Glenda Larke - The Heart of the mirage

It was four hours before I woke, when someone knocked on my door. It was Garis, with Brand behind him. 'You're wanted,' he said. 'Both of you.'

I glanced out of the window; the sun was just setting in a patchwork sky. 'Who wants us?' I asked.

'Well, Temellin sent for you,' he replied as I tied on my sandals to go with them, 'but it's really a meeting of all the Magoroth.' As the three of us hurried over a rope bridge a moment or two later, he filled us in on what had been happening. 'Pinar's been earbashing everyone with her suspicions. Her party got back yesterday, you know, because our route was longer than hers, and she's had plenty of time to spread her poison. We were the last to arrive, more's the pity.'

Before I could reply, a male voice echoed up from the room below. 'Hey, Garis, Tavia says to tell you if you don't get to her pallet soon, she'll straighten out your lovely eyelashes!'

Garis was young enough to blush rather than laugh. He raised a hand in acknowledgement and gave me an embarrassed shrug. 'It might not be an easy meeting for you.'

'I'm sure I'll survive,' I said as we passed a group of small boys and girls coming the opposite way, all with that newly scrubbed look of children on their way to bed. The elderly Theura who was shepherding them along gave me a curious stare and a wide, toothless

'Here we are.' Garis opened a door and ushered us in.

There were about thirty people in the room, too many, I thought, for them all to be of the highest rank. I guessed the sprinkling of older Magor were the respected lower-ranked teachers of the original ten Magoroth children. Brand and I were introduced to everyone we had not yet met. Pinar, full of confidence, with her malice carefully concealed, inclined her head in greeting. Jahan and Jessah, the married Magoroth siblings, came across to greet me. I still hadn't managed to work out why Jahan had looked so familiar to me on the day we had met in Madrinya.

Temellin smiled at me, but I sensed his tension. Whatever had happened in the room before our arrival had not pleased him. 'Derya,' he said. 'We have decided one of the first things we must do is to find out who you are. To help us, we must know your Magor rank. We would like to cut back the skin from your cabochon; do you mind?'

I smiled in return. 'No, of course not. Who will do the deed?' I held out my hand.

'I will.' It was Korden who stepped forward, drawing his sword from its scabbard.

I eyed the sharp blade with reluctance. 'Isn't that overly large for the job, Korden?'

He gave a faint smile. 'If I use my Magor sword it won't hurt; a knife would.' He took my left hand in his right and with a swift slice of his blade he drew a line across my palm. Blood welled up, but I felt nothing. He laid the weapon aside, put both thumbs on either side of the cut and pulled the flesh so that it slipped away from the cabochon.

The flare of light took us all by surprise. It was as if it had been trapped in my hand and had ached to

escape. It shot forth, showering us with its brilliance, and then settled back into a steady glow on the palm of my hand.

The silence around the room was as profound as death. No one moved, no one spoke for so long I wondered if they had been struck dumb by the light. Then an old woman, an Illusa who had introduced herself as Zerise, stepped forward to kneel at my feet. She took up my left hand, wiped away the blood and kissed the cabochon. 'One of the blessed has been returned to us,' she said. 'Welcome home, Magoria.'

The light from my cabochon bathed the woman with a warm gold radiance.

SHlRIN

The silence splintered into babble and movement and emotional turmoil. Pinar's angry 'But that's impossible!' was lost in expressions of delight from others. The Magoroth came up to hug me, touching my cabochon to theirs, showing me the warmth of their welcome to their ranks.

Across the room, Brand's shock segued into cynicism, but I refused to return his gaze. The glow in my cabochon subsided. All I saw now was a translucent yellow gem set into my palm. A cabochon that could kill. What did that make me? More than human? Or less? I shivered.

Then, as the excitement died away a little, Korden bent to murmur in my ear. 'I am glad, for you, and for us. But – are you truly with us, Derya? Or do you think with a Tyranian heart, as Pinar would have us believe?'

I smiled ruefully to cover my anxiety. 'I can't change overnight, Korden. I will admit that. There are things which are strange, distasteful even. And things have happened too quickly for me to adjust.' I took his left hand and pressed my cabochon to his. 'Perhaps this

will convince you; do you feel anything but happiness there?' I knew he would be able to detect nothing suspicious. Not even Temellin had noticed the slightest sign of disloyalty within me, although he had often held my hand; I was a Brotherhood Compeer, and the masking of emotion was a Brotherhood skill as much as it was a Magor one. I was confident I could hide myself even better than they did.

But Korden wasn't convinced, and his 'Welcome to the Magoroth, Magoria-derya', was as welcoming as the stare of a guard dog.

Temellin laid a hand on Korden's arm. 'My turn, I think,' he said, and then drew me aside. He held my hand and I was shot with his delight. He was transformed.

I stared at him, wondering what I was missing.

He laughed at me, whispering in my ear as he drew me into a congratulatory hug. 'Don't you know what this means, Derya? You can be Miragerin-consort! I do not have to turn to Pinar.'

My heart leapt, absurdly, then cracked. What was I thinking of? I was not going to stay long. I was an agent of Tyrans. I was going to betray them all, put down this damned insurgency of theirs. Bring back peace to their land. Marry a Kardi barbarian? The idea was ludicrous.

Marry Temellin7. I gazed at him, and those eyes of his were full of humour, of anticipation. His delight washed over me in waves. Goddess, I thought, the idiot is in love with me. And then: This is what love ought to he. And then: But not for me. I'm a compeer.

I thought of Favonius, remembered all that his emotions had said. Favonius had lusted after me. He'd been proud of his possession of a general's daughter. He'd loved me as much as he was capable of loving

anyone, but there had been nothing like this in him. The memories of all the time we had spent together withered like sun-seared leaves.

I remembered the way Brand had felt when he had – oh, so briefly – allowed me to touch his emotions. He loved me the way Temellin did, too.

My thoughts, unbidden, took another leap. I remembered the time Temellin and I had spent together. I remembered his body, his tenderness. The way he laughed. His intelligence. The way his voice softened when he spoke of things he loved. The way his language became poetry. I remembered how the children of the freed slaves adored him. Sweet Elysium, I thought, stop me from being so – so witless. Just because no one has ever loved me before is no reason to fall apart like – like a broken amphora spilling its contents. I cannot crack simply because I find a man attractive and his love flattering.

'Derya -?' Temellin asked. 'Are you all right?' His concern was palpable. I was far too aware of his unconcealed emotions.

My eyes searched for Pinar. The older Magoria was staring at me, hatred-filled, but with her emotions under tight control. 'Pinar will kill me,' I said involuntarily.

'Don't be silly! She and I don't love one another, not that way. It was to be a marriage of – of friendship. For children. She will be glad for me.'

I blinked at this extraordinary self-deception, but before I could comment, Korden was there again, saying, 'Temellin, shouldn't we continue with what we intended? We wanted to find out who Derya is; let's do so.'