THE MISTRESSES OF MADNESS

by ICEBARD

If you have a moment, please Feed the Bard:

noumenal_rabbit@hotmail.com

 

Go To Part 1


Part 5

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

 

1

 

The City of Varanta was located in an immense, sandy valley between two towering mountain ranges. Eroded foothills reached almost to its walls. Four wide rivers joined into one in the very centre of the metropolis.

It was a sprawling place with fully a million inhabitants - far larger than Kohidra had been. It also had a more extreme climate. It was hotter during the summer - though not usually so hot as the drought had been - and colder during the winter. The eastern and western ends of its valley opened into a great wasteland of enormous dunes that marched around the entirety of the mountain ranges to north and south. Sand blew along Varanta's streets.

Standing on the city's highest hill on a clear day, it was possible to see old ruins jutting up like broken teeth from the desert to the west.

For Hexiya and Havena, Varanta was indeed a new start. Short of money when they arrived - and most of that given to them by Avassia - things could have been much more difficult. But Havena was lucky enough to find a job at the university. She helped to look after the botanical gardens, to cultivate new plants, to classify fresh findings coming in from across the known world. She liked her work - walking the hundred greenhouses and conservatories, watching and caring for the strange and wonderful growing things, observing and recording life-cycles, testing flowers, seeds, pollen, nuts and fruit. She soon made friends with the others who worked there - gardeners, botanists, chemists, researchers, professors and more.

Hexiya started at a new school - a place far larger than the one she had attended in Kohidra. Five hundred pupils went there. It was nice enough, set in parkland at the edge of the city. Its buildings were ancient, ornate and strange. They were built from cut stone - deep red, dark blue and mauve. Their mystery rubbed off on the children, who were quiet, studious and respectful both to one another and to the teachers. Attendance was optional. Children and teenagers who did not wish to study there simply did not go.

For a while Hexiya attended classes with pupils two or three years older than her. Later, finding that the lessons were too slow and that she could learn more on her own, she spent her time studying in the library and worked long hours alone in the laboratories. The teachers liked her. She befriended a chemist called Jaraia, an eccentric old lady who seemed possessed of an ineffable but powerful wisdom.

Sometimes, when she was not studying, she liked to wander the streets and parks of Varanta - her new home. The city was so different to Kohidra that she was quite fascinated by it. She liked its great size. She admired its ancient stone plazas, its merchant mansions, its dignified houses, its innumerable temples. Many of these buildings dated back to antiquity and were eroded or crumbling. Their architecture was intricate, exotic and quite beautiful to her.

She also liked the mayhem of the marketplaces, the mystery of the streets at night, the glory of the parks. And she liked the people, who were by turns reflective and brooding, then celebratory and joyous.

 

2

 

Havena died when Hexiya was fifteen years old. Taken suddenly ill while she was at work, she was brought home and put to bed by two of her colleagues. She passed away two days later while Hexiya sat by her and held her hand.

It seemed that the mother goddess was not eternal after all.

Hexiya inherited their apartment. Money suddenly became a matter of some urgency, but the dean at the university was kind. Hexiya took on Havena's job part-time. The salary she earned was enough for her to live on, as long as she was careful. Carefulness came easily to her - she had few needs.

She spent the rest of her time continuing her studies.

 

3

 

The years passed. Hexiya grew up. Alone, mostly. A deep part of her felt that her aloneness had been inevitable. It was no surprise to her when she found herself as much an outsider as she had ever expected to be. She was not completely friendless and not without acquaintances. But she did not have anyone close.

She missed her mother. She missed her smile and her laugh. She even missed the occasional arguments they had had.

And she never stopped thinking about Kaledria. As her nineteenth birthday came and went she found herself considering with some surprise how extraordinarily deeply that short, magical time with the northern girl had marked her. It seemed to have penetrated to the very depths and core of her being.

She stayed in touch with Avassia. When Havena had been alive they had written letters together. Now Hexiya did so by herself, and sent occasional gifts as well.

Six months after they had left Kohidra, Avassia had gone back to the sea. Perhaps she had been unable to stay away. Or perhaps she had seen her return to captaining a ship as a return to life after the bleakness of her loss of Kaledria. Years later she explained in a letter to Hexiya that she spent most of her time cruising and trading on the southwestern oceans - calm, balmy seas for the most part. She was no longer young and said she had no desire to recapture the wild adventures of her youth. Nor did she need the money. Her crew, she said, was loyal and good. She was happy that they would be more than capable of taking over from her when she was too old to continue.

Sometimes Hexiya considered making the long journey to meet with her. Somehow, though, she always put it off. Her reluctance stemmed from an unwillingness to take a step that might affect her memories of her time with Kaledria. Though she was aware that this reasoning made little sense, she heeded it nonetheless. She was convinced that visiting Avassia would be a mistake. She believed that seeing her might destroy her long-harboured hope, dream and suspicion that one day she might meet with Kaledria again.

And so Hexiya continued to reside in Varanta. Her studies, her work, her aloneness, her memories of friendship and warmth: these were the things that dominated her life. These and one other: her dreams.

Each three or four weeks she would find herself in a dream of astonishing power. Each was full of thunderous emotions, evocative passions, subtle sentiments. Their textures were rich and vibrant. They bathed her with jewel-like colours, symphonic sounds and fragrant scents. And though, as dreams, they were more chaotic than the waking world; though they were filled with fantastic mirages and impossible phantasms; though they would shift abruptly and metamorphose; nevertheless they seemed more than mere illusions, more than just weird constructs of her mind. Rather, she felt that they were intimations of a reality she had yet to experience.

In each dream she would find herself in a place she had never been to nor imagined - a distant planet; an exotic wilderness; a fantastic city; an outlandish building. Invariably, in this new and strange place, she would find herself searching for Kaledria. And inevitably she would fail to discover her.

Always, upon waking, she would find herself filled with a powerful sense of recognition. The depths of her mind and the whole of her body would be suffused with the sense that she had relived a powerful memory. She would feel that she had not been dreaming but remembering . And she would feel that she had not been remembering the past, but the future.

Then, one night, when she was twenty years old, she dreamed of Obenaia again.

At the beginning of the dream she found herself in a glade in a forest. Above her, a single green sun shone down through the sapphire leaves of towering trees. Its heat was gentle and warming. Its light shone wondrously upon the prismatic, rainbow-hued birds that fluttered and sang among the branches.

She sat down on a smooth-topped boulder beside a pool of water that was fed by a tiny brook. Colourful fish swam there, beautiful aquatic counterparts of the birds.

I've been here before, she thought.

'Hexiya,' said a voice. Its tones were filled with tenderness.

She looked up. Obenaia was sitting across from her, cross-legged on another flat-topped rock. She had not changed at all, though a decade or so had passed since Hexiya had last dreamed of her. Cuvaceous, scantily-clad, her long hair fell around her shoulders and between her breasts - hair that was blood-red on one side and night-black on the other, with a perfect parting down the middle. Her face was quite beautiful, full-lipped, with broad cheekbones and large eyes the colour of amber.

'Obenaia,' she breathed.

The woman smiled a smile that radiated benevolence and compassion. 'You remember,' she said softly.

Hexiya regarded her for a long moment. An emerald-coloured bird settled upon her shoulder, ruffled its feathers, then flew away, low over the mossy ground.

'You live in paradise,' she said.

Obenaia tilted her lovely head and smiled again. 'What better place could there be to live?'

Hexiya looked up at the jewel-like birds that perched or flew among fern-like sapphire leaves. Then she looked back into Obenaia's wondrous eyes. 'Do you love me?' she asked. She had not intended to say this and did not understand why had done so. The words had just come out. But she did not feel embarrassed.

Obenaia stood and walked slowly around the little pool to her, her bare feet sinking a little into the sward. She laid her hand upon her shoulder - a touch that seemed filled with cool fire. 'I love you but I am not for you,' she said. 'Another will fill that role . . . with such completeness.'

Hexiya looked up into her face, but could no longer clearly make out her features. Then she realised that she was dreaming and that the dream was ending.

Obenaia, even as she retreated from her vision, seemed saddened by the fact that Hexiya had to take her leave. 'Come back again,' she said.

When Hexiya awoke, she felt as if she had been touched by a love so deep that it had penetrated the deepest parts of her mind and touched each cell of her body. For days afterwards she was filled with pleasure and wonder at the power and beauty of the vision she had had. Perhaps Obenaia was a goddess of love.

 

4

 

Hexiya continued to work and study at the university until she was twenty-three. By this time she had become a woman of remarkable beauty. Of less than average height, she possessed an extraordinary mixture of grace and strength. Her body was both quite muscular and with pleasing curves. Her eyes were a gentle green in a fair, lovely face. She kept her blonde hair cut quite short.

Sometimes she wore green stones set in silver surrounds - earrings, a pendant between her breasts, bracelets and anklets dripping with emerald light. She designed them herself and had them crafted by a jewel-smith that she had come to know.

She made her own clothes - long dresses of white, black or pale violet; more practical wear for when she needed it. She liked to wear a long, hooded cloak in winter, and in summer she preferred to don gauzy wraps or a short skirt and short top.

She noticed that those who met her were sometimes unnerved by her - despite the warmth and gentleness of her appearance. Perhaps, with her quiet and thoughtful manner and the wisdom perceived in her, she seemed other-worldly. Or perhaps she was imagined to be someone who had stepped out of some deep and golden and mythical past, to grace the present for a short while before having to return.

Inevitably her beauty drew attention from the men who lived or worked around her. But remarkably few asked her out. They seemed rather in awe of her - her quiet confidence in herself, her long silences, the sometimes eerie depths of her knowledge. They found it hard to relate to her, though she was always pleasant to them. Those who did ask her out she always politely turned down; and noticed each time that the individual concerned did not seem surprised.

Naturally, people wondered about her. Some of her colleagues - the less sensitive of them - considered her as a creature without a soul. A few - the more sensitive - felt that her inner self, her essence, was a vast but slumbering thing; that, if woken, her love might become inconceivably powerful, irresistible, irrepressible. But they did not know how to wake it. They merely wondered what could have happened to her such that she had so submerged any passions she might have felt for others.

Hexiya also wondered why she had so little interest in finding a match for herself. Other women of her age went out with many men. They were always searching, it seemed, to find the perfect mate. But she had no care at all for this. It seemed irrelevant to her life.

Not that she was unaware of eroticism. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to have a partner, understanding that it was supposed to bring much pleasure. But she did not truly want to. She was not sure why. Sometimes in the night she would bring herself to delightment and release, but even as she did so she never imagined that she was with anyone at all.

 

5

 

The time came when Hexiya completed her studies and resigned from her work. It was mid-summer, and holiday season in Varanta. The acolytes at the temples beat their drums and gongs all day. Great processions made their way through the streets and plazas. Sombre ceremonies and dedications to the gods of the desert took place. The people spent time in sincere contemplation and secluded meditation. They attended the rites or worshipped in private, depending on their inclination. Most became rather serious and cheerless during these days. Only at the end of the festival would they transform themselves and become joyful and lighthearted. When the drumming in the temples finally stopped and silence fell over the city, then they would celebrate.

Hexiya did not wish to be a part of it. She did not care to speculate about the nature of the desert gods, or the gods of anywhere else. Though she was aware that there were many powerful forces at work in the universe - deities and divinities, greater and lesser entities, and many pantheons thereof - she was also very aware that she knew little about them and still less about the roles they played in the universe or what relationships she might develop with them.

And so, instead of participating in the festival, she left Varanta during the time of its celebration. With a backpack and enough food and water to keep her going for several days, she headed west.

Each night she slept under the stars, out in the desert. On the fourth night she had a dream that was reminiscent of her vision of Obenaia.

She found herself standing at the top of an escarpment. Beneath her was a red-tinged land, vast and mysterious in the deepening dusk. The western sky was streaked with mauve and orange and the vault above was black. Smoke drifted on the air. Somehow she knew that a battle had recently taken place on the plain below.

A few yards to her right stood an impressive-looking man who could have been a war-leader of old. He was tall and powerful, with huge shoulders and mighty limbs. His black beard was cropped short and his grey gaze was steady and piercing. Ancient, exotic armour garbed him - chain and metal bands of dark red and blue, scored and dented in a hundred places. His hands rested on the haft of a great axe and he was looking out over the hidden battlefield as if his eyes could see straight through the cloak of encroaching night.

Hexiya walked over to him. She thought for a moment that he was unaware of her. Then he turned his head and looked down into her eyes. A slight smile touched his face. She realised that he was saddened, but that seeing her had lifted his spirits.

'Hello Hexiya,' he said. His voice was a bass rumble.

'You fought a great battle,' she heard herself say, though she had not intended the words.

His kindly eyes regarded her, surprisingly gentle for one of such fierce appearance. Then he looked back across the shrouded landscape. 'Another campaign finished,' he said, very quietly. 'But there are more to fight. All I want is for them to end, but they never do. There is always one more enemy.' He looked down for a moment, then said: 'I hope you will never be as I am. I hope that conflict will not define your life.'

'What is your name?' she asked.

'Romgallak.' He smiled of sudden. 'And I know you. Obenaia told me about you. And I watched you once while you slept. My apologies for that, but it was unavoidable.'

Dreaming, she did not think to ask what he meant. Feeling a wave of compassion rush through her, she reached out to touch his shoulder. But she could not. And then she realised that he was not there at all.

 

6

 

Though she had little money, Hexiya decided not return to Varanta - not for a while, at least. She decided to embark on a journey - on foot, mostly. She would head further west to where the desert gave out, and then live off the land as much as she could. Perhaps, if she needed to, she would find work when she came to any towns or villages.

She did not consider how long or how far she would travel.

Weeks passed, then months.

She visited strange and exotic cities. She ventured into deep and unexplored wildernesses. She spent time with tribal peoples, and more time alone. She rarely stayed anywhere for more than a day or two.

Months turned into years. And still she kept going.

Sometimes she felt she might end her wanderings the very next day. Then, almost at the same time, she would find herself considering that she might never end them at all.

In all these rovings she never had any destination. She did not hope to see any particular sights. She did not look for trade opportunities. She never considered searching for a place she might settle down in. She did not make any but the most passing acquaintances. She merely felt the need to keep moving.

Once she spent several weeks wandering a range of mountains that reared from the centre of a sandy desert. Walking, camping, passing time. Brooding sometimes. Wondering on occasion about what she was doing with her life. Considering why she did not feel the same drives as others. Pondering the strangeness of her existence.

In one or ten or a hundred years I will die, she thought to herself. And for most of that time I will have existed without direction. I will have spent my life waiting.

Waiting. She was coming to feel that it was all she ever did. Waiting for her dreams. Waiting for Kaledria (though she would push this thought aside). As she wandered through forests or climbed ragged peaks, it was not only to admire the scenery or to get to the top. It was to pass the time in contemplation; to wonder at the nature of the world and her detachment from it; to hope that, if she waited long enough, she might somehow find some kind of fulfilment.

When, by chance, she met with caravaneers or nomadic peoples, or, more rarely, passed through a town or city, she was reminded that she liked people enough. She was kind when she could be. She felt anguish on those occasions when she saw others suffering. She did her best to help them and alleviate their pain. But when she was done she felt little reward and less connection. She was other. She was different. She was alone.

Sometimes, despite her inner reluctance, she forced herself to consider Kaledria's death with a cold and rational mind. On these occasions she would persuade herself of her irrationality and tell herself that she had finally accepted that Kaledria could not possibly return from the dead. But always, the next day, doubts would return to her. She could not, she found, completely convince herself that the matter was ended and that her childhood friend was gone forever. Nevertheless she succeeded in eroding some of her hopes.

 

7

 

Through all the years of travelling, Hexiya's dreams continued - dreams of searching alien worlds for Kaledria but forever failing to find her; and dreams of Obenaia, Romgallak and others.

Obenaia came to her most often. Romgallak came more rarely, though he told her that he wished he could see more of her.

The others were: Mavaea, a wise old woman; Caless, a beautiful princess; Eriath, a musician and sage; Vaudia, a priestess; Avikant, a peaceful and humorous old man; Borudin, a dark-haired boy; Olifara, a plump and vigorous mother; and Kallakan, cloaked and hooded and grey, who had never revealed his face. Ten in all.

For a while she wondered if they were a pantheon of gods and goddesses - Obenaia a goddess of love; Romgallak a god of war. But with gentle amusement they had dissuaded her of this.

Each time she dreamed of them, they would speak with her. A few words that gave her strength. Somehow she was never able to ask them the questions that she so yearned to ask when awake - about who they were, and why they visited her, and whether she might join them one day.

All the dreams were powerful. For days afterwards she would be filled with echoes of their profundity. Most of them left her with a deep sense of peace and made her marvel at the wondrous company she had kept - all except the visions of Vaudia, the priestess, and Kallakan, who had no face. Their visitations would disturb her on the deepest level - not because they were menacing in themselves, but because they hinted at a future that terrified her. But when she awoke she could never quite grasp what that future might be.

 

8

 

At the age of thirty-two, Hexiya returned to Varanta.

She moved back into the apartment she had lived in with her mother, and then on her own. It was a strange feeling. She had not been there in nine years. Its spaces and walls and dust-covered furniture evoked the past and seemed to take her back.

She applied for a post as a funded researcher at the university, and was given it. At first some of the younger members of staff were jealous of the sudden and seemingly inexplicable seniority of the position she had been assigned to. They could not understand how someone who had not studied for so many years could have the experience or knowledge to carry out her tasks effectively. Then, when they talked to her and discussed their own fields of research, their resentment vanished. Her insight was awe-inspiring and her erudition had not been lost. They found the penetration of her thoughts into the issues they were addressing more than useful.

A few found her manner rather eerie. When she was not present they described her - whether jokingly or seriously - as a mystic. Then they would glance over their shoulders. And after that they would still wonder if she would know what they had said about her, even though she had not been present.

But they came to like her, after a fashion. For each of them she had a kind word or a useful suggestion. She was never intrusive, never caused them problems and was never anything other than polite and helpful.

One day, a young man who was visiting the university became angry with her when she refused to go out with him for an evening. Her calm, unflustered response only enhanced her reputation. Later the young man drunkenly confided to a friend that he was glad he had not hit her, because he suspected she would have been more than capable of giving him a real beating.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

 

1

 

One morning in early winter, six months after her return to Varanta, Hexiya awoke early. It was not the kind of awakening that she usually experienced - a slow rising to consciousness, an unwillingness to confront the day, a wish she might sleep for another hour or two and a curiosity as to why getting out of bed always seemed so painful. On this day she just woke up, from deep sleep to a remarkable degree of alertness.

She lay still for a while, on her back, her eyes closed. She was curiously aware of the beating of her heart and the depth and smoothness of her breathing.

She stretched and luxuriated in the feel of the warm, soft sheets against her skin. A vaguely erotic glow suffused her body. It was good to feel so alive, so comfortable, and so much pleasure.

She opened her eyes and looked around her room. The large windows on the east side were hung with black curtains. A vague glimmer of light seeped around them, deepest red. The suns had not yet risen.

She could barely make out the contents of the chamber - shelves double-stacked with books, a mirror that took up most of one wall, chests and a cupboard for clothes. A single small statue stood upon the bedside table. She had made it herself, carving it from a hard wood that shimmered with a beautiful golden glow. It had taken her several days to make. It was of Kaledria. Not the Kaledria she had known as a child, but the Kaledria she had glimpsed in some of her dreams - a grown woman.

She arose naked from her bed and threw a warm robe of silky black cloth around her. Barefoot, she padded through each of the rooms of her apartment, throwing the curtains wide as she went.

The living room had white walls, a floor of red wood and a fireplace of black metal. Two fur rugs were drawn up in front of it. A sofa and an armchair were bound with red leather. Candles and incense were stacked in corners. A small cabinet was filled with a few simple glasses, her favourite wines and some preserved delicacies. More books on shelves lined the walls, but between them were some of Hexiya's paintings and drawings - rather dark, intense, brooding works, powerful but frightening. Though she rarely had visitors, the few who had come by on matters of work had without exception commented on how disturbing they found them.

She went through to her studio then. It was a place of chaos and creation, a work of art in itself and perfect for producing works of art. Canvasses were stacked high - hundreds of finished paintings, unframed, piled on the floor, each divided from the next by a sheet of thin paper. There were three easels, a workbench and cabinets full of paints and brushes and solvents. The scent of oils was strong in the air. Very little of the walls was visible.

Sometimes she had wondered at her freakish ability to paint at speed. No matter how detailed a picture, she could finish it within a matter of hours. Each brush-stroke always came out exactly as she had envisioned it. Only rarely did she make changes, when after consideration she felt that something might be improved.

Recently she had been painting pictures of the people from her dreams. She had hung them up to look at them. All ten now regarded her from their positions on the walls - all except Kallakan, who was turned away, his face concealed by his grey hood. She liked the pictures of Obenaia and Romgallak most. They seemed to radiate beauty, strength and compassion.

Turning away, she walked through the little hallway to her bathroom. This chamber was something of an extravagance. Though she did not earn much, she had paid quite a lot to have it tiled and fitted as it was. Its colours were of sand and red-tinged bronze. She liked to make use of the big bath, and lie in scented water and burn candles. A mirror as large as the one in her bedroom covered most of one wall.

Lastly she went to the kitchen to prepare a breakfast of bread, cheese, fruit and spiced tea. Sitting at the counter beneath the large window that faced east, she gazed out - the view was good, for her flat was on the fourth and top floor of its building.

With peaceful attentiveness she watched the suns rise slowly over the horizon. The sky bloomed with their colours - red, mauve, white. The City of Varanta glowed like some vast and exotic jewel beneath the slanting light.

It was, she reflected, a beautiful city. The ancient buildings - palaces, temples, mansions, edifices, towers, houses, domes, spires, apartments and more - seemed to radiate a sense of antiquity. The wide avenues and mazy alleys were a complex filigree. The parks were deep pools of blue shade, the hills were tinted silhouettes and the rivers were coloured metal ribbons. Everything was both mysterious and glorious, enigmatic yet refulgent in the dawn glow.

The desert too, that ocean of sand that lapped at the city walls, was radiant with red, mauve and white light. The mountains that jutted to south and north were magnificent sentinels bathed in warm luminescence.

After breakfast, she dressed in gear that was suitable for walking and headed out into the streets. She decided that it was going to be a good day. Cool air and sunshine surrounded her.

 

2

 

Whatever the reason - and she did not think about it too much - she found herself visiting places that reminded her of when she and Havena had first come to Varanta. She walked to the Park of the Overlords, where she and her mother had sometimes strolled among the ferns and vines and towering blue-leaved quallant trees. She wandered up the hill to where her old school was crouched in stone dignity, and watched the youths walking or at play in its grounds. Next she went to the bazaar and marketplace where she and Havena had often gone shopping. She bought food and carried it home for an early lunch.

In the afternoon she walked to the university. Though it was not a working day, she always took much pleasure from the botanical gardens, the conservatories and the greenhouses.

They had changed since her mother had died. Established species had been shipped out to estates for further cultivation. New species had been brought in - all kinds of exotic types, carefully nurtured so that their natures and properties might be investigated.

The smallest greenhouse was built beside a stream at the southern tip of the university grounds. Hexiya spent an enjoyable time walking its narrow paths and memorising the appearance and scents of all the many plants that grew there. Nobody else was there. Everything was silent but for the drip and trickle of water and the gentle rushing of wind around the domes of glass.

When she left she was struck by how cold the afternoon had become. Varanta, though it was a southerly city, was deep within the continent. Its winters were sometimes as severe as its summers were hot. She shivered within her long coat.

A man was standing on the bank of the stream that wound past the glass house. He turned to her and smiled. 'Hello Hexiya,' he said.

She knew him. His name was Ellakan. He was a few years older than her, tall and with an impressive build and a ruggedly handsome face. He had long black hair and eyes of different colours - one brown, the other grey. He was a physicist, working at the university on behalf of the Overlord's armed forces. Though she had heard that he had served in the army for many years, she had never heard him talk about it.

'Ellakan,' she said.

'Here on a free day?' he asked.

'I like this place. Why are you here?'

'The same reason.' He had apparently been enjoying the view of the Old City in the very centre of Varanta. From here, high on University Hill, it looked magnificent. Spires, domes and broken walls glimmered with soft reds and violets in the clear, cool sunlight.

She stared too for a while, appreciating the sight. Then she looked back at him. He was still regarding her. He seemed neither as self-conscious in her presence nor as awed by her appearance as most.

'There's a gathering tonight in the Palaeontology Hall,' he said. 'Avina and Ragak are organising it. You know they made that great find a couple of months ago? Well, they've succeeded in reassembling the skull. And now they want to show it to everyone. I've heard it's pretty impressive. You'll be very welcome, if you want to come along.'

'Thank you.'

He grimaced then. 'Did you hear the news about Akadar?'

She shook her head. Akadar was Varanta's nearest neighbour. A large city on the other side of the southern mountain range, it had none of Varanta's age-old and peaceful decadence. Rather, its essence seemed to be conflict. Almost as rich as Varanta, it channelled all its wealth into its military machine.

'Their King is making demands of our Overlord. It is unlikely the Overlord will meet them. If their threats have substance, they may attack.'

This was news to her. 'What of Varanta's allies?'

He tilted his head. 'I imagine messengers are already on their way. But . . . I don't know. It seems strange to me that Akadar is suddenly rattling its swords and making threats. Without sense. Their campaigns have always been to the south, among the desert kingdoms where empires can be built. Varanta is something else. Powerful enough to win a war, if it came to it, I think. Why would they wish to throw everything away?'

Hexiya said nothing. She wondered what she would do if legions marched upon the city. Probably, she thought, she would simply leave.

'Will you come tonight, do you think?' asked Ellakan.

'Perhaps. Perhaps I would like to.'

He smiled. 'I hope to see you there then. Goodbye Hexiya.'

She watched as he set off towards the buildings of the Physics Department. A good man, she thought. Thoughtful without pretence. Self-believing without arrogance. She suspected that he was very capable and resourceful.

She wondered what his past was.

 

3

 

The gathering was in a large, decagonal chamber - the largest room of exhibits in the Palaeontology Department. Pillars supported the vaulted ceiling and huge windows were set high in the walls. Candles and oil lanterns had been lit all around the space. Fossilised skeletons stood on their pedestals or within glass cases - tiny ones to real gigantea. It was a spectacular display.

People looked and talked and drank wine and ate delicacies from trays that were handed around. The party was a quiet affair.

Before long, Avina and Ragak asked everyone to gather around a great display case that they had covered with a cloth. When they pulled the cloth away there were several sharp intakes of breath.

Within the case was an enormous skull fully twelve yards long. It was fish-like in appearance, with huge and powerful jaws. The fangs within were each more than two feet long. Large, empty eye-sockets stared blankly.

'The rest of the skeleton is down in the storage basement,' explained Avina with a smile. She was a pretty woman - slender, with long bronze hair and pleasant features.

'How big is it?' asked an elderly professor of geology.

'More than a hundred yards long,' replied Avina. 'An ocean-dwelling beast, with three pairs of lateral fins and a vertical tail.'

A buzz of excited conversations sprang up.

'It's not just the size, though,' Avina said at one point. 'What is also important is that it's a link between two branches of giant fish that we thought were quite distinct. It's really quite revealing about how such species might have evolved.'

'I wish it shed more light on why they're all extinct, though,' said Ragak with a rueful grin. He was a tall, red-haired man with a freckled face, a short beard and a pleasant, lopsided smile. He was much liked throughout his department.

'What's your best theory?' asked Ellakan. He was standing next to Hexiya. He had seemed rather subdued since she had arrived, though not as silent as she was.

Ragak shrugged. 'The most obvious explanation would be that they were such successful hunters that they hunted their prey to extinction. Then, when their prey was gone, they had nothing left to eat. So they all died.'

'But Ragak doesn't agree with that theory,' said Avina, slightly mischievously. 'Much too simple.'

'No, I don't. There's no evidence to suggest that the oceans have ever been other than full of fish twenty or thirty feet long - the right size for such a giant to prey on. The fossil records are pretty convincing. Going back hundreds of millions years, there's never been a lack of such prey. No doubt there were drop-offs in their populations sometimes, but I don't think it would've been enough to account for the extinction of a species of predator dependent on them.'

'So what's your explanation?' asked a young biologist called Kella. Of short stature and rather round, she was said to be brilliant within her field.

'I think a still larger species hunted these giants to extinction.'

'Really?'

He nodded. 'Really.'

'And what happened to those even bigger predators?'

'I think they're the ones who died because they hunted their prey until there were none left. And they were so large by that time that they had become ineffective at hunting smaller fish.'

'Have any bones of such giants ever been found?' asked Ellakan.

'No,' said Avina.

'But such huge bones . . .'

'Well, there's no reason to suppose that the real giants had bones at all,' said Ragak. 'Perhaps they were cartilaginous fish. Or perhaps they weren't fish at all.' He shrugged again. 'Well, it's only an idea. But a nice one I think.'

'How big would such predators have to have been, though?' persisted Ellakan. 'Five hundred yards long?'

'Maybe. Hard to conceive of, isn't it?'

Hexiya suddenly became aware that several people were looking at her, apparently expecting her to speak or pass judgement. As if she was the person with the authority to accept or reject the theory.

'What do you think, Hexiya?' asked Avina.

She considered for a moment, then said: 'I like Ragak's idea. I think it is quite convincing.'

 

4

 

Hexiya enjoyed the party. She liked the people present. She took pleasure from listening to them. Glad to be in their company, she was also pleased that they were glad to be in hers. It made her feel accepted.

'May I walk you home?' asked Ellakan as she thanked Avina and Ragak for the party.

She pulled on her long coat and wrapped her scarf around her, and ran her fingers through her shortish blonde hair. 'Thank you for the offer,' she replied. 'But I'll be fine.'She could not detect the slightest offence or hurt in him. It seemed that he had asked her out of genuine concern rather than out of self-interest.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

 

1

 

Hexiya headed out into the cold night air. A strong but steady wind was blowing from the west and whipped away her frosting breath. Overhead, the velvety night sky was extraordinarily clear - the usual smokes and dusts of Varanta had been blown away by the rushing air. A solitary crimson moon wheeled beneath stars that shone with amazing brightness. Green and yellow clusters of stars looked like diffuse globes of fire. A pair of mauve-white galaxies were tiny, spiral-shaped smudges high in the vault.

The streets were mostly deserted. A few glimmers of light came from behind shuttered windows. Otherwise the city seemed to have settled into a hushed slumber. Hexiya's boots made little noise upon the cobbles and did not disturb the quiet.

When she reached a tavern this impression was belied. The noise of conversation and laughter flowed from its open door. The glow of lanterns flooded out. The smell of smoke and beer was like a live thing in the air.

Just after she passed the place, a pale shape in the gutter caught her attention. She stopped. For a moment in the uncertain red and yellow light she could not make out what it was. Nevertheless a sense of recognition and alarm surged at the back of her mind.

She looked more closely, bending over.

It was a woman's hand, severed at the wrist. It was slender and shapely and a ring adorned the middle finger. There was no sign of blood. It was as if it had been burned or frozen as it had been cut off.

For a moment she imagined it might somehow, impossibly, be her mother's lost hand, returned to her.

She backed away, shuddering, then hurried on down the street.

 

2

 

It took her quarter of an hour to reach her apartment. After stepping inside and closing the door behind her, she threw the bolts home firmly and carefully. It was a degree of attention to her safety that was not usual to her.

She bathed, made some tea and went to bed. For a while she sat up in the darkness, wrapped in silken sheets, sipping the hot, fragrant liquid.

She had not yet closed the curtains of the window beside her - it gave her pleasure to gaze out across the city. Yellow and violet lights gleamed here and there on the hills and in the valleys. The rivers were silver-red ribbons of metal threading the glittering darkness. Above, the sky was still gloriously spangled with stars.

As she watched, a darkness appeared on the horizon over the eastern desert, far beyond the city limits. For a while she assumed that it must be a build-up of storm-clouds.

But over the next few minutes the shifting blackness swelled drastically, rushing towards Varanta on the wind. Now the air hissed around the casements and rattled the windows. She felt that something awful and awesome was approaching; something terrible and unstoppable that would crush everything before it.

She swung her legs from the bed and stood before the pane. It was not long before the edges of the dark, billowing mass rose up over the eastern edges of the city. It moved unlike any clouds she had seen and seemed possessed of a volition of its own. It did not drift above the ground but seemed to flow over it - a mile-high flood of blackness about to engulf the whole of Varanta.

Fear surged in her, mixing with a growing sense of awe at the uncanny sight. The city lights blinked out, vanishing beneath the inky onrushing wave. Without slowing, the blackness flowed inexorably along the valleys and rolled over the hills.

She stood as if paralysed, knowing that there was nothing she might do. Agonising seconds passed. And then the edge of the dark cloud rushed up the hill towards her apartment building. Looking up, she saw that the top of the wave-front reared like a mountain overhead.

A moment later it was upon her. Dark shapes suddenly rushed past the windows. The lights of the night vanished. A loud, low drone filled the air. A hard pattering drummed against the panes.

Insects, she realised. Relief and astonishment flooded through her. How many trillions of them must it take to make up such a vast swarm? Even as she stared out they rushed by in a great, impenetrably-dark inundation.

She ran through her flat, checking that all the windows were firmly closed. Then, for fully half an hour, she paced the rooms as the deluge of flying things went on.

When the drone and pattering of their passing finally quietened and vanished, the silence was almost tangible. Even the rushing air had softened, as if they had taken the wind with them or had been chasing its tail across the world.

Hexiya lit a candle and walked around her apartment once more, checking that none of the insects had entered. She was relieved to find that she had escaped them. The only one she saw was on an external sill, up against one of the window panes. It was moving feebly, apparently having dashed itself senseless on the glass. About an inch long, it was round-bodied and had shiny, shelled wings. Its head was on a curiously long neck and four ragged horns jutted from above its eyes. On its wide back was a red pattern that resembled a smaller version of its own form.

Though she had never seen such an insect before, she knew what it was. Paintings of them, enormously enlarged, covered the necropoli of a ruined city to the west of Varanta.

It was a ghost beetle - a type that was carnivorous and dangerous to humans in large enough numbers. She wondered how many people had been caught outside when the great swarm had flown over. It would be a nasty way to die.

As she studied the creature, she brought to mind what she knew of its mythological significance. In ancient times, throughout the far-flung cities and towns of the desert, such beetles had been regarded as messengers of death.

When one was seen, it meant that someone was about to die.

With a shudder, Hexiya turned away and went back to her bedroom. As she climbed under the covers, she wondered how many beetles there had been in the enormous cloud. She also wondered if there were that many people alive in all of existence.

 

3

 

The next morning she expected the streets to be carpeted with dead beetles. But there were none at all. Even the one that had settled on her window sill had gone.

Perhaps, she thought, the beetles had acquired their name from their ability to make people wonder if they had ever been there at all.

As she shopped in the marketplace she listened to people talking about the swarm.

'Five dead by the river,' said an old lady from behind her fruit stall. When she spoke her toothless mouth worked as if she was chewing something. 'Flesh eaten from their bones. Bloodied skeletons and tendons were all that was left.' She seemed both frightened and excited by the news.

Others had been caught outside as well, all over the city.

'Most of them were killed, but a few survived,' said a young man cheerfully from behind his riverfood stall. He wrapped up some smoked fish for Hexiya and handed it to her. 'A couple of them were really eaten away though.' He smiled. 'Four tin pieces, please.'

She handed the money to him. 'Why do you think there aren't any dead beetles around now?'

He shrugged and grimaced, looking suddenly more serious. 'It seems strange doesn't it?'

She was relieved when she had finished buying her provisions and could leave the marketplace. It had been very crowded - the Winter Festival was just three days away and people were busy preparing for it. The usual bustle and hurry had been heightened by everyone's awareness of the swarm of beetles. A touch of fear had been added to the usual mix of anticipation and preparation. She had several times seen people glancing up, afraid perhaps that another black cloud would engulf Varanta.

 

4

 

After stopping at her flat she made her way up the hill to the university. Today she wanted to spend some time helping out in the biology laboratories. A number of unknown species had been brought in by a caravaneer and the staff wanted to classify them. Hexiya, with her knowledge of the esoteric, had been asked if she might assist. In the note she had been sent, the finds had been described as 'rather unusual'.

The Biological Sciences building was a magnificent structure of heavy stone, dark red and veined with green. It was functional but beautiful, with pillars and archways and more than a thousand windows.

She climbed steps to the fourth floor. Stepping out into the central area, she entered a sizeable garden and zoo. A high dome of translucent blue stone soared overhead. Plenty of sunlight penetrated it. A few rare birds fluttered across the vault.

'Hexiya!' said Aratha. The middle-aged biologist was tending an unusual-looking vine and collecting a few of its star-shaped nuts. She raised her hand in welcome.

Hexiya smiled and approached her.

'Silent as always,' said Aratha, giving her a sideways grin. 'But so mysteriously beautiful with it.' Her grey eyes twinkled. Placing a lid upon the jar of nuts she had collected, she turned to her and continued: 'Come along. We have come into possession of some intriguing new creatures. I'd like you to take a look at them.'

'Can you tell me anything about them?'

'I could. Though not much more than what they look like. But I think it's better if you see them first. See what you think before I contaminate your thoughts with my own.'

They descended to the second floor, walked the length of a sun-drenched corridor and entered a room that was full of cages. Three researchers were already there - an elderly, black-skinned man called Arhadd; a small, red-haired woman called Marha, who was missing an arm; and Kella, short and round, who Hexiya had last seen at the party in the Palaeontology Hall.

They acknowledged her as she entered, but said nothing - they were too intent upon studying the contents of the cages. Nevertheless they stood aside for her. Apparently they felt that she had greater authority than them. It was curious, Hexiya thought, that people so often reacted to her in such a way.

She looked into the first cage.

A wizened old man was within it. He was naked and his skin was a curious shade of grey. Bent double, his chest was pressed to his knees. He barely fit within the confined space and she could hear and see that he was having trouble breathing. His face was turned to one side, looking out at her.

'What do you think?' asked Aratha. 'Fascinating, isn't it?'

Hexiya glanced once at her, then back at the old man. She tried to keep her face impassive. Memories surged up in her. Memories of when she had been a child and she had perceived the world differently to others.

'Please,' said the old man. His voice was cracked and furred and came out as a whisper. 'Please let me out. I didn't mean to steal the fruit. My friends told me I had to. But I know I was wrong now. And I've been punished. I've been here for fifty years. That's long enough, don't you think? Don't you think?' A feeble and pathetic smile contorted his face. He seemed to be trying to make friends with her.

'We don't know what those sounds are,' said Aratha. 'We wondered if it might have a language of some kind. It's a shame we only have the one specimen.'

Hexiya looked at her again, taking in the normality of her voice and bearing and words. Then she turned so that she was facing directly away from the cage.

'Describe it to me,' she said. 'Just tell me what you see.'

Aratha frowned. 'Why?' She seemed disquietened by the strength and determination in Hexiya's voice, though she had spoken softly enough.

'Indulge me.'

Aratha stepped in front of the cage and peered within. 'Its body is about two feet long. A fluted cylinder with nine sides. Its skin is thick, like whale-hide. Green-grey in colour and slightly mottled. Eight tentacles emerge from a protruberance at one end. They're pulsating slowly. Their movements change as I speak as if they are audially sensitive. They also move when I move. At the other end there is what looks like a mouth or a beak of some kind. Four pincers surround it.'

She looked back at Hexiya. She did not say anything but obviously wanted to know what the exercise had proven.

Hexiya slowly turned. She gazed into the cage again.

Sure enough, the creature within was just as Aratha had described it.

Fear surged in her belly. It's happening again, she thought. Memories of childhood rushed within her.

And yet, things seemed to have been reversed.

As a child, she had seen reality while others had seen illusions. She had seen children while others had seen animals. But now she suspected that the creature in the cage was the reality and the old man had been the illusion.

Perhaps the apparition was aimed only at me, she thought. The idea chilled her.

Once again she looked at Aratha . . .

An abrupt shock of fear was replaced by amazement. She was stunned at what she could see as she regarded the woman. Only with the utmost self-control did she prevent herself from revealing her astonishment.

The biologist was surrounded by cool tongues of green and silver fire. They were quite beautiful, and flickered most brightly around her head and her hands.

Hexiya blinked. The flames were gone.

Aratha was looking at her with concern. 'You look very pale,' she said. Then, with a slightly embarrassed smile: 'Paler than normal, I mean.'

Hexiya shook her head a fraction. Turning, she regarded Arhadd, Marha and Kella, who were gathered around some smaller cages at the other end of the room. They were discussing the specimens within in quiet, earnest voices.

Even as she looked, they too were suddenly engulfed in flames. Arhadd's were yellow and wan. Marha's were a deep brown. Those that surrounded Kella were much brighter - a clear, shimmering turquoise immolation.

And then, quite suddenly, she felt a flood of feelings and emotions moving through her. Not her own feelings or emotions, but theirs. They rushed through her in a wave of psychic energy. She could feel their excitement and wonder as they examined the newly-discovered creatures. She could feel their moods. She could feel the currents of meaning that moved in the deeps of their minds.

She narrowed her eyes, seeking to shut the sensations off. Immediately her awareness of their inner selves vanished. The flames around them were extinguished. Arhadd, Marha and Kella looked no different to normal.

'Hexiya?' asked Aratha again. There was obvious worry in her voice now.

Hexiya faced her again and said gently: 'I'm all right.' Calmness began to return to her as she more fully understood what had happened.

Auras, she thought. I can see and feel the inner lives of other people.

She had read of such abilities and how they might be developed. Never had she considered that she might have the aptitude herself.

'I'm sorry about my request,' she said to the biologist. 'I just had a suspicion that . . . Never mind. Have you done any tests on it?'

Aratha nodded. 'Well, we wondered about how it senses the world around it. That it does so is obvious. As I said, its tentacles move in response to nearby sound or movement. They also shift at the slightest changes in light intensity and colour - we did some preliminary experiments to establish this. So visually, audially and otherwise, it seems to have very developed senses. But we don't know how they work or even where they are located. It is most intriguing.' She smiled. There was excitement in her voice as she said: 'Now come and have a look at some of the other specimens.'

Hexiya allowed herself to be shown around, but barely listened to what Aratha told her. For she did not see what the biologist saw. Rather, she saw a sequence of illusions or phantasms.

She saw a deformed baby in one cage. A dead and putrefying desert-cat in another. A mound of crawling insects in yet another. It was only by looking away and looking back and concentrating her attention that she could pierce the mirages and regard the curious creatures that were actually there.

Before long she excused herself. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'Perhaps I am slightly unwell after all.' And she hurried from the laboratory.

 

5

 

Outside, in the grounds of the university, Hexiya walked in the hope of calming her spinning thoughts. Her boots crunched on the frost-covered grass. Her cheeks were chilled by the frigid air. She barely noticed.

What had happened?

She could see people's auras. She could feel their feelings. She had developed an extra sense.

It did not take much thought to deduce what might have triggered such a thing. The ability might always have resided, unwoken, within her. And now the things residing in the cages had activated it. If that first creature had emitted a certain radiation, or had cast an illusion upon her . . .

But what had the illusion of the old man meant? Perhaps nothing. But something must have caused it.

Memories of childhood engulfed her again.

Could it be happening again?

Considering the matter, she shuddered. Whether the force that she had confronted as a child had returned, or whether she was faced with something new, she sensed that it would be far worse this time. Though sourceless, her certainty filled her with black dread.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

 

1

 

In the evening Hexiya made her way home as if something was harrying her. She felt that some vile and gigantic hound was snapping at her heels or some invisible menace was closing in on either side. More than the chill dampness of the evening had set her muscles trembling and given her the need to hasten.

Pavings and tiles and cobbles passed underfoot, slick with icey water. Sleet was falling from the lowering sky. Turning through an archway, she came out onto the Way of the Suns - a long, steep road that led most the way to where her apartment building crouched near the summit of Temple Hill.

She brought herself up short. Her breath left her in an almost-gasp of surprise and fear. Quickly, praying she had not been seen, she ducked back around the pillar of the archway.

A hundred yards up the Way, a man was standing - waiting, perhaps - outside a tavern. Though the evening was darkened by heavy cloud and sleet obscured the distances, she could see him clearly enough to identify him. But though she was quite certain that she knew him, she could not quite place him. All she was aware of was that a powerful and hideous sense of recognition was reverberating within her; and that, at all costs, she must avoid him.

He was tall and broad-shouldered and wore a water-slicked grey cloak that hid most of him. Two long, heavy-looking swords were slung across his back. He exuded the sense that he possessed enormous physical power. Hexiya could easily imagine him rending stone with his bare hands or hefting rocks far larger than his own considerable bulk.

When he turned a fraction, she caught a glimpse of his face beneath his hood. His features were strong, his cheeks flat planes, his jaw bearded. But his eyes, in shadow, were darknesses she could not penetrate.

And despite the distance and the dimness and sleet, she saw that there was something strange about his skin. It had a metallic sheen, of iron or steel perhaps.

Even as she watched, he halted and questioned a stooped old lady who had been passing by. The woman seemed terrified as she peered up at his great and looming form. Grey sleet, yellow lamplight and the rising street beyond them framed the two figures - giant and midget; power and feebleness.

Hexiya looked on for a few moments, then retreated further into the gloom beneath the arch. Standing there, she took a measure of comfort from the solidity of the cold stone at her back. Her heart, however, was still hammering in her chest.

When she had set eyes upon the man, the world had suddenly seemed transparent and insubstantial. It was as if a veil had been pulled away from her eyes and she had seen something far deeper than the mere surface of the universe; as if her senses had penetrated to a darker level of existence and more profound depth of being - one which was black and haunted and awful in its aspect.

And she was sure she knew him. She had no doubt about it. As she tried to slow her tripping, thudding heart, she strove desperately to recall who he was and where she might have seen him. But although she furiously demanded an answer from herself, she simply could come up with one.

Nevertheless she felt that she had set eyes upon one of the oldest and deepest-known people of her life.

 

2

 

Unknown to Hexiya, the man had stopped the old lady to ask her where he was.

'What is the name of this city?' he demanded. His words were pitched very low. Though he had spoken softly, his voice suggested that he might, if he wished, be heard across the roar of a battlefield. He had the tones of a great general.

The woman looked up him, her wrinkled face slowly registering the absurd nature of his question. Her head, he thought in that moment, looked like a piece of old, over-ripe fruit.

'Varanta,' she replied. Her voice was weak and fluting. She looked confused. Perhaps she had had trouble understanding him because of his harsh accent.

'What year is it?'

Senility seemed to fight with fear within her. She seemed about to brush him off, then to think better of it. No doubt she could feel the seething power he radiated. It was hard for him to shield the forces that surged within him.

'The Year of the Horned Bird.'

He grasped her shoulders and squeezed lightly. Brittle bird-bones were caught between shifting mountains.

' Which millennium ?'

'Eighth!' she gasped, her voice cracking. 'Four hundred and twelfth year of the Eighth Millennium!' Her rheumy eyes were full of bewilderment. 'Let me go!' She squirmed in his grip.

He felt a presence in his mind then. A strong, warm touch against his psyche. A female. One he knew. Not far away from where he stood.

He turned. A flash of movement from under an archway caught his eye. He did not have time to register form or colour. But an overwhelming feeling of recognition filled him.

Who? . . . A frown touched his brow. As he searched his memories and tried to work out who it might have been, he relaxed his grip on the old lady's shoulders and was barely aware of her scuttling uphill and away from him.

Turning around, he realised that he was standing outside a tavern. Striding across to its entrance, he stepped within. The presence in his mind - the woman beneath the archway - was not to know him yet. Not yet.

 

3

 

Hexiya leaned forwards slowly and peered up the Way of Suns again. She was afraid to do so. She was fearful that the man would be looking in her direction.

But he was gone. Only the old woman was to be seen, making her way up the steep road, her head down against the sleet and wind, her back hunched.

Hexiya was motionless for a moment, wondering what to do. Then she decided to take a circuitous route home.

As she walked she reflected that it was unlike her not just to confront any threat. In this case, however, she knew with utter certainty that she had to avoid the cloaked, metal-skinned man. Nothing good could come of any encounter with him. But a great deal that was bad would happen.

 

4

 

Within the tavern, the man stepped up to the bar. He bought a bottle of strong liquor, then sat at a small table in an alcove at the back.

For a long while he remained still, drinking glass after glass of the fiery liquid. Frequently his fingers brushed the twin swords he had placed beside him.

He lost himself in remembrance, and gradually his past returned to him. It was always like this after travelling as he travelled - through time and between existences. Something about the process scrambled his memories, ruined his ability to recall things.

But then, so many millennia of life was a great deal to remember.

He finished the bottle. A warm glow filled him.

Rammon, he recollected at last. My name is Rammon.

A grim satisfaction filled him. As the last of his past came back to him and slipped into place, he was finally able to consider the woman he sensed and recognised and glimpsed as she had vanished under an archway. She had, he realised, seen him and tried to hide from him.

But he knew who she was.

Hexiya.

He felt a touch of surprise. An odd coincidence, he thought. He remembered her only as a girl, in those days after her father had been butchered by her mother. Her mother . . .

Havena. That had been her name. He remembered her frenzy as she had searched the inside of her husband's carcass. Looking for something. Taking apart his body in order to find it. Trying to get it out of him. Trying to save him. About to break open his skull when she had finally been found and taken away to the madhouse.

Even then he had considered killing her daughter. Yet it had not seemed important. She had been, after all, only a girl.

But this - meeting her, after all this time. The powerful presence of her that he had sensed. A strange happening. A phenomenon that was unlikely to be mere chance.

Rammon rarely assumed that anything was mere chance.

He shrugged inwardly. There would be time enough to deal with her.

 

5

 

That night, lying in her bed, Hexiya found it hard to sleep. When she closed her eyes she could see the man as if he was standing before her. As if his image, burning before her, had indelibly seared itself upon her retinas.

When she did at last drift into an unpleasant half-sleep, she dreamed of him. Menacing, terrifying images marched across her mind. But they were only nightmares - not the real-seeming visions she had of searching for Kaledria, or of Obenaia and Romgallak.

An hour before dawn, she abruptly awoke. A silent scream was upon her lips and she sat bolt upright in bed. Sweat was damp on her chest and back.

At last she remembered him.

She had seen him - just glimpsed him for a moment. On that terrible day when her father had died. When she had gone down to his workshop and all that remained was blood upon the floor.

The man had been standing outside the building, leaning against a wall. He had seemed uninterested in her or in what had taken place there.

At the time she had thought very little about him. In her anguished state she had barely noticed how imposing a figure he was.

Now, in the darkness of pre-dawn, she tried to recall him as she had seen him all those years ago.

He had been tall and heroically proportioned - this she remembered. He had been carrying two swords, then as now. He had been bearded and had had long, black hair. It seemed that he had not aged at all in the intervening years.

She also recalled that she had felt a deep unease as she had passed by him, as if an almost tangible darkness of the spirit had been radiating from him. Later she must have dismissed the feeling as being associated with her father's awful death.

But the man's skin . . . Had it had a metallic sheen? This was a detail that she could not quite bring to mind. Which was surprising, since it should have struck her more strongly than anything else about him.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

 

1

 

On the eve of the Winter Festival, people thronged the streets and hurried on errands of preparation. They talked more than on a usual day, but more quietly. Hushed, excited whispers drifted around the marketplaces and shops. Incense and smoke drifted in the air from the temples. Drums beat low and steadily from the sacred avenues of the Hill of the Moons.

Hexiya, on her way to the university, observed the heightened activity. All seemed as it should be. And yet some vague sense of threat and disquiet made her stop suddenly as she was making her way past a bazaar. Putting her back to a wall, she watched the people around her with a keener scrutiny.

They were wrapped up against the chill. Their breath frosted in front of them. Traders and hawkers, craftsmen and musicians, smiths and chandlers, wheelwrights and carpenters shouted and persuaded and joked. Customers peered and examined and haggled and feigned outrage at the prices. A pair of nobles, dressed almost as strikingly as the provocative harlots that beckoned from shadowy archways, talked with a jewel-smith. A wagon loaded high with barrels rumbled through the midst of it all, drawn by beasts that lowed and snorted and made people scramble out of the way.

Everything seemed as it should be. And yet Hexiya knew that it was not.

She closed her eyes and relaxed her body. She breathed deeply, feeling the chill air sliding icily over her tongue and down her throat.

She heard suspicion beneath the cheerfulness of greetings. She heard unease when a deal was struck. She heard the uneven rhythm of steps that betrayed fear in a man who walked by.

Closer she focused her attention . . . An old woman's breathing was too rapid . . . The scent of the sweat of a young temple courtesan betrayed that she was afraid . . . Hearts beat too rapidly, or jerked suddenly faster, as if a simple word or look was a shock.

Then, opening her eyes, she looked at the auras around her. She saw the swirling blue flames of a group of passing soldiers; the spiralling golden rivers of a beautiful priestess; the dark green blaze of a blacksmith; the muted silver and maroon threads of a thief. The inner workings of all the people in the bazaar mixed in a great sea of prismatic colours. The tides and currents of them filled the air and swirled through it.

And then she saw that beneath the colours of each person was another - a hue that had been almost hidden from her but which could not altogether elude her gaze. It was dark red, and shimmered and pulsed. On each man and woman and child it writhed like a snake of blood, crawling under the more usual tones of their auras. Hiding, watching and waiting. Not powerful for the moment. Almost insignificant. But present nonetheless.

What was it? she wondered. A communal fear? Triggered, perhaps, by the fact that the city of Akadar was threatening war against Varanta?

She did not know.

After a while she gave up her scrutiny and focused her awareness upon herself.

Her own aura was invisible. It suggested only heat - radiation that could not normally be seen. When she saw that there was no underlying redness there, no snake of blood, she felt a measure of relief.

 

2

 

Aratha was already there when Hexiya entered the large laboratory on the third floor of the Biological Sciences building.

The middle-aged woman smiled. 'Good morning,' she said. Sitting at one of the benches, sorting slides next to a microscope, she was neatly turned out and looked curiously pleased with herself.

Hexiya nodded in return, pleasant as always, and tried not to show her puzzlement. Aratha was very rarely in so early. When she was she always looked rather unkempt and irritable. She preferred the night.

She busied herself at the cupboards, taking down the equipment she would need for the experiments she wanted to do on the newly-discovered creatures. As she did so, she surreptitiously regarded Aratha. Hunched over her microscope, the woman had her back to her.

Hexiya concentrated upon her aura. She saw the billowing flames of green and silver that she had seen before - her characteristic colours. But peering closer, she also saw the pulsing, dark red hue beneath the outer fiery veil. It was as if thick, ropy veins were encircling her in an obscene embrace - almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless.

Reaching out with her mind, Hexiya allowed Aratha's feelings and emotions to flow through her. She felt the woman's fascination with what she was studying. She felt her pleasure in her work. She felt the cheerfulness of her mood. But she also felt, underneath it all, the opposite of what was on the surface - confusion, loss, anger, frustration, and an undeniable hint of malice.

She did not know what it might mean. All she knew was that something was wrong with her. Aratha was . . . different. Changed. Superficially healthy, but in a way that lacked substance.

As she regarded her, Aratha swung round on her stool and said: 'Look at this.' She gestured to her microscope and the slide she had been examining.

Hexiya stepped over to her and looked through the eye-pieces. Greatly magnified, she saw cells in neat rows. Muscle tissue, she thought, not dissimilar to that of mammalian flesh. There did not seem to be anything unusual about the sample.

'Zoom in a little,' said Aratha. Hexiya did not miss the eagerness in her voice.

She did so, down to a resolution where just a few cells filled her field of vision.

They were moving slowly. Pseudopodia and glass-like filaments extended, reached, touched and retracted.

'Magnificent, isn't it?' said Aratha.

Hexiya stood straight again and looked at her.

'That cell-sample comes from this,' said Aratha, picking up a glass beaker. At the bottom was a yellowish mass that moved slowly. 'It was one of the tentacles of the first creature I showed you. It just came apart while I was examining it. Within seconds the whole limb had dissolved into its constituent cells. I'm wondering if it might form a new organism. Perhaps of the same form. Or perhaps something else.' She looked pleased and excited. 'Do have another look into the microscope,' she continued. 'They will have changed just in the time I've been talking to you.'

Hexiya bent and looked again.

The cells had gone black. They were moulding themselves to each other in some way.

'Zoom out a little,' suggested Aratha.

She did so, and what she saw was shocking and seemed impossible. The cells had combined into a precise and unmistakeable pattern.

They had formed into an image of her own face.

Even as she wondered at what she was looking at, she sensed sudden movement from behind her.

Instinct made her step sideways, but a pain slashed across her arm beneath her elbow.

'I'm sorry!' squealed Aratha. She was holding a glass slide. The corner had caught Hexiya just below her elbow. 'I slipped!'

Hexiya looked down. Blood was welling from a shallow cut on her inner forearm. Then she looked into Aratha's face. She saw the fear and alarm that were revealed there. And underneath them she saw a hot look of cruel satisfaction. The woman's eyes seemed to glow for a moment with dark malice.

'Give me the slide,' said Hexiya. She held out her hand.

Aratha looked down at the glass sliver. 'Why?' she asked, reaching towards the sink to wash it under one of the taps.

Hexiya grasped her wrist, swiftly but gently. She took the slide from her fingers. 'Careful,' she said with pretended concern. 'The glass is broken. Don't cut yourself as well as me.'

'Oh. Of course.' Bewilderment seemed suddenly to fill the woman. It was as if she had just woken up and was not quite sure where she was. 'I'm sorry, Hexiya. Well now. I'll get on with my work I think.'

 

3

 

Hexiya spent the rest of the morning in a laboratory just down the corridor from the one where Aratha was working. She wanted to know what the biologist had infected her with. She had no doubt that something had been on the glass slide.

She took a sample of her own blood and looked at it under the faculty's most powerful microscope. She saw nothing amiss. She performed chemical tests on another sample. They revealed nothing out of the ordinary at all.

Feeling fine, she spent the afternoon working as usual. In the evening, however, she went down to the human pathology lab. Though she had not found anything earlier, she wanted some further tests performed. Perhaps whatever Aratha had introduced into her bloodstream had been in too small a quantity to detect in the morning, but was now spreading or multiplying.

Radrinn was there, the young man who did most of the examinations. He smiled as he saw her. His brown hair was uncombed and he was eating a sandwich. Though he tried to conceal the fact that he was in awe of and infatuated with Hexiya, it was written all over his boyish face. He could barely keep his eyes off her.

'Hexiya!' he said. 'You're working late. What can I help you with?'

She was surprised to find herself smiling at him. She liked his genuineness, his enthusiasm and his sensitivity.

'I wondered if you could give me a blood test. I'm not feeling that well.' This was a lie - she felt no different than usual.

'Well, of course. Let me get a needle.'

She sat quietly as he swabbed a patch on her arm and took a sample.

'I'll get right on it,' he said. 'I can give you the results tomorrow if you want.'

'I'll wait,' she replied. 'I'd like it done straight away.'

He frowned, a touch of concern in his eyes. 'All right.'

'Anything I can help you with?' she asked.

'Well. Just keeping me company would be nice.' He looked both embarrassed and glad that he had asked.

An hour later they sat down in the coffee area and Radrinn looked at the notes he had made. He squinted.

'There's a substance here I don't recognise,' he said. 'Just a moment.' He disappeared into the next room and Hexiya heard him searching through some books.

Soon he came back with an outsize volume, sat down, and compared a table of chemicals with the results of the blood test.

'Something strange here,' he said, as much to himself as to her. 'This can't be right.'

'What is it?'

'There's a chemical in your blood . . . Or not, more likely . . . I think it must be an error of some kind.'

'What chemical?'

'One that's only found in extremely small quantities in humans. Or in any mammals, for that matter. But in certain reptiles - hunting lizards and the like - it is found in higher concentrations. Glands secrete it into their brains in times of excitement. It turns them into killers.'

'What is the concentration in my blood?'

He shook his head. 'According to this, it's about ten times higher than what you'd find in a lizard-brain in the midst of a kill.' For a moment he looked worried, then dismissed his concern. 'Well, it must be an error of some kind. If you did have such a chemical in your bloodstream in such a large quantity, it'd render you utterly insane. I'll just have to do the test again.'

Hexiya nodded. 'Thank you, Radrinn. But this time I think I will wait until tomorrow.'

'All right Hexiya. I'll see you tomorrow then.' He looked down, suddenly self-conscious about his eagerness that she come.

She turned on the threshold. 'Radrinn?'

'Yes?'

'You know, I've never been ill in my entire life. I've never even had a cold. Doesn't that strike you as strange?'

His eyes widened. 'Well, it's incredible, yes. Something you should be really glad of, too.'

'Have you ever met anyone else who has never been ill?'

He frowned and shook his head. 'No. You're the first.'

'Well. Goodnight, Radrinn.'

'Goodnight Hexiya.'

As she walked the long corridor to the main entrance, she thought: That chemical is in my bloodstream. It wasn't an error. But I'm immune.

She also wondered what could have induced Aratha - a kind, decent person - to have infected her with such a thing.

 

 

Continued in Part 6

**

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