Glenda Larke - The Heart of the mirage

I nodded at the sword. 'I want to learn how to use it.'

'Yes, you should.' His voice was carefully neutral. 'Garis will teach you the elementary things.' He took a breath, grew taller, more in command. 'This ought to be the happiest day of my life – the day my sister is returned to me. I can remember you, you know. I can remember loving you. Grieving for you. I should be happy. It is wonderful to have you back, Shirin.'

'Thank you.' My voice was small, the thanks ridiculous. If there had ever been anything wonderful in my homecoming, it had all been lost.

My room had a spartan but pleasing decor relying on natural wood and stone to achieve a warm attractiveness, or that was the way it was when I fell asleep that night. I woke the next morning to a riot of colour blazing forth from flounces and frills and preposterous ornamentation; a richness of absurdity and lunatic juxtapositions that brought forth a gasp of reluctant laughter from me.

I was still smiling when my maid, an ex-slave called Caleh, came in with my hot water and tea. The girl was so astounded she almost dropped the tray.

'I thought perhaps it wouldn't be such a surprise to you,' I said. 'Doesn't this sort of thing happen all the time?'

'Well, yes, sometimes. But not quite like this in someone's bedroom.' She looked around in bewilderment. 'I mean, this is wild.' She reached up to touch a tumble of glass wind chimes that glowed with colour. The music they played was tuneful, a delightful gaiety of notes. Indicating the mobile bouncing on the other side of the room, she added, 'I've never seen hanging chamberpots before.'

I waved my hand helplessly. 'Why, do you think?'

Caleh considered. 'I think it was to make you laugh, Magoria.' And that was perhaps the best explanation I was ever to receive.

I thought back to my time inside the sands of the Shiver Barrens. There, the Mirage Makers had not seemed to be entities given to humour, but the Mirage itself did seem to be a collection of the amusing, the absurd: the bridges that crossed nothing, the road that went nowhere, the street that became a river. Perhaps the Mirage Makers had been touched by my desolation, the bleakness of my lonely, dream-haunted night.

I dressed and readied myself to meet this new world, this new life.

It was Garis who told me, just after breakfast, that the first thing I had to do was to take part in a dedication ceremony, a ritual of allegiance all Magor had to undergo, usually around puberty. 'But you sort of missed out then,' he said cheerfully, 'so Temellin has arranged it for you this morning. That is -' He gave me a sharp look. 'You don't look so well. Would you rather wait till some other day?'

I was touched by his concern; he was only eighteen – still partly naive boy, still partly feckless adolescent and quixotic romantic – but partly responsible adult too, with an adult's understanding. I liked his exuberance and humour, his eagerness to make something of me.

'I'll be all right,' I said. iWhat do I have to do?'

'Oh, nothing much,' he said vaguely. 'Just wait in your room for the time being. I'll fix it all.'

He must have spoken to Caleh, because fifteen minutes later she came in with five or six borrowed anoudain over her arm. 'You have to wear something nice for your dedication ceremony,' she said. 'It's a very important day for one of the Magor.'

Thankfully, I reflected that at least I wouldn t look as ridiculous in a ceremonial anoudain as I did in a ceremonial wrap. The green outfit I chose was plain, but it hung softly and, although the Mirage Makers had neglected to supply my room with a mirror, I suspected it made me appear more feminine than usual. I also wore my sword, in a borrowed scabbard sent around by Garis, for the first time. It felt strange hanging there at my hip and had a tendency to get in the way. As a compeer I'd always relied on a knife for protection, preferring the stealth possible in its use and disliking the cumbersome obviousness of a sword. Besides, Tyranian women did not wear swords, and the last thing I had wanted to do in Tyr was draw attention to my oddities.

Shortly afterwards, Garis escorted me down to the main meeting hall where all the Magoroth were waiting for me. The moment I entered the room, they drew their swords and held them aloft in salute so that the hall blazed, the light so bright I found myself blinking like a night bird in sunlight.

Temellin stepped forward out of the crowd to smile at me, a gentle smile of encouragement and support. 'We, the Magoroth of Kardiastan, have come to escort you to the Chamber of the Tablets of the Covenant,' he said formally. He indicated I should take his arm, but he was careful not to look at me as I did so.

We walked in procession, Temellin and I in front, the Magoroth behind, their swords still drawn and held aloft to light our way. No one spoke. In Tyr, at any ceremonial procession, there would have been rose petals strewn in our path and horn fanfares as we passed – but this was Kardiastan, and the emphasis was on the solemnity of the occasion rather than any grandiose display or pointless ritual.

^K Within minutes, I was lost. We proceeded along one passage after another, many of them sloping downwards, others passing through tunnels or crossing bridges or leading down steps – and still more steps – until I was sure we must be somewhere under the ground. I wanted to ask, but faced with the funereal silence around me, I didn't dare. Finally we halted in a large windowless hall. At one end there were massive wooden doors, now closed.

Temellin released my hand. 'Beyond those doors are the Tablets of the Covenant,' he explained. 'You are to read them all. Once you have done so, you will return here. We will not enter with you, but it is customary for whoever enters to select someone of the Magor to accompany him or her, someone who will testify you have read all the tablets and understood their meaning. Who would you like to accompany you?'

Over his shoulder I saw Pinar looking at me, eyes smouldering. 'Garis,' I said.

If Temellin thought I had slighted him by naming another, he did not let it show. He inclined his head and beckoned the youth forward. Garis stared at Temellin in consternation, then, as the Mirager did not react, looked in my direction with a pleased smile, before finally managing a more solemn demeanour as he remembered the seriousness of the occasion.

'Unbuckle your sword and leave it with me,' Temellin said. 'It will only be returned to you if you take the oath to obey the terms of the Covenant.' I did as he asked, and felt a pang as I surrendered up the weapon; I had felt it was already rightfully mine.

Then Garis and I turned towards the door at the other end of the hall. It swung open as we approached, although no one had touched it, to reveal an immense cavern beyond. Just over the threshold I paused,

mum

momentarily unable, in my awe, to move. While I stood rooted, the doors swung shut behind us.

The cavern itself appeared to be a natural chamber of rock and, although large, there was nothing spectacular about it; what caught my attention was what it contained. At its centre a number of shapes glowed with a gentle silver light, a glow as beautiful as starlight, and each of the shapes was as large as a man. Five of them rising up out of the sandy floor of the cavern like moonlit standing stones on a moor.

I walked forward, Garis beside me.

The shapes were tablets, not – as I had expected – of clay, but of light; of starlight if that were possible. And the texts on each of them were etched with the blackness of a lack of light, as if the letters had been written with the darkness of night.

'Holy shit,' Garis said at my side, with a distinct lack of reverence, 'the Mirage Makers have been mucking about with things again. When I came to read the Covenant a couple of years ago, it was carved on ordinary stone tablets – now look at it!'