Julia Gray - Guardian 04 - The Red Glacier.pdf - Julia Gray - widez2

Prologue

'And do you know what the sword was called?'

'Slayer?' Yarek replied, getting it wrong deliberately so that it wouldn't

spoil his grandfather's story.

'No.' Takkara smiled at the boy's innocent expression. 'It was called the

Peacemaker. Strange name for a sword, eh?'

Yarek nodded.

'It was called that,' the old man explained, 'because it made the warrior who

wielded it invincible. His foes would fall before him, making the ice run red

with their blood, and only when they were all defeated would there be peace.'

'So why don't our generals use it?' Yarek asked.

'It's not as simple as that. The Peacemaker was lost long ago, many centuries

before even I was born.'

'How could anyone lose anything so important?'

'That's a good question,' Takkara replied. 'The only answer I can give you is

that the gods are sometimes capricious — even cruel.'

'Who forged the sword?'

'No one knows for certain, but it must have been a very great wizard.'

'Then why can't one of our wizards make another one?'

'Because the magic was lost too.'

The boy nodded, looking thoughtful.

'No one knows where the blade is now,' Takkara went on, 'although most people

assume it's buried deep within the ice that never melts, guarded by the Lonely

Peaks. And that's not all.' The old man's voice fell to a conspiratorial

whisper. 'The sword only becomes visible when the Red Moon is full and all the

other moons are new — and that's a very rare combination. You'll be lucky to

see it once in your lifetime.'

'Have you ever seen it?' Yarek asked.

'No, but my father did, when he was not much older than you are now. He told

me that all the mountains, all the snow fields, all the glaciers turned red,

as if the gods themselves were weeping blood.'

'Did he look for the sword?'

'Of course! But he was too young to go very far, and much stronger men had to

turn back that night. Many men died and even more lost fingers or toes to the

bitter cold, but no one even caught a glimpse of the sword. Some say that only

a hero who can walk on through the winter dark will ever be able to find the

Peacemaker.'

'But that's impossible!' Yarek objected.

'Who knows what a true hero can do?'

The boy still looked doubtful, but decided not to argue. He knew that he'd

been lucky to have his grandfather to himself for so long. Takkara was the

best inspirator in the whole of the Black Quarter, and his services were much

in demand. This late in the season the generals called for him less often, but

there was usually one last campaign being planned, one last daring raid on the

White or the Gold, and it was rare for Takkara to be able to return to his

village home for more than a few hours at a time. It was rarer still for him

to be persuaded into retelling one of the old stories. When he was not working

he liked to take a rest from such things - but he found it almost impossible

to refuse his grandson.

Yarek could see that the old man was tired now, and wondered how he could keep

him talking. If he did not, the boy knew that one of the women would soon come

and drag him back to their world, to the tedium of lessons, of cooking and

sewing, of building fires and weaving cloth. Yarek preferred the world of

adventure and battle, and ever since his father had been killed, his

grandfather represented his only direct link to that world.

'Can I fetch you a drink, jokull?' he asked, using the term that denoted

respect for an elder. Literally, it meant 'ice-wisdom', implying that the

person had a great deal of experience and was known for the proven worth of

his advice.

Takkara nodded his assent and watched as the boy scurried away. Sometimes, as

with most children, his motives were transparent, but there were other times

when it was clear that Yarek's mind worked on several different levels.

Watching him now, as he dipped the ladle into the mitral cauldron and filled a

metal cup, Takkara could not help wondering about his grandson's future. Yarek

had always been good-natured, but recently there had been something disturbing

about the intelligence hidden behind that deceptively cherubic face. Someone

so young should not question things as much as he did. Takkara was about to

say something to this effect when Yarek beat him to it — and in doing so,

deepened the old man's disquiet.

'But it's not really true, is it?' he asked, as he handed over the cup. 'I

mean, the sword is just a myth, isn't it?'

'Myths can be real. They have to begin somewhere. And there are some things we

just have to accept on faith.'

'Why?'

'Because that is what it means to be a soldier,' the inspirator replied

awkwardly. 'And you'll be a soldier soon, like your father.'

That silenced the boy for a while, and Takkara felt a wave of sadness envelop

them both. He reminded himself that his son had died in glory, that he now

strode across the Great Plain, but the pride he felt in Borgar's sacrifice did

not wholly counteract the ache of his absence. Nor did it quell the old man's

anger.

'What if I become a wizard instead?' Yarek asked eventually.

Takkara laughed, glad that the boy had returned their conversation to the

future rather than dwelling on the past — even if his question was ridiculous.

'You mean a neomancer. That would be good too. You could—'

'No. A wizard,' Yarek stated with solemn persistence.

'That's impossible!' the old man snapped, angry now. 'And you know it.'

The boy retreated into silence again, realizing that he'd gone too far this

time. A short while later, Takkara's curiosity overcame his misgivings.

'Do you think you have talent?' he asked tentatively. 'Enough to gain a

sizarship?'

'I hope so,' his grandson replied, though he sounded less confident now.

'Life under the pyramids is not easy,' Takkara told him. 'And any glory you

may earn will be at second-hand. You may never see the results of your work.

Are you sure that's what you want?'

Yarek didn't answer and Takkara took a sip of his mitra, which was growing

cool now. As always, the infusion of herbs tasted bitter, but he was used to

that. Their scent filled the house almost constantly - which was only right

and proper. He watched his grandson over the rim of the cup, wishing he could

tell what the boy was thinking.

'You're a bright lad,' he said, when the silence had

dragged on long enough. 'I'm sure you can do anything you set your mind to.

But be careful you don't anger the gods.'

'I'll be careful, jokull,' Yarek promised earnestly.

'Besides, you don't have to decide yet. And you'll soon have the chance to

sleep on it.' Takkara smiled, and the boy grinned back, but — as so often now

— there was something hidden behind his large, pale blue eyes.

The reference to the long winter sleep had indeed set Yarek thinking. When

he'd been an infant, he'd accepted the hibernation as natural, just another

part of the life that was organized for him by others. By the time he was a

few years old, it had frightened him, and his mother had been ashamed of his

crying. He had grown out of that and had returned to unquestioning acceptance

once more - though with a little more understanding this time. And now, as the

days grew shorter, Yarek was actually looking forward to it. When the spring

came, unlike most of the others, he would remember his dark dreams. And it was

in those dreams that he learnt so much, saw so much.

That was his great secret, the reason he knew he was destined to be a wizard -

no matter what anybody said. Unwittingly, his grandfather had confirmed his

faith. 'You can do anything you set your mind to.' Rules were meant to be

broken. Yarek had decided that long ago. And if the greatest wizard the four

Quarters had ever seen could not break some rules, then who could?

PART ONE

MYVATAN

Chapter One

Far off the starboard bow, the sea was burning.

'I bet you've never seen anything like that before,' Kahl remarked. 'However

far you've travelled.'

Terrel stared at the fire, wondering how such a thing could be possible. As he

watched, another burst of flame erupted, sending a shower of glittering red

sparks into the air and burnishing the surrounding waves as though they were

made of bronze. Above them, a pall of black smoke and grey steam trailed away

on the wind.

'There'll be an island there come the autumn,' Kahl added knowledgeably.

'An island?'

'The fire conies from the heart of Nydus,' the sailor explained. 'And as it

rises up from the seabed, it brings rock with it. Those sparks you saw just

now, some of them were boulders bigger than your head, and they're all made of

stone so hot it turns to liquid and glows like a blacksmith's furnace.'

Terrel turned to look at his companion, trying to judge whether he was being

serious or not. Kahl was one of the few crewmen who had been willing to talk

to him and Terrel had tried to establish some degree of friendship with him.

He had told the sailor a little of his own travels, and hoped for information

in return. He was heading towards another alien land, and seeing the ocean

burst

into flame had emphasized just how little he knew about this region of Nydus.

'But when it hits the water and cools, the rock becomes solid again,' Kahl

went on, apparently quite in earnest. 'And it gradually builds up until

there's a new island for us to sail around.'

'I'm glad you said sail around,' Terrel commented. 'I wouldn't want to get too

close to anything like that.'

Even from a distance it was an awe-inspiring sight. From close to, it would

have been terrifying.

'Nor me,' the seaman said. 'The captain wouldn't like it much either, and he's

kept us in clear water until now. Of course, one of them could break out right

in front of our bows. There wouldn't be much we could do about that.'

Terrel found this idea extremely alarming, but saw that Kahl was grinning now.

'Don't worry,' the sailor said, relenting. 'We've done this run a few times

now and no one's suffered so much as a singed beard.'

'Let's hope it stays that way,' Terrel replied, feeling the uneven stubble

that now covered his own chin.

'Mind you, it's not just the new islands that make navigation tricky,' Kahl

added. 'The fires under the water make their own currents too. Sometimes it's

difficult to tell what's going on, especially now the tides aren't reliable

any more.'

Terrel was already aware of that anomaly — and the reason for it. For several

years now the Dark Moon had been behaving erratically — in defiance of all the

precise astronomical laws laid down by the seers of his homeland — and

recently, it seemed that the changes in its speed and size had begun to affect

the orbits of the other three moons. This meant that predicting the rise and

fall of tides had become increasingly complex.

'Of course,' Kahl went on, 'once the fire-islands are in

place, they can actually help us, give us reference points when we're out of

sight of land — provided you can recognize them from one month to the next.'

'You mean they keep changing?' Terrel guessed.

'Sometimes. See those islands there?' He pointed further ahead, to where three

black mounds rose from the sea. 'They weren't even there two years ago, and

each time we come past they've got bigger. They still smoke sometimes too, so

we steer well clear.'

Terrel squinted into the distance, studying the irregular cone-shaped rocks,

and tried to imagine them growing out of the ocean.

'These are dangerous waters,' he commented.

Kahlshrugged.

'Any sea can be dangerous. This one more than most, maybe.'

'Then why do you cross it?'

'The usual reasons. Gold and adventure.' He grinned. 'But mostly the gold.'

'They have gold on Myvatan?'

'Loads of it. We wouldn't bother trading with them otherwise. They've got

precious little else we're interested in. I'm more interested in why you want

to go there.'

Terrel had several reasons, but none that would mean much to a practical man

like Kahl.

'I don't know, really. I've been travelling so long, it seemed like one of the

few places I hadn't been to yet.' This contained at least an element of truth.

'And I've heard it's different from anywhere else.'

'That's one way of putting it,' the seaman remarked. 'But there must be some

purpose to your travelling.'

'Not really.'

Although Kahl was clearly not convinced, he chose not to press the point.

'Well, a person with your talents is going to find a welcome in most places,'

he observed.

Terrel's healing abilities were something he accepted now, though he never

took them for granted. He had paid for his passage on the Skua by helping the

ship's first officer make a speedy and complete recovery from a nasty fever.

In return, Ostan, the captain, had been only too willing to take him aboard —

one extra passenger cost him very little — and, since then, most of the crew

had benefited in some way from Terrel's skill.

'So have you decided which side you'll work for?' Kahl asked.

'Side?' Terrel queried. 'In the war.'

The healer had heard several rumours about Myvatan, including one claiming

that the island had been in the throes of civil war for many years. However,

few people had been either able or willing to talk about the place at all, so

he'd remained in ignorance for the most part. His decision to go there had

been made in a rush. Sailings were rare, especially this early in the year,

and Ostan's offer had been dependent on his being able to leave immediately.

'Neither,' Terrel answered eventually.

Kahl laughed.

'You'd better make up your mind one way or the other before we dock,' he

advised. 'Say the wrong thing in the wrong quarter and you're dead.'

Terrel looked at him in dismay.

'I've no interest in the war,' he said.

'Then what are you going to Myvatan for?' the sailor asked. 'Apart from gold,

the war is all they have.'

Now I know cats are mad, a familiar voice complained. This one hates water as

much as I do, but it's chosen to live on a ship!

Alyssa! Terrel exclaimed, sliding out of his hammock to kneel in front of her.

He had been aware of the cat's presence earlier in the voyage. The crew called

it Dranga, which meant rat-trap, and it usually prowled the lower decks in

search of prey. The animal's face was heavily scarred, one of its ears was

torn and its left foreleg was slightly lame, but its ginger coat was glossy,

testament to its success as a hunter. Until now it had paid Terrel little

attention, and he'd been surprised when it had stalked up to his sleeping

place that evening. But not even in his wildest imaginings had he thought that

Alyssa's spirit might have taken over the cat's body. Not only did she dislike

the devious nature of feline minds — of all the other animals she had tried,

horses were the only creatures she found as difficult — but, as her opening

remark had implied, she disliked large bodies of water even more. In the past,

the mere fact that Terrel had crossed an ocean had prevented her from joining

him for some time, even after he was back on dry land. And when he was

actually on water, there had been no chance of proper contact. And yet here

she was, inhabiting a cat, in the middle of a vast and dangerous sea.

I didn 't expect to see you so soon. Even though Terrel's delight at her

arrival was as great as ever, he was perturbed by the fact that she had forced

herself to overcome her fears. What was so important that she could not afford

to wait a few days?

I was never meant— Alyssa began, then broke off as the ship shuddered under

the impact of an unusually large wave. The cat staggered, its mismatched ears

twitching, and its fur stood on end. Hissing, it dug its claws into the deck —

and Terrel saw the 'ring' looped around one of its forepaws. The ring was made

of twine interwoven with one of his own hairs, and although at first Alyssa

had

worn it as a joke, it had soon become the precious link that helped her to

find him wherever he was. Seeing it always made him think of Havenmoon, his

home for the first fourteen years of his life — the asylum where Alyssa's

comatose body still lay.

You're quite safe, he reassured her, sensing her unreasoning terror.

Why aren 't you back in the palace? she asked. That would be safe, not this. I

won't be able to stand this for long.

Was there something you wanted to tell me? he asked quickly. The cat hissed

again as the Skua rose with the swell. This time I'm not even going to try to

sing, Alyssa declared, looking around wildly.

The irrelevance of this remark made it clear to Terrel that she was more than

usually deranged, and he wondered whether he'd get any sense from her at all.

You don't have to, he said. Just give me your message and you can go. Much as

he wanted her company, he couldn't bear to see her suffering.

What message? She sounded bewildered. / thought—

Oh, that! she interrupted. All the windows are closed. What?

Muzeni says . . . She paused, apparently trying to remember something elusive.

Muzeni says .. . the crystal's broken, isn 't it? Smashed.

What does that mean? he asked, desperate now. Be careful where you choose to

follow, she stated tone-lessly, as if she were reciting the words from memory.

Don't fight the wrong war. And don't trust your instincts.

More confused than ever now, Terrel was about to speak again, but Alyssa

overrode him.

I'm sick, she announced. And if you think I'm coming up on deck, you 're

crazy.

Sick? Terrel queried, his heart sinking. Let me help you.

I have no need of your healing, she replied, sounding a little calmer at last.

Just your love.

You have that always, he told her.

But there are others in your path who are in terrible pain, Alyssa added. Look

ahead. Even the sky is at war.

And then she was gone. Terrel caught a last glimpse of the ring as it faded

away — and then the cat was just a cat again. Dranga wandered off, with a

puzzled 'miaow'. Terrel remained where he was, too stunned to do anything.

Whatever message Alyssa had intended to bring had been garbled by her terror.

Her utterances were often obscure, but under normal circumstances Terrel could

usually interpret the meaning beneath the words. This time he was completely

at a loss.

The one instruction that had a potentially relevant interpretation was the

last. Look ahead. Coupled with Alyssa's apparently pointless refusal to even

consider going up on deck, it did at least give Terrel something to do.

Leaving the long cabin he shared with several of the crew — all of whom had

been quite unaware of the silent conversation — he climbed up the steep wooden

steps to the foredeck. As soon as he emerged, he knew instantly that the

windswept night was lit by more than normal moonlight, but he was not prepared

for the sight that greeted him.

Ahead of the ship, the sky was filled with a shimmering arch of greenish-white

luminescence, stretching from horizon to horizon. Along its upper rim, even

brighter beads of light moved at incredible speeds, leaving behind them

glittering silver trails that trembled like the strings of a star-born lute.

Julia Gray - Guardian 04 - The Red Glacier.pdf

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