Диана Дуэйн - The Door Into Shadow

Her throne was wrought of crystal, like everything else in the place, but it reflected nothing from its long sheer surfaces. The one enthroned upon it seemed caught at that particular moment when adolescence first turns toward womanhood, and both woman and child live in the eyes. She was clothed in changelessness and invulnerability as with the robe of woven twilight She wore, and Her slender maiden's hands seemed able, if they chose, to sow stars like grain, or pluck the Moon like a silver flow r er. Yet very still those hands lay on the arms of the throne, and Segnbora found herself trembling with fear to see them so idle.
Her quiet, beautiful face lay half in shadow as the Lady's gaze dwelt on Freelorn. For a long while there was no motion but that of Her long braid, the color of night before the stars were made, rising and falling slightly with Her breathing. Then slowly She looked up, and met Segnbora's eyes.
"Little sister," the Maiden said, * 'you're welcome." Segnbora sank to her knees., staggered with awe and love. This was her Lady, the aspect of the Goddess she had always loved best: the Maker, the Builder, the Mistress of Fire, She Who created the worlds and creates them still, Giver of Power and glory. Not even that night in the Ferry' Tavern had she been stricken down like this, with such terror and desire. 'The Maiden gazed at her, and Segnbora had to look down, blinded by the divine splendor.

She gasped for breath and tried to think. It was hard, through the trembling, yet it was the fact that she trembled at all that disturbed her, Even as the Dark.Lady, walking the
night in Her moondark aspect, She did not inspire fear. Something was wrong. Segnbora lifted her head for another look, and was once more heartblinded by Her untempered glory. Segnbora hid her eyes as if from the Sun, and began to tremble in earnest.
Within her Hasai bent his head low, and spread his wings upward in a bow. (She's not as you showed me, within you. Nor is She like the
Immanence. Its experience, too, is always one of infinite power, but the power is tempered—)
(It's—) The words seemed impossible, a wild lie in the face of deity, but she thought them anyway. (It's not Her.)
Segnbora cut herself off. She had a suspicion of what was wrong with this Maiden. She also believed she now knew Who was maintaining the great wreaking that had built the Sky-bridge, and Who was keeping the Glasscastle-trap inviolate. Only an aspect of the Goddess could do such things. . Segnbora got up, anxious to be out of Glasscastle before she discovered whether her suspicion w r as correct — and was very surprised to find herself still kneeling where she was. With a flash of anger she met the Maiden's eyes again. They poured pow r er at her, a flood of chill strength, knowledge, potency. The look went straight through Segn-bora like a blade. Once before, long ago, those hands had wrought her soul, those eyes had critically examined the Maker's handiwork. Now they did so again, a look enough to paralyze any mortal creature, as flaws and strengths together were coolly assessed by the One Who put them there. But Segnbora's soul was a little less mortal now than it had been when first created. There were Dragons among the mdei-hm who had had direct experiences of the Immanence on more than one occasion. The judgment of ultimate power didn't frighten them; they were prepared to meet the infinite eye to eye, and judge right, back,
/am what I am, Segnbora thought, reaching back toward the Dragons' strength and staring into those beautiful, daunting eyes.. She would not be judged and found wanting with her work incomplete, her Name still unknown!
Suddenly she was standing, surprised that she could. She expected to be struck with lightning for her temerity, but
nothing happened. Segnbora kept her eyes on the fair, still face, and saw, past the virulent blaze of glory, something she had missed
earlier. The Maiden's eyes had a dazzlement about them, as if She too were blinded.
"My Lady," Segnbora managed to say, "I beg Your pardon, but we have to leave."
"No one comes here," the Maiden said gently, "who wants to leave. I have ordained it so."
The terrible power of Her voice filled the air, making the words true past contradiction. Segnbora shook her head, wincing in pain at the effort of maintaining her purpose against that onslaught of will. "But Freelorn is the Lion's Child," she said. "He has things to do—" "He came here of his own free will," the Maiden said. She moved for the first time, reaching out one of Her empty hands to Freelorn. He leaned nearer with a sigh, and She stroked his hair, gazing down at him. "And now he has his heart's desire. No more flight for the Lion's Child, no more striving after an empty throne and a lost sword. Only peace, and the twilight. He has earned them."
The Maiden half-sang the words as She looked at Freelorn, and Her merciless glory grew more blinding yet. Segnbora shook her head, for something was missing. Whatever lived in those eyes, it wasn't love. And more than Her glory, it was Her love — of creating, and what she created — that Segnbora had worshiped— (Sdaha, be swift!)
(Right—) She reached out to grab Freelorn and pull him away from the Maiden's lulling touch, but as she moved, the Maiden did too — locking eyes with Segnbora, striking her still.
"You also, little sister," She said, "you have earned your peace. Here you shall stay."
"No, oh no," Segnbora whispered, struggling again to find the will to move. But, dark aspect or not, this was the God-dess, Who knew
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Segnbora's heart better than she did.
The Maiden spoke from within that heart now, with Segn-bora's own thoughts, her own voice, as the Goddess often speaks. … I'm tired, my mum and da are dead; there are months,
maybe years of travel and fighting ahead of us — and even if I bring Lorn out of here, he'll probably just be killed. Isn't this better for him than
painful death? And isn't it better for me, toof No death in ice and darkness, just peace for all eternity. Peace in the twilight, with Her. .
The song of the mdeihei seemed very far away. She couldn't hear what Hasai was saying to her, and somehow it didn't matter. The cool of
the surrounding twilight curled into her like rising water. Soon it would rise high enough to drown her life, abolish both pain and desire.
The Maiden was seated no longer. Calm as a moonrise, She stood before Segnbora, reaching out to her. "There's nothing to fear/' She
said. "Nothing fails here, nothing is lost, no hearts break or are broken. I have wrought a place outside of time and ruin—"
The gentle hands touched Segnbora's face. All through her, muscles went lax as her body yielded itself to its Creator. Her mind swelled
with a desire to be still; to forget the world and its concerns and rest in Her touch forever.
"Then it's true," she whispered as if in a dream. "There's no death here …"
"There is no death anywhere," the Maiden said, serene, utterly certain.
The relief that washed through Segnbora was indescriba-ble. The one thing that had been wrong with the world was vanquished at last. Impenmanence, loss, bereavement. . the Universe was perfect, as it should have been from the begin-ning. There was nothing to fear anymore. .
.. though it was curious that one dim image surfaced, and would not go away. In languid curiosity she regarded it, though her indifference kept her from truly seeing it for a long time, It was a tree, and a dark field, and brightness in the field. Night smells— —smells?
There were smells that had little to do with night. Ground-damp. Mold. Wetness, where her hands turned over dirt, and jerked back in shock. Wetness, and the liqyid gleam of dulled eyes in Flameligtit. And 'the carrion smell of death— In a wash of horror, the dream broke. Segnbora knew who
she was again, and Who held her. The Maiden had made the worlds, true enough, and in the ecstasy of creation had forgot-ten about Death and let It in. But She had never denied Death's existence, or Her mistake, in any of Her aspects. Segnbora tried to move away from the hands that held her, and couldn't. Her body felt half-dead.
She settled for moving just one hand: the right one, the swordhand that had saved her so many times before. Her own horror helped her, for she realized now that she was in the presence of a legend: the One with Still Hands, that Maiden Who has stopped creating and holds all who fall into Her power in a terrible thrall. This was a dark aspect of the true Maiden, one Who had embraced forgetfulness, and Who had taken Glasscastle as Her demesne, Her prison. (Hasai!)
Struggling to raise her hand, she called him, and to her shock got no answer. Twilight had fallen in the back of her mind, and she could feel no Dragonfire there. She would have to raise her swordhand alone, even though the Maiden's cool hands on her face made it almost impossible to concen-trate.
Sweat sprang out with the effort. The hand moved an inch. She would not be left here! She would not leave her mdaha stuck in an eternity of not— doing! She would not walk past Lang and Freelorn and Herewiss a thousand times without seeing them. .! Another inch. Another. The hand felt
THE DOOR INTO SHADOW
as if it were made of lead, but she moved further into herself, finding strength.
In the twilight, something else moved. Down inside her memory, in the cavern — not her own secret place, but the cave at the Morrowfane — stones grated beneath Hasai's plating, scoring the dulled gems of his flanks as he rolled over to be still from the convulsions at last. Horrified, Segnbora discov-ered that the One with Still Hands was there as well. Dark as a moonless night, she was soothing Hasai's worst pain, offer-ing him a mdahaih state that would never diminish him to a faint voice in the background, but would leave him one strong voice among many. But her promise was a lie.
(Mdaha! Move! She can't do it. She'll trap you in here, and we'll both be alive and rdahaih forever!)
He could not move. Desperately, Segnbora reached all the way back inside, climbed into his body and took over — wore his wings, lashed his tail, lifted his head, forced one immense taloned foot to move forward, then another, then another. Together they crawled to the mouth of the cave, Hasai gasp-ing without fire as they went.
(Sdaha, have mercy! Let me go!) he begged, agonized. She ignored him, pushing his head out the cave entrance into the clear night. The entrance was too small for his shoul-ders and barrel. She pushed, ramming muscles with thought and cave wall with gemmed hide, steel bones. (Now!) she cried, and they crashed into the rock together. It trembled, but held. (Now!) Stones rattled and fell about them. The mountain shook and threatened to come down — but stone was their element, they were unafraid.
Hasai began to assist her, living in his own body again, remembering life, refinding his strength. (Now!) They jammed shoulders through the stone; wings smote the rock like lightning, burst free into the night. Segnbora's arm knocked away with one sweeping gesture the hands that held her. In rage and pity, and a desire to see something other than slack peace in those beautiful eyes, her hand swept back again. She struck the Maiden backhanded across the face.
Shocked, sickened by the violence she had done, Segnbora waited for the lightning … or at least for her own handprint to appear on Her face. Nothing came, though. No flicker of the eyes, no change in the mouth. Slowly the Maiden turned Her back on Segnbora, went back to Her throne, seated Her-self. She said nothing. Segnbora found herself free. (Sdaha—)
(I know, mdaha, time!)
Segnbora shook Freelorn by the shoulder. There was no answering movement — he seemed asleep, or tranced. Well, dammit, if I have to carry him— She reached down and took him under the shoulders, heaving hard. Freelorn made a sound, then. It was a bitter moan; a sound of pain and mourning as if some sweet dream had broken.
"Come on, Lorn," she said, wanting more to swear than to coax. Moonset couldn't be more than a quarter-hour away. "Come on, you Lioncub, you idiot, come on—!"
Turning, she got him up — then blinked in shock. They were all there, drifting in. Lang, looking peaceful. Dritt, Moris, Torve, Harald, all the life gone out of their movements. Sun-spark, quenched in the twilight like a Firebrand dropped in water. Herewiss, his light eyes dark with Glasscastle's dusk, and no flicker of Fire showing about Khavrinen.
Despair and anger shook her. She didn't have time to go into each mind separately and break the Maiden's grip. She doubted she had the strength, anyhow. Not even the Fire, had she been able to focus it, would help her now, though sor-cery. .
She paused, considering. Perhaps there was a way to break them all free at once. It shamed her deeply to consider it, but then she had no leisure for shame. (Mdaha!)
THE DOOR INTO SHADOW
(Do what you must,) Hasai said, placid. (I'll lend you strength if you need it.)
She gulped, and began the sorcery. It was a simple one, and vile. These people were her friends. She had fought alongside them, guarded their backs, eaten and drunk and starved with them, lain down in loneliness and merriment to share herself with them. Their friendship gave her just enough knowledge of their inner Names with which to weave a spell of compul-sion.
It was almost too easy, in fact. Their own wills were al-most wholly abolished. The images of loneliness, loss of Power, and midnight fear that she employed were more than adequate. She knew less about Herewiss and Sunspark than about Freelorn and the others, but could guess enough about their natures to make them head out the door. Torve was hardest — a name and a wry flicker of his eyes was all she had. Yet she was terrified for this innocent, and her fear fueled his part of the sorcery, making up for her lack of knowledge.
As she gasped oul the last few syllables of the spell, Segn-bora began carefully making her way out of the construct in
her mind. She slipped sideways through the final fold of the sorcery, scoring herself with sharp words in only a few places, thankful for
once that she was so slim. Once out, she bound
the sorcery into a self-maintaining configuration that would give her time to fight off the inevitable backlash and follow the others out.
One by one, her companions began drifting away from the Maiden's throne, out toward the great gates. She sagged a moment, feeling
weary and soiled, watching them go.
Inside her, wings like the night sheltered her and fed her strength. (Sdaha, don't dally—) (No.)
She looked one last time at the throne, where the Maiden sat silent, watching the others go, dispassionate as a statute in a shrine. O my Queen, Segnbora thought. Surely somewhere the Maiden dwelt in saner aspects, whole and alive and forever creating. But to see even a minor aspect of Godhead so twisted was too bitter for a mortal to bear for long. Hurry-ing, Segnbora turned away to follow the others. They were far ahead of her, unerringly following the way out that she had set for them. The sorcery was holding sur-prisingly well, considering bow long it had been since she had used sorcery to as much as mend a pot or start a fire. She went quickly, trotting, even though physical activity would bring on the backlash with a vengeance. It felt wonderful to move again. (Mdaha, you all right?)
(My head hurts,) he said, surprised. The mdeihei rarely ex-perienced pain for which there was no memory.
(It's the effect of the sorcery; you're getting it from me.) Somehow she couldn't bring herself to be very solicitous: There were still too many things that could go wrong. They could come to the doors and find them closed. Or, if they were open, the bridge could be gone. Or—
Something moved close by, a figure approaching Sgenbora from one side. It was not one of her own people, she knew. Her hand went to Charriselm's hilt.
Suoimersky opals winked at her as Efmaer came up beside her and 'walked with her, quickly but without animation. "You are leaving," the Queen said. "Yes. Come with us— r >
Efmaer shook her head. "Gladly would I come. . but I never found Sefeden to get my Name back, and without it I cannot leave …"
"But you know your Name." "I have forgotten it," said the Queen. Segnbora's insides clenched with pity. . and suddenly the memory she hadn't been able to pin down appeared in her pain-darkened mind.Urgently, she stopped and took the Queen by the shoulders. She had half expected to find herself holding a ghost, or something hard and cold, but there was life and warmth in the body, and an old supple strength that spoke of years spent swinging F6rlennh and Skadhwe in the wars against the Fyrd.