dael, I think we have a long, hard road ahead of us. But if there’s any justice in this world, you’ll find Athina at the end of it. And I promise that if there’s any way to help you get back to her, Iriana and I will help you find it. We three must make the oddest, most ill-assorted group of companions the world has ever seen, but we are friends, and we’re all in this together.’

  8

  ~

  THE SECRETS IN THE STONE

  The Windeye and Dael were led to Iriana’s location by a series of loud bangs and crashes. The Wizard, with Melik at her side as always, was practising the use of magic as a weapon, remembering what Esmon had taught her and going through all the elements at her disposal: Earth, Water, Fire and Air. The sharp tang of woodsmoke filled the air, reminding Corisand of Dael’s mishap with the bacon. It came from the smouldering remnants of a pile of flotsam at the side of the lake. Clearly, the Wizard had been working on the element of Fire already.

  Dael gave a low whistle and turned to Corisand. ‘I’m sorry we missed that,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll wager it was worth seeing.’ Not wanting to break her concentration, they waited where they were until she had finished.

  Now Iriana had turned to Earth. She had placed a row of small rocks, about the size of her head, about twenty yards away from her on the narrow gravelly beach. As Corisand watched her, wide-eyed, she lifted her hand and the stone at the end of the row shattered with a crack, sending an explosion of shards spattering in the water and clattering across the gravel, hitting hard enough to gouge deep grooves. Melik put his ears back and yowled his disapproval, and the Wizard patted him briefly on the head before continuing down the row, detonating the rocks one by one – until she reached the last. This stone she levitated into the air, her taut expression clearly showing the strain. She whipped her hand back in a casting motion and sent the rock hurtling into the lake, where it hit the water with tremendous force, its impact throwing up a glittering plume of spray.

  Iriana doubled up with her hands resting on her knees, clearly catching her breath before moving on to the next form of attack. Straightening, she gazed out across the lake with glowing eyes that were filled with a fierce purpose. Suddenly the surface began to churn and a jet of water rose up and shot with incredible velocity towards the shore, hitting a tree so hard that it rocked and shuddered, shaking loose a shower of leaves. With a sharp crack one of the lowest branches broke off, and Iriana swore. She went to the tree and fitted the injured limb back into place, and as she passed her hand over the joint, Corisand saw a faint blue glow. When she stepped back, the bough was part of the tree once more, as though nothing had ever happened to hurt it.

  ‘Some warrior you’re going to make,’ Corisand called out jokingly to her friend. ‘Every time you hurt one of the Phaerie, you’ll be running up to apologise to them and heal them.’

  Iriana shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t have any quarrel with the poor tree, but I do have one with the accursed Phaerie – for Avithan, for Esmon and my poor animals.’ She walked towards them, looking pale and tired, but very grim and determined.

  I’m not the only one making sacrifices here, Corisand thought. ‘Very impressive,’ she said aloud, ‘but I think you’ve done enough practising for now. What about letting me do some of the work instead?’

  The Wizard hesitated, then nodded briefly. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Wait. Watch. Don’t do anything unless I’m in desperate trouble and there’s no way I can change back on my own. Then—’

  ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.’ Iriana held out her hand. ‘I promise.’

  Corisand moved a little way apart from the others. She hoped her Windeye heritage, half instinct and half inherited memory, had been accurate in the matter of clothing – such a nuisance, but with only thin human skin to protect her instead of the lovely dappled hide of her equine aspect, it was essential. She knew that as long as all her garb derived from plant or animal sources, it should change with her. Inorganic materials such as metal fastenings would be discarded. Well, if that were true, she should be all right. All the gear she was wearing, kindly provided by Athina, was wool, cotton or leather, and any fastenings were made from bone or horn.

  She put it out of her mind, and began to concentrate on making the change. For the first attempt, she had taken the accurate image of her equine form from Iriana’s memory: now it would always be locked in her own mind when she needed it. Visualising the alternate shape standing before her, she moved her thoughts into the image.

  All at once she felt the alterations taking place and, though everything was happening simultaneously, her mind registered each change so that time seemed to stretch for her as her bones and muscles lengthened, stretched and grew thick and strong. Her weight fell forward as her spine altered, and suddenly she was standing four-square on neat hooves that sank into the cool turf.

  Her equine sense of smell, thousands of times stronger than that of a human, swamped her mind with information: the sweet water from the nearby lake, a fading drift of smoke from Iriana’s Fire spells, the sharp anxiety of her friends, and the familiar, friendly curiosity of the other horses tethered nearby. Which plants were good to eat, which should be left alone, which small animals were hidden in the nearby trees and undergrowth. Her vision lost the intensity of its colour but became sweeping and panoramic as her head changed shape and her eyes moved to the sides. She shivered in delight as the cool breeze played across her dappled hide. You missed so much sensation, wearing clothes! Suddenly Corisand was filled with the urge to run. With a flick of her tail she was off, thundering along the smooth turf at the side of the lake, her mane and tail streaming behind her.

  Oh, the blissful feeling of liberation! To lose herself in the movement, the sheer thrill of speed; the warming, stretching interplay of muscle and bone and the powerful drumming of her heart as the fierce blood raced through her body. For a brief, blissful time she cast herself loose from her worries, her responsibilities to her companions, her burdens as the Windeye, and became only horse; simple, elemental and free.

  Then she slowed, and let the world flow back to her, and was Corisand again. With only a brief pang of regret, she turned and trotted back to her friends. Iriana was waiting, eyebrows raised. The Windeye ducked her head in embarrassment. ‘I just needed to run,’ she explained using mindspeech. ‘It’s – well, if you had ever been a horse, you would understand.’

  Iriana grinned. ‘It looked like fun. Are you ready to change back now?’ she added more soberly.

  Corisand took a deep breath. ‘Yes. I’m ready.’ Once more, she stepped away from the others, steadied herself, and reached within to make the transformation, forming a clear mental image of her two-legged self, just as she had visualised the horse a few moments before. She moved into the image and – nothing happened.

  A chill went through her. It was as she had feared. She was powerless once more, her magic imprisoned behind what seemed to be a vast, dark wall.

  For a moment of horrifying, paralysing doubt, Corisand’s mind was blank. In her equine form, the instincts of flight were highly developed, and she felt the panic like a great, onrushing wave, poised to obliterate her rational thoughts. How could she transform without magic? Where could she start? How could she access her powers now? She was trapped again.

  Trapped.

  Once more the urge overcame her to run, to flee, ignoring responsibilities, forgetting friends, returning to what she had been for most of her life: elemental Horse, all feeling and reaction, living in t
he here and now with no thought of the greater consequences.

  The easy option.

  The coward’s way.

  Suddenly Corisand was enraged that she could be so easily duped by her old instincts. Anger roared through her like a forest fire, dispelling her fears and doubts.

  I am the Windeye, magical and powerful and I will be free.

  Then she was herself again, could think again, could reason and act. Because of Hellorin’s imprisoning spell, her powers were lost to her in her equine form, but she knew where she could find them. The Fialan was the key. When she and Iriana had returned to this world from the Elsewhere, she had used the Stone to maintain her human aspect and, true to the purpose for which it had been created, it had absorbed, stored and magnified her magic. All she had to do was find the way to reach that power, and set it free.

  The Stone, in its leather bag, still hung around her neck. Now that she was calm and could think again, she felt its energy beating against her breast like a second heart; the heart of her magic. Pleased by the notion, the Windeye stretched out her thoughts to embrace the powerful artefact.

  A tingling shock rushed through her, as though she had leapt into an icy mountain lake. Suddenly Corisand’s mind was inside the Fialan, in a crystalline labyrinth that pulsed and sang, vibrating with a fierce intensity. Within this staggering emerald realm all awareness of the outside world and her external form vanished completely. Once more she was her true self, the Windeye of the Xandim, and a heady elation rushed through her. With the help of the Stone of Fate, she could accomplish anything. Through the complex, crystalline structure that surrounded her, the path to her own magic stood out clearly from Iriana’s powers like a luminous thread. All she had to do was follow. Easy. But even as she cast forth her awareness along that glowing pathway, something stopped her. Forces warped, complex and terrifying. Others had been here before her; had created the Stone for their own purposes and left their magic deep within.

  There was Ghabal, before insanity had twisted his mind: ancient, cunning and inexorable. And there was Hellorin, brilliant, ruthless and utterly without compassion, so long as he achieved his own ends.

  Corisand’s first instinct was to recoil, as though those perilous beings were actually present, and could see her. Then she got hold of herself.

  Don’t be a fool! It’s just their magic that they stored here and left behind for anyone to use.

  For me to use.

  It struck her like a bolt of lightning – the answer for which she had been searching so long and hard. The Forest Lord’s power had forged the spell to enslave the Xandim, and what his magic had wrought, it could undo. The key lay right here. All she had to do was find it. And if that spell was stored in the Fialan, why not others? If she could only discover Hellorin’s flying magic, could unlock and master it, then the possibilities were endless. Her heart sang as, at long last, she began to reach towards the tentative beginnings of a plan . . .

  Getting back into her human form would have to wait. There was no time to waste – no chance to think about the risks and the consequences. She had to do this now, for if she hesitated, she would never find the courage again.

  Corisand closed her eyes. Carefully, she searched the depths of the Fialan with her mind until she found the place within the crystal lattice where Hellorin’s magic was stored, seeming in her mind’s eye like a strange, dark, convoluted snake. She recoiled, for its aura was repellent to her. This was the magic that had enslaved her people, and had chained her for so long, helpless and frustrated, in her powerless equine form. No wonder that its very touch was so abhorrent to her, and in its own way, the Phaerie magic seemed to find her own presence inimical, writhing away from her like an elusive serpent whenever she tried to capture it and use it for herself. But the Windeye had not come this far to be defeated now. She chased it down as it fled through the intricate interstices of the crystal, until, reaching out with her thoughts, she finally caught hold of it.

  The magic writhed and coiled, twisting in her grasp, trying to escape and elude her, its touch burning like acid, but Corisand would not let go. She chained it with her will, holding it tightly with all her strength, seeking to understand it, trying to become one with it, until she mastered it at last. Suddenly, like a key turning in a lock, everything fell into place. Hellorin’s spell of flight was hers. Harnessed side by side with her own powers, it waited obediently to do her bidding.

  Now that the dreadful struggle was over, Corisand could open her eyes again and return to her the physical reality of her equine form in the external world. With a soaring sense of exhilaration, she cast the flying magic around herself like a glittering mantle, cloaking herself in a many-hued starfall of radiance. Iriana, knowing better than to interrupt with questions when magic was being worked, stepped back hastily, a worried look on her face. Dael, who had seen that Phaerie magic before and paid a bitter price for it, scrambled away from her with a cry of dismay.

  The magic spread through Corisand like a gigantic wave, buoying her up so that her body grew suddenly light. With a joyful cry she bounded forward, stretched her limbs and leapt upwards – and suddenly the ground dropped away beneath her and she was up and running through the air, the wild wind flowing around her like a river, streaming cold and fierce through her mane and tail.

  The broad skies beckoned, a road that could take her anywhere she wished, and a joyous feeling of power burst through her. As a simple horse, before she had become Windeye, the flying was what she had lived for – but oh, how different, how wonderful it felt to be flying free, running with the wind, uncontrolled and unconstrained, going where her own will and wishes might take her, instead of being subservient to the demands of the Forest Lord, her former rider.

  A sudden glimpse of the treetops, flashing by far below her, brought her back to her senses with a jolt. She hadn’t realised she’d come so high! For an instant, panic flashed through her, the magic faltered and she began to drop like a stone. Then shock drove back the terror, and the Windeye snatched once more at the reins of the spell, and held on tight. The terrible fall stopped abruptly, and she lurched to a bone-jarring halt in midair.

  Corisand took a few moments to breathe deeply and calm her racing heartbeat. That was quite enough for a maiden flight, she decided. She ought to be returning to the others, for they must be wondering what had become of her. She turned to go back – and realised to her horror that she was utterly lost. In the excitement at getting the spell to work and the exhilaration of the flight, she had not been paying attention to her surroundings, and had come too far. Beneath her, the forest stretched in all directions, a cloak of green that obscured any landmarks. Of the tower, of her friends, there was no sign.

  Too late, the Windeye realised her error. Before, when she had ridden with the Wild Hunt of the Phaerie, she’d had Hellorin to guide her, the huntsman and the other horses to follow. She had never flown alone before. This time it had been her responsibility to keep track of her location, to note the position of the sun and direction of the wind, and to keep checking below her for any landmarks.

  Corisand cursed herself for a fool – but she would get nowhere by staying up in the air, stewing in self-recrimination. It was no good waiting around for anyone else to help her. Only she could get herself out of trouble. The lake would be a much bigger landmark from the air than the tower. Maybe if she flew higher, she could catch a glimpse of it.

  As she ascended, the trees grew smaller and smaller beneath her. If she went any higher she would penetrate the thin, high layer of grey cloud cover – already she could feel the cold, damp mist of it chilling her body and catching in her throat as she breathed – and lose sight of the ground altogether. Now that the excitement had cooled from her blood, she felt a little clutch of alarm at how far away she was from the ground. Before it could grow into panic, she took herself sternly to task.

  ‘What does it matter?’ she told herself stoutly. ‘If you fell from a quarter of this height you’d be
killed anyway – but you’re not going to fall and you’re not going to die. You’re going to find that lake and get back home.’

  It was strange how quickly Athina’s tower had come to feel like home, and horses did have an instinct for finding their way back to the stable. As best she could, Corisand attempted to calm the whirl of thoughts that had been in her head since she’d become the Windeye, and tried instead to tune in to the old, equine instincts of days gone by. She filled her mind with images of the tower and the lake, of Iriana, Dael and even the blue-eyed cat Melik. In a little while she thought she felt it – a slight tugging sensation that came from further to her left than she had been expecting.

  The Windeye set off steadily, following that faint tickle of awareness which insisted home lay that way. Then she saw it – a bright flash on the ground far away. Surely that must be light on water? And so it proved. As she drew closer she could see the lake, and then the tower, tall and graceful on its island.

  The relief was like a deep breath of fresh air that swept away all her worries and doubts. Her heart singing, she swept down to the green sward on the border of the lake where her friends stood waiting, too stunned by what she had accomplished to speak – though that would not last long. As her feet touched the ground once more Corisand could hardly wait to tell them what had happened. In joy, in hope, in expectation, her link to her own magic blazed fierce and bright – and without warning she was back in her human form, sprawling on her face in the grass having once again made the abrupt, unexpected transformation from four legs to two.

  The Windeye leapt to her feet, noting in passing, with some relief, that she’d been right and her clothing had transformed with her – but that was of little importance now. Her face alight with joy, she ran to embrace her friends. ‘Iriana, Dael, I’ve found it. I’ve found the answer!’