‘But for you, so would I,’ Tayven said, ‘so perhaps we were not as alone at this place as you foretold.’ He glanced around. ‘Was Shan really here? Did I really have the Claw? We should go and look for the others, find out.’
‘If it is over for them,’ Merlan said.
They walked to the shore of the island and saw that the mist was now only a thin veil over the water. A vast bloated sun of crimson red hung among the mountain peaks beyond the Vale of Rubezal. It hung in a dull white sky.
‘The sun sets,’ Tayven said. ‘We have to leave.’
They made their way as quickly as they could towards the far side of the swampy lake. There was no sign of Taropat or Shan, or even the mad guardian. Then they saw someone sitting among the trees beside the shore and made their way over. It was Shan. He seemed dazed and was wet through, his hair dark and matted against his head and shoulders. When he saw Tayven and Merlan his expression changed and he jumped to his feet.
‘Thank all the gods!’ he exclaimed. ‘I thought I was the only one. Merlan, it pleases me beyond measure to see you.’
‘Where is Taropat?’ Tayven said.
‘I haven’t seen him,’ Shan answered. ‘Do you thinkc?’
‘We wait,’ Tayven said, ‘but we don’t have much time. I feel strongly we need to leave here before nightfall.’
‘I agree,’ Shan said.
‘What happened to you, Shan?’ Tayven asked. ‘Can you tell us?’
Shan took a deep breath. ‘I had to fight myself. I was a black knight, but no great hero. I was full of resentment, convinced Taropat and the rest of you were using me. I wasn’t being trained to be a great warrior, merely a lackey. I felt I, of everyone, had the right to be king, and that you all knew it, but were trying to stop it happening. I found myself back at Doon Pond, where I acquired the Claw. King Morogant hung in the water, taunting me. He told me I could never be king, that I was not even a warrior, just a bitter man’s menial. A poor peasant boy. Peasants don’t become kings except in fairy tales. I was so angry, I took the Claw from my neck and threw it into the lake. I screamed that I didn’t want it, that I’d find my own way, independent of everyone else. I could be king of my own life; that was all that was important. I realised that the secret fantasy I had of conquering the Malagashes and becoming king was an illusion. I wanted to be so much more than I had been. I was haunted by the past, feeling that it was some kind of trap, waiting to take me back into itself and hold me there forever. I imagined being an intelligent mind bound within an ignorant one, looking out. A scholar trapped inside a peasant, mute and powerless. It was ridiculous. I can be whatever I want to be. We create ourselves constantly.’ He smiled. ‘So, my less than noble origins no longer matter. I can face being my father’s son again. I could return to Holme and take up my life there, enriched by everything that has happened to me. I would still be who I am now. My lesson here was that I had to overcome my vanity. Once I’d relinquished that, I opened my eyes and found myself here. I thought I’d lost the Claw, but it was still in my hand.’
‘You lent it to me for a while,’ Tayven said.
‘What?’
Tayven explained what had happened to Merlan and himself.
As he finished the tale, a voice said behind them, ‘We all fought illusion!’ Taropat had joined them. His clothes were dry, his expression was grim.
‘Where’s that damn fool?’ he said. ‘We must leave here at once.’
‘Don’t you want to know what happened to us?’ Tayven asked. He held out the pearl. ‘Look, the Dragon’s Breath. A real artefact.’
‘Of course I want to know,’ Taropat replied, taking the pearl and examining it in a cursory manner. ‘But we must converse on the way. I’m uneasy about remaining here.’
‘Can’t you tell us a little about what you saw?’ Tayven said. He folded his arms. ‘We won’t move until you do.’
‘Deceit crowned and throned,’ Taropat said shortly. ‘My worst fear. That’s all you need to know.’ He handed the pearl back to Tayven. ‘Come on.’
‘You must tell us more than that,’ Merlan said.
Taropat sighed impatiently, spoke briskly. ‘First, I met a dozen trickster serpents, who foxed me with intellectual riddles, all of which I answered. When this ruse failed, I was beset by incubi wearing faces I knew. These I dismissed. Then I saw it. The Crown. It was on the head of an enemy, and no matter what I did or thought or felt, the image would not change. In the end, I simply walked away from it.’
‘That sounds a bitc strange,’ Shan said.
‘Who wore the Crown?’ Tayven asked.
‘No one,’ Taropat said. ‘A phantom, a lie.’
‘Who was it?’ Tayven persisted.
Taropat hesitated, then said, ‘Some things it is best not to speak aloud. I will not give that preposterous illusion reality by uttering the words to form it. It was obviously my greatest fear and I conquered it by negating it, and that’s that.’
Merlan and Tayven exchanged a glance, and Tayven blinked slowly to indicate he knew what Merlan was thinking. His silent message was: don’t speak, not yet.
Shan was frowning. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘How could you walk away from the serpent, without being engulfed or swallowed up?’
Taropat sniffed. ‘I came prepared, of course. A true magician always has some means to overcome a menace. That’s the difference between us. It’s why you are an apprentice and I the master.’
Shan’s expression darkened and he opened his mouth to respond, but Merlan quickly interjected, ‘You must share your methods with us, Taropat. I’ve never heard of negation being used as a weapon before.’
Tayven linked his arm through Merlan’s, aware this might make Taropat squirm. ‘There’s more to consider. As the serpent represents a person’s self-delusion, perhaps you should rethink your actions and question whether they were appropriate.’
Taropat, clearly uncomfortable, responded with false levity. ‘What, by the living flame, do you mean?’
‘Well,’ Tayven replied, ‘you might have negated yourself.’ He couldn’t contain a grin. Beside him, Merlan snorted with laughter.
Shan slapped his thigh. ‘He’s right! You walked away from yourself.’
It wasn’t funny really, but Merlan, Shan and Tayven couldn’t stop laughing. Their amusement clearly irritated Taropat further. ‘You’re behaving like children,’ he said. ‘Take control of yourselves. I knew what I was doing, and I have not negated myself.’ He put his hands on his hips and gazed around. ‘We must leave this place immediately.’
‘But where’s the guardian?’ Shan asked, wiping his eyes and composing his face into a more sober expression. ‘Goodgog was going to take us to Pancanara.’
‘We must go without the mad fool,’ Taropat said. ‘Make our own way. We have little time.’
‘And which way should we go?’ Merlan said. ‘Do you have any idea?’
‘Follow our instincts,’ Taropat replied curtly. ‘Use the die if necessary.’
‘That’ll get you nowhere!’ The guardian came splashing towards them, apparently having materialised out of thin air.
‘Well, we survived intact, as you see,’ Taropat said. ‘You said you would guide us to Pancanara. We are ready to leave.’
‘In all my years, I’ve never known anyone cross to the opposite shore,’ said the guardian. ‘The serpent let you pass.’
‘We conquered him,’ Tayven said. ‘We know his face. We guessed his secret. And look, he gave us the Dragon’s Breath.’ He held out the pearl.
Goodgog wouldn’t take it, but squinted at it keenly. ‘You are mighty heroes, then. But what is the secret of Pancanara, eh? Do you know? Does anyone know?’ The guardian cackled. ‘No one’s ever got there, so it’s all a mystery. Are you ready to climb the path? It’s uphill from here.’
‘How can there be a simple, actual path to the seventh lake?’ Tayven said. ‘If there was, others would have f
ound it before us. People who were ignorant and unaware, to whom the lessons of the lakes meant nothing. Physically, they could have got there, surely? We can’t walk the path with our bodies.’
‘You think so, pretty boy?’ said Goodgog. ‘These mountains have been here since the beginning of time. They know how to hide their secret paths. You need me now, because the mountains know me. They let me pass. And I need your silver coin, because I’m hungry.’
Night did not fall so much as creep around them. Goodgog led the way, striking the ground with its staff. Now it was Taropat’s turn to be subdued and fretful. He would not speak to the others and answered their questions only with monosyllables. Merlan, Tayven and Shan wanted to talk about their experiences, but even though Taropat listened he did not join the conversation. Goodgog regaled them with tales of those who had failed at Rubezal, the often hideously-mangled corpses that had been left behind. The group, apart from Taropat, was in a mood bordering on delirium. It was the product of their immense relief. They had faced Rubezal and survived. They had gained another artefact. Surely, there was nothing else to fear.
Merlan was surprised at how healthy and vigorous he felt after several days without proper food. He no longer felt terrible pangs of hunger, but was aware this deprivation had changed his state of mind. It was surely unnatural not to crave food? The thought of it actually made him feel slightly nauseous. The hours following his experience at Malarena and emerging from the mist at Rubezal seemed as incoherent and unreal as a dream. He sensed that roles within the group had shifted somehow. He felt akin to Tayven and wary of Taropat, and could never have imagined that happening. It was clearly because he and Tayven had become conspirators. He hated the deceit, but felt powerless to do anything about it. The truth would only end the quest.
Merlan could not guess what was to come, and in some ways wondered whether it would be rather an anti-climax. He found it difficult to visualise what might exceed the experiences of Malarena and Rubezal. They were the lakes of trial and torment. Pancanara, by contrast, was reputed to be the site of ultimate serenity. Where would they find the Crown? Would it simply be in another meditation, or would it manifest in reality as the Dragon’s Breath had done? Despite everything that had happened, Merlan could not imagine they’d leave Magravandias with a physical crown in their possession. During their quest, they’d faced fears and aspects of themselves. They’d acquired knowledge, but were they really any nearer to understanding the mystical qualities of the Dragon artefacts, or what they represented? Were they any nearer to being the magical company that Maycarpe envisaged? It seemed their own weaknesses had been emphasised too much.
Goodgog took the party up a steep, gravelly path that wound between high walls of rock. They were barren now. There were no plants sprouting from the chasm walls, no creatures scuttling away through the dust. In some seasons, perhaps this path was a waterfall. It was cut with deep fissures, which appeared to have been made by water. The further they climbed, the more difficult it became to breathe easily. Merlan was not the only one who had to keep stopping to catch his breath.
‘Come on, come on,’ Goodgog urged, thumping its staff against the path. ‘Have you got all night? Have you?’
The guardian led them beyond the path into a landscape that seemed to belong to a different world. High crags of black rock loomed around them, illuminated by cold distant starlight. There was no mist here. Merlan couldn’t see any pathways among the precipitous flanks of stone. The rocks might well have been the tumbled ruins of cyclopean buildings, erected millennia past by a lost race who had long since turned to dust. It was an eerie place, totally devoid of life.
The group stood on a narrow platform. Ahead of them was a sheer drop with no discernible route down, up or to the side. The opposite crag was not that distant, but without a bridge it might as well have been a million miles away. They could see another platform on the other side, lower down.
‘How do we proceed from here?’ Taropat asked wearily.
‘Easy,’ said the guardian, ‘if you’ve spirit, that is. Many haven’t. You have to swing across.’
‘Swing across?’ Shan peered over the edge. ‘Am I right in thinking you mean with these old ropes?’
The others looked where he indicated. A number of hairy ropes were attached to a spine of rock that stuck out from the cliff.
‘That’s it,’ said Goodgog.
‘They don’t look very safe,’ Merlan said. ‘When were they last used?’
‘How should I know?’ Goodgog snapped. It hesitated. ‘What a bunch of lily-livered boys you are. Let Goodgog help. I’ll give you a gift, every one of you. Will you take it?’
‘Yes,’ said Taropat stonily.
‘My balance and deftness,’ it said. ‘I’ll kiss it into you. Will you take a kiss from Goodgog?’
Given the guardian’s earlier remarks about the company, Merlan couldn’t help feeling this was just an excuse for it to play with them.
‘We’ve done many strange things to reach this point,’ Taropat said. ‘This is just one more.’
‘Flatterer,’ Goodgog said and took Taropat’s face in its hands.
The kiss seemed to go on for too long. Merlan could not imagine what Taropat must have felt and thought about it. When the guardian released him, Taropat fell back against the rock wiping his mouth. He looked more dazed than before.
‘Next!’ screamed Goodgog.
One by one, they submitted to the guardian’s kiss. Merlan steeled himself to do it. He would imagine it was someone else: Varencienne Palindrake. But Varencienne did not have a whiskery chin; neither did her breath smell so foul. Yet as he submitted to it, he was reminded of something Lord Maycarpe had said to him years before. In order to know the white goddess, you had to kiss the black. Was there any parallel here? He remembered the goddess inside him, the daughter of Purryah. All this time, he had not thought of her once.
Goodgog drew away. ‘By the peaks, this one’s a good kisser!’ the guardian cried and cackled loudly. ‘You must go first.’
Numbed, Merlan sat on the edge of the platform, his legs dangling into space. He took hold of one of the ropes in his hand, hardly aware of the others around him.
‘Swing!’ cried Goodgog. ‘Swing out into the void.’
Beneath him, Merlan could see only blackness. He eased himself down, felt a surge of vertigo. Then he was hanging, pressed against the rock, clinging to the rope.
‘Climb down,’ Goodgog told him, ‘and when you have a length, kick out.’
Merlan glanced up once and saw the pale faces of his companions peering at him. He had to trust. The rope slipped painfully through his fingers. He could fall right to the end of it. Now there was nothing above him or below. Uttering a cry, he pushed off from the rock face with his feet and found himself swinging out in a great arc. He was no longer conscious of the rope, although he knew his hands must have been gripping it in terror. At any moment, he would come slamming back against the rock.
Out of nowhere, wheeling black shapes came screaming down upon him; three immense vultures. Claws raked his body, wide wings buffeted his head. Merlan shut his eyes tightly. He must not let go of the rope. The birds smelled of ancient dust and dead meat left out in the sun. Their cries were the laughter of hag goddesses. Remember Merytet, daughter of Purryah, Merlan thought. Her cat aspect was the archetypal enemy of the bird. He imagined her within him, somewhere in a deep corner of stillness. Even as the vultures raked his flesh, he concentrated on bringing her forth. She was his flesh, his sinew. Merlan opened his eyes and expelled a loud, yowling cry. It reverberated from rock to rock, dying away in a feline wail.
There were no birds, perhaps never had been, but he was swinging over the opposite platform. The experience had taken only seconds. He let go of the rope and dropped onto the rock. Crouching down, he turned and saw his companions on the other side of the gulf, punching the air, smiling at him. If they made a sound, he could not hear them. His ea
rs were ringing with a strange whistling wind. For a few moments, his vision blurred with boiling specks of light. He became aware, with a startling clarity, of a gulf between himself and the others. It was more than a physical space between them. Then Shan was climbing down to take hold of the rope and the moment passed. No. They were together in this. They were one.
A path led from the platform, so overhung by dark rock it was almost a tunnel. Gradually, the path became narrower and steeper, until the company was forced to climb, hands gripping spurs of stone, feet slipping on friable scree. Goodgog had not accompanied them from the platform. They were on their own. The only sound was that of their ragged breathing, the smothered oaths as footing was lost, the crunch of trodden stones. The cliffs around them were of deepest black, shot with opalescent veins that glittered in the harsh light of the stars. Nothing grew there. Merlan was conscious of every breath he drew. The action was no longer automatic and could not satisfy the body’s craving for oxygen. Higher, higher, towards the sky. Merlan saw a white, ghostly staircase leading up to the moon. He blinked and it was gone.
Taropat, who was in the lead, came to a halt above the others. Slowly, they clambered up to join him. It seemed to take an eternity. Merlan fell to his knees beside his brother. A spiky crown of black peaks, which formed the crater of an extinct volcano, surrounded them. Below them was a stretch of water, which even in the dark shone so deeply blue it was as if a pool of midnight sky had fallen and lay trapped there. Pancanara. Stillness and silence were absolute.
Without speaking, Taropat began to slide down the rock towards the shore of the lake, which was no more than a rind of polished obsidian. The lake was held within this hard setting like a precious jewel, motionless and perfect. Here was the end of the quest, and it was mute and blind. No guardians. No lesson. Just Pancanara itself.
Merlan’s body went limp. He tumbled down the slope towards the water and came to rest on his back next to Taropat, who knelt staring out across the serene expanse of blue. Shan and Tayven joined them, and the four sprawled without speaking, simply breathing, slowly, raspingly. What now? Merlan thought. We have no strength. We are witless with exhaustion. The lake is dreaming. It does not know we’re here.