Exodus of the Xandim (GOLLANCZ S.F.) (36 page)

Dael took a tentative step forward: had he imagined it, or had the faint gleam of the mist brightened, just a little? He took another, experimental stride, and the radiance responded, growing
slightly stronger once more. Intrigued now, he tried a backward step – and the light went out completely, plunging him into utter blackness.

All right then: something in this place wanted him to go onward, and unless he wanted to stay here for ever, he had better do just that.

He had the oddest conviction that time had ceased to exist for him as soon as he’d walked through those mysterious doors. With a flash of panic he realised that he was no longer breathing,
and the absence of his heartbeat seemed an echoing void, for he had been accustomed to hearing it since he had lain in his mother’s womb. Strangely, the fear vanished very quickly, as though
it had been nothing but a reflex left over from his former existence, an old habit that had outlived its use. A fatalistic calm seeped through him: he ceased to worry about his companions’
problems and perils, about the fate of the Fialan, about any danger to himself. The only thing he could still feel, the one overwhelming emotion that he refused to let go, no matter what, was the
everlasting love he felt for the Cailleach. ‘Athina, help me,’ he whispered, though he knew full well that she had been trapped in her own realm and could not come to him. Her very
name, however, seemed to warm his heart, and drive him onward to meet his fate.

As he went on, he found that the levels of the high rock walls on either side were gradually dropping and the path was opening out, until finally he found himself standing in a landscape of
gently rolling hills. In the distance he saw a bright and twinkling spark of light, which came closer and closer to reveal itself at last as a lantern held in the hand of a strange, bearded figure,
stooped as if with age and leaning on a tall, gnarled staff as he walked along. He was shrouded in a dark grey cloak, and his features were hidden in the shadows of a deep, cowled hood. The
mysterious apparition stopped in front of Dael. He did not speak, but simply gestured for the young man to follow, then turned and began to walk back the way he had come.

There was no choice but to obey: Dael found his feet beginning to move of their own accord, and reluctantly he stumbled after the sinister being, drawn on by some unbreakable compulsion to an
unknown destiny.

The hooded one led the way into the hills, and as they went, Dael noticed that the sky was now glittering with unfamiliar stars. Gradually the silvery, silken mist vanished from around his feet,
and he found himself walking on short, springy turf, in the midst of a silence so profound that it set up a hollow roaring in his ears. As he trudged on he found that the memories of his past, of
his friends and the danger they were in, were slipping away from him. He tried to recall the exhilaration of his first, wild, airborne ride courtesy of Corisand’s flying spell, the delicate,
chiselled bone structure of Iriana’s proud and rather serious face, the vivid blue of Melik’s eyes, but they eluded him, as though he were trying to hold on to mist. Even his physical
body seemed less substantial. When he lifted his hands his flesh seemed to have a shimmering translucency, and he could discern the faint outlines of the horizon through the transfigured flesh.
Nothing was as it should be, and the strangeness twisted in his guts like a knife.

Dael felt as if his old life was being sloughed away – save for one solitary anchor to reality. Athina did not leave him. Even as his other memories became more vague and evanescent, her
face stood out with greater clarity in his mind, her glorious eyes kind and loving, her voice low and musical, her arms outstretched to hold him tightly and prevent him from slipping away. Whatever
this place was, it seemed to have no power over his benefactress, and as he clung to every remembrance of their life together like a talisman, the images of his other companions became clear and
bright once more.

Somehow, Dael knew that he mustn’t let his strange guide know that he’d been able to hold on to his old life despite all compulsion to forget. He continued to stumble along like a
sleepwalker, keeping his eyes unfocused and his expression as slack and blank as he could possibly make it.

After some indefinable time, his eyes latched on to something new in the unchanging, monotonous landscape of curving hillsides and shadowy vales. On the brow of the nearest swelling rise was a
darker shadow which, as he drew closer, resolved itself into a small copse of gnarled and ancient trees, their knotted, tangled boughs forming a seemingly impenetrable barrier. As the hooded figure
approached, however, he lifted his staff on high, and the trees straightened, standing proud and tall, lifting their branches high in an arch to form a path into the unseen mysteries of the
centre.

Dael did not want to enter, but that uncanny compulsion that had dominated him for all of this strange journey still held him in thrall. It drove him on, following in the footprints of his guide
as they passed between the ranks of trees. Finally they came to the heart of the grove. Here the land dropped into a slight hollow, which cupped a pool of dark and shining water, with the trees
thronging close all around its mossy banks, as though standing guard and protecting it with their overhanging boughs. Though Dael no longer held the Fialan, enough of its power remained coursing
through his mind and body to tell him that this place was alive with an unearthly magic: an oddly alien force, unlike anything that either Corisand or Iriana could conjure. It hummed in his ears,
tingled on his skin and surged like a tide in his blood, reminding him of Athina: it felt like, and yet unlike, her power, but the similarity was sufficient to let him cling to that slender thread
of familiarity like a drowning man clutching tightly to a rope.

Dael was so caught up in the mystery of this place that he had almost forgotten his guide – until a sudden movement in the corner of his eye made him start, and take an involuntary step
backward. The hooded stranger had turned towards him, and now raised the silvery lantern high. For a frozen moment the two of them stood in tableau and, though he could see nothing but darkness
within the shadows of the cowl, the young man was aware of an intense scrutiny by the unseen eyes whose stare seemed to brand his flesh as though someone had held a candle flame to his skin.

Suddenly, Dael felt a stab of annoyance. Why, this – this
being
was nothing but a coward to stare so hard at him, while hiding its own face within that hood. Boldly he glared
back, and had the unpleasant sensation that he had locked eyes with the shrouded figure. He refused to give in, however, but held his ground, unwilling to turn his eyes away. He was no longer the
beaten, lowly, terrified human slave he had once been: he was Athina’s protégé now, and the friend of Wizard and Windeye. He had held in his hand the Stone of Fate itself, and
known more power than any of his race had ever experienced before . . . Gritting his teeth, he maintained the deadly tension of the two linked stares, and stoutly refused to give in.

Abruptly the tension broke, and Dael felt a surge of triumph as the other looked away. Though he could hardly believe he had beaten this mysterious, powerful being, his elation turned to dread
as a chilling hiss came from the depths of the cowl. The figure gestured towards the pool and, for the first time, spoke. Its voice was like a blade that flayed Dael’s flesh, like spiders
crawling in his blood, like the raw, chill darkness of the cruellest winter’s night.

‘So brave for a mortal. Bold indeed – but that will avail you nothing in this place, between the worlds, at the Well of Souls. Brave or craven, soon or late, all must pass this way
in the end – yes, even one who has known power far beyond the wildest imaginings of your pitiful kind.’

He gestured once more towards the pool, and spoke again. ‘All the magic of the Fialan cannot help you now, little mortal. All that is past and gone, a part of the lifetime that is over.
You have passed into my realm now, the realm of Death. You must abandon your old existence, your old memories, your old loves and ties, much as a serpent sheds its skin. You must forget them all
for ever, and enter the Well of Souls, that you might be reborn into a new and different life.’

Dael stood frozen in horror. Abandon his friends? Lose even his recollections of them, for ever? Even the precious memory of Athina?

‘Never!’ he shouted. ‘I won’t desert my friends. I won’t forget Athina – not ever! And I won’t go into your accursed pool – suppose we stay here
till the end of time!’

Death gave a sinister chuckle. ‘Oh, will you not?’ he said softly. ‘Well, you are the most amusing mortal to have passed this way in many a long age – but enough is
enough. What makes you think you have a choice, you lowly little human? Beings far greater and more powerful than you have been forced to pass this way, and none have bested me yet, or escaped
their fate. I tire of this nonsense. You
will
go into the Well.’

Without warning he advanced on Dael, suddenly grown taller; towering, menacing, looming above the quaking mortal. Dael took a hasty step backwards, and turned to flee – but there was no
escape. He ran head first into some kind of invisible barrier and fell to the ground, half-dazed. It was as if a wall had been constructed around the Well of Souls, leaving him with nowhere to go
but into those sinister dark depths.

Unable to reach the trees, and with nothing else to hold on to, Dael dropped to his knees and dug his hands as hard as he could into the soft, yielding moss around the pool. ‘I –
won’t – go,’ he shouted. ‘
I won’t
!’

The spectre let out a snarl, and dropped his staff and lantern. He swooped down on the desperate young man, arms outstretched to grasp and hold. His long, bony fingers dug into Dael’s
flesh like iron talons, hauling him bodily from the ground with terrifying strength and lifting him high in the air. Dael writhed and twisted in a last, hopeless attempt to escape his fate, but his
efforts only made his tormentor hold on tighter and intensified the pain. Death swung him backwards, preparing to throw him down into the Well of Souls . . .

‘Athina, help!’ Dael cried. ‘Help me, please!’

‘I am here.’ Her beautiful voice came out of nowhere; strong, calm, kind. Dael opened his eyes to see her standing on the brink of the pool, between Death and the water. She had
grown tall as the towering spectre, but her form was less solid: she appeared shimmering, wraithlike and translucent – but at least she was there, and Dael dared to hope at last.

‘Put him down, my brother,’ she said firmly. ‘This one is mine.’

‘Step aside, Cailleach,’ the spectre snarled, but he lowered the young man and set him on the ground between them. Dael wanted to run to Athina, but he found he could not move. To
his frustration he was forced to remain rooted to the spot, though she was almost near enough to touch.

‘All mortals in this place belong to me,’ he went on. ‘You have no power here, and you may not intervene.’

‘This mortal is special, Siris. He has lived under my protection—’

‘Oh, so this is your little pet,’ Death sneered.

A flash of anger, glimpsed then gone, lit Athina’s eyes. ‘So Uriel has been here. I might have guessed.’

‘He has. And he told me he had exiled you into your own realm, beneath the Timeless Lake.’

‘Exiled? I may be prevented from entering the living worlds that my other siblings wrought – for the present, at least.’ From the grim tone of her voice, Dael suspected that
she did not intend to tolerate that obstacle for ever. ‘However, this place is different, is it not?’ she continued. ‘Here there is neither life nor death, it is betwixt and
between. Your realm is a gateway, Siris, and you are its keeper – and such portals hold a special power all their own.’

‘And who knows that better than I?’ Siris snapped. ‘You may have been able to come here, Athina, and it is glad I am to see you – but it changes nothing. The mortal has
come into my realm now, and is no longer yours but mine.’

‘Not quite, my brother. No mortal has passed as Dael has passed, filled with the extraordinary magic of the Stone of Fate. Though its power proved too much for his frail mortal frame he is
still linked to it, bound to it. He must return.’

Dael felt a sickening wrench of disappointment, as though someone had punched him hard in the gut. For a wonderful moment he had hoped, oh how he’d hoped, that Athina had come for him,
that she might take him with her. But it was clearly not to be.

‘This cannot be true.’ For the first time, Death sounded unsure.

‘Can it not?’ Athina smiled grimly. ‘Would you care to put it to the test, my brother? Do you dare? For if Dael is catapulted into another world, still linked to the power of
the Fialan, there will be such an explosion of energy as will destroy the Well of Souls for ever. And then what will happen to the dead, whose fates are in your keeping?’ Her voice became
softer, more cajoling. ‘Those beings who must pass from one life to another, leaving all they have come to know and love, may see you as evil, Siris, but you are not. On the contrary, you are
their guardian, and your role is vital to their continuance. When the rest of us were busy fashioning our worlds and populating them with life, only you gave thought to what would happen to the
living essences of our creations once their mortal shells had perished, or had been destroyed by some sort of misadventure. You realised that we could not carry on indefinitely, creating living
souls from the very energy of the Cosmos, and you were also the first to realise that life, once created, can never be destroyed.’

She smiled at him, her eyes soft with memories. ‘How you were mocked by your siblings, for not creating worlds as the rest of us did. You were derided as lazy, as stupid, incompetent
– particularly by Uriel, as I recall – yet none of them ever saw that what you were creating here was a vital foundation of all that they achieved.’

‘You never mocked me.’ For the first time, Dael was sure he had heard a softening in the spectre’s voice. ‘You always understood what I was about.’