The Last Guardian of Everness (War of the Dreaming 1) (29 page)

The portrait seemed screwed to the wall, and, holding up the miniature lamp, Wendy searched in vain for some hidden catch or latch. But the silver light showed no such thing.

Wendy was stumped. She went to the corner and stood on her head, her skirts falling up about her shoulders. After her face was red, she righted
herself and sat with her face screwed up, fingers tapping her temples.

“I’ve got it!” Her eyes popped open. “The talisman must be beyond the picture in the dream-realm. I’ve got to go to sleep and step into the picture in the dream realm to get the things! (I always get such good ideas if my brain feels all filled up.)”

Even though she was very tired, she thought a fire would cheer up the room. It took her only a few minutes to find faggots of firewood piled in a strange little closet down the hall, as well as a tinder box. The fire starter was shaped like a grinning dragon.

In a few more minutes, she was curled up before a blazing fire. Wendy had pulled up the bearskin rug; the fur was heavy, warm, and soft.

As she lay on the couch, staring up at the dark-eyed man, his frightening eyes seemed to shift and stir in the firelight. Wendy turned around on the couch and put her head on the other arm rest, so that she was looking at the winged horse instead.

The lantern burned like a star on the mantelpiece. “Wonder how you turn that thing off ?” she yawned. “Gee, I wish I had brought a book to read from the library.”

Then she said, “Wouldn’t it be funny if Raven found me like this? ‘Vife, vat you doink, sleepink on de job like dis?’ ‘Gee, Raven, I was searching for the talismans!’ Heh, heh.”

Her eyes half closed, and her unbound hair lay spread across the white bearskin fur. “I wish Raven were here to tuck me in, to kiss and cuddle me. He’s so strong! He can pick me up in one hand. Mm. And hold me down in one hand so I can’t get away. My Raven!”

And then she was asleep.

II

Wendy got up and found the curved metal hook that held the picture to the wall, even though she had searched that place before. But there it was now,
glinting in the firelight. She undid the hook, and the picture swung open on hinges.

III

Beyond was a forest of slim, silvery trees, with slender leaves as white as snow; a forest as beautiful and pale as a grove of cherry trees in blossom, and scented with subtle perfumes; and the air was cool and fresh to make every breath a delight. Bright as broadest daylight, but without shadows, was the light, so that everything was clear and pristine to the eye; and, nonetheless, the stars above showed clear as diamond points.

It was no forest known to Earth.

And all things, the trees, the grass, the outcroppings of precious stones, seemed each and every one to be most perfect, being each one as it was truly meant to be, as if its shadows down on Earth were no more than reflections or reminders, intended to recall to human eyes the things the human soul knew could exist in higher worlds, the way a picture in a locket was intended to remind one of one’s true love, when that love was far away, but had promised to return.

Wendy had walked a short way into that forest of pure beauty when her happiness turned to horror and dread. The sky went dark, as if blotted out by clouds, and the petals of the pure white leaves began to turn and fall. Like maple leaves in autumn, these white leaves turned red as blood in midair, and soon the grass was covered as if with rubies.

And somehow, Wendy knew, this autumn would never find a spring; that, unlike earthly trees, which perish and return each year, these trees, intended for eternal spring, would pass into unending icy winter, never to wake again.

Wendy fell weeping, shedding tears as thick as falling leaves.

As the leaves turned and fell, Wendy began to see a delicate shape outlined against the nearby trees, invisible erenow against a background which
had been unstained white, now becoming more clear as more leaves bled from naked twigs.

The creature was as graceful as a doe, stronger than a steed from Araby, with a coat like snow; and a mane and tail like moonlight; with a single horn, like a spiral rapier, poised upon her brow.

More leaves died behind her, and their whiteness left the world, and her terrible beauty came into view, for she grew by degrees distinct against the angles and shadows of nude branch and dry twig.

She stepped closer, her split hooves sending up hovering rustles of red leaves, while those few pale leaves that had not yet lost all their whiteness, lingering in the air, danced slowly down all around her, like a gentle, warm, and scented snow. A sudden wind on high made all the tree crowns bow, making all things invisible within a blizzard of pale white leaves, except her stately shape, her bowed head, stepping nearer.

The unicorn touched Wendy’s shoulder with her horn, like a queen knighting her champion. Immediately, Wendy’s sorrow fled, and she was filled with a sense of quiet joy and abiding strength. It seemed to her then that whatever power had made this place, if pleased with it, would make it so again, once all the stain had been healed and cleansed away. And that power might be as close as the unicorn had been when all the leaves were blooming, looking on, unnoticed by mortal eyes, though standing in plain view.

The unicorn laid her head in Wendy’s lap, and the girl petted the gentle beast softly. Then Wendy giggled, “What would Raven say! He’d really take it in the wrong way if he knew you thought I was a virgin.”

The unicorn raised her noble head, and Wendy was saddened to see two crystal tears falling from the creature’s lavender eyes. “Oh . . . What’s wrong? What’s wrong . . . ?” Part of Wendy’s sorrow was because, having been comforted by the creature, she had no comfort to give in return.

The unicorn stepped away, arched her lovely neck, pointed with her horn.

Two trees whose leaves were utterly red now grew blackened and corroded
along their trunks, and a hideous stench came forth. From between their rotting trunks there came a man, and deep twilight radiated from his person, for the shadow on the forest came from him. Across his shoulders was a cape made of white fur from winter foxes, and from the center of his helm, a steel spike protruded. His visor was made from the skull of a horse. And his face beneath . . .

It was the dark-eyed, stern-faced man Wendy had seen in the portrait.

Through his belt was thrust a spiral horn of silver.

A faint luminescence clung to the horn, as if it had been taken from a living being only minutes past and had not yet lost its vitality. In one hand, the man held a dripping knife. The blood was rich red, almost purple, and where the drops fell, even if they fell on the corruption radiating from the man’s feet, flowers sprang up.

The unicorn spoke in a voice like a woodwind. “Why have you slain my mate, the only other of my kind in all the world? We did not kill Adam when he was expelled from the garden, despite that he deserved to die, having eaten the fruit intended for our use alone.”

The man said, “Unicorns can pass unharmed and living between this world and the next. It is a power I intend mankind to have. I have drained your husband and taken the horn that holds the key to his power.”

The unicorn lowered her head, her horn gleaming like starlight on snow. “You boast of murder, but behold! The thrones, dominions, and potentates of heaven descend to my defense. Already I can feel my blood transmute to ichor; they have granted me immortality, that my race will not die utterly, though I am its lone subject now. Already they strip your old name from you; the bird which holds it for you will no longer come down to your hand. I name you anew, and call you Azrael, after the Angel of Death.”

“I glory in this name, white hart’s wife! For I shall be the death of heavenly power and the birth anew of earthly life!” But his eyes were filled with hollow horror, despite the ringing defiance in his words.

The unicorn backed away, her lioness tail lashing. “If you would wrestle the scepter from the Most High, you shall receive it only as a rod across
your back. For all things serve the All-Father, those who rebel as well as those who obey.”

“I will be satisfied, for now, with the scepter you carry, madam, on your brow.” And he strode forward, knife smoking, drenched red, and the trees and flowers turned black, curled up, and perished where his shadow fell.

The unicorn turned, looking back over her shoulder. “If you would do battle, behold! The morning star that is the emperor of Night has come down from starry heaven to defend me, brightest prince of the Celestial.” Beams of gold and white and blue pure light came shining through the trees, clear rays twining through the trees like dawn, but as if the sun were walking on feet through the forest, approaching. Music swelled; and that whole side of the forest grew too bright to look upon, even though the bearer of that light was hidden yet from view.

Onward it came, with a great rushing noise as of an avalanche, or perhaps the rustle of mighty pinions, and the music crashed into a roar of trumpets that shook both earth and sky.

The unicorn called out, her voice rising like a pealing bell above the din: “Surrender the horn, repent, and save yourself!”

But Azrael clutched the silver horn at his belt with tightest fist and turned the knife toward the oncoming hurricane of light.

The unicorn said to Wendy, “Mount upon my back, and I shall return you to the world and aeon right for you, for this is far before your proper time. Cling tight! For I am swift and can outrun the forgetfulness which otherwise would overcome you. You have been shown these things for a purpose. Ready?”

“Oh, yes!”

And Wendy dreamed of speed, speed, speed, and she laughed and screamed for joy.

Her arms around the unicorn’s strong neck, Wendy leaned forward and whispered in her ear as stars and clouds fled by underfoot, “Oh, and please, please, could you let me remember how to fly?” and she buried her face in the unicorn’s sweet-scented mane.

IV

The mane seemed to change beneath her hands, becoming the heavy, soft fur of bearskin. The light from the horn dwindled and became a tiny lamp on the mantel. Wendy was lying safely back on the couch, and the dim fire spread ruddy warmth through the darkened room, but a floating sensation seemed to thrill through her body.

Wendy got up and found the curved metal hook that held the picture to the wall, even though she had searched that place before. But there it was now, glinting in the firelight. Curious, she took up the miniature starlamp, and brought it close; the hook seemed to grow indistinct and hard to see.

Putting the lamp back, she undid the hook, and the picture swung open on hinges.

V

Inside was a small cabinet. On a velvet pillow sat a spiral horn of ivory, tipped with a tiny point of silver.

Wendy remembered words Galen had told her: “The Unicorn’s horn was fashioned into a Silver Key by the Wisecraft Cadellin. He gave us the Key. The Key can open the gate.”

She put out her hand and picked it up. It tingled slightly in her fingers.

“Okay. I’ve got the most powerful magic object in the world. Now what do I do with it?”

There came a rustling at the windows, and she turned and saw many eyes there, peering in. A throng had gathered outside the windows. Here were sailors in caps, with striped shirts and neckerchiefs, but their eyes were entirely black, like the eyes of beasts; and pressed up against the window- pane, creatures in long black coats with polished buttons, wearing tricorn hats, their faces black with sleek fur, their long whiskers like a cat’s.

One of them said, “Ahoy there, lass. May we come it?” And he smiled, showing his white and cruelly pointed teeth.

Wendy shrieked, crying, “No! Stay out!” and pulled the drapes shut with such vehemence that she was turned around and facing into the room.

Across the room, the stern, dark face in the portrait had turned to look at her.

“Surrender to me the Clavargent Key,” he said.

VI

She pointed the unicorn horn at him. “Stay out!” she cried. The picture at once grew stiff and immobile, no more than a painting once again, but with the figure’s head cocked at a different angle than it had held for centuries.

The sight frightened her. A voice from behind the drapes called out softly, “Now, lassie, you don’t mind if we come in? We have a game to show you, and pretty tricks!”

She snatched up the silver lamp and ran out of the room, her stocking feet slapping stone floor.

Wendy ran without knowing where she was running. She fled upstairs. A wide balcony overlooked the gardens; here was a giant, stepping over the trees, dressed in a coat of ash, his hair and beard the color of smoke. His face was terrible to look upon; teeth clenched, eyes aflame, deep lines of wrath graven into his cheeks; a face so angry, so wrathful, that it would never know peace again. Even as she looked out, he drew the two torches he wore at his belt and glared at them, and the fire in his gaze lit them both aflame.

She ran down a corridor. Here were many pictures of hunting scenes. She pointed the unicorn horn at the sphinx that crouched under the shade of a myrtle tree.

“Where is the country of gold where the talismans are kept?” Wendy demanded.

The painting turned to look at her: a haunting gaze, a cryptic smile. “You know where it lies and have seen its gates a thousand times.”

“Thanks! Go back to sleep!” And she ran.

A nursery rhyme ran through her head as she was running, “Five for silver, six for gold . . .” And she sought out the corridor of the crows.

Through the windows on her right, she saw torchlight. There, armored knights were riding rotting horses through the arbor, and their swords were dripping blood and pus, and a smell came from them that reminded Wendy of the hospital.

One of the knights cried out, calling on her not to be so selfish or so proud as to try to hold the House against them alone. She did not answer, but ran on.