Barrington Bayley - The Forest of Peldain

“Yes, we could do that.”

Kana-Kem seemed both puzzled and displeased by Vorduthe’s diffidence. “You spoke of destroying this kingdom, my lord. If we cannot win it for King Krassos then that is what we should do. What plan have you?”

“I had intended to arrange for the forest to strangle the whole island,” Vorduthe told him bluntly. “ But you must keep that to yourself . Do you understand?”

The Troop Leader spent some time in absorbing this news. He nodded, frowning.

“But now,” Vorduthe added, “I am not sure. I am not sure… I will speak to you again presently.”

“The men grow impatient, my lord. You have not spoken to them for days, and they are feeling lost and angry. They will act on their own if you do not give them leadership.”

Even this threat of rebellion did not stir Vorduthe. “That is enough,” he said sharply. “I will speak to you presently.”

Kana-Kem turned and made his way back down the hill. Vorduthe stayed where he was, thinking as he watched the sun glint dully on the green lake below.

Overhead, the gnarled branches creaked in a sudden breeze.

“I have a hard question to put to you,” Mistirea said.

They were in the place referred to as the temple. In reality it was a ceremonial training school where the most suitable of Mistirea’s acolytes were taught exercises in psychic sensitivity. The numbers in the temple and its surrounding dwellings were being added to by the armed men from the mountain fastness, whom Mistirea had summoned to Lakeside now, that the need to defy King Kerenei was gone. To Vorduthe it was surprising that the High Priest should be permitted his own armed force, even though it was not as large as the king’s. Tradition placed a high priority on his safety, evidently.

Shaded from the heat of the day, the room was cooled by large, thick leaves that sprouted from the internal walls and waved constantly. “I have been talking with Prince Askon,” Mistirea continued. “He made me realize how little you may wish to help us, beyond the need to save your men from execution.

“It is true that you owe this country nothing. You have suffered much and you have been disappointed in your expectations. In the lake you are alone with the spirit, and it would be easy for you merely to pretend to play the part I have asked of you. After all, only after some time would the behavior of the trees of the forest tell us otherwise.

“If that is your attitude, Lord Vorduthe, then I beseech you to think again. Peldain is a country of thousands of men, women and children, none of whom have done you any harm. Think of them. Think what it would mean if your own country were to be ravaged by this savage forest.”

“One Peldainian has done us harm,” Vorduthe corrected him, in a flinty voice. “What if I were to demand the blood of Prince Askon as the price of my cooperation?”

“You cannot be serious.”

Vorduthe did not answer, only stared stonily.

“The Prince jestingly mentioned the possibility,” Mistirea sighed. “Or was it in jest? Yet how could one demand the life of the king’s son? Further, King Kerenei is very ill… it will not be long before Prince Askon succeeds him. Then we shall have a strange circumstance—the safety of the realm will depend on the king’s bitterest enemy.”

“Askon Octrago swore himself a vassal of my monarch King Krassos. Let the keeping of his oath be the price of my help.”

“In what manner is he to keep it? It can only be a form of words—Peldain remains cut off from the rest of the world, and there is no way your king can rule here.”

“I am aware of this.” Vorduthe’s tone softened slightly. “I have already pondered these matters. You will be relieved to hear that I intend to try my strength against the spirit, if I can. My reasons, however, are my own.”

Mistirea appeared satisfied with this response. His judgment of people was intuitive, Vorduthe knew. He depended on feeling to tell him whether a man’s word could be taken on trust.

And so it was that later in the day Vorduthe filled his lungs for the second time while floating in the center of the lake. Mistirea placed a hand on the small of his back, urging him down.

Vorduthe dived.

His descent slowed as the liquid thickened, and this time the entity was waiting for him. He entered trance state, and suddenly the darkness was filled with green-gold light.

The voice spoke soothingly. Come. Come to your beloved wife. Come to Kirekenawe .

Vorduthe knew that a trap was being opened under him. These deceptive dreams are a trick , he replied, speaking in his mind. You do not take me to my wife. You only present me with my own wishes .

“You are wrong,” the voice told him calmly.

“True, when you descend into the lake you descend into your own subconscious mind, the arena where dreams take place. But what you do not know is that this, the undermind, is collective, universal. Everyone shares it. Through it you can contact others, if you know how, and I know how. It is in the undermind that you meet me. There also you met your beloved wife Kirekenawe, the closest to your own soul— and she met you .”

“It is not possible. She is half a world away.”

“There is no distance in the undermind, just as there is no time. How could a morning pass in the space of one breath? Yet you remember that morning… Yes, you dream and she dreams—the same dream. And since it is a dream, why should she be paralyzed? Why should you be unhappy? I will create a world for you both where you can find what you lost….”

“It is still only hallucination.”

“No, it is as real as anything you have known. Do you think that you dream apart from one another? No, you dream together, your souls meet and you know one another. If you do not believe me, ask her for news of home… come, see for yourself…”

Vorduthe’s resolve to contend with the spirit wavered. That was all the assent the lake needed.

There was a feeling of being drawn through something. A brief period of sleep. Then….

The outrigger boat scudded along on the swelling, shining sea, its triangular sail taut and straining on the slanted spar. Vorduthe leaned on the steering oar, turning the prow of the canoe-like craft while his wife hauled on the sheet, pivoting the sail so as still to catch the wind.

The narrow vessel shot through outcroppings of coral, breasted foamy breaking waves, then beached finally on the sandy shore of the island. Swiftly the Lady Vorduthe reefed the sail and tied the sail-line. They jumped out, splashing through the warm salty water and pulling the outrigger onto the beach together.

The sun sparkled on their sea-bronzed bodies. Vorduthe followed his wife up the beach into the shade of the long-leaved trees whose fruit contained a cool, refreshing drink. He cut down two with his knife, chopping off the stems. They drank their fill, and lay together chewing the sweet yellow pulp.

This little group of tiny islands, completely uninhabited and with an associated atoll, had been a favorite spot of theirs early in their marriage. Many a curved, empty beach had been the scene of their pleasure in one another, while breeze-driven waves crashed softly nearby. But now, after an interlude, Vorduthe recalled the Peldainian lake’s advice. He asked his wife how things went in the kingdom.

For the first time a frown crossed her features. “In truth, not well,” she said sadly. “Your departure signaled a time of trouble, husband. Must you really hear of it?”

Vorduthe’s fist clenched. “Yes!”

“Very well.”

She threw down the bell-shaped flower she had been playing with and sat up with her arms around her knees, staring out to sea. “With so many of the seaborne warriors away on the campaign, the Mandekweans saw an opportunity to revolt. King Krassos sent the remaining warriors to subdue them, not knowing that the Orwanians had secretly joined the rebellion. Near to the Mandekwe reefs the fleet was surprised by Orwanians using fire-canoes. Some ships were burned, some driven onto the reefs, and some managed to put their forces ashore only for them to be destroyed by a larger combined army.”