Кэролайн Черри - Fortress in the Eye of Time

He gripped his sword and for the first time truly used the spurs, sending Dys forward as Dys himself seemed then to take his madness and go with a will, into the burning heart of the light .

It was like passing through water. Things beyond that limit were distorted, but in perfect clarity within the compass of it, he saw the bodies of men and horses lying on the ground. Debris of the forest buffeted him, flying in the wind, but he clung to the silver-wrapped sword, and the light, no illusion here, blazed from the silver until his glove smoked. The letters on the blade shone with white light: Truth, and Illusion .

Around him were ragged shapes that whirled like torn rags, that shrieked with terrified voices, and whipped away on the winds. He and Dys were the only creatures alive within the compass of the light .

Then — then the wind stopped. Then a silence. A stillness. A hush, as if hearing failed. A loneliness, a white light, with no other living creatures .

— Why, there you are , the Shadow said to him in that quiet, and the tones embraced, caressed, as the wind slid around him and beneath Dys, caressing and gentle. There you are, my prince. And here I am. Take my allegiance. I give it. I ask nothing else of you. I can show you your heartʼs desire. Ask me any favor and I am yours .

Time stopped, and slipped sidelong. All the world seemed extended about him, and he struggled out of that burning light into grayness again, clinging to the illusion that was himself, on the truth that was a field near Emwy .

But that place fell away from him in dizzy depth. He was elsewhere .

Came a distant sibilance like the whispering of leaves before a storm. Ynefel loomed up through a veil of mist and he stood on a promontory facing it, though he knew the fortress stood alone .

Came a rumbling in the earth, and the rock under him began to crumble in a rushing of winds and water. He had a sword — but it was useless against his enemy in this place .

Came a wind through woods, as, on the white stones of the Road, he saw himself asleep among the trees, against a stream-bank. And the Book was there .

— Tristen of Ynefel . Came a whisper through the dark and came a light through the leaves. Tristen, I do not in any fashion oppose you. I never did. Leave this intention against me, and go through the light. Be with Mauryl. You can find him again. You have that power .

He remembered leaves in the courtyard, leaves that whirled and rose up with the dust of the ground into the shape of a man. He remembered that Time was one time, and that Place was one place.

He sat, still on Dys, in the paved courtyard. He saw a young man sitting on the step, trying to read a Book. He saw Maurylʼs face looking down from the wall, the youth all unseeing of his danger. And the Book was there, on the young manʼs knees, perilously within Hasufinʼs reach .

Rapidly the shadow of the walls joined the shadow of the tower, and grew long across the courtyard stones. It touched the walls, complete across the courtyard, now, and he knew that on any ordinary day he should be inside and off the parapets and out of the courtyard…

But he was thinking as that young man. The enemy was waiting for him. And for the Book the young man held .

— Take it up , the Wind said to him. Or shall I?

The wind suddenly picked up, skirled up the dead leaves from a corner of the wall, and those leaves rose higher and higher, dancing down the paving stones toward the tower — toward the youth, who shivered, with the Book folded in his hands, his hands between his knees as the wind danced back again. The faces set in the walls looked down in apprehension, in desperation, saying, with a voice as great as the winds, Look up, look up, young fool, and run!

The youth looked up then at the walls above his head — and recoiled from off the step. Maurylʼs face loomed above him, stone like the others, wide-mouthed and angry .

The youth stumbled off the middle step, fell on the bottom one and picked himself up, staring at the face — retreated farther and farther across the stones, carrying the Book as he fled .

Came a strangely human sound, that began like the wind and ended in the choked sobs of someone in grief, but distant, as if cast up and echoed from some deep. It might have been in the real world. It might have been the youth making that sound. It might have been himself.

— Tristen , the Wind said to him, Ynefel is your proper place, this is your home, Sihhë soul, and I am your own kind — well, let us be honest: at least more hospitable than Men. The world outside offers nothing worth the having — not for the likes of us. Be reasonable. Save this young man the bother — and the grief. Would you look ahead? Ahead might persuade you .

— I am not your kind , Tristen returned angrily — and yet the niggling doubt was there, the doubt that wondered — But what else am I? And what shall I be?

— A weapon. Thatʼs all. Thatʼs all you ever were, my prince. Mauryl used you. Men use you, — and unwisely, at that. You always had questions. Ask me. Iʼll answer. — Or change things. With the Book, if you take it up, you can do that. You can be anywhere youʼve ever been. Only the future changes. Would you free Mauryl? You can. Iʼm certain I donʼt care, if heʼll mend his manners. But you can change that. Iʼm sure you can .

He saw light…light as he had seen at the beginning of everything. The other side of that light was Maurylʼs fireside. He could step right through the firelight. He would be there, that first of the safest nights, most kindly nights of his life, welcomed by Maurylʼs voice and warmed by Maurylʼs cloak .

He would be there. Mauryl would be alive again, Summoning him out of the fire .

He could think of the library, the warm colors of faded tapestry, the many wooden balconies and the scaffolding. He could think of Maurylʼs wrinkled face and white beard .

He could think of Mauryl at his ciphering, the tip of the quill working and the dry scratch of Maurylʼs pen on parchment, as real as if he stood there at Maurylʼs shoulder. He could step through. He could stand in the study. He could be at that very moment Mauryl Called him. He saw the firelight like a curtain before him. He could all but hear Maurylʼs voice. It was that moment. He could have it all again .

Forever .

— You see? said the Wind. Seemings are all alterable. Restore what was? You are of the West, not the East. Never fear what you were. Glory in it. Look to the dawn of reason. Look to the dawn of our kind. Your name —

“ My name ,” he shouted at it ,—

—“is Tristen, Tristen, Tristen! ”

Wings — he was certain it was Owl — clove the air in front of him. And he— he moved them all through Time, following Owl, chasing Owl back to where Owl belonged.

He heard his horseʼs hoofbeats. He felt Dys striding under him. He saw Owl flying ahead of him, black against the heart of that white luminance in the very moment it came down on him. There was no feeling-out, no conative attack this time. The Wind enveloped him with cold and sound.

— Barrakkêth! it wailed. Barrakkêth, Kingbreaker, listen to me, only listen — I know you now! Deathmaker, you are far too great to be Maurylʼs toy — listen to me!