‘We could visit the first six in a couple of days,’ Tayven replied, ‘if we really pushed ourselves, but it would exhaust us. As for the seventh, who can tell? We don’t even know if it’s really there. Why?’
‘Eat and sleep well tonight, and make the most of it. We must fast for the next couple of days. We must not rest.’
‘Is that a mandatory aspect of our quest or something you thought up yourself?’ Tayven asked.
‘You should know,’ Taropat said stiffly, ‘that physical deprivation heightens awareness. I’m sure all of you can appreciate how this will be useful.’
‘Won’t we need our strength for the journey, though?’ Shan said. ‘Going without food or sleep will weaken us.’
‘You will be surprised what reserves of strength you can find,’ Taropat answered.
Just before dawn, they struck camp and made haste past Lake Anterity towards their next destination. Looking up, Shan saw the housekeeper of the retreat pegging out washing in the pearly twilight. She must have been up all night. Huge sails of sheeting hung listlessly from the ranks of lines, for there was no wind. Perhaps the big wash indicated Almorante was coming to stay at his lodge for a while. Shan shuddered. Coincidence would make it so.
It took only an hour to reach the next lake, Oolarn. This, Taropat explained, was the lake of the orange ray, concerned wholly with knowledge, facts and logic, the inquiring mind. ‘Almorante had it all wrong,’ he said. ‘He tried to fit the lakes into the framework of the ancient Magravandian belief system, but really they conform to a more eastern system. I have investigated the subject thoroughly and there’s little doubt in my mind that Jessapurian and Mewtish mystics shared their knowledge with early Magravandian mages. In fact, you could say that the whole western system developed from that union.’
‘The lakes could conform to both systems,’ Tayven said. ‘The elemental correspondences work as well.’
‘But it is not the whole story,’ Taropat argued, with emphatic hand gestures. ‘All other correspondences spring from the colour energy of each site.’
‘Are you saying that the work I did is irrelevant, then?’ Tayven snapped. ‘You knew nothing about these sites the last time we came here.’
‘I don’t dismiss your work,’ Taropat said. ‘I just know there’s more to it than you or Almorante saw.’
‘How do you know?’ Shan demanded, hands on hips. ‘Where does your knowledge come from? Sinaclara?’
‘You dare to question me?’ Taropat sounded incredulous rather than angry.
‘Stop bickering,’ Merlan said. ‘Look, there is Oolarn.’
They had emerged from a forest path into another open hilly area. The lake was larger than Anterity and its placid surface swarmed with water birds. It was cupped on two sides by bare crags tufted with birds’ nests. The area was far from being desolate and unpopulated. A small village was situated close to the lake and a network of wooden jetties spread out into it. Boats bobbed alongside them.
‘This is the air site,’ Tayven told Shan and Merlan. ‘Here, Almorante invoked the sylphs, the air spirits.’
‘An aspect of mercurial orange,’ Taropat said.
Shan was feeling extremely hungry, but Taropat insisted they should only drink water. ‘For this to work to best effect, we need to be in an altered state of consciousness,’ he said. ‘The physical deprivation will open our minds to possibilities that might otherwise remain hidden.’
‘He means we will be hallucinating with exhaustion and starvation by the time we drag ourselves to the sixth lake,’ Tayven said dryly.
‘Do you still disagree with this?’ Taropat said.
Tayven shook his head. ‘No, I can see the sense of it. I hope we’re up to it, that’s all.’
‘Is everyone else comfortable with this procedure?’
Merlan and Shan exchanged a glance, then gave their assent. Shan felt they had little choice in the matter.
‘Before we go any further, we must conjure the mystical landscape of Oolarn,’ Taropat said. ‘Sit down, all of you. Close your eyes. Breathe deep.’
They sat in a field of feathery grasses that swept down to the lakeside. The visualised scenery was in fact not that different from the reality. Taropat described high windswept crags, where the air was in constant motion. Tall narrow temples were surrounded by mist and winged bird-people swept from pinnacle to pinnacle. Strangely, Shan found vaguely erotic images coming to him. He visualised beautiful swooping women, with feathered breasts and yellow, predator’s eyes. The image aroused him. When he opened his eyes, he almost expected to see winged women skimming the surface of the lake and felt slightly guilty for his lascivious thoughts. He wondered whether the lake would have special significance for someone else in the group, as Anterity had done for him, but no one seemed to have picked up anything of significance. Shan did not mention his bird women. No doubt Taropat would scold him for being base and immature, and remind him that, as the warrior of the group, he was supposed to represent the epitome of chivalric valour.
As they walked towards the village, Merlan said, ‘Who, of these people, will be the physical guardian of this site? Do you think they have some kind of leader we could approach?’
‘It need not be so obvious a person,’ Taropat said. He glanced at Shan. ‘Shan, the first words that come into your head. A person. Who?’
‘Bird woman,’ blurted Shan, before he could stop himself.
‘Bird woman?’ said Merlan.
‘That’s what we must look out for, then,’ said Taropat.
They ventured into the village, where the smell of baking bread and cooking fish hung tantalisingly on the air. Shan’s stomach growled. In the centre of the village was a small square, dominated by the rough carving of a woman with wings. ‘There she is!’ Shan said, pointing.
‘An angel?’ Merlan said.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Taropat said. ‘It will be some kind of local spirit or goddess.’
‘If that’s the physical guardian, we’ll have trouble communicating,’ Tayven remarked.
Taropat laughed and strode forward, the others following. On the far side of the monument, an old woman was hunched on the ground. Her back was weighed down by an astounding cargo: an immense wicker basket that towered over her head. It was filled with twittering, fluttering birds. Strange metallic instruments hung from the basket. Some of them appeared to be only scraps of rubbish, while others looked like astronomical tools or instruments of measurement. A tangle of nets hung from the woman’s skirts.
‘Here is our bird woman,’ Taropat said.
The old woman peered up at them, one eye screwed tightly shut. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded. ‘Why are you looking at me?’
‘We were admiring your merchandise,’ Taropat said.
‘Well why didn’t you say so?’ the woman retorted. ‘Do you want a birdie? They’re good and cheap. Put one in a cage for your lady love, or roast it on a spit.’
‘I’ll pay for a bird or two,’ said Taropat, opening his purse.
‘Wise man indeed,’ said the bird-woman. ‘One for spitting, one for singing. That will be ten sickins.’
‘We are scholars,’ Taropat said, counting out the coins, ‘studying all the ancient myths of the lakes and their alchemy. I expect you know many stories about Oolarn. Can you tell us the greatest legend of the lake?’
The old woman uttered an outraged snort. ‘Stories? Stories? Do you think I’m a fire-sitter, then, with nothing better to do? I’ve been up since yesterday netting flitters. Stories indeed.’
‘So you know none?’ said Taropat.
‘I know everything there is to know about this place,’ said the old woman. ‘The people are numbskulls, too superstitious. They won’t go out after dark for fear of the Pecker. Afraid he’ll get them, see? Peck through their eyes. I don’t pay attention to rubbish like that. I’ve walked the shores of Oolarn and scrabbled through her mountains all my life. I’ve stayed o
n the cliffs at night. I watch everything, know everything. Never seen a Pecker.’
‘The pecker,’ said Taropat, ‘is that a bird spirit?’
‘Of course he isn’t! He’s a rat or a dog, isn’t he? Fool! What d’you think?’
Shan could see that Taropat was having difficulty restraining his amusement, although it was tinged with impatience. ‘Where is he reputed to roam, madam? Is there any particular area which is his domain?’
‘Have you no eyes to see?’ snapped the bird-woman, shaking an arm in the direction of the cliffs behind her. The birds in her cage began to cheep and flutter in agitation. ‘See that big tree up there? That’s where they say he lives. It’s a white tree. They say it’s sacred. It used to be black but the woodpecker pecked it white. That’s what they say. His name is Grotbeak.’
‘Thank you,’ said Taropat, ‘you’ve been most helpful.’ He began to walk away, but the old woman screeched after him.
‘You’ve not taken your birds, mister. Are you so crazed as to throw your money away?’
‘Keep the birds,’ Taropat said. ‘Sell them again.’
‘Mooncalf!’ spat the woman. ‘You want to visit old Grotbeak without a gift? Are you mad?’ With astonishingly quick and contorted movements, she reached up behind her head with both hands, opened a small gate in the cage and plucked out a pair of birds with soft grey plumage and orange eyes. These she deftly packed into one of her nets and handed them to Taropat.
‘I thought you said you didn’t believe in the Pecker,’ he said, smiling.
‘I don’t,’ said the woman, ‘but I respect him. Only a fool wouldn’t. You have a beautiful face, mister. I’d hate to think of it pecked away.’
Taropat bowed. ‘You flatter me with your concern, madam.’
The old woman fixed the group with a beady stare. ‘Don’t let your precious birds fly away before the job is done,’ she said. ‘Fear will lend them wings, you know. Soothe them as you use them, eh?’
‘We shall bear your advice in mind,’ Taropat said and gestured for the others to follow him from the square.
Once they reached the sacred tree, they found it was indeed white, as if at some time its bark had been peeled away. Its leaves were leathery and greyish green. Taropat bade everyone sit around it. ‘No blood here,’ he said, ‘we have the gift already.’ He opened the net and shook out the birds so that they swooped drunkenly up into the branches of the tree, uttering high-pitched screams. ‘Accept our gift, Grotbeak,’ he said. ‘Grant us the knowledge of Oolarn.’
As before, the group sat and meditated for ten minutes or so, then Taropat called them back to normal consciousness. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘Who has anything to report?’
‘I saw him,’ said Merlan. ‘A strange creature, a bird man with a human face except for a huge yellow beak. He had no hair on his head but a woodpecker’s crest.’
‘I saw that too!’ Shan interrupted. ‘Well, very similar, sort of.’ He neglected to mention the harem of bare-breasted bird women who had accompanied his vision of Grotbeak. ‘I had the same sensation as before too; a sort of tingling, as if something entered me. The lesson isn’t so direct and clear as at Anterity, but it’s certain Oolarn’s lesson is to do with knowledge, the path of learning.’
‘When I saw Grotbeak,’ Tayven said, ‘he looked similar to how Merlan and Shan described him, but I picked up a sort of amphibious aspect to him too. He had a quiver over his shoulder, but it didn’t contain arrows that could wound. I sensed that if he should shoot me, I would receive wisdom. Once he saw I understood this, he fired an arrow, which hit me between the eyes. Then I knew that there is no end to knowledge, and to believe you can know all is folly.’
‘What about you, Taropat?’ Shan asked.
Taropat shrugged. ‘Grotbeak attempted to attack me, peck out my eyes. Fortunately, I remembered the Eye of the Dragon and held it out to him. It pacified him and he filled me with an orange light.’ He glanced at Merlan. ‘I think you have more to say. What is it?’
Merlan seemed uncomfortable. ‘Nothing really. Nothing useful, I’m sure. I just got the feeling that academic knowledge amounts to nothing. It hasn’t done the world any good, or brought understanding where it is direly needed.’ He sighed. ‘The feelings this inspired in me weren’t positive. I felt like a selfish ascetic whose deluded wisdom has served only to expand my ego and self-satisfaction.’
There was a silence, then Taropat said briskly, ‘You were faced with the pure form of your own soul, which resonates strongly with the orange ray. Your esteem has taken a knock, that’s all.’
These words didn’t appear to comfort Merlan. Shan couldn’t think of anything to say.
‘I shouldn’t worry,’ Tayven said. ‘The lesson of Oolarn is to accept it is better to learn than to know. Essentially, we are in ignorance. In my vision, I realised how proud I was to believe I had great knowledge, but in effect I know nothing, I am nothing. We can only go forward from this point.’
Taropat nodded. ‘For me, the lesson of Oolarn was the experience of the passion of the red ray tempered by the wisdom of yellow. Now, we must move to the next lake quickly. We should attempt to fit in four sites today. Do you think that’s possible, Tayven?’
‘Possible,’ Tayven said. ‘I feel our grip on reality will be somewhat tenuous by tonight, though.’
Shan was surprised that Taropat didn’t seem more concerned about his brother. It was clear to Shan that Merlan had been affected greatly by the feelings he’d experienced. Surely they should discuss what had happened more deeply before they continued? But Taropat was already on his feet, arranging his backpack on his shoulders. Shan was also concerned that Taropat had related his own experiences of Oolarn in such a matter of fact way. Shan suspected it hadn’t affected him that deeply, which seemed strange. Surely Taropat possessed a stronger orange ray aspect than any of the others? Shan thought that he might have used the Eye to prevent the guardian, and thus the knowledge, from penetrating his own heart. Perhaps he placed no importance on the lessons of the lake at all, especially with regard to himself. Shan was again assailed by waves of suspicious paranoia. It was almost as if Taropat was herding them around to go through the motions. He didn’t want self-knowledge from the quest, but in that case, what did he want? Shan longed to air these thoughts to Tayven and Merlan, but how could he get them alone? Uneasiness coursed through him like a fever. He felt torn. Something was wrong and it should be addressed, but what if he was mistaken? Perhaps his doubt was part of the lesson of the quest, and he should cast it away, fix his sights on the goal. The crown would not be won by a faint heart.
As Shan stood up, he felt slightly dizzy. He also noticed that Merlan had to lean against the tree for some moments. ‘These meditations seem so simple,’ Shan said, ‘yet I feel they have more impact upon us than we know.’
‘We are tapping into the energy of these sites,’ Taropat said. ‘It flows right into us. The task should not be easy, for then it would be worthless. There must be a cost for the knowledge you gain.’
‘Yes,’ said Tayven lightly, yet acidly, ‘but who is setting the price?’ He went to help Shan, ignoring Merlan who was in more serious need.
Shan had to steel himself not to shake Tayven off. There were too many tensions and undercurrents. No harmony. If he spoke to anyone about his doubts, it would be Merlan, not Tayven.
Chapter Twenty-One: Lions and Wyrd Charmers
The third lake was called Ninatala, which Taropat said represented the yellow ray of wisdom.
As they tramped the steep narrow path towards it, Tayven said, ‘Almorante saw the third lake as fire. It might seem odd because most people associate fire with the colour red, but in Almorante’s system, Ninatala symbolises the fire of the sun, the yellow, life-giving fire.’
‘Red fire and white fire have always been regarded as the magical flames invoked by magi,’ Taropat said. ‘Orange fire is that of the hearth, the stove. Yellow fire is life itself.?
??
Shan was feeling light-headed and uncertain on his feet and he sensed Merlan felt the same, although both shrank from complaining out loud. The air seemed thin, which perhaps contributed to the feeling of weakness. Shan knew he was no feeble, pampered creature. He had survived for weeks in the Forest of the Night, yet after only a few hours of deprivation, he was dizzy and tired. He could only assume the meditations themselves were having a subtle effect upon him. Tayven and Taropat seemed unaffected. If anything, as the journey progressed, they appeared to become stronger, more alert.
The group squeezed between a narrow opening in the rock and found themselves on a wide flat plain with the placid expanse of Ninatala before them. Ahead, beyond the lake, green, forested hills rose gently upwards, and beyond them the smoky smudges of higher mountains could be seen. Shan turned round and shaded his eyes to survey the scene below, which they’d left behind. The panorama of forests and green hills seemed strangely symmetrical, as if it was some kind of landscaped royal parkland. Sunlight fanned down in broad rays through silver clouds, like the arms of a god, reaching benevolently to bless the earth.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Taropat said, coming to stand beside his apprentice. ‘What you’re looking at is the landscape of the sun king, the golden lion of the yellow ray. I already sense the sacred beast of this site, and doubt we’ll discover anything to contradict that.’
‘It feels royal,’ Shan said. ‘It looks as if someone designed it, yet at the same time it’s so wild and untamed.’
Taropat laughed. ‘Many great thinkers have meditated upon that. Adragore the Lame said that because we can observe this wondrous order in the natural world, it proves the existence of gods, divine presences who created such order. He was contradicted by Countess Katarina of Molt, who rather stuffily suggested that if order could be observed in the natural world, it was purely the result of nature’s random tendencies. She said that only a deluded fool would take this as proof of the existence of divine beings. She accused Adragore of anthropomorphising the gods.’