Julia Gray - Guardian 02 - The Jasper Forest

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THE JASPER FOREST
Book Two of The Guardian Cycle
JULIA GRAY
Copyright © 2001 by Julia Gray
Prologue
The mountain was still growing.
Although the movement could no longer be seen by the naked eye, Kerin Mirana
could still feel the earth's adjustments through the soles of his well-worn
boots. He had jasper feet - an invaluable asset for a traveller in the stone
forests. He felt the rock grinding beneath him, and was aware of even the
smallest variations, while his eyes could only measure the mountain's progress
from one hour to the next.
Even in Macul, a land where - as Kerin knew better than most - little could be
taken for granted, there had never been anything like this before. Earthquakes
were common enough, even in the country's most stable regions. In certain
areas the land rose or fell steadily -though gradually - so that where a man
had once fished, now his grandson planted crops. Rivers changed course, broke
their banks or dried up; victims of the movements of the earth, the vagaries
of the weather and, closer to the
coast, the suddenly unpredictable tides. Subsidence and avalanches altered the
shape of the landscape. Little remained static. During his travels, Kerin had
witnessed much that had left him in a state of wonder. He had seen many
awe-inspiring sights, but this . . .
Little more than one long month ago, this had been a valley, with a small
lake, recently increased in size and fed by several streams from the
surrounding hills. From where Kerin stood, he would have looked down over
gentle green slopes to the placid surface of the water. Now he had to tip his
head back in order to glimpse the upper reaches of the new-born mountain. The
distant summit was too high to be seen, and the black rock towered over
everything around it. And the forces that had created its unnatural bulk were
driving it still. Before the prospector's disbelieving eyes, the mountain was
growing higher yet.
The dark extrusion had erupted from the earth like a gigantic creature
emerging from its chrysalis, splitting the skin of soil and vegetation and
slewing it aside like an old husk as the black mountain made its shuddering
reach for the heavens. It brought to mind ancient legends - of dragons and
giant worms who lived beneath the world of men, in caves deep inside Nydus,
and who came to the surface every so often, breathing flame and smoke into the
air and making rocks flow in red waves or explode into the sky. But no one
believed in those tales any more. In any case, there had been no fire here.
The mountain's rise had been astonishing but, by human standards, its movement
had been almost stately. Nevertheless, it was still an unprecedented event — a
geological disturbance so vast that the term 'earthquake' hardly seemed
adequate.
The few people who had been nearby had fled in terror as the upheaval
devastated the valley and shook the land for miles around.
There had been no warning. There had not even been a major conjunction of the
moons during the time of its growth. Kerin glanced at the sky reflexively,
even though he knew what he would see. No traveller in such inhospitable
regions could afford to be ignorant of the prevailing lunar influences. The
only visible moon was a pale sliver of amber, low in the eastern sky. In any
case, Kerin knew that neither he nor the land was false-dreaming. He would
have no need to plant a new prayer-flag - although many would, pointlessly in
his view, from fear.
The mountain awed Kerin, but it did not frighten him. He was certain that he
had been the first to return to the area, once the initial convulsions had
slowed a little, and he knew that they would soon be over. And then he would
move.
He had spent all but the earliest years of his life trekking over the region's
forbidding terrain. He knew its secrets and its dangers better than any man
alive. The faint trails, the hidden signposts, and the bizarre plant life of
Vejar Province were all familiar to him. It was a remote, barren area of water
and melting rock: of deeply-fissured plateaus, of pools studded with stone
towers, of sinkholes, caverns and crevasses, and of rivers that plunged
underground only to reappear many miles away. Near-vertical cliffs, conical
peaks and crags that had been carved into improbable shapes by wind and water
all contributed to the reputation of the province as a place of mystery and
peril, but they held no terrors for Kerin.
Indeed, he had earned his due-name by being the first — and so far the only —
man brave enough to walk through the Tzi Gate. This was a huge hole in one
particular ridge, formed when the old course of an underground river had been
exposed by erosion and an earth tremor. Although Kerin had recognized it as a
natural formation, others had been intimidated by the massive structure, and
linked its existence to supernatural powers. No one had dared tempt fate by
entering the so-called gate until Kerin had decided to do so, simply because
he'd wanted to see what was on the other side. Staring up at the roof of the
stone archway, half a mile above his head, had been a humbling experience, but
the view from the other side had been disappointingly ordinary and Kerin had
returned without mishap. After that he had known that there was no part of
Vejar that was forbidden to him - provided, of course, that he always obeyed
the dictates of the sky — and he had been travelling ever since, only seeing
his wife and young sons for a few days each year.
Even so, he had never seen anything like this before. And yet he knew where
the black rock had come from -even if he did not understand why — and was
already studying its formations. He was shrewd enough to realize that such
opportunities came only once in any lifetime, and he was determined to take
his chance when the mountain finally grew still. He would be the first to
climb the new peak. Excitement vibrated within him, in time with the trembling
of the earth, but Kerin's eyes were calm and his gaze never shifted from the
mass of dark stone.
PART ONE
FENDUCA
Chapter One
He could hear a voice. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't tell where it was
coming from, or see the face of the man who spoke.
'I remember it now as I remember dreams; in fragments that make no sense by
themselves; in the feeling that I have seen or experienced something before,
without knowing when or where.'
There were faces then. Dozens of them, curious or indifferent, smiling or
angry. So many faces - but never hers. Not even here, not even now.
'But it was not a dream. I wasn't even asleep.'
The voice droned on, a monotone. Boring. And yet he couldn't stop listening.
He was trapped.
'If I had been, the pain in my arm would have woken me.'
Why couldn't he see her face? Hadn't he been punished enough without that?
'No, I was not asleep. I know that now.'
The voice was growing quieter as it neared the end. But he knew that sooner or
later it would begin again, another cycle in the endless round.
'I was waiting to be born.'
The fear came then, clutching at him with red fingers, pulsing in his blood,
that other ocean. Thunder from within as well as from below. He was helpless
in both tides. He knew that the voice, his voice, was trying to tell him
something, but he couldn't understand what it was. And then he forgot
everything again. No memory. Just movement, gentler now, and the faces. None
of them real. Not even real ghosts.
He laughed at the thought before it was lost once more - until the next round.
'Farewell, brother.'
A new voice, one he did recognize. The enchanter was still pursuing him. But
that didn't matter. Nothing mattered any more. Not even time. A circle has no
end.
'I remember it now as I remember dreams . . .'
The raft drifted slowly on the sluggish tide, its single occupant curled up on
the rough wooden planks. Water slopped lazily around him, and the parts of his
clothing that were not sodden were encrusted with salt. His matted hair was
stiff with the same gritty substance; even his eyelashes were rimmed with
white, as if too many tears had evaporated there.
His eyes were open but glazed - not blind, but unseeing. He twitched
sometimes, like a sleeping dog when it dreams of chasing rabbits, but
otherwise he lay still. Whatever life he still possessed lay hidden deep
within his crumpled frame, behind the dwindling fire of tiiose pale,
diamond-fever eyes.
Lamplight bent and twisted around him. He was floating, swimming in darkness,
surrounded by an ancient loneliness. There was a star burning. Released, he
fell upwards, landing awkwardly on the roof of the cave. A bird perched next
to him. What's going on? Spiral winds carried her voice away, and a vast
roaring deafened him as the darkness shifted.
Two skies, two mountains. The Dark Moon swallowing the sun, the winged
huntress devouring her prey. A sword raised. More ghosts. Brother?
I was waiting to be born.
The star-maze glowed, beckoning. Hurry. Hurry!
The reason for haste eluded him. A circle has no end.
Terrel could no longer tell when he was dreaming or when he was awake. Both
worlds seemed equally bizarre. Occasionally, something - usually a spasm of
pain -reminded him that he must still be alive, but even that seemed doubtful
now. Surely there were no animals of such gigantic size in his world. They
towered over him, moving with a regular swaying rhythm that was both hypnotic
and vaguely menacing. He could feel their eyes fixed upon him. The creatures
were colourless for the most part, their skin hard and grey-looking, almost as
if they were made from stone. But no rock could ever have contorted itself
into such varied and fantastical shapes — it could not move, as these
monstrous presences did. Rock did not grow patches of green fur or hair, nor
did it whisper with the echoing voices of a gulping, hissing
tongue. He had tried to listen to what they were saying, but he could make no
sense of their wordless murmuring.
At least now there was something to see and hear. Until the animals came he
had been alone for what seemed like a lifetime, riding on the waves of magic
with only the sky above him and the sea below. Blue upon blue, striped with
the reflections of the sun and moons, blinding glitter and heat balanced by
the cold stars and the Amber, Red and White. He had been aware of the Dark
Moon too, though he could not see it. He felt the invisible pull of the
sky-shadow, and knew that its blind face would look down upon him at the
moment of his death.
In his isolation, Terrel had peopled his world with ghosts — even with those
whom he knew, or hoped, were still alive. They had all come eventually,
friends and foes alike, all except one. Dreaming or awake, Alyssa's face
eluded his thoughts and visions, even though he heard her voice sometimes or
saw her spirit encased in other forms. Of all the cruelties he had to bear,
that was the worst.
The dragging ache in his twisted limbs was something he had coped with all his
life, but now it seemed irrelevant, unnoticed amid other torments of body and
mind. He could hardly move the fingers of even his good hand without the
muscles cramping and every joint being lanced by pain. His breath rattled in
his lungs and he felt nauseous almost all the time, even though his stomach
was empty. His lips were bloated and cracked, and his tongue was now like a
dry clump of rough leather, so swollen that he could only just prise it away
from the roof of his mouth. Thirst raged within him, although he only
occasionally recognized it for what it was. For the rest, it was just one more
helpless yearning among all the others.
His meagre supply of fresh water had run out several days ago, and now — in a
rare lucid moment - his fluttering gaze fell upon the empty bottle, and he
felt the Dark Moon draw closer. He was about to surrender, to answer the siren
call of oblivion, when a stray thought emerged from the chaos of his
disordered mind. At first he did not know what it was, but it nagged at him,
as relentless as the ocean, until meaning followed. His promise. From the
moment those words had been uttered, they had ruled his every action - and
while there was still breath in his body they would not allow him to give up.
I will come back for you. The words seemed empty now, but he could not set
them aside. The struggle had to continue. Even if it was to a bitter end.
Ignoring the renewed protests of his body and the weary groan that escaped
from his parched lips, Terrel forced himself to sit up and look around. The
giant creatures crowded about him, seeming to lean inwards as they encircled
his flimsy raft, and he shrank into himself, fearing that he would be crushed.
But the animals had grown still, just as the waves that propelled him on his
journey had now left him becalmed.
Understanding came slowly, fighting its way through the tangle of his
delirium. The looming giants were indeed made of rock, lifeless but for the
tufts of grass or fern that clung to their sides. Terrel could not imagine
what forces had carved these outlandish and sinister shapes, but their
movement had been an illusion brought on by the rise and fall of the gentle
swell and languid currents that lapped around the bases of the overhanging
cliffs. He had drifted into a labyrinth of stone, that rose from the ocean to
form a water-born maze.
When the second realization came, it sent a desperate surge of energy pulsing
through his mind and body. The rocks, no matter how strange their shape,
represented land, the first he had seen since the Floating Islands had left
him floundering in their massive wake. He might yet survive this ordeal.
Even though his dreams still tugged at the edges of his vision, Terrel could
see one thing clearly now. The sides of the rocks were so precipitous that
there was no chance of him disembarking there. What was more, there would be
no point in even making the attempt. These stone pinnacles were clearly
barren, devoid of any source of sustenance. The sparse vegetation might suck
life from cracks in the surface, but he could not, and in any case, it was far
above him, out of reach.
The next thought that came brought another spark of hope - and one on which he
forced himself to act. If this was some part of a foreign land, then it was
possible that the water below him was not the ocean that had propelled him
into exile. If this was a river, then he might be able to drink.
Leaning down to the edge of the raft was a slow and arduous task that made his
head spin and his vision blur, but hope lent him the power to persevere.
Dipping a finger into the water, he brought it to his mouth and dribbled a few
drops onto his swollen tongue. Pain stung him, filling his cheeks, his teeth
and eyes as well as his lips, but that was nothing compared to the
wretchedness that filled him as his half-dead senses recognized the dread
taste of salt. He retched convulsively, his empty stomach heaving. He knew
better than to try to drink any more. He might as well have swallowed poison.
Exhausted by his efforts, and his spirit crushed, Terrel lay where he was
and fell into another feverish hour of sleep. When he awoke, it was to find
that the raft had not moved. Whatever current had been pushing him along had
been caught up by the enveloping spires of grey stone, so that he was
travelling round in slow circles, going nowhere. He would have cried out then
- if he'd had either the strength or the voice for it — because it seemed that
he was doomed to stay in that rock-bound lagoon for ever. A pointless end to a
pointless journey. The final nightmare — and the death of his promise.
'Alyssa!'
In his mind he was shouting, crying out in futile misery. But the only sound
that came from his ruined mouth was a choking hiss of agony that echoed from
the diffs about him, then died away into silence. He fell back into the shadow
of the Dark Moon.
A new ghost, a new voice, crept into his dreams. He recognized neither. Nor
could he understand what it said. The words were gibberish; meaningless sounds
sent to A second interloper was talking now, but he made no more sense than
the other. They seemed to be calling.
Was it to him? Terrel had no idea what they were saying, but he could
recognize the urgency in their tone. Was this new torment in this world or
the next?
The voices persisted, overriding the other delusions in his fevered mind,
giving him no rest. At last, reluctantly, he opened his salt-encrusted eyes.
And saw two men in canoes, watching him from the edge of the lagoon.
Chapter Two
For a few moments, Terrel assumed that the two men were simply more of his
strange delusions. He just could not believe that they were real. But he
eventually realized that there was something substantial and resolute about
the look of them, and this gave him hope. The men had fallen silent now, aware
that he was looking at them, but they made no move to approach him. Terrel
knew that if he were to be rescued, he would have to initiate the contact.
As he struggled into a sitting position, and raised his left hand in greeting,
he wondered what was causing their hesitation. They were only some thirty
paces away, in one of the lagoon's many entrances, and from that distance it
must have been obvious that he posed no possible threat. Why then, given that
they were clearly intrigued by his presence, were they not making any effort
to come any closer? In fact, the two men were making small strokes with their
paddles, to avoid moving any further forwards.
Their response to his feeble wave was to glance at each other, and to exchange
a few words that Terrel could not
hear. They still did not move. Please,' Terrel croaked, trying to beckon to
them with is shaking hand. But he managed only to exaggerate the trembling of
his fingers, and could not be sure that they'd understand his signal. He was
about to call for help, but realized that his first word had come out as no
more than a hoarse sigh, which they could not possibly have heard. His tongue,
long unused for speech and bloated by his ordeal, was useless. Sign language
was his only hope.
He gazed at the strangers, his eyes imploring them to come to his aid, and
tried to wave again, hoping to draw them to him. This provoked further
conversation between the two, more animated this time, but Terrel could
understand none of what they said. He waved until his strength gave out and he
was forced to drop his arm again.
The newcomers' argument had become vehement now. One of the men pushed his
paddle into the water, and was about to move forward when his companion - the
lounger of the pair - barred his progress by thrusting his own oar across the
other's chest. At the same time he shouted something, and the elder of the two
abandoned his attempt to move. Then the more cautious sailor turned back to
Terrel and called out to him. The boy understood none of the strange language,
but it was clear that they were not going to come to his aid.
Frustrated and angered by this turn of events, just when he had been granted a
last flicker of hope, Terrel felt despair leach away the last of his
resistance, and he collapsed on to the damp boards.
'We can't just sit here!' Olandis muttered.
'We've no choice,' Aylen replied firmly. His conviction had not wavered for an
instant, even in the face of his brother's fierce disagreement. 'This is
Anador, remember. The red lagoon. Have you forgotten last night's skies?'
'But he's no more than a boy - and he's ill. He could die.'
'If we go in there, we'll bring ruin on ourselves and all our clan. Is that
what you want? He has to get out by himself.'
'Oh, come on, Chute!' Olandis exclaimed. 'He's too weak. Anyone can see that.
And the current's taking him round in circles.'
'Maybe that'll change when the tide begins to ebb,' Aylen suggested.
'And take him out to sea again? And us with him, if we're not careful. We
could all end up dead then.'
'There's no alternative,' Aylen stated grimly. 'We'll manage somehow.'
'Moons!' Olandis hissed. 'I wish Pa was here.'
'He'd only tell you the same as me. He'd never go against moon-lore,
especially in a place like this.'
Olandis fell silent, wondering why he could never win an argument with his
brother. At nineteen he was Aylen's senior by two years, and was much stronger
physically, but that counted for nothing when it came to a war of words. Even
as an infant Aylen had always been able to get the better of him that way. And
the most galling thing of all was that Olandis knew his sibling was almost
always right.
The previous night had seen the rebirth of the Red
Moon, so that now it was just beginning to wax again, and that - together with
the fact that the unseen Dark Moon had been full at the same time and was now
beginning its slow decline - made Anador a place of peril. None of their
people would dare enter the lagoon until the heavens were realigned in a more
favourable way.
'There was something strange about his eyes,' Aylen said quietly.
Olandis had seen that too. The castaway's gaze had been unnerving, and his
eyes had seemed to glitter in an unnatural way.
'Fever?' he guessed.
'Maybe,' Aylen replied, though he sounded unconvinced. 'I wonder how he got
here.'
It had not occurred to Olandis to be curious about this. He had simply seen
another human being in trouble and wanted to help him out. It had been his
sharp ears that had picked up the earlier hissing cry, above the shuffle and
lapping of the swell, and he who had insisted on going to investigate. He
hadn't really believed that there would be anyone there, but as soon as he
glimpsed the flimsy raft he had turned to his brother, meaning to say 'I told
you so' - but then he had seen the expression on Aylen's face and had kept
quiet. This was a place the brothers normally avoided, even when moon-lore
allowed navigation in the area. There was something about the unusual colours
in the water that made them nervous. Dreams hung heavy within this part of the
coastal maze.
'Maybe he's a sharakan,' Olandis suggested. He meant it as a joke, wanting to
lighten the mood, but - to his astonishment - Aylen seemed to take the idea
seriously.
'Perhaps,' he murmured, nodding slowly. 'This
would be a good place to trade, if his magic was strong enough.'
''Nothing about him looks strong!' Olandis exclaimed. 'Besides, he's no more
than a child.'
'Age is no barrier to talent — or ambition,' Aylen remarked sagely, glancing
at the sky. As dusk fell, the only moon visible was the White, three days past
full and still bright and pure against the fading blue. Under other
circumstances he might have been content to stare at her delicate face, asking
for her dreams to guide his way, but that was impossible now.
'Is he asleep?' Olandis asked, peering at the huddled figure on the raft.
The brothers stared, both wondering if it was a sleep from which the boy would
ever awake, and then, with one accord, they began shouting again.
The suddenly renewed noise, and the unearthly echoes it set up, roused Terrel
from his stupor. He cursed silently, then forced his eyes open and glanced at
the source of the din. What could they want now? The two men had still not
moved, and their words meant nothing, but their urgent tone and the meaning of
their beckoning gestures were unequivocal this time. They wanted Terrel to go
to them.
Their faces were set in serious expressions, not mocking or threatening, and
Terrel wondered why, if they were really so anxious to help him, they could
not simply move to his side. It would only take them a matter of moments to
paddle their way across the intervening distance, but for Terrel it might as
well have been a full mile of open water. In all the time he had been adrift,
he
had not once tried to influence the raft's course. In the open sea that would
have been pointless; the strong swell had been impossible to fight, and one
direction had been as good as another. Now that he was in relatively calm
waters, and was in desperate need of purposeful motion, be had neither the
strength nor the means to achieve it. Even if he'd had a wooden blade, like
the strangers, he would have had difficulty lifting it, let alone using it to
any effect. Moreover, the square raft was crudely built and moved awkwardly,
unlike the streamlined canoes. It was hopeless. He closed his eyes again, and
gave himself to the ghosts.
"He's not listening,' Olandis said.
Or he is, but can't do anything about it.'
The brothers fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts.
t'The tide's turning,' Aylen said eventually. 'It can't be. It's too soon.'
Olandis glanced at the sky, t on this occasion there were no answers to be
found there.
'It's the Dark Moon,' his younger brother said. "Farazin said it's not where
it's supposed to be.'
'But that's impossible,' Olandis objected. 'Cutter
'Cutter's a fool,' Aylen interrupted. 'Who would you rather believe? In any
case, the tide is turning. Look.'
They both knew what this latest development meant. The currents within the
maze could be treacherous in themselves, and if the brothers stayed too long
and were ought by the ebb tide in full spate, together with the flow from the
river, they'd be in danger of being swept out into the ocean. If that
happened, it was possible that
they'd never get back. Their lightweight boats were built for inland
waterways, not the open sea.
'At least we might be able to fight it.' Olandis pointed out. 'He won't stand
a chance.'
'I know,' Aylen agreed soberly.
'We could go round to the far side. Catch him when he drifts out of the
lagoon. If we time it right, we should be able to reach him and get back.'
'And if we don't?'
'We've got to do something.''
'All right,' Aylen conceded reluctantly, 'but there's something I want to try
first.'
Terrel was dreaming of a beautiful crystal city that rose into the sunlight
from the depths of the ocean. He was making his way towards it, knowing that —
in a sense -he would be going home, when he realized to his horror that his
longed-for sanctuary was under attack. Glowing meteors were raining down from
a hostile sky, wreaking untold havoc among the delicate facets. He tried to
move more quickly, to get there before the onslaught destroyed everything, but
the dream held him back no matter how hard he fought.
He woke up when one of the smaller meteors hit him painfully on the side of
his head.
'Did it catch?' Aylen asked.
'I think I hit his head,' Olandis replied anxiously.
'That's the least of his worries. Have any of the hooks caught?'
Olandis tested the line.
'I think so.'
The brothers' fishing lines were designed for trailing behind their canoes
rather than for casting, but by tying a metal weight to one end they had been
able to fashion something usable. Their hope was that, even if the castaway
was unable to grasp the twine, one or more of the several hooks attached along
its length would dig into some part of his raft or clothing. Olandis's throw
had been more accurate than he'd dare hope for, and now, as he pulled
carefully on the line, he felt it snag firmly. However, as he tried to pull it
in, all that happened was that he moved forward, coming too close to the
forbidden lagoon.
'We'll have to row backwards, pull him out that way,' Aylen decided. 'Tie the
line to your canoe.' As Olandis did as he was told, Aylen attached his own
craft to his brother's with a piece of rope. 'Ready?'
'Yes.'
Both men began to paddle steadily, feeling the line grow taut. To their relief
it held as they edged backwards.
'Moons! It's heavy,' Olandis complained. 'Why did he put to sea on a piece of
junk like that?' They were fighting against an increasing current, and the
shape of the raft meant that it pulled awkwardly against the flow.
'It's coming,' Aylen breathed. 'Keep going.'
Something was dragging at Terrel's sleeve and pricking his arm. Still
struggling to free his mind from the disintegrating shards of his dream, and
wondering why his head hurt so much, he could not work out what might be
causing this strange sensation. His every movement took a colossal effort now,
but when he could at last touch his arm, he found that a piece of twine had
been drawn across both him and the raft.
Opening his eyes, Terrel saw a shining beam of light dipping in and out of the
water between him and the strangers' canoes. After a few moments, he realized
that this was in fact a solid cord, and that he was being towed along.
However, even as a glimmer of hope returned, he realized that his would-be
rescuers were still keeping their distance, and he wondered if they suspected
him of carrying some sort of contagious disease. Then, too exhausted to try
and make sense of any of this, Terrel closed his eyes again and let fate take
him where it would.
Every time Olandis tried to shorten the line, they lost ground and began to
drift back towards the lagoon. Having hooked their catch, they seemed unable
to reel him in. And time was growing short.
Eventually, the brothers decided to keep rowing until the raft was well
outside the lagoon, then — while Olandis tried to hold their position - Aylen
would go back to the stranger and transfer him to his own boat. Although the
canoe had been designed for one person, and would ride perilously low in the
water with an extra passenger, they knew that this was the only chance for
them to help the stranger and for them all to escape.
'Nearly there,' Olandis gasped. 'Ready?'
'Yes. Will you be able to hold him?'
'I'll have to, won't I? But not for long.' The two men were tiring now.
'I'll be as quick as I can.'
'Go, then.'
As Aylen leaned forward to untie the rope, Olandis increased his efforts and
managed to keep the craft still. His brother moved fast then, going with the
tide to run
alongside the stranger's makeshift boat. Untangling the boy from the fishhooks
and then dragging his almost life-less body into the canoe was an awkward
business, but determination - and his brother's exhortation to hurry -lent
Aylen strength. At last, just before they were about to cross the border of
Anador, he was able to yell to Olandis to cast the line adrift.
As the cumbersome raft swirled back into the lagoon, on its way out to sea
again, Aylen began to row against the current, the crumpled form of the
castaway sprawled across his legs.
By the time they reached more placid waters, the brothers were almost
exhausted, but their success filled them with a shared sense of triumph, and
they knew they were safe enough now. Their camp for the night was not far
away, on a flat sandy shelf above the high-tide line, and once tbere they'd be
able to rest and recover. Their passenger's immediate prospects were less
certain. He was in a very bad way, clearly dehydrated and barely conscious.
His twisted form made him seem even more pitiful.
'Give him some water now,' Olandis said. 'He may not fast till we get to
camp.'
Aylen nodded and, while his brother held his canoe steady, he unstoppered his
flask and held it to the stranger's lips, trying to support his lolling head
at the same time. The first few drops trickled down over the boy's chin, but
then some dormant reflex took over and his lips parted. Aylen was able to
direct the flow into his mouth, and the two men both saw and heard him swallow
painfully. A little life seemed to seep into his body with die precious liquid
and Aylen smiled, feeling hopeful for
the first time. A moment later he cried out and almost dropped the flask, his
heart suddenly full of both amazement and fear.
The stranger had opened his eyes to look at his saviour, and Aylen found
himself ensnared, looking into their colourless, crystalline depths. He no
longer knew whether the crippled boy they had rescued was a miracle or a
monster.
Chapter Three
'What is it? What's the matter?'
At the sound of the older brother's voice, the stranger lamed his head to look
at him — and Olandis saw immediately what had so disconcerted Aylen. The
castaway's eyes were extraordinary. Even in the fading sunlight they flashed
and glittered like multi-faceted jewels, their only Dolour coming from brief
rainbow flickers as the light moved within them. To Olandis, whose own eyes
were a deep brown, there was genius or madness in those orbs — perhaps both.
Either way, it was obvious that the dreams behind such eyes would be beyond
his comprehension, beyond the grasp of most ordinary men.
'Do you really think he's a sharakan?' he asked, finding himself talking in a
whisper.
'I don't know,' his brother replied. 'He hasn't any
'Too young?' Aylen shrugged.
'Maybe he'll tell us. When he can.'
The stranger's eyes closed again then, and Aylen laid him back down in the
canoe. The brothers were both secretly relieved that they no longer had to
look into that unnerving gaze.
'Let's get back to camp,' Aylen said. 'We need to get some food into him.'
That night they took it in turns to watch over their patient, while the other
slept as best he could. The stranger had been persuaded to take more water,
and in fact he had done so eagerly, to the extent that their supplies were now
running low. But they hadn't been able to get him to eat anything. The
brothers had made their own meal — from fish they'd caught themselves, and
hard bread that Ysatel, their stepmother, had packed for them - but neither
had had much of an appetite. They were more concerned with the welfare of the
boy they had rescued.
His recent ordeal - however it had come about - had obviously taken its toll
on him, but it seemed that he'd hardly been in perfect physical health even
before that. His right arm was withered, the hand little more than a clenched
claw, and his right leg was twisted, the foot bent up at an unnatural angle so
that the boot he wore must have been specially made to fit its awkward shape.
Unlike the sores on his calves and forearms — which had almost certainly been
caused by long exposure to seawater - these deformities evidently dated from a
much earlier time.
'An accident, do you think?' Olandis asked quietly, during one of their
changes of shift deep in the night.
'I don't know,' Aylen replied. 'I've never seen anything like this before.'
Growing up in Fenduca, the brothers
had been witness to injuries of all kinds — and seen the often distressing
consequences for the victims — but the stranger's skewed form was outside
their experience. 'If it was an accident, I guess it must've happened when he
was very young.'
'Perhaps he was born like that,' Olandis suggested.
'Perhaps. I'll keep an eye on him now. You get some rest.'
Olandis nodded, but seemed in no hurry to lie down. Instead, he sat beside his
brother, watching their patient sleep. Since the rescue the boy had been
barely conscious, though his sleep seemed to give him little rest. He frowned
often, and his limbs twitched frequently in response to some invisible
prompting. Although he mumbled to himself occasionally, the brothers could
make no sense of what he said.
'He's dreaming,' Olandis said.
'All the time. But they're not true dreams. He can't trade with them.'
'Most of us can't,' the older brother commented sombrely. 'Do you think we
should set a prayer-flag?'
Aylen shook his head.
'We don't have the right cloth.'
'I could find something.'
'No. His dreams can take care of themselves. It's his body we have to help
now. We'll take him back to Fenduca in the morning. He needs someone with
proper healing skills.'
As if to confirm Aylen's diagnosis, the patient gave voice to a rasping cry of
pain, no louder than a whisper, but no less agonized for that. At the same
time his face contorted into a mask of unutterable misery as his cracked
lips parted again, in an elongated hiss that was full of regret and longing.
'A-yssa.'
They had heard him say something similar a few times now, but this was the
clearest yet - and the yearning tone was unmistakable. However, the word
itself meant nothing to them.
'Could it be someone's name?' Olandis wondered.
Before Aylen had the chance to reply, the stranger began muttering again, his
voice husky and deeper this time, but his words still made no sense.
'He's raving,' Olandis said. 'Do you think he's lost his mind?'
'What was that last word?' Aylen asked sharply, ignoring his brother's
question.
'Sounded like "badanis". Or "bajanis". Why?'
The castaway was silent again now, apparently lost in a calmer part of his
dreaming.
'Could it have been "vadanis"?'
'I suppose so,' Olandis replied, still puzzled.
'I've heard that somewhere before,' Aylen said, his brow creased as he tried
to remember.
'It doesn't mean anything to—' Olandis began, but got no further as his
brother exclaimed aloud.
'Vadanis! It's from the wanderers' tongue.'
'What does it mean?'
'It's the old name for the Cursed Islands. You know, the ones that move.'
Olandis stared at Aylen in astonishment.
'He can't have come from there,' he said eventually.
'That's insane!'
*
When morning came and Aylen roused Olandis to begin the preparations for their
journey home, their patient appeared to be sleeping peacefully. His skin tone
was healthier and - with his eyes closed - he looked normal enough, or at
least as normal as anyone with his disabilities could look. The brothers'
earlier speculation had made them both wary and intrigued. The people of Macul
had long believed that the Cursed Islands were either unpopulated or — if it
was possible for anyone to survive in such unnatural circumstances — then the
islanders must either be madmen or live like wild beasts. It was obvious that
no true civilization could exist in a land where you could not even be sure
where you were from day to day, and where the entire country must be
inherently unstable. If the stranger really did come from Vadanis, it might
explain his outlandish appearance and his tendency to spout gibberish - but
the notion still seemed very farfetched.
When they had done everything possible to break camp, short of dismantling the
tent itself, the brothers looked in on their patient. He woke then, and seemed
a httle more alert than before. He drank eagerly once more, and was even able
to eat a small amount of mashed fish, although swallowing was obviously very
difficult and made him wince with the pain. Neither Aylen nor Olandis was able
to look him in the eye for long - which seemed to puzzle or disappoint him -
but when they tried to talk to him he responded more readily than before.
'Can you speak?' Aylen asked.
摘要：

THEJASPERFORESTBookTwoofTheGuardianCycleJULIAGRAYCopyright©2001byJuliaGrayPrologueThemountainwasstillgrowing.Althoughthemovementcouldnolongerbeseenbythenakedeye,KerinMiranacouldstillfeeltheearth'sadjustmentsthroughthesolesofhiswell-wornboots.Hehadjasperfeet-aninvaluableassetforatravellerinthestonefo...

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