Стивен Дональдсон - The Mirror of Her Dreams

Master Eremis laughed again and made a placating gesture. But before he could reply, Geraden protested, “No, Master Gilbur.” Coughing, he struggled out of Master Barsonage’s hold and pushed himself to his feet. “It isn’t my fault this time. Think about it –”

Unfortunately, the attempt to stand, talk, and cough simultaneously confused his balance. He stepped on one of his own feet and fell to the side, pitching heavily against two Imagers. They were barely able to catch him. Several men guffawed; this time Terisa could hear their bitterness. They had seen him do things like this before.

When he regained his balance, he was flushed and glowering with embarrassment.

“Apt Geraden,” Master Eremis said kindly, “you have not had an easy time of this. But what is done is done – and we are no nearer to the champion we need than we were when you began. It might be wiser if you did not vex the Congery further by arguing against the obvious.”

Grimly, Geraden straightened the disarray of his jerkin. “What’s obvious,” he began sourly, “is that I haven’t gone wrong the way you believe. You haven’t considered –”

“Boy,” Master Barsonage growled behind him, “watch your tone. We are Masters here. We are not required to hear the insolence of an Apt.”

At once, chagrin rushed over the anger and embarrassment in Geraden’s face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean –” He flung a look of misery and contrition at Barsonage. “But this is so important.”

“We are aware of what is important,” rasped the heavyset man, Master Gilbur. “Credit us with that minimum of intelligence. The rest we will be able to reason for ourselves.”

Terisa was only marginally attentive to what was being said. As soon as Eremis stopped looking at her , she was nearly overcome by a sense of unreality. None of this was possible. Where was she really? Was this what happened when her tendency to fade away was pushed to its conclusion? Deliberately, she concentrated on what she could see, trying to convince herself of her surroundings.

She had her back to the mirror on the stone dais: instinctively, she felt that was one glass into which she didn’t wish to glance. Master Eremis had positioned her in an almost proprietary way at his side; the rest of the Imagers were clustered around Geraden, Barsonage, and Gilbur. And they all stood near the open center – the dais itself occupied the center – of a large, round chamber with a flagstone floor. Crude-hewn gray granite formed the walls and ceiling. Several huge torches burned in sconces set around the distant walls; but most of the light came from oil lamps hanging from the four thick pillars that supported the high vaults of the ceiling. Within the area marked by the pillars, the center of the chamber was ringed by a carved wooden railing with benches like pews outside it, facing inward. The benches could have seated forty or fifty people.

This, she guessed, was the official meeting hall of the Congery of Imagers. That seemed reasonable – which was good. If it were reasonable, it might also be real.

She would have liked to wander away from the group of men, do a little exploring on her own. But part of her did hear what the Masters were saying. She heard the appeal in Geraden’s voice, the weight of sarcasm with which Master Gilbur responded. Though she had only known Geraden for – what was it? ten minutes now? twenty at the most – she felt loyal to him. He had talked and listened to her and smiled as if she actually existed. Meeting the flustered contrite-and-urgent supplication in his eyes, she said to the Masters, “I think you ought to give him a chance. There must be some reason why I agreed to come with him.”

At once, she winced inwardly and wanted to apologize to Geraden, because Master Eremis let out a peal of laughter. “There must indeed, my lady,” he chortled. “I was wrong to speak of dalliance, for that surely was no part of this Apt’s appeal. He has many virtues, but grace and wit are not among them. Since we have no reason to believe that you were brought by force, there must indeed be some reason why you are with him.” Several of the Imagers chuckled at Eremis’s jest; but Geraden could do nothing except duck his head to hide his misery. “Well, speak, Geraden,” the Master went on. “What is it that you believe we have not considered?”

For a moment, Terisa thought that Geraden would refuse to answer. She had watched her father embarrass her mother on any number of occasions, and the only outlet her mother had found for her resentment had been a refusal to speak. But Geraden set aside whatever humiliation he felt. Excitement surged into his gaze, and he took a step forward almost as if he were jumping.

“Master Eremis”– he turned his head—“Master Gilbur”—again, he faced Eremis, Terisa, and the mirror—“you know I’m only an Apt, and you laugh because I make a lot of mistakes. But you haven’t thought about what she means.” He made an openhanded gesture toward Terisa. “Why is she here? How did she get here?

“Master Gilbur, you taught me how to shape that mirror. It’s exactly like the one you made. You know they’re exactly alike because what you see in this mirror is the same as what your mirror shows. They’re the same.

“Master Eremis, have you ever heard of a mirror that could translate things it didn’t show?”

This question took several of the Masters aback. Gilbur scowled like the clenching of a fist; Eremis’ mouth twisted thoughtfully; Barsonage raised his eyebrows so far that they appeared to grow back over his skull. A small man with a face like a rabbit’s nodded vigorously.

Now Geraden was speaking to all the Imagers at once. “The greatest Masters we know of have never been able to make mirrors that show one thing and translate another. Adept Havelock in his prime couldn’t do it. Even the stories about arch-Imager Vagel don’t mention any power as strong as that.

“Think about it, Masters. Either I’ve stumbled by accident onto the greatest achievement in the history of Imagery. Or I’m already the greatest Master since the first mirror was shaped.” Abruptly, he stopped, fixing his gaze squarely on Eremis.

“Or what, Apt?” Master Gilbur growled. “Surely you do not expect us to stomach either of those alternatives?”

“Or,” Geraden said slowly, still holding Eremis’ eyes, “another power intervened. Maybe it was the same power that shaped the augury. It took me to a place I could not have reached with that mirror. A place where I could find the champion the augury intended instead of the one you chose.”

He was nearly whispering, and his brown eyes shone intently. “She’s the one I should have been sent to bring back. She’s the one who can save us.”

For an instant, all the Congery stared in silence at Geraden and his assertion. Then the rabbity Master announced in a high, thin voice, “I said so. I have said so from the beginning. This proves it. They are real.”

“Oh, forsooth,” retorted Gilbur trenchantly. “The Apt speaks cleverly, but he defies reason. She our augured savior? She the power to rescue us from Imagery gone mad? Look at her, Masters. What are her powers? How will she fight in our defense? In what way is she superior to the champion we have chosen?”

As he spoke, he aimed a thick forefinger at the glass behind Terisa.

Several of the men shifted their attention there. Even Master Eremis turned and gave the mirror a glance.

Involuntarily, Terisa obeyed Gilbur’s pointing.

Her first impression was confirmed: the mirror didn’t reflect anything that she could see here – or that she had ever seen.

The tinted and faintly rippled glass showed a scene distant enough to be quite large, but not distant enough to weaken its primary figures. In the middle ground of a stark and alien landscape lit by the scarlet glow of an old, red sun stood a metallic shape which her mind instantly labeled a “spaceship.” Forming a defensive perimeter around the ship were a number of manlike forms, also metallic: a moment passed before she realized that they actually were men, men in armor. They were under attack; but the destructive beams that chewed pieces off the landscape only glanced from the helmets and chestplates of the defenders. She couldn’t see the effect of the fire they returned, but it must have been adequate: they weren’t driven back toward their ship.