 
WHAT SOME EARLY READERS HAVE SAID:

'...I loved the experience of the read... I was whisked away into fantasy.... Apples of Aeden really is an epic. A huge rich story in the telling. Your writing is, as always, sublime....'

\- Rachel Taylor (Muse, writer)

I do find the thing as a whole very remarkable – the wealth of detail, the extent of the imagined world, the concept in its totality.'

\- Christopher Goj (Editor, writer)

'...this enchanting tale will help to shape the renaissance mythology for the new millennium. ... one girl's transformation on her journey to save the soul of the universe... For the first time since reading The Lord of the Rings, my imagination's fancy soared with the landscapes created in my mind's eye...'

\- Anna Harris (Doctor. Admittedly possible bias - she is Peter's daughter)

'ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS!! I mean seriously, move aside J.K Rowling!'

\- Olivia Brandt (then 11)

''Better than Harry Potter! ...Some say, and I fully believe, that there are only three true stories in the universe and that the rest are just twisted retellings of the original tales. However... I have unearthed a fourth...'

\- Alice Bailey (then 14)

'Breathtaking, spellbinding, a lovely exciting read... thank you for re-awakening me to Faery.'

\- Ian Leighton (Gardener)

'A well-written book, supremely imaginative. I prefer it to "The Lord of the Rings." A great story.'

\- Lucie Warham (Our most senior reader so far, at the venerable age of 90)

Volume one of the Apples of Aeden pentalogy

### The Girl and the Guardian

Based upon the First, Second and Third Enneads of Aeden, (the Lore of the Nine Worlds), and on the diary of Shelley Arkle.* Compiled in narrative form by Christopher Hill,* with the blessing of Ainenia, Lady of Aeden.

*(Fictional names to preserve identities.)

By Peter Harris with John Harris

Smashwords Edition - colour

October 2012

www.applesofaeden.com

(temporarily: www.applesofaeden.wordpress.com)

Copyright © Peter and John Harris 2006, 2007, 2012

Artwork by Peter Harris

Published by

Aeden Print, an imprint of Eutopia Press, a division of Dreamspace Limited, Peter's vehicle for this-worldly manifestation of otherworldly visions.

P.O. Box 37, Kaiwaka 0542, New Zealand. Ph. 09 4312 178

peter@eutopia.co.nz

Dedication

To my brother John, the Blue Knight, who first saw the White Horse and the Frozen Army, and discovered the land of Namaglimmë. He collaborated in the exploration thereof, and funded this writing over long years of my dilatory narrative labours, while the book grew from the originally anticipated one volume to the present three.

Also to all the early readers, critics and encouragers: Alice, Anna, Christopher, Dayna, Donna, Elaine, Ellen, Ian, Marc, Laura, Marie, Olivia, Petra, Raewyn, Rosa, 'Tink', Xanthe, Yummy; and our mother and father, without whom (for good or ill) none of this could ever have been.

P.J.H.

In the beginning of the Ages was the Song of the Makers in the forests of the Green World.

One day the Traveller Emerglím alighted on the Green World, bringing a Living Crystal.

These were the founders of the Order: the Makers, the Travellers, and the Living Crystals.

In Aeden they made Namaglimmë, the Starfish Isle, and planted apple groves bearing the seed of Jeweltrees from the Green World.

In the centre of the Island was planted the Tree of Life, and in the crown of the Tree was the golden Heartstone, a Living Crystal which linked the nine Worlds by the power of the lightning.

So the Unfolding was guided in wisdom, and Faery was revealed. Thus began the Golden Age of the Order.

But certain of the Travellers also made the Vapáglim, perilous devices which fold space using the Power of the Void, and the Dark Entities approached.

Then the Makers departed to do battle with them, and they have not returned. The abode of the Travellers became Phangkor, the Darkened World, and they were named the Aghmaath, enemies of Life, whose dark thoughts twist the Unfolding, and by their thoughts even their bodies were deformed, and they brought the thorns into Aeden.

So began the Silver Age of the Keepers.

Then Athmad and Ewana stole the Jewel of Knowledge, and the World of Edartha fell into darkness, and was sundered from Aeden.

So began the Bronze Age of the Guardians.

Then arose the Limnakorites, who denied the Balance, and there was war on Aeden, and the men usurped power over the women.

So began the Iron Age of Schism and the long decline.

-Ennead of Aeden, Of the Fall of the Order of the Makers.

For nearly six thousand years the Tidak Nama guarded the Tree of Life against the Aghmaath. But in the third year of Korman son of Entanifer, a boy came into Aeden, and he stole the Heartstone. Then the Tree began to die, and the lightning ceased on the Tor Enyása. And because of the dark Mindwebs of the Aghmaath, Faery was hidden, until the coming of the Kortana.

\- Narrator.

Contents

Book One

(Being the Narrator's Tale and introduction to the World of Aeden and how he found out about Shelley. Young readers could skip this for now and read from Chapter 8, where her story begins.)

Kor-Edartha

Narrator's Preamble

1 "What will follow is Hidden"

2 The Mystery of the Lost Templar Knight

3 The Sacred Yew of Iffley

4 The Ouvron

5 The Labyrinth of Chartres

6 The Forest Portal of Silverwood

7 The Narrator's Dream

Book Two

Kor-Aedenya

8 Shelley's Dream

9 The Leaf

10 Detour to Silverwood

11 Out of the Storm

12 Two Strangers

13 The Deathwagon

14 The Boy Raiders

15 The Guardian

16 The Cave of the Padmaddim

17 The Battle for the Mind

18 The Mindstone

19 A Reprieve

20 The Apples of Peace

21 Bootnip and the Birthday Cake

22 Into the Badlands

23 Moonbird Hollow

24 Ambush at Thorngate

25 The High Pass

26 The Bottomless Canyon

27 At the Flying Unicorn

28 The Eel of Ill Omen

29 The Battle of Baz Apédnapath

30 The Monks of the Zagonamara

31 The Keepers of Baldrock

32 The Crystal Lotus

33 Quickblade's Request

34 The Hermits of the Void

35 The White Ürxura

Book Three

The Valley of Thorns

36 The Waveriders

37 The Hidden Valley

38 Shelley and Quickblade

39 A Fateful Pact

40 Journey to the Brink

41 The Dead Forest

42 The Fellowship of the Void

43 The Ruined Temple

44 The Avenue of Despair

45 Korman and the Lady

46 The Dark Labyrinth

47 Shelley and the Serpent

48 The Narrator's Postscript

Appendices

Appendix 1 - English Glossary

Appendix 2 - Aedenyan Glossary

Coins of Aeden

Appendix 3 - Chapter notes from the Ennead of Aeden

Maps of Aeden

About us

Book One

Kor-Edartha

Just before the destruction of Atlantis, a silver seed of the Apples of Aeden was borne over the seas to a far southern land, where it was planted in a forest still called Silverwood though the Trees, and the true memory of them, have long since perished from Edartha.

- Ennead of Aeden

Narrator's Preamble

This book tells of a remarkable girl named Shelley Arkle; how she came to be swept up into the latest, perhaps the final, struggle against an ancient foe. Thanks to her we are on the verge of a new Golden Age in this part of the galaxy – if we win, that is.

And if we lose? – Unthinkable horror.

What you are about to hear has to do with the true history of Earth and its part in the Alliance of Nine Worlds, now spoken of openly for the first time in thousands of years. Great things are afoot! For this is, in a sense, the story of Paradise lost and – we hope – Paradise regained.

Who am I, and how do I come to know these things? I am just a student of ancient history, turned storyteller (and fugitive) due to certain stupendous discoveries, which led to my meeting the Girl and becoming caught up in her quest. The present volume begins with a first-person account of these discoveries. Hopefully my own story will provide an historical background to Shelley's – and show that the connections between Earth and Aeden are still very real. The enemy which pursued Shelley on Aeden also has its sinister representatives here on Earth.

And who is the Guardian? You must read the rest of the book to find that out.

Now, let my story be its own witness. Only remember, as the saying goes: 'Truth is where we find it.' So we must try to keep an open heart and mind. As I have been learning, things here on Earth are not quite as they seem...

If you do keep an open heart and mind, and believe what I am about to tell you, then you will be important, through your thoughts and actions, perhaps vitally important, in the Unfolding of the Events that are to come. And that is why Shelley has asked me to write this book.

A word on the presentation of this account: I cannot claim to be a rigorous historian, still less a novelist, but in the spirit of Aeden I have taken on the mantle of Narrator, and I hope that you will be at least entertained, and more importantly, inspired and stirred into action by thought and deed to affect the Unfolding on behalf of all you hold dear.

I have compiled short relevant extracts from the Enneads (the books of the chronicles, prophecies and epic poems of Aeden, divided in honour of the Nine Worlds into nine books or sections) and inserted these at hopefully appropriate places in the narrative. There are more in the appendix.

It was very hard to know what to include and what to leave out. We have, of course, an enormous new field of knowledge both 'scientific' and 'magical' to explore and come to terms with, but for present purposes I hope to give you an inkling of the vast – in fact interstellar and perhaps even intergalactic – territories, huge time-spans, and new realms of the mind and spirit, opened up by this contact. If at any point (such as in the Cave of Barachthad, where Shelley learns much about Aeden in a short time) the factual details overwhelm, you may safely skip that point; there is a lexicon and glossary at the back for quick reference later.

For the sake of clarity, I have taken some liberties with Shelley's diary, which was entrusted to me in tragic circumstances.

Finally, with the help of a certain 'Mindstone' also entrusted to me, I have had experiences of many things written in the Ennead. It was as if I were present at the very events described. This has helped in the comprehension of some very deep matters, otherwise far beyond my limited capacities.

C. H.

Chapter One

"What will follow is Hidden"

One autumn morning not so long ago (though it seems like another age altogether – perhaps it was?) I sat, trembling with excitement, at the cluttered oak desk in my cosy little study in Oxford, England, ecstatically poring over a very old manuscript which I had (I guiltily confess) stolen. Humming along to the Gregorian chant playing on my old gramophone, nervously jiggling my foot until the empty teacups on the desk rattled, I wiped my glasses on the clean tail of my tea-stained shirt, mentally savouring the occasion. What fateful secrets might be hidden on the fragile piece of paper I held in my hands?

My name is, shall we say, Christopher Hill. I was (and theoretically still am, against increasing odds) struggling to finish a PhD in medieval history, on the mysterious doings of the nine founders of the Knights Templar. The official course has been a long, exasperating, nervously exhausting journey through the maze of academic requirements, endless study of papers in journals arguing with previous papers on points of little import, when all along (I freely confess) I wanted only to pursue my deep passion, which was to uncover the true historical core of stories that had fascinated me since boyhood, of the Knights of the Round Table, the Lady of the Lake, the Holy Grail, Merlin, Excalibur, Camelot, Avalon, and of course, the Knights Templar.

Ah, those Knights Templar! Step by step, this quest of mine had inexorably led me (against the urgent professional advice of my thesis supervisors) to investigate the alleged esoteric doings of that controversial Order, a subject beloved of 'cranks' of every stripe, most of very dubious historical integrity. A subject, in a word, to be avoided by the prudent academic, lest he be tarred with the same brush as the 'flakes, cranks and loopies,' and fail to be accepted by the all-important Journals. As my father always reminded me, the reality for us academics is, 'Publish [in the approved scholarly Journals] or perish.' But I was never one to be put off by 'realities', as my father often complained. And as it turned out, it is a very good thing that I was not.

Back to the Templars. These knights were a unique order of warrior-monks, who wore white mantles emblazoned with a red Maltese Cross and grew their beards to distinguish them from lesser fraternities. Answerable only to the Pope, and mysteriously exempt from taxes, their Order became extremely wealthy and influential, but the individual knights were bound by a vow of poverty (this much at least is well-documented and accepted by all historians).

The intriguing account commonly circulated by the Templar enthusiasts, but dismissed by academic historians (at least, those who publish in Journals, especially since the whole subject has become 'excessively popular' thanks to certain fiction books based on 'dodgy' research), claims that these first Templars had not been in Jerusalem to protect the Christian pilgrims (their ostensible aim), but were on a secret mission to find certain lost treasures of the Temple. They were successful beyond their wildest dreams (so the story goes), stumbling upon the hidden entrance to the tunnels beneath the old Temple site. These caves were once the underground stables for the warhorses of King Solomon, but they had long been sealed off. When the Romans laid siege to the city and the priests knew it was doomed, they hid all the ancient treasures of Israel, including the golden Ark of the Covenant containing the mysterious Tables of Testimony (and other treasures amassed from foreign lands, especially Egypt), in the secret caves beneath the Temple.

The successful knights, the story continues, were then summoned back to France by their patron, the Cistercian Abbot, St Bernard de Clairvaux. They obeyed, returning with the most valuable of the treasures, and a secret council was held.

At this point all the sources (those in circulation, if they are not simply copies of each other) end, leaving many tantalising questions unanswered.

But I, like many before me, could not let it rest there. In a compulsive quest for new sources, arcane or mundane, that might throw new light on the origins of this mysterious Order, I travelled to an area hitherto unaccountably neglected by Templar historians: the Languedoc-Roussillon region in the south of France. I had read (in a book most definitely not on the Required Reading list in the department: The Templar Revelation, by Lynn Picknett and Clive Prince), that over thirty percent of all Templar sites in Europe were to be found in this one small region, yet many key sites had never been archeologically investigated. But, as Picknett and Prince found, there are in the Languedoc certain unfunded (therefore labelled 'amateur') research groups of apparent integrity which have made some startling discoveries (unpublished, of course, in the Journals, though very well documented). It was to one of these that I went, spending the last of my departmental funding to do so, and risking disciplinary action when I returned.

Through the help of this group, I made my first big discovery, in a dusty local archive in one of the small, remote mountain villages of the region (I will not name it yet, to preserve the integrity of the research there. The custodian was most concerned to avoid a rush of 'barbarian' treasure-hunters). The document I found was an old letter, tucked into the back of a devotional diary kept by one of the Knights of the outer circles. It was written on a small sheet of rough-edged rag paper, in a small, neat hand, and only took up the first third of it. The writer, I began to realize with rising excitement, had been privy to secret documents reserved only for the immensely secretive inner circle, those of the 'Third Degree.' She (yes, a woman: that is one of the surprising facts uncovered by the 'amateurs': there were many women in the Order, at least in the earlier years) – she had felt the need to write to her mother, explaining her imminent departure. Roughly translated from the old French the letter read:

Dearest mother,

May the Lady forgive me, I who am the least of your daughters but the greatest in grief to you! I must write this, lest he whom I will not name, presently ravaging the Languedoc in the name of Christ, takes us also, and the secret is lost. Also, so that if we disappear you will know that we have embarked upon a long voyage, with little hope of returning, but a great hope of finding a new and better World in which we may begin anew, free from oppression.

My Beloved has told me things about the Order I had not dreamt possible, and confessed to me his desire to leave these troubles and seek that better World for our children.

Against his wishes, I have decided to write these words to you in case we do not live to see our hope fulfilled. My Beloved wishes us to follow Gondemare. Who knows if we can persuade the others to spare a ship? What will follow is hidden. For none know the future. Alas for us that we should live in such times!

Farewell from across the water,

Your loving daughter.

The rest of the page was blank – not even a signature. Wiping away tears which threatened to fall on the paper, I turned the letter over; the back was also blank. I wondered sadly, nervously, why the letter had not been sent; perhaps the presence of what looked like bloodstains on it and the cover of the book was all the explanation I needed – or would get.

'So,' I thought, 'another cryptic manuscript, yet another tragedy from the past, leaving yet more unanswered questions!' Of course, my father, a crusty old 'Don' in the Psychology Department at Oxford, would have said that is how they are best left, as they have no answer, being 'merely the projection of our human need for mystery upon a perfectly mundane world.' But I knew he was wrong, in my bones I knew it. I felt that all he thought he knew of the world was suspect, because it was filtered through his scepticism, which is merely a bias for the known and against the unknown. A bias based on fear...

I myself had known fear of the unknown in earlier years, having had a complete nervous breakdown, and suffered numerous delusions (so I am told) before re-emerging with catastrophic memory loss, sane but afraid of a relapse into a condition I could not even remember for myself. I am to this day quite unable to recall my life before the age of fifteen, but must rely on photos and family lore (not readily forthcoming: my father – and mother – wish that I would not try to 'dig up the past', but instead 'look forward to the future.' But I feel strongly that the key to the future is often to be found only by walking the Labyrinth of the past, and solving its puzzles.

However, I must confess that as I followed my own advice and delved deeper, I began to be troubled by very odd dreams, only remembered in vivid fragments, which left me nervous, headachy and (one might say) somewhat paranoid the next morning, reaching shakily for the aspirin washed down with strong tea. Tea helped, usually; at least it was milder in its effects than the strong instant coffee I had once been addicted to. Cycling also helped. The aerobic exercise and the fresh air cleared my head and lifted my spirits.

I had begun to notice, or imagine I noticed, certain resonances between the dreams and the things I was researching. The dreams did not, as one would expect, merely reflect the things I had learned during the day; they went beyond them, giving me glimpses into strange realms both wonderful and alarming, which always somehow felt connected to the matters I was researching. I said nothing of the dreams to my father – I knew what he would say, and did not want him recommending drugs to me, or worse still, a voluntary internment in a psychiatric ward. On the rare occasions when my parents visited, I tried to keep my facial grimaces (a side-effect of the growing nervousness I was experiencing) to a minimum. Also the foot-jiggling when sitting on the couch having tea, trying unsuccessfully to make small talk and avoid mentioning the Templars...

To return to that dusty archive office: there I was, shaking, wrung with emotions I did not fully understand, in my hand a letter which referred to a planned expedition of which the accepted histories of Templar doings say nothing. Where were they planning to go? What did she mean by 'follow Gondemare'? What secret prompted this Templar couple to risk all and sail into the unknown, leaving the only World they knew? I leaned back in the creaky old chair at the small reading desk, and pondered. Why did the woman speak of the secret being lost if she did not write that letter? What secret? There was nothing in the letter that would.... I re-read it, slowly this time, pondering each phrase.

Suddenly one phrase stood out as if illuminated. My heart skipped a beat. Of course!

What will follow is hidden.

Looking at the blank page, glowing in the light that slanted from the small window of the office, I was overcome with curiosity, not to say greed for knowledge. I did something for which I later castigated myself endlessly, though at the time it seemed the only thing to do: I carefully slipped the precious letter under my woollen undergarment (it was freezing in the Languedoc at that time, though normally mild compared to England), and walked out of the archive office, trying not to bend and damage the brittle paper.

I am not a thief, in any way, shape or form, and I hate theft as a violation of a person's – or a nation's – very being. I think all national treasures should be returned to the countries of origin, whatever the risks to them there. They should be where they were created to be. Elgin's marbles for example – what a scandal! They belong to Greece, not England. Yet here I was, removing such a treasure from its native land. I was no better than Elgin. So I trembled with guilt and disturbance to my very psyche, and grimaced uncontrollably for a while when I got out of that place. I hesitated and almost turned back and owned up. But other forces were at work in me, and I walked on, straight to the nearest café, where I had a very strong cup of tea. I then took the first available bus to the nearest airport.

On the flight back to England, I could think of nothing but the letter, and what I might find when I examined that blank space. I was sure that it would contain a hidden message, written in invisible ink. Perhaps it would also be coded; the Templars used many devices such as this to preserve their secrets. 'What will follow is hidden' – I kept hearing those words over and over as I sped homewards.

Chapter Two

The Mystery of the Lost Templar Knight

I now return to that moment when I sat again at my own desk, heart beating, poring over the yellowing paper.

At first I used a magnifying glass to look for any faint markings which I might have missed in the dingy archive in France. But there was nothing apart from the dark bloodstains. Next, I became more drastic. I held a blow-dryer to the blank space, moving it rapidly across the page to avoid scorching, hardly daring to breathe. Nothing appeared, but the paper became scorched and brittle as a dead leaf. I was about to dampen the sheet to try and reverse this effect, but thought better of it, and rushed off to the library. I got out the most technical books on alchemy I could find, and rushed back home. I devoured the books, looking for a technique that might have been used at that time for the invisible writing I was sure was on the letter. I learned that steganography (from the Greek 'covered or hidden writing') is the art of hiding the presence of a message, which may or may not itself be encrypted. The challenge is always, how does one hide it in such a way as to be easily enough revealed by the right method, but concealed from all other methods? I learned that invisible inks, being wet, often leave a tiny disturbance in the fibres of the paper, or tiny crystals, or make it shinier, so that viewed obliquely in strong light or under a magnifying glass the writing can possibly be discerned – unless the paper is dampened and dried again before writing. And heat will reveal any inks made from organic substances, by carbonising. So, I knew it was not an organic ink, having nearly incinerated the paper! I read on. 'Sometimes, if there was nothing else available, the sender of the message would use water only...usually there would be some word in the 'cover text' to alert the recipient as to the method used. For example, "cabbage" would indicate the use of vinegar, which being acidic turns red cabbage-water blue...' I glanced back at the letter. Nothing about cabbages...but the last sentence leapt out at me:

Farewell from across the water

'That's it!' I cried. I went back to the book, and read, 'The recipient would then use iodine fumes to reveal the tiny disturbance in the fibres. The disadvantage of this method was that if the paper became wet before being received, the message would be lost.' I felt sick – I had so nearly dampened the letter after scorching it! I looked carefully for any sign of disturbed fibres – nothing. I would have to try iodine. 'But did they even have iodine in those days?' I wondered as I dashed off to the chemist's. Then I remembered, the Templars were up on Alchemy, and may well have known of it.

Back at my ad hoc laboratory, I heated some crystals of iodine in the oven, put the letter in, and reeled back as the purple, choking fumes billowed out. I opened all the windows (a neighbour putting out her washing stared up disapprovingly; I waved. 'Old battle-axe!' I muttered, and tried unsuccessfully not to grimace). Turning off the oven, I pulled the letter out with serving tongs and put it on the kitchen table.

'Eureka!' I cried. There was new writing, in brown iodine, where all had been blank. It was not in code, but very faint, as the background was scorched, thanks to my earlier efforts. I read it greedily, struggling a little with the archaic French.

Dear reader: If you be my mother or a Friend, read on, and the blessing of our Lady be upon you. If Foe, read no further, or be accursed by Her.

'It's all right, I am a friend – I hope!' I muttered, not liking the idea of being cursed by a dead woman...

Dear Mother, I write this as a witness in case our mission fails:

My Beloved spoke of a silver medallion found in that hoard which remains secret.

'That will be the treasure they found under the Temple!' I thought, and feverishly read on.

It was locked in a small wooden casket along with a map marking the location of a magical place within a grove of giant trees. An inscription in Hebrew was written on the map:

Where is the door to the Garden of Aeden?

What is the way to the Tree?

Sail south to a land where the stars are strange

Then you must use the Key.

One of the founding brothers, Gondemare, late in life, secretly set sail on a ship named the Dove, in search of that unknown southern land, taking with him the map and the medallion. Gondemare's ship never returned. We mean to follow after him, for my beloved has now a copy of that map. I will draw it for you...

But there the writing stopped. There was a short scrawl which may have been the beginning of the map, but it trailed off. I imagined the terror which had interrupted that urgent message, and shook my head, tears forming in my eyes. I screwed up my eyes, and grimaced until my head began to hurt. But I could not help myself; I kept thinking. What, I wondered, was this 'key?' Was it perhaps the medallion? And how did the ancient writer of the poem know of a southern land so far south that the 'stars are strange'? I began to hope and dream that the medallion could be from an earlier, as-yet unknown civilisation, perhaps even (via Sheba or Egypt) the mythical Atlantis. I conceived an urgent desire to go to that southern land, wherever it was – in spite of the fact that I fear travel to strange places (France, oddly, was an exception to this phobia). I looked up the atlas, to check what lands are at the bottom of the globe. There were not many choices. It had to be Antarctica, or Australia, or New Zealand. Even then, I had a strange sense of déjà vu, a premonition that the mystery of the past would be unlocked there. Little did I know what a strange future would also unfold in that place...

Meanwhile I was, in a sense, no further ahead. As I sat in a daze at the kitchen table, waiting for the kettle (metal, not plastic – what is this modern faith in the safety of chemically concocted materials?) to boil for a much-needed cup of tea, sunlight streamed in the window and illuminated the letter. Just as the book said, the iodine began to evaporate, and the blank area slowly returned to its previous state. I felt a sense of desolation, as if a window on the past had been shut in my face. Then emotion overcame me, and I wept for the tragedy of those times, and the couple who never lived to set sail and follow Gondemare, and the grieving mother who never received the letter.

When I finally got over my sadness and disappointment, with the help of tea and toast, I noticed that the grimacing had gone, and I felt more peaceful than I had for a long while. I now turned once more to the known (or alleged) early history of the Templars.

After their stupendous find beneath the Temple, the Knights Templar brought back the rest of the treasure, including (so the popular non-orthodox account goes) the lost Ark of the Covenant and the Tables of Testimony, and with the knowledge of Sacred geometry which they learned therein, built the great Notre Dame cathedrals: Reims, Amiens, Paris, Evereux, Bayeux – and Chartres. These contained many secrets, it is said, of geometry and the laws of light and sound. And in Chartres they built a circular pavement Labyrinth on the floor beneath the great rose window. The pattern of this Labyrinth is said to have healing virtues when walked in meditation, tracing the winding path of the soul to the mystic Centre, or Womb, then back out into the World, transformed – reborn, as it were.

The cathedral of Notre Dame de Chartres was built over the site of the Grotte des Druides, dedicated to the Mother Goddess, a place of pilgrimage for thousands of years. There, it is claimed, the telluric earth currents or ley lines are most powerful, opening the site to other dimensions.

It was to Chartres, I felt, that the trail of the Knights Templar was now leading me. Another trip to France followed – much to my father's concern, when he heard of it. He knew that something was happening to me; the pace and intensity of my quest was increasing, and he expressed grave doubts at the direction I was taking. 'Given your past, it isn't wise,' he said, 'and your mother agrees.'

But at Chartres I was rewarded with an exciting new lead. I found, and took rubbings from, some little-known stone carvings and inscriptions in the Crypt, and elsewhere in the cathedral. I was about to pack up when, underneath the French and Latin names of more familiar ancient pilgrimage sites in France, I noticed some words in English, scratched faintly, as if hastily added to the list.

Next to these words was a roughly scratched circle with a small five-pointed star in the centre. I almost dismissed the thing as graffiti, the raving of some neo-pagan nutter – the pentacle made me nervous, even as a nominal Anglican, because of the association with paganism and even Satanism. (I did not then know what this once-sacred symbol had meant before it was 'demonised' by the Church.) But something made me bend closer to try to read the inscription. A chill ran up my spine when I read:

In Iffley by Isis lies the star key

I could not dismiss this message, whatever I felt about pentacles. I knew of an Iffley, in Oxfordshire not too far from my home, near the river Isis. There was an old church there, I recalled. And the 'star key' – could this be the Key mentioned in my Templar letter? What did the pentacle mean, if anything, and could an English church, Iffley, have some link with Chartres? Also, who had left this message – if it was any more than graffiti written by some eccentric – or satanic – English tourist?

Once more back in Oxford, I collapsed into the well-padded oak swivel-chair I loved, and pulled it up to my old oak desk, the comforting centre of my daily life. I reached out and switched on the gramophone. The scratchy old LP which had been playing when I first perused the stolen letter began to revolve, filling the little room with uplifting music (I subscribe to a theory that the analogue sound from a record has better effects on the mind than 'digital' sound, and notice that Gregorian chants, in particular, have a very soothing effect on frayed modern nerves). There was one more thing I needed. I jumped up, got a cup of tea and returned to my desk. There had been many questions raised by my research in Chartres, and I had almost forgotten the graffiti mentioning Iffley – I had made up my mind it was nothing but a silly, modern scrawl. Now, on impulse, I pushed aside the manuscripts of the Templars I had been reading, and going to my crowded bookcase which threatened to spill its piled-up contents onto the floor – where further books, oversized or awaiting sorting, lay in piles. I carefully pulled out an old volume on the churches and cathedrals of Europe. Perhaps, a credulous part of me whispered, against my better judgement, there was something recorded there that would indeed confirm a link between Chartres and Iffley?

The short article on Iffley Church contained nothing directly of help, but I read with interest that the sacred yew tree there greatly predates the church itself. As I went to put the book away and return to my 'serious' work, I thought, 'Perhaps the link between Chartres and Iffley is much older than the churches, and goes back to the pagan sites?' Grimacing involuntarily with nervous tension and guilt at the 'side-tracking,' I dived back into the quest.

At first there was nothing of relevance, though it absorbed and diverted me for an hour or more, while my suppressed guilt threatened to turn into another headache. I got another cup of tea, and began to feel better. 'After all,' I reasoned with my academic conscience, 'it's my life and my research. If I find nothing, be it upon my head. But if I do find something, it will be fantastic.'

More false leads and fascinating red herrings followed. Then, in an appendix on the history of the pagan sites the churches were built upon, I read about the sacred yews, trees of Life (and also of Death if one were silly enough to eat their leaves), which were often found at these sites. As an aside, the writer included as an illustration of the 'uncanny' reputation of the yew, a rather cryptic account of a knight, claiming to be a Templar but not wearing the Templar uniform, who simply appeared one day 'under the haunted yew tree' in a small village churchyard! This knight was 'put to the question' (a euphemism, I am afraid, for torture) by the local authorities as a suspected worker of black magic. He refused to speak except to say that he had seen 'Our Lady and the holy Tree of Life in Eden,' and was released (possibly with the intervention of the Templar Order), being deemed a madman, but not a heretic.

The tale ended there, and did not name the church. But I quickly checked the various possible sites in Oxfordshire (those that had ancient yew trees), and with a sense of impending discovery, I decided the best candidate was the yew at none other than Iffley Church. Located not twenty miles from where I lived, it was the very church mentioned in the scrawled inscription at Chartres, a cathedral which is full of Templar influences!

I resolved to cycle to Iffley Church the next day, a Saturday, straight after marking some undergraduate essays on the influence of the Cistercians on the Gothic movement. My PhD supervisor had asked me to see him on Monday, and given my recent unbudgeted trips to France 'chasing Templar myths,' I decided I had better at least get up to date with my marking.

The essays took a long time to get around to, and longer to mark, but finally I was finished. I decided to set off that day, even though it would mean staying overnight at an inn. I packed a few things for taking rubbings, a notebook and a photocopy of the Templar letter, plus the rubbings from Chartres, and also a few fossicking tools, and a crowbar, just in case. The sun was low and a chill was in the air as I turned my old ten-speed onto the road that led to Iffley – and the glorious prospect of new discoveries. Also, I must admit, the thought of vindicating my unorthodox opinions, and thereby proving my father wrong about the Templars and the wisdom of my quest, added spice to my elation.

Chapter Three

The Sacred Yew of Iffley

I cycled in as night was falling. A storm was brewing as I rang the doorbell at the local inn (The Tree, whose brochure promised 'Room rates include a good old-fashioned English breakfast'). My teeth chattered as I stood on the well-worn stone doorstep in gusts of icy wind. When I was finally ushered in, my glasses fogged up badly, but I hardly noticed as I warmed my hands before the fire, enjoying the heavenly smell of dinner cooking, and sipping a pint of excellent local ale.

The next morning I was woken by the infernal buzz of a two-stroke engine - directly under my window, it seemed. The storm, which had rattled the old leadlights in my upstairs room for most of the night, had abated, leaving a fresh stillness in the cold air – and leaves, which apparently had to be blown with noisy mechanical urgency into piles for disposal.

I sat down to breakfast tired and irritable with whoever had used the leafblower and rubbed my nose in the follies of the modern age, but expectant of great discoveries regarding the past. I looked at the old manuscript and the Chartres rubbings once more over a cup of tea. I decided what I would say to the Vicar at Iffley, should he interrupt me at my investigations of his tree. Then, after checking the contents of my knapsack once more, I stepped outside.

The leaf-blowing, Sabbath-breaking contractor had just finished his task, and I glared pointedly at his departing van before unlocking my bicycle and setting out for Iffley. Signs of storm damage were everywhere. The river Isis (odd name for an English river!) was up, swirling dead branches and other flotsam past the willows along the banks. It was still relatively early in the morning, and only a few cars passed me on the road to the church as I cycled briskly along, humming the Gregorian chant which had fixed itself in my mind, anticipating, fantasising about what I might find at Iffley. Especially I pondered the poem about the doorway into the lost Garden of Eden, and the 'Key' that might be a medallion. 'Could such a momentous thing really be hidden there?' I wondered.

As I dismounted in front of the old church, sparrows chirping in the greenery, nothing could have prepared me for the suddenness with which I was propelled into another reality, the ancient forest where coincidences pile up like autumn leaves, assumptions crumble and paths open up to things 'undreamed of in our poor philosophy.'

I leaned my bicycle against the churchyard fence and entered the grounds. Not having a permit for any of the poking around which I hoped to do, I attempted to impersonate a casual but respectful sightseer as I strolled down the path to the back of the church where the ancient yew stood. Cold drops from the wet bushes showered me as I passed. I was so engrossed in this impersonation, and resisting the urge to grimace, that I didn't notice the Vicar standing just around the corner of the church, and I had a rather embarrassing introduction to him, picking myself up from the slippery path where I had fallen at his feet. Looking up into a round, good-natured, elderly face, I apologised for the intrusion, and the expression of slight annoyance turned into a smile.

'Don't mention it, young man. I was just looking at the storm damage and didn't hear you coming.'

'The sacred yew,' I muttered, looking over his shoulder at the tousled treetop.

'You have an appreciation for trees? Well, just look what the storm did last night to the oldest yew in the district!' He shook his head sadly.

Together we approached the tree, surrounded by the oldest gravestones of the churchyard, which leaned this way and that, as old gravestones always seem to do. Somewhere high above, a crow cawed. I jumped. There was a distinctly uncanny feeling to the place, and it seemed to emanate from the tree. Almost enveloped by the dark evergreen branches was a worn old headstone topped with the encircled Celtic cross, a carved rose in its centre. 'The grave of our very own resident Anchorite, Annora,' said the Vicar, pointing to the moss-covered inscription. In the green shadows beyond was the huge knobbly trunk of the old yew.

'Well, do you notice anything odd about it?' said the Vicar as we stood facing the trunk, dwarfed by its venerable mass.

'Ah, the bark is flaky, the trunk is very, er... gnarled, almost swollen looking,' I volunteered shakily, grimacing in spite of myself. For this was the very tree I had intended to surreptitiously investigate! Now I was unaccountably afraid.

'Yes, well it is over fifteen hundred years old, you know – perhaps more. You can never really tell with these trees – the trunks of the oldest ones are always re-growth, leaving behind a hollow interior where the original trunk has finally rotted out. So in a sense, they never die. Hence their sacred reputation as "Trees of Life."'

'And Death,' I replied, uneasily.

'Yes. They were much in demand for wood from which the deadly English longbow was crafted; and every part of the tree is poisonous, except for the flesh of the fruit. But look, there's a crack right there, near the ground. I'd never noticed any sign of cracking in the trunk before. It is only the really old yews that are hollow. It is a sacred tree, of course, consecrated to the Goddess long before this church was built. Yes, don't look so shocked, I know I'm a Vicar, and we're not supposed to talk or even know about pagan things, but I believe, ah – what did you say your name was?'

'Christopher,' I offered.

'Ah, a good Christian name! – I believe, Christopher, there is an old wisdom that we need to find out about again, a wisdom in the bones of the Earth and the sacred trees that were planted in reverence for Her...'

'For whom?'

'Mother Earth, of course.'

'Yes, how very interesting. Could you perhaps tell me more about this tree?' I was keen to know how much he knew – or guessed.

'Well, just between you and me, I believe ancient trees like this are keys to the renewal of reverence for the divine in nature, Mother Earth as we call her. They hold an energy... have you felt it?'

'Well, um...' I grimaced and shuffled nervously under his keen glance. I was especially taken aback by his mention of keys. Perhaps this was all the graffiti had meant? Perhaps the Vicar himself had written it? As for his question about the energy of trees, I had felt something sometimes, standing in the shade of a great oak or elm.

'What's your background?' the Vicar asked while I still nervously pondered. 'Are you a religious man?'

I blushed and muttered something about being a 'nominal Anglican' and a student of the traditions and history of the Knights Templar. I noticed him start and look at me sharply. He took a deep breath, and replied, 'Well, well, that is very interesting, very – how should I say – coincidental. The Knights Templar, eh? Now, about that crack... oh, by the way, what did you say brought you here? You were not, I think, coming to the ten o'clock service?'

'Ah – I was considering it... That is to say, if I had time...'

He looked at me sceptically. 'I can't lie to a priest,' I thought self-reprovingly.

'Well, actually, I came especially about this tree, Father. I wanted to examine it... not to hurt it of course, in any way...'

At that moment he noticed the crowbar protruding from my rucksack.

'Of course not, my son, of course not... but look here, you and I are on the same side, I think. Now, would you lend me that crowbar you happen to have in your rucksack?' He put out a large gnarled hand, smiling, with just a hint of a twinkle in his eye.

'Ah, yes, yes of course,' I stammered, grimacing in spite of myself, squirming inwardly with embarrassment. 'Here you are.'

What happened next is etched in my memory. The Vicar approached the uncanny tree, stepping over a fallen branch that was singed, perhaps from a lightning strike in the storm. As the crowbar touched the crack, it widened of its own accord. The crowbar sprang from his hand and thudded into the wet grass. Everything was deathly still. I noticed the quiet – even the birds had stopped chirping. The Vicar reeled back and stood there, wide-eyed and gasping. I let out a whoop that was half terror, half elation. Fascinated, I approached the gap. It was just wide enough to admit my head and shoulders sideways. I peered in cautiously, deathly afraid the gap might close over my head. In the icy darkness I smelt fresh sap (from the cracking of the trunk) over a deep musty smell of old earth and rotted leaves.

Unable to stand the suspense a second longer I withdrew my head and stepped back. Yet this was the moment I had been dreaming of, never fully believing it could happen. An obscure story in a dusty book, hardly believed, was turning into reality. This surely was the very tree out of which the Templar Knight had appeared!

'You have an idea what is down there, don't you?' said the Vicar, recovering his composure and looking penetratingly at me.

My glasses started to fog up. Trembling, I babbled, 'Ah well, yes, Father, perhaps I do... Sorry, I should have come clean. I'm not very good with people, living people you know... I live so much in the past, for the past really, if you understand... trying to bring it back to life... everything was so much more... real, I suppose. No TV, no motorways and pylons and noisy leaf-blowers and lawn-mowers, you know, that sort of thing – I mean, really, leaf-blowers! The world has gone mad Father, really it has! I wish I could have had the chance to be, say, one of the Knights Templar, Guardians of the Grail. Of course it was no picnic then either, defending the faith, life and death struggles, thinking you would fall off the edge of the World if you sailed too far... but it was real, Father, and the beauty of it all – yes I suppose that's it, the World was just more beautiful and natural then – even the weapons were simple and beautiful... "Bring me my sword; bring me my chariot of fire..."'

As I quoted Blake's poem I swung my arm around wildly, imagining, exalting. I paused, looking at the Vicar, embarrassed again, and went to lean my arm against the tree. But the gap had grown. My hand met with empty air, and losing balance I toppled headfirst into the blackness! I fell, grabbing frantically for something to break my fall. Slippery roots slapped over my hands. I grabbed at them and was spun right way up again, but the roots slipped painfully through my fingers and I fell further into the blackness. I landed with a thud, mercifully on soft ground, but my legs gave way with the force of the fall and my face hit the piled-up mould of rotten wood from the insides of the tree high above me.

'Are you all right, son?' the Vicar's voice echoed down.

I picked myself up, rubbed my muddy hands on my trousers, wiped the mould from my face and moved my limbs. I was shaking, but amazed and relieved to find I was still in one piece. I took out a handkerchief and tried to clean my glasses.

'I... I think so, Father,' I replied, spitting out bits of musty earth, eager to talk to keep the connection with him, and not to dwell on the fact that I was now inside the haunted tree. 'Just a few scratches I think... My eyes are adjusting to the darkness... I say! I think it's an old well!'

'Well, well, now, that is interesting!' he boomed back, chuckling at his own pun. I cackled back nervously. The Vicar then proceeded to 'fill me in', he at the top of the well, I at the bottom, both of us passionate about the meaning of this discovery and (almost) oblivious to the oddness of the setting for telling a tale. 'Perhaps I should mention the fact that I was half expecting someone like you to turn up today, son. You see, a woman recently came in great secrecy to show me something. She claimed to be a descendant of Annora the Anchoress...'

'The one buried under this tree?' I interrupted, shuddering.

'The same. She lived in a cell built into the wall of the church here, centuries ago. This woman (who would not tell me her name) showed me Annora's secret diary. It tells of a knight – a Templar, no less – who appeared out of the tree and entrusted a sacred treasure to her. Soon afterward he was arrested and tortured, but eventually he was released. – shall I go on, or are you getting cold down there?'

'Go on, go on!' I called back. I had to know.

'Well, Annora claimed to be a guardian of the mystery of the holy tree. She wrote that one evening at full moon the knight appeared again, old and decrepit, but wearing full armour, and asked for the treasure back. He then requested the last rites. She performed these for him, out here under the tree in the moonlight. He told her many wonders which he had seen in his long life, swearing her and her descendants to secrecy until the "time of the prophecy". Then he made a strange sign with his hand, and died in her arms. The tree opened up and received the body of the knight, still holding the treasure, a talisman of some kind, which he called the 'Ouvron.' A French word I gather. He told her it must be buried with him until the proper time, for it was perilous.

'I didn't know what to make of it, but listen to this! Annora goes on to say that just before he died, the knight prophesied and said:

When storm will see the yew branch downed

And the holy tree doth open up the ground,

The doorway to Eden once more shall be found.'

'Really, Father?' I called back. 'How remarkable. So that means somewhere in here is...'

A prickly feeling came over the back of my neck. I wished I had the little pocket torch I had brought along in case I needed to peer into any cracks in the tree. I had not imagined being inside it...

Above was a halo of daylight, framed by the gaping crack in the tree. In front of me was the unmistakable curved drystone wall of the well, damp but surprisingly clean. Not even a spiderweb. It had been pitch dark in here for perhaps eight hundred years, ever since the tree grew right over the well and blocked out the sunlight. Except, that is, when a crack opened up and took the dead knight down...

No way out of here but back up, I thought, a little uncomfortably. What if the crack closes again? But I had to go on. 'Father, I'll have a quick look around now if you don't mind.

'No hurry, son! I'll pull you up when you're ready.'

Now fully accustomed to the dark, I gazed into the shadows to my right. I froze: I was looking straight into the grinning face of a large human skeleton. It was faintly, eerily, illuminated from above by a cold white light that seemed now to come from quite another England, the old England where magic was real and nothing was certain, neither life nor death, nor good or evil. I shuddered and shrank away. But my intense curiosity got hold of me again, and I reached out my shaking hand and touched his.

I now felt differently about the skeleton; I felt somehow that I knew the man he used to be. He was no longer a stranger to me, even though so long dead. He was wearing the remains of a chainmail suit. I had little doubt that he was the Templar who had appeared out of the tree and returned there to die; perhaps none other than that lost Templar Knight, Gondemare the Seafarer! If so, was he holding it, the Ouvron? If the account of Annora the Anchoress was true, he should be...

'Eureka! I think!' I yelled in ecstasy – very unscholarly – and began shouting and whooping.

'What the devil's happening down there?' yelled the Vicar from above, and I came to my senses again.

'My apologies, Father. There appears to be a rather important... er... artefact here. That is to say, your Anchoress was telling the truth... it is definitely some sort of well, dry of course, half filled with debris... we'll have to sift through it... a dig, father, oh yes there will have to be a dig in here... we must be restrained... don't want to disturb any evidence... but THIS IS FANTASTIC!' I reverted to shouting. Then a shred of practicality returned: 'You don't have a rope anywhere handy, do you Father?'

'What have you found, dammit, what have you found?' yelled the Vicar impatiently.

'Only a knight Templar, father! And I think he's holding something...'

'What, what is he holding?' I felt panicky. I needed to know I could get out quickly if my nerves failed. I heard my father's voice – '...we have grave doubts, given your history...'

'Can you throw me down a rope, father!'

'He's holding a rope?'

'Rope, send me down a ROPE!'

'Oh, rope! Of course... I'll go and look for some.'

'Hurry, father!'

'Keep calm! Patience is a virtue, my son. Back in five minutes.' I heard him muttering, 'Maybe in the vestry... no, I'll have to go back to the Vicarage ...' I groaned.

There was now deep silence except for my breathing, mist streaming from my mouth over the quiet little tomb where I now knelt, letting my gaze fall again upon the stupendous find – the Knight, my lost Knight Templar!

But moods can shift quickly in such places, in such company. And now that I was alone, a horror of that place rushed over me, as I looked into the empty sockets of his eyes. He leaned against the stone lining of the ancient well, staring sightless or with some other sight more penetrating, clutching at my soul with icy fear... I shrank back, wondered how long five minutes would feel like down here, trapped with a dead man. Could I remain composed for that long? Assuming he finds a rope at all... Doubts and fears began to fill my mind: 'Will I be a gibbering madman by the time he returns? Maybe he's in league with the Athmadites! Maybe he'll bring them, and they'll block the entrance, or come down and torture me for information!' I had read about these men in a Templar manuscript the night before. It said:

There are those who hide in the shadows, and seek for evil ends the Secret Door to the lost Eden. They must not find it! They are known as the Athmadites, and walk among us in secret.

Then I remembered my own quest, and the fierce curiosity that had brought me to Iffley overcame my horror, and I reached out for the skeleton's hand again. This time it was unmistakable: it was clutching something. I made the sign of the cross (just in case), muttered a little prayer of apology to the dead, and to all the gods, goddesses, guardians, and ghosts that may be watching me now, and then pulled back the bony chain-mailed fingers – crack, crack, one by one they yielded, horribly breaking in my own grip, my cold but living fingers overcoming the knight's icy dead ones. 'Thief, thief!' screamed a voice in my head, but now heedless of caution I eagerly caught the precious thing which dropped from his dead fingers: a heavy, gleaming silver disk, about two and a half inches across, carved with the same disturbing pentacle image as the Chartres inscription, but very much more disturbing in the dark alone with a skeleton, and much more clearly portrayed – and with other details: The central pentacle sat over a carved starfish shape – an island, I guessed from the wavy lines like water around it – and between its five points grew five trees – or the branches of one central tree. The island and the water surrounding it were as it were encapsulated in a golden amber or glass, so that they seemed remote, untouchable, bathed in a light that spoke to me of the Golden Age and of lost paradises.

Each of the points of the central pentacle touched the point of a smaller pentacle set inside a disk. These five small disks were linked by concentric circular lines around the circumference of the main disk. The lines were deeply scored, giving almost (I thought) the appearance of cooling fins. It was a decidedly magical-looking artefact. Turning it over in my shaking hand, I saw that the smooth back was contoured to look like an apple, with the stalk at the top pierced to make a hanging hole.

Turning the disk over again, I saw that the pentagonal pyramid in the centre of the pentacle had five letters carved into it, in an alphabet I did not recognise. I speculated that it represented the point of a crystal.

Around the outside of the disk I noticed five images engraved between the five smaller disks: a sun and crescent moon; a double-ended crystal; a comet; a many-armed spiral (perhaps a galaxy, I thought); and a sword.

The Ouvron! Something so secret it was not even a rumour; unguessed, unknown to any but me... I had a sudden, chilling thought: perhaps descendants of the shadowy Athmadites still roamed the Earth. I now had very good reason to believe the Templar warning. It was proven by the heavy silver and amber disk I held in my trembling hand...

Looking up, all I could see was a dim glow like moonlight filtering through the groping roots hanging down like witches' hair over the dead knight and me. I looked back down, trying not to look at the sockets of his eyes. Cold thrills of fear began to run down my back as I waited. My mind raced through labyrinths of childhood fears, of ghosts, of haunted trees that groped and held one fast, night-flying owls in overgrown churchyards full of old graves – just like the one above me now – spiders, crawling, creeping over me, coming at me from behind... The back of my neck bristled. I had to look. I wheeled around, and breathed a sigh of relief – nothing there but the dripping, glistening stones of the wall.

Just then I heard a thudding as of heavy feet above, growing louder. I felt a sudden chill, a premonition of evil: 'This isn't the Vicar, it is someone else. They're looking for me!'

As the footsteps approached, I heard an eerie creaking from the tree above, and the dim light shrank to nothing, leaving me blinking at whirling after-images. The Tree had closed! I was in utter darkness, hidden from that threatening presence above, but trapped, buried alive, with a skeleton for company.

Chapter Four

The Ouvron

Long minutes passed as I stood in the freezing darkness, afraid to move for fear they would hear me, not wanting to think about the possibility that I would never get out, and thinking over and over, 'The Vicar, the Vicar knows I'm here, he'll be back.' But gradually, as the minutes passed, it began to occur to me that he could have been killed, or he could have been in league with them, the Athmadites. I was sure it was they who had approached, before the tree closed. They would come with axes and chainsaws and cut their way in, and shoot me like a trapped pig in a pit. Or worse, torture me, and use this treasure, the Key, possessing unknown powers, for evil ends. 'They must not get the Ouvron...' I thought, gripping it in my cold yet sweaty hands.

'The French word, ouvrir, to open!' I muttered, a sudden hope rising within. 'Could this Ouvron literally be a kind of key, to another place – from here? The knight came out of this tree – from where? Perhaps there's a tunnel!'

I held the medallion in my fingers and raised it with both hands to my blind face, rubbing it with my thumbs, feeling the contours, imagining the silver getting shinier and shinier. I smelt the amber, a fresh, wonderfully rich smell which reminded me of pine needles and forests in sunlight. Slowly a strange feeling began to come over me, as if my mind's eye was being opened to another kind of sight. The Ouvron began to gleam with a golden light – or was that just because I was staring at it in the dark so intently? The amber island and the sea surrounding it were definitely glowing now. I felt that the Ouvron could help me, somehow, somehow... Then I saw a tunnel of light open up like a torch-beam from the glowing disk, and at the end of the beam was a white horse in a peaceful green field, calling to me without words. I yearned to step into that place, but I was afraid. It was not of this Earth, I felt sure... Then the entrancing vision began to fade, and in its place I saw something far more pedestrian: my bicycle, leaning against the fence where I had left it!

I stepped toward the bicycle, as if in a dream. There was a crackling sound and a slight smell of ozone (I thought), and branching tunnels of pure, empty blackness seemed to open around me for a second, obscuring the bicycle. Another fearful step into the unknown, and then bliss! I was blinking in the blessed morning light. I was out of the tree, out of the churchyard, standing in the street outside the church where I had parked my bicycle, a little down from the gates. I looked for the white horse, half expecting to see it, but of course it was not there. I reached shakily for the handlebars and pocketed the Ouvron, which was now quite warm, almost hot, as if it had been a channel for some power, not electrical but – the thought crossed my mind – of black magic. I had not liked the feeling of the black cracks in the air. And the pentacle troubled me.

Just then I noticed the big grey car parked right by the gates of the churchyard. Two tall men wearing grey suits were getting into it. The chill in my spine told me they were the ones who had approached the yew tree moments before when I was still trapped in it. Forgetting my rucksack by the tree, and the Vicar, I took off down the lane in the opposite direction, pedalling hard in top gear, fumbling for the gear change. I was unsure whether I would be followed, part of me already believing I had been hallucinating the whole thing, but I was afraid to turn and look.

'Perhaps it was the mushrooms this morning, or the rye bread,' I muttered. I had read of witches who ate rye mould to hallucinate. And of the effects of the 'magic mushrooms' that the Gypsies and punks collect in the woods... 'Who knows, maybe the landlady took a dislike to me and poisoned me with mushrooms? But wait a minute, there's the Ouvron. I've got a ruddy great silver artefact to prove it! If that's real, the whole thing is real. Can't stop just yet though...'

And if the medallion was in my pocket, I reflected, my safe little World would have been turned upside down forever... Why had I meddled in this stuff? For once I sympathised with my father's fear of the abnormal and the unknown. I wondered if I was suffering a relapse of the mysterious delusions that had left me with no memories of my childhood. My head was beginning to pound. I needed a strong cup of tea.

I pedalled madly on for a while, round the next bend, then the next, and finally careered off the lane into some bushes, where I would be hidden from the road. Breathlessly I rummaged through my pockets (which contained, as usual for me, an assortment of 'just in case' items)... Pocket-knife yes, handkerchief yes, wad of tracing paper yes, string yes, pencil yes, oh no! Was that a hole? Nothing in that pocket. Then I remembered, when distracted I often put things automatically into my back pocket... digging deep, my fingers felt something round, grasped it. I lifted it up into the light of day, and I knew then that my life would never be the same. Mystery lay thick around me in the sleepy countryside, as I silently prayed to whatever higher power gives meaning to the universe, makes sense of it. I felt the power of nature all around me. The sky began to show patches of blue, and the sun came out. The silver medallion lay in my hand, warm now, and beautiful; strangely, glowingly beautiful. Nothing else happened; no visions, no instantaneous transportations. But the sense of its power remained strong, exhilarating me, reassuring me that I was still sane – and yet unsettling me, as if I was walking on thin ice, and the very fabric of the universe might somehow tear – as indeed it apparently had when I stepped into the medallion's beam.

After perusing the images on the Ouvron for a few minutes, trying in vain to see some connection with any known civilisation, I carefully wrapped the alarmingly alien treasure in my handkerchief, pocketed it again, and cycled somewhat shakily back to the inn, where I ordered a pot of tea. Then I phoned the vicarage to see if the Vicar had returned to the tree, and to reassure him that I was safe and well. Sure enough, a now-familiar voice answered, sounding worried. 'I was about to call the police and the fire department to try and get you out, but I put it off, not wanting any publicity: I had seen two suspicious-looking gentlemen snooping round the churchyard. They had well-tailored grey suits - French maybe, or Italian. I asked them if I could help. They asked, in impeccable English - too impeccable, I thought - if I had seen a "friend" of theirs. I told them no, as I didn't like the look – or the 'feel' – of them one bit. They excused themselves stiffly and left.'

'This must have been just when I came out of the tree and found myself at my bicycle,' I replied, shaken.

'What say you come over to the vicarage as soon as you can, and we'll talk some more, and have a nice cup of tea with my wife and me. But keep Mary out of this, just in case, you know?''

We met later that day and we had tea, and his wife plied us with hot buttered scones with home-made strawberry jam. I told him my phone number and address. He told me that I could stop calling him Vicar, that his name was Stephen Prebble. Then Mrs Prebble told me a little of the family history on both sides, and a lot about their grown-up children. I felt warmed by their company, reassured by the homely 'ordinariness' of the surroundings, and very much at ease, which is unusual for me. We did not discuss the strange events at the churchyard in front of Mary, but later in the privacy of his study, we returned to the subject. Certain by this time that the Vicar could be trusted, I showed him the Ouvron and told him of my remarkable escape from under the yew tree.

'I wonder if I hallucinated with the stress and then somehow used the medallion as a key to open a door to a tunnel that led out of the tree?' I ventured, but the Vicar said, 'No, I'm sure that's not it. There is magic at work here – or something unknown to terrestrial science! It is, I believe, the Ouvron of the Templar Knight who appeared to Annora. Remember the knight's warning: that it is perilous! Keep it safe, and if I were you I'd tell no one else about it just yet. Those men in suits knew something, I'm sure. They will be back, I fear. I won't tell you all I suspect now but, if they belong to the Order I am thinking of, if that is still active in the World, and if they know about the yew tree...' He crossed himself, and continued, 'We must be prepared for the worst. But hopefully, they didn't actually see you and have no idea that you have found... what you have found.'

'What is it, do you think, Father? Where does it come from, and is it, well, you know... kosher? What with the pentacle and so on...'

'Well, 'kosher' is not quite the word to use from a Christian point of view,' he smiled. 'But yes, I think so – Annora was not one to be deceived by Satanists! And, you know, the pentacle is found in the apple, if you cut it crosswise. And the apple tree was the Tree of Life to our Celtic forefathers – hardly a bad origin.'

We agreed that I should very cautiously investigate the medallion's history and powers further. I took the copy of the diary of Annora the Anchoress which the Vicar had been given to study. As we parted I was sure we would meet again. His parting words at his front gate were 'Bless you, my son. Take care. Remember, "Your adversary the Devil goeth about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour." But Mother Earth is with you in this Quest. Do not fear the sign of her apple! Learn all you can of Eden – remember the words of the knight: "The gates of Eden once more shall be seen." There's a wonderful mystery for you to solve: seek it out, for all our sakes.' He shook my hand warmly, and went back indoors. That was the last time I ever saw him.

Back safely at my 'digs' in Oxford, sitting once more at my old oak desk, so familiar and comforting, I pondered the polished silver Ouvron before me (remarkablly, it had hardly tarnished after eight hundred years), in the light of what I had read. All the clues seemed to lead to that place of mystery and power, Chartres cathedral, and I felt sure that I needed to go back there, with the Ouvron, and (despite the Knight's warning of peril and my own unease at the black crackling) use it to seek for some opening, this time not merely to a nearby location, but a portal to another dimension or time or World, one where Eden, the mythic garden paradise spoken of in Genesis, perhaps still existed. Courage I needed, but my professional curiosity (and pride) made up for much of my timidity, at least most of the time. And when I held the Ouvron, it was as if an assurance that was not my own came into my heart and my thinking. I did not yet take seriously the Vicar's concern that I might be followed.

So it was that I booked a ticket for France (one-way: after all, I did not know where I might end up after Chartres), using the last of my study grant. No one to answer to (my PhD supervisor did not count; I hardly saw him from one week to the next), no dependants, no itinerary; and hopefully, no one following me. Of course, I had to postpone some tutorials with the few students to whom I taught medieval history, telling them I was taking a short research break, but they were only too glad of the reprieve, being behind in their other studies – essays and reading papers; the usual. One of the more serious students (though she did tend to wear rather loud clothes), wished me luck and asked what I would be doing over in France, and I was somewhat flattered at this display of personal interest, but managed to be suitably vague – though I did, I think, mention Chartres.

Chapter Five

The Labyrinth of Chartres

On the morning of my flight, presumably due to a power cut in the night, my alarm clock completely failed to go off. I made an irate mental note: Get a battery-powered clock. I stumbled around in the semi-dark, grabbed a cup of tea (essential for me in those days, I'm afraid, if I was to avoid a headache), and rushed out the door. At the bus stop I realised that I had left the precious Ouvron in the bathroom. I ran back for it and missed the bus. I finally arrived by taxi at the airport just in time for the final call.

Cursing my inefficiency and the inexorable nature of time, I boarded the jet, remembering to duck after hitting my head on the airlock door – I am not a short man, but a 'skinny beanpole,' as a past flatmate used to call me as I tried faithfully (but fitfully) to body-build, lifting ridiculously heavy little dumbbells and struggling through increasing numbers of press-ups and star-jumps... Why do they make aeroplane doors so low? People stared in the packed cabin as I fumbled with my bags and found my seat: a window seat, so I had to squeeze apologetically past a large glaring gentleman who was pointedly organising the papers in his briefcase. I reflected that we English are always doing things 'pointedly,' whereas an American would come right out and say something, thereby clearing the air...

The fascination of flight gripped me as always. I smiled with inward exhilaration as the acceleration pressed me back into my comfortable seat in this modern wonder, this mechanical bird, tilting skywards, the little streets and the 'dreaming spires' of Oxford in the distance, the meadows, the motorways and the vehicles on them all becoming incredibly distinct and orderly, as they always do when one gains the perspective of height. 'So much better than using the Chunnel, where everything is hidden under concrete and artificial lights! Altitude – it gives a view of the underlying order, just as the study of history does,' I thought, staring out the window, wishing the Perspex was cleaner and the window bigger. Oh to be a bird, though!

Dreams of flight continued as we jetted over the English Channel, clouds far below, sea below them again, whitecaps and wakes of ships so far down there, where sea-battles were fought, one tiny backwater of our lovely giant brooding planet. I began to look up then, at the dark blue which shades almost into the blackness of space. What of Eden? Until my experience of teleportation with the Ouvron I would have assumed Eden to be a state of the mind or spirit, and all references to it as an actual place merely metaphors. But now I saw a different set of possibilities... Was it a 'parallel dimension' as the science fiction writers call it, or a planet of love and harmony, like Venus, out there in our own galaxy? Could there really be some link down below on our Earth, in Chartres, some back door to other worlds? Did my Knight really find this doorway and spend many happy years in Eden before returning to our poor benighted planet, only to be picked up by the authorities of the day; to whom even the belief that the Earth is round was heresy, wrong belief punishable with hot pincers, thumbscrews and the rack? I stopped myself thinking about it, stretched and became profoundly thankful I was, after all, a modern man, safe in my modern, more liberal world. Yet I also clutched the Ouvron, hanging from a chain around my neck under my pullover, and I was thankful to be a part of the great mystery of life, in spite of its multitudinous dangers. Somehow since finding the Ouvron I had become more daring, more exuberant, almost like a knight errant.

The town of Chartres was founded in ancient times, and became one of the centres of Neo-Platonist learning in the Middle Ages, quite apart from its fame as a venue for pilgrims visiting the holy shrine of the Cathedral. I had to tear myself away from some very intriguing bookshops on the way to my destination, whose flying buttresses and spires loomed above the ancient town.

I walked briskly in the morning chill, trying out my rusty French on an old woman who greeted me on the streets which run crookedly towards the Mound of Chartres, that holy and venerable place. I said I was on a pilgrimage to the cathedral. She had cheeks like red apples, with twinkling blue eyes, as she indicated 'Notre dame' with a gesture of her wrinkled hand. She crossed herself, and bowed towards the cathedral, then assured me in a delightfully old-fashioned French accent, 'If you go to our Lady with the pure heart, you will find what you are looking for, certainement.'

An unexpected warmth as of inner purity did indeed steal over my heart as I approached the great stairs and the triple arches of the main entrance beneath the great rose window high above. Coming into the stillness of the cathedral, the sense of solemn magic increased with every step. I felt keenly the soaring beauty of the sacred space and the labours and devotion of countless hands that had built upon and kept holy this ancient site of the 'Earth Mother' of our pagan ancestors, 'Our Lady' of the Catholics. The dark within contrasted with and embraced the brilliant gem-light that streamed through the stained glass windows, and my breath misted in the coloured beams as I walked through them, baptised in light.

Over there, patterned into the floor under the rose window, was the circular Labyrinth, laid out as part of the floor in dark blue and white flagstones, but – a travesty to my mind – littered with chairs for the worshippers. I quietly continued my circuit of the cathedral interior, then, finding nothing to indicate what to try next, went down into the Crypt. I examined again the inscriptions from which I had taken rubbings on my last visit. Still nothing. Then I recalled the monograph of Canon Bulteau, who told of the red Maltese cross, now disappeared, that was painted on the wall above the starting point of the Labyrinth, as well as fixed into a flagstone there, a ring held by a piton. The red cross of the Templars! The Labyrinth, of course! This would be the logical place to stand to find the doorway to Eden, at the centre, the symbolic womb, Omphalon, or centre of the universe, and also centre of the universe in microcosm, the Soul. I sprang up the stairs, approached the Labyrinth under the solemn light of the great rose, and the very music of the spheres was resonating in my soul as I decided to reverently walk the maze to the centre, like a true seeker, not just stride across the lines. But first, I would have to pull aside the chairs that cluttered the area of the Labyrinth.

This I did, in a frenzy of activity, hoping not to be stopped by a well-meaning guide or official. People stared, but no one interfered. I did not stop until it was cleared. Remembering to remove my shoes according to the tradition of walking the pilgrim 'Road to Jerusalem' (as the labyrinth walk was called), I stepped onto the path. My bare feet slowly paced over the cool smooth flagstones, winding now closer to the mystic centre, now further away, losing myself in its coils, yet assured that if I just continued forward, I would surely arrive at the centre. The Path of Life, though appearing to be full of dead-ends and pitfalls, is nevertheless (I felt sure at that moment) unicursal like this maze: it is one, singular, so it eventually, inevitably leads to the Centre. All roads lead to the Holy City. I felt a calm child-like trust and at the same time an exhilaration bordering on intoxication. I knew that I was already in a sense at the Centre, that this very hour and moment I was (for once) doing exactly the right thing in the slow, sure unfolding of the universe.

After many turns, conscious of nothing else, bathed in the delicate harmonies of the light from the stained glass windows and the echoes running along the ribbed vaults of the ceiling, I finally reached the centre of the labyrinth. I stepped forward to the exact middle and drew out the silver Ouvron, the key, I hoped, to the door in space and time. Holding it in front of me I turned to face each quadrant. I noticed a few fellow pilgrims, or tourists, watching me with interest. But they seemed dim, as if separated from me by some alteration of space. Then I began to see tunnels or pathways of light radiating out from the Ouvron like the spokes of a great wheel, with myself at the hub. The path running in the direction of the rose window seemed almost to blend with the light coming through that window. Then whole cathedral wall dissolved, and another kind of cathedral appeared beyond it; a purely natural one, lit by slanting golden sunlight, in every shade of green and brown. It reminded me of all the enchanted forests I had ever read about or imagined. With its giant silver-grey boles reaching heavenwards and delicate tracery between, it was a living cathedral, possessing a calm majesty that beckoned to me. I began to walk towards it. The vastness of Chartres swirled and receded behind me like a mist sucked into a genie's bottle. For a second there was the same unpleasant blackness and crackling sound and the smell of ozone; then silence. I stood blinking in the enchanted forest, breathing in deeply the divine scent of leaf-mould.

I clipped the Ouvron back onto its chain and looked around. For all I knew I was no longer on this Earth. I wondered, had my Knight gone this way centuries before? The clear sunlight slanted through gaps in the branches high above, and a gentle breeze caused the leaves to sigh. It felt like summer. I began to notice the strange bird-calls coming from above, like the sound of silver bells.

Chapter Six

The Forest Portal of Silverwood

The sense of peaceful expectancy that had filled me since entering Chartres cathedral in the morning did not leave me, but grew deeper in this natural cathedral of trees. Turning around and around to take in the scene, I was dizzied by the great pillars of the trees, of a kind I had never seen before, nearly as tall as the giant redwoods of California, smooth-boled like the stone pillars of Chartres. I realised I was in a kind of natural glade, about fifty feet across, with a floor of low ferns and moss, ringed about with these smooth-trunked forest giants. Close by me was a single upright stone, about three feet high. It bore no markings that I could see at first, but there was moss and lichen growing on it, so I could not be sure.

On impulse I got the Ouvron out again and turned this way and that, holding it in front of me. Once again, sure enough, the surroundings grew somehow dim, while pathways of light radiated out around me. But this time one path caught my eye as being different from all the others, and more vibrant: it glowed with a golden radiance like a narrow beam of sunlight coming into a darkened room, and streamed off through a darkness more intense than any earthly night, but pierced with brilliant points of light - stars, but brighter than any I had seen before. And at the end of the radiant path lay a golden, heavenly country. In the centre of that country was a lofty plateau ringed with majestic pinnacles of stone, and each pinnacle was topped with a grove of tall trees. A wall of white marble ran between the pinnacles, enclosing the plateau. In the centre of the plateau was a calm lake. In the middle of the lake was an island, and growing there was the most beautiful tree I had ever seen. It was very tall, its leaves were emerald green and gold, its fivefold trunk silver flecked with gold. And from the midst of the huge ring of linked limbs just beneath the glistening crown shone a great jewel or crystal, pulsating with golden light. The tree and the crystal were intensely alive, sentient. I felt they were aware of me, calling to my heart.

'So this is what I've been missing all my life! This is the Garden of Eden!' I thought, and a wave almost of homesickness for the place enveloped my heart with a tug that was irresistible. I took a step into the now-familiar crackling darkness. I was walking the magical pathway through a vast tract of star-filled space, compressed as it were into a few paces, arched over with those strange branching tunnels of jet black. Soon I would be in Eden...

The glorious destination rapidly drew near. I froze, my joyful yearning turned to horror: where the beautiful country with the heavenly Tree had been, I now saw evil things. Creatures like walking thorns draped with black cloaks peered from huge thorn thickets on the peaks of the plateau. The Tree was dark beneath sickly purplish clouds. There was no jewel in it. The creatures looked up as if they could already see me and were waiting for me. I heard their harsh croaking voices as I turned back and tried to get out of the dark between-place. But my feet were not touching anything, and I felt as if I was falling into an infinite void. I screamed and lunged forward, grabbing the edge of the world out of which I had so foolishly ventured, and somehow I was back, with my feet on solid ground again. I reeled in shock and revulsion. Paradise had been invaded! I recalled the terrible little poem by Blake, about the rose being sick, devoured by 'the worm which flies in the night'. I wanted at any cost to undo that hideous change, to reverse the evil and restore my vision of perfect beauty - though I doubt whether I could have done anything then - I was shaking, almost paralysed by fear.

Later I would learn that the vision I had seen of the Tree was of a time and an age long gone: the Golden Age of the Makers. For now sinister things are happening there, of which I was to learn much more...

Chapter Seven

The Narrator's Dream

That night (after certain adventures which I will touch on later) I dreamed that I was compelled by some impulse to use the Ouvron one more time, though I was very afraid of it, as it had opened a door to a dark place I dreaded to ever enter again.

In my dream I held the magical medallion tight as it pulled me through a whirling starry void. Then I was gliding over a vast, barren landscape, bathed in a reddish light – was it Mars, I wondered? A city loomed ahead whose buildings were hewn out of tall cliffs, like ruined Petra. Soaring over huge columned facades carved into the red rock formations, I entered one of the dark winding valleys in the mountains beyond. A hidden doorway opened in the side of one great rocky spur shaped like a giant reclining head, and I floated in like a drifting thistledown. It was dark, but my eyes grew accustomed to the faint bluish illumination which seemed to be coming from the motionless forms of sleeping knights – a whole army of them, row upon row in an endless pillared cavern. As I glided weightless over them, I heard myself say as if in a trance, 'The Frozen Army! Those who remained true!' – while desperately trying to recall how on earth I knew this.

With an effort of will I landed beside one of the frozen figures. He was lying at full stretch on his marble plinth. In his great hands (which were folded on his mail-clad chest) he held a red rose, exquisitely carved and painted. 'What a wonderful sculpture!' I thought, and went to touch the rose. Then I saw his chest rising slightly, and I tried to scream. But a beautiful pearly light coming from the cavern mouth lit up the warriors, and I heard soft footsteps and a young woman's voice saying 'They will awaken when She comes.' I wanted to go towards the voice in the light, but I was also mortally afraid. All my instincts told me that I was unworthy to be there, and that I was not ready for a meeting with the owner of the voice, yet still I was being called.

Now all the knights stirred, sat bolt upright on their cold beds, looking at me accusingly. As one man they reached for their weapons, great swords gleaming as if made of fire and ice, and got up from their beds and began walking towards me, their armour clanking, their heavy footfalls echoing up and down the vast room. In terror, I ran for the cavern entrance and the unbearable light, tripped and hit the floor. Then I woke up, tangled in my blankets.

I disentangled myself, excited and shaking. It was no use trying to go back to sleep, so I made an early start to my day with a strong cup of tea, hoping the unaccustomed early rising would not set off a headache. Something big was beginning to unfold in my head, as if long-buried memories were beginning to surface. I hoped I was not going mad, but my heart said otherwise. I still felt a lingering sense of guilt and accusation from the knights whom I had – prematurely? – awakened, but my heart was also full of a perfectly sane elation, and a passionate desire to return to that place, and to speak with the owner of that voice. Somehow I felt sure she would know the answers to all my questions...

I must now break off my own narrative, and begin the Story proper – mine being a mere tributary running into the river of these great events. Suffice to say that the forest to which I had been transported was on Earth, but far away in the Southern Hemisphere, in a place called Silverwood; and that very near to that place, someone else was having a very similar dream...

Book Two

Kor-Aedenya

Chapter Eight

Shelley's Dream

All entities that cross the threshold of mental reflection must pass through the questioning of existence, the more so as they suffer more. Yet even the happy and well provided-for may doubt of the meaning of their existence, finding suffering in the lack of final and uninterrupted bliss...

– Ennead of Aeden, 'Of the philosophies of the Nine Worlds'

On the eve of her thirteenth birthday, Shelley Arkle unlocked her secret diary and wrote:

My life is becoming a living hell. How can I go on living with this family? How can dad be my father? How could that self-satisfied, selfish brat Mark be my brother? Something is very wrong. I think I must be adopted.

Of course, she told herself, she knew deep down that he was her brother – they even looked quite alike in some ways, pale-skinned with dark straight hair and dark eyes – but she really couldn't help feeling that it was just impossible to put up with him for another day. His favourite pastime (apart from tormenting her) was reading about engines of destruction and torture – ancient and modern – and watching violent videos. Once, she had seen a book he had got out of the library on the Spanish Inquisition, and it had made her physically sick.

Even apart from Mark, it was all wrong somehow – her parents, where she lived, her whole life. It had started going wrong when she turned twelve. The day she was told she would need glasses. The day Sophie was run over. Sophie their golden Labrador had been Shelley's one constant companion all her life, born the same week as her. Since that day Shelley had been feeling more and more that she really did not belong to the Arkle family, and wishing she could run away to her true home and her true family, who would really love and understand her. And many nights she would remember Sophie and cry herself to sleep, grieving for her lost friend and lost happiness, dreading having to wear the glasses (even though she knew it would be wonderful to be able to see the blackboard at school, and even more wonderful to be able to see the birds in the trees).

Then when she got the glasses (they were too poor, dad informed her, to even consider contact lenses) all at once the world got clearer – it was a miracle to Shelley how clear – veins on leaves and the wings of bees; the yellow grains of pollen on the stamens of flowers; a butterfly's coiled proboscis; and the crisp letters and fine textured pages of the book she was reading. But other things got clearer too. It was clear she was no longer quite the girl to be seen with at school. Some of her old friends even called her a nerd. Though she had retorted, 'Well, maybe I'm proud of it. Better a nerd than an airhead!' the change in their attitude, just because of how she looked, had hurt deeply. Then of course there was the new opportunity for Mark to needle her. 'Four-eyes' was his favourite, and he never tired of it.

It was the school holidays, six months after she had got the glasses, and she had got used to how clear things looked, but not to the way she was treated by her old friends. She had begun to side with the 'brainy' ones she had shunned before, and she had met Anna, now her best friend. Anna was 'brainy,' but didn't wear glasses – her parents were rich and she wore contacts. And she wasn't 'nerdy' at all.

So not everything was bad. But it was wintertime, miserably wet all day, and the cold drafts in their un-insulated nineteen-twenties bungalow lifted the scrim-backed wallpaper, and the little fireplace didn't warm you unless you sat right in front of it. There was of course nowhere fun to go – mum and dad never had any money or desire for anything but boring stuff like groceries or phone bills. There was hardly anything really nice to eat, let alone a decent stereo or new clothes that weren't garage sale bargains or hand-me-downs from better-off relatives.

Mum and dad nearly always took Mark's side, and mum really didn't even like her, Shelley felt sure. And she always seemed vaguely depressed. She never really seemed interested in Shelley any more, now that she was bigger and becoming independent; never wanted to hear her ideas about the things she was into – all sorts of things, like hang-gliders and horses and tree-huts and fractals and astronomy and the dream of inventing a computer that was so powerful it self-evolved, became conscious, so she could have long talks with it on every subject under the sun, and it would never be rude or bored with her or be unreasonable, and it would create a simulation of the whole universe – and take her on a guided tour of it. This supercomputer would be like Data on Star Trek, or Spock, two of her all-time heroes. Perfectly logical, with a positronic brain. Not like Mark, or mum.

Dad – well, dad was dad, not illogical as such, not uninterested as such, but much older than mum, tied up in his work as a struggling self-employed architect, and disconnected, moody, distant somehow, as if there was something worrying him, something he hadn't told them about, and never could because it would only make things worse. Once or twice, when they were getting on well, talking about one of her projects, he had said something like, 'Shell, have you ever wondered why I...' But then he had stopped and changed the subject. Then it was as if the invisible glass wall between them came up again, and he would be grumpy with her.

Lately whatever it was had been getting worse, and he had been coming down with his migraines more and more often. Now that Shelley was getting older she was more sensitive and reflective, even wading through some heavy books on the mind and metaphysics and related subjects (mostly her father's from his student days; he seemed to disapprove of them and had them stored in the attic, which opened off her upstairs bedroom. One day she had found them there when she was making a cubby-hole). One of the books was called The Battle for the Mind, and it had some photos of weird things like people handling poisonous snakes in churches. The books made her worry more that maybe there was some huge thing going on in dad's head, and she wondered, 'Maybe one day maybe he'll go out of his mind and try to kill us all.' And she would sometimes have nightmares about it.

Shelley continued her diary:

Tomorrow being my thirteenth birthday: good. Still being trapped here with Mark: bad. I think I'll go back and stay with Anna for the day. After seeing if I get ANYthing for my birthday... There has just been a big scene when dad just blew up at me and ordered ME to do the dishes, even though I was in the middle of writing in my diary, and anyway it was obviously Mark's turn, because I've had been away at Anna's for the last two nights and obviously haven't used any plates, so how UNFAIR it was of dad to make me do the dishes... I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn't listen. It was so unjust. He made me cry when at first he laughed a bit at my righteous indignation, and later on got angry when I flew at him (understandably after such provocation) and tried to kick him hard, really hard.

Shelley had snatched up her diary, stormed up to her room – the little attic bedroom overlooking the back garden – and slammed the door so hard the house shook. Mum had muttered to dad, 'You feel that, Martin? The piles need redoing. The whole place could collapse next time she does that!'

Slamming the door made her feel better, but dad called up after her, 'You can't expect to get off doing the dishes like that, Shelley!' He only called her by her name like that when he was really angry with her and trying to lay down the law. Normally her name was just Shell.

Well, he wouldn't beat her. She would stand up for her rights, and make him see it wasn't fair. She'd go to law school and become a brilliant defence lawyer for children like her who had been wronged by their tin-pot dictator parents... even though she hated the 'humanities,' history and social studies and stuff, and she knew vaguely that they make law students learn heaps of historical cases. It wasn't just pure logic like it should be...

'You can't make me! I have rights too, you know!' she yelled down at him. She tried not to hear his reply (which was 'Well, you'll just have to do them in the morning. You can't get out of it, Shelley').

'I wish I was out of here, out of this house, out of this whole stinking PLANET!' she yelled down at them. She thought she heard Mark sniggering, and yelled out, 'Shut UP, Mark!' Then she flung herself on her bed, sobbing. It was no longer an issue of dishes, but of human rights, of fair versus unfair, justice versus injustice.

'If only I could beam Spock down,' she thought. 'He'd show them. Or... better still, if Spock was my dad... It's dad's fault we're poor, otherwise we'd have a dishwasher...' She had been very tired (and irritable) that day after her late night at Anna's place. The two girls had sat up talking about horses and living in the country instead of the middle of suburbia, and about boys, and having better parents who would really listen to them and treat them as adults, which (they felt) they practically were.

Occupied with such angry thoughts, she snuggled down into the blankets away from the chilly night air, and drifted off into blessed oblivion.

Mr and Mrs Arkle fell into bed exhausted too, and Mrs Arkle cried a little, and they wondered what the answer was. Mr Arkle commented that Shelley was a very difficult girl, not at all like Mark. Mrs Arkle reacted with bitterness, accusing Mr Arkle of being harsh on Shelley and favouring Mark.

'I try to be at least as good to Mark as I am to Shelley,' she whispered angrily. Mr Arkle replied sharply to this, and as they quarrelled more old hurts came up, until their whole marriage came into question.

'It's a charade,' Mr Arkle finally said.

'Well, you chose me, Martin, knowing...'

'Maybe I was wrong, Ellen. Maybe you'd better take Shelley and go your own way. I can't seem to make you happy.'

Finally Mrs Arkle, crying, turned off the light and the house became quiet and dark.

It was a moonless night outside, and if anyone had gone out into the back garden and looked up they would have seen a clearing sky with stars, the Milky Way and the Southern Cross arching over the long narrow section, where the neighbours' cat prowled and the Arkles' cat hissed at it, and the sleek suburban rats crept through the drystone wall dividing off the rear of the section. In that wall, under an arch covered with unpruned rambling roses, there was a little gate with a copper sign made by Mr Arkle, with the name 'Haven' embossed on it. Beyond was an area he called the 'Fairy Garden.' It was Shelley's favourite part of the section, and sometimes she had imagined she saw an elf or fairy tiptoeing through the darkest parts of the lush undergrowth. She didn't know why, but her dad seemed to half believe in fairies, which made her happy and sad at the same time, wishing there was more of that side to him. He was an odd mixture. She loved aspects of him, but these were the aspects she hardly ever saw. Usually he was just old and boring, preoccupied and distant. She knew he loved mum, but a mum idealised, a fairy woman he could never quite capture – or a captured fairy woman he could never quite release...

As for mum, although she was young and beautiful (for the mother of a thirteen-year-old), she was (Shelley thought) boring, reserved and passive. But she did have one passion: gardening and the nurturing of all plants. That was why the garden was so full – she couldn't bear to uproot new plants, so everywhere it was a wilderness of self-sown cottage herbs, old roses, new roses someone had given her, feijoas along the boundary, apple trees and plums, and a big sprawling lemon tree with 'wandering willy' growing under it. (Their neighbour Mr Perfect, who disapproved of weeds of any kind, called it 'wandering Jew' and put his head over the fence periodically to see whether Mrs Arkle had eradicated it yet. Shelley thought he was a racist busybody.) There was self-sown parsley and rampant lemon balm for herbal tea growing all over the gravel paths, tansy for ant repellent, an under-producing sweet mandarin bush and an over-producing sour grapefruit tree. Around the fairy garden were the only surviving pencil willows which dad had tried, unsuccessfully, to grow right around the boundary for privacy, and more briar roses arching over the stone wall, and an apple tree, an avocado tree and a macadamia nut tree – and of course the two loquat trees. Shelley and Anna used to climb these in the early summer and sit in the branches eating the juicy yellow fruit and squeezing the smooth round seeds between finger and thumb, making them shoot out, rustling through the big green leaves to the ground. Right under Shelley's window was the grapevine, too, supported on old bamboo poles and trailing all over the lichen-covered peach tree that scraped her window when the wind blew.

Shelley liked her parents best when they were out gardening together: dad putting up trellis or building the stone wall or making raised beds for the vegetable garden that never quite seemed to fully materialise; and mum weeding and transplanting and generally pottering about looking after the plants and trees – and sighing over the slugs and snails that always seemed to get nearly all her cabbage seedlings. In the fairy garden, dad was obsessed with building a little brick dome, like a beehive, with arched stained-glass windows. This was finally taking shape, and Shelley loved it. Dad spent hours out there, working on the dome, poring over his alternative architecture books, or flat on his back with the little curtains drawn, getting a migraine or getting over one.

Their suburb was called Mount Eden. It had light rocky volcanic soil and ants loved it. But so did plants and trees, and indeed it could have been a real garden of Eden, but for the traffic and the uptight, preoccupied, over-busy people and the power lines, leaf-blowers, motor mowers and 'infill' building going on all around, chopping up the land into tinier and tinier sections for bigger and bigger townhouses and bigger and bigger four-wheel drives.

But tonight all the two-stroke motors and landcruisers were silent, and the little night animals were out, and the dew was on the gardens and the roofs of the houses and the cars in the streets. Inside, the ants crawled over the undone dishes, but nobody was there to worry – until the morning.

In the dead of night, Shelley Arkle dreamed that she awoke. And in her lucid dreaming state, she thought a very lucid thought: 'What if I was only dreaming that I live in Mount Eden with a painful family and a pile of dishes to do in the morning, and this is me waking up, and I really live in another world, and I have a different family and we live in a magical place where there are no dishes to do and everyone is wonderful?' Then in her dream she fell asleep again, and found herself in that magical place. And in the morning she woke up and reached for her diary, and unlocked it, and began to write, before she forgot.

Chapter Nine

The Leaf

For leaves call one to another, and all are called by the Tree of Life. For all have its imprint on them, in the veins which sustain them, as the Rathvala, the Tree Within, sustains the soul. And in the autumn, as a reminder that the elixir of Life flows always, the leaves that fall to the ground are tinged with the colours of Agathra, the healing sap of the Tree, gold and red and yellow. So is it any wonder that the Tree of Life on Aeden still sometimes calls to the children of our lonely World by means of the leaf, even across the Void?

Ennead of Aeden, Of the Passportal Leaves

This is the diary of Shelley Anne Arkle. Secret! DO NOT READ – or you will be Forever Cursed. This means YOU, Mark.

JUNE25TH -

Today I am 13!!! Yay! I am now officially a teenager! I'm definitely not going to do those dishes.

Last nite had the weirdest dream. I dreamt I woke up and wished I was in another world, and then I really was. I was flying over rows and rows of knights in silver armour in a big cave glowing with blue light. They were all perfectly still as if they were fast asleep. Then I saw a bridge over nothing – like just blackness – no, there were stars, and the knights woke up and slowly walked single file across the bridge. Then I saw the most beautiful place, with a lake and a waterfall and a rainbow. That's when I saw HER. She was the most beautiful lady. I wish I could look like her one day. She seemed to be reaching out to me. I tried to call out to her. Then a purply darkness came over everything and there were huge thorns everywhere, and horrible stick men like praying mantises, that looked like the thorns. I was still flying, but then one of the Thornmen looked up and smiled a horrible smile–I knew he smiled, though his face was covered by sharp, pointy armour. He pointed at me with his skinny finger and I started falling, falling straight towards him. I struggled as hard as I could to wake up and I think I did. I sat up in bed in a panic, and noticed my piece of Kauri gum on the shelf by the bed was glowing! And right there next to it so close I felt its breath, was a silvery white pony, sooo beautiful with silky hair and lovely eyes. It laid its head on my lap. I reached out to stroke it. I got a fright – I felt the point of a sharp little horn on its forehead – and two others, smaller, one on each side. I thought, is It a goat? But as soon as I touched it, the creature jumped up, and went to the open window, looking at me all the time. It seemed to be trying to get me to follow it. "Do you really want to go?" I heard its voice in my head. Then it just leaped straight out the window and flew into the sky. I'm sure I was awake, or else it's the most awake dream I've ever had. I went to the window and cried cos I wanted to follow it, and ride away with it into the night. Why can't humans fly??! It seemed to be growing bigger as it flew away, until it looked to me like a huge white unicorn. Then it disappeared into the clouds.

Was it real?? Did it want to take me to that lady?? I feel homesick for that lovely place, but I'm terrified of those dark travellers – why did I just call them that? Am I going crazy now I'm 13? That brat Mark must never find out or he'll try to get dad to have me taken to the loony bin.

This was the beginning of the adventures of Shelley Arkle, for her dream was not from her imagination, or from this world at all, but was a message from across the depths of space, from a world that was waiting for her.

Right now, though, she was mainly thinking about the dishes, as she dressed and reluctantly descended the narrow staircase with the green wrought-iron handrail which she had to hold in case she tripped on the steep stairs. It was Saturday morning, and the big Saturday edition of the Herald (open at the Garage Sales section) was already on the big golden kauri-wood kitchen table with the turned legs. Mark must still be in bed, thank goodness. Mum was fretting over something. Dad looked up from the paper and said, 'Well Shelley, I guess it's "happy birthday" – but you're still doing those dishes, straight after breakfast.' Shelley glared at him and pushed past to the bathroom, slamming the door. Dad called out, 'That's enough of that, young lady!'

Shelley ignored him. She was thinking about the dream again, and feeling happy in spite of the dishes. She decided to have a bath. As the water ran, mum called out 'Don't use too much hot water – your brother needs a shower before we leave.'

'It's my birthday, get off my case!' Shelley shouted through the locked door. 'I'm not going anywhere with you! Anyway, when are we going to get a bigger hot water cylinder?' She sank further into the hot depths. The bathroom filled with steam – it was a fairly chilly morning – and she drifted off into dreams of her perfect house, how it would have a spa pool, and central heating, and a huge water heater, and a bathroom of her own... 'An ensuite,' she thought dreamily. It would have a tower, looking out over a beautiful lake... 'Just like in the dream,' she murmured, smiling to herself.

Mark was pounding on the door. 'Time's up, get out!' he snarled in that whining yet imperious voice. But Shelley ignored him.

The water was cooling down and the hot tap was running lukewarm when she finally got out and wrapped herself in warm fluffy towels. She wiped the fogged-up mirror, and looked at her reflection, gazing into her own eyes, very determined-looking eyes – beautiful almond eyes too, that boys noticed, if she had known it – and whispered to herself,

'You're grown up now, as good as! You're a teenager! So don't let them push you round any more, OK? You are your own person. You have rights. Pity you don't look so pretty... If only I was tall and pretty like Anna...' (Anna was fair-haired and tall, six months older than Shelley, and of course had contact lenses.)

She dressed and unlocked the door. Immediately Mark pushed in, glaring at her. As he passed he put two fingers to her head and screeched, 'POW, POW! You're dead.' He slammed the door shut before Shelley could hit him. 'Four-eyes!' he yelled from the safety of the locked bathroom.

Lately he had been getting worse, she was sure. 'I put it down to those bully boys he's been getting round with,' she said to anyone who might be listening. She turned off Mark's heavy metal music, put on her favourite female singer, and got some Weetbix. Dad had been poring over the garage sales and marked the ones that were nearby and looked interesting. Now he was onto the 'weekender' section, reading about the life and works of the eccentric Austrian architect Hundertwasser, who used to have a retreat up north. He turned Shelley's music off, and said, 'Well, Shell, since it's your birthday, your mother was saying you shouldn't have to do the dishes. I disagree, but I'm past the stage where I care, if she wants to do them for you and spoil you. Also, I'm sorry, but time got away on us, and we're low on money, as you know, so we haven't got you your birthday present yet. We were going to look for something at the garage sales last week.'

'Typical!' retorted Shelley. From the kitchen came the welcome sound of someone else doing the dishes – mum. She smiled in spite of herself. Dad went on, 'Anyway, we've got to get going very soon, straight after a couple of garage sales and a coffee, if we want to get to granddad's before dark.'

'What? I'm not going anywhere with you guys. It's my birthday!' Dad ignored this and said, 'By the way, you might be interested in this.' He showed her the picture of Hundertwasser's whimsical curvaceous buildings. She grabbed the paper and began reading. Something about the look of the man, bearded and contented like an old hippy, and his outlandish colourful structures, sparked a longing in Shelley for an altogether better world, where adults were not boring and people built interesting houses and had adventures. Her mood softening in spite of herself, she sighed, 'Can't I at least go round to Anna's first? At least she will have got me a present.'

'No, definitely not. You know how granddad gets if we're late.'

'I think you're scared of him. Anyway, I don't like him. Why do we have to have my birthday up there anyway? It's too far, and I'm going to get carsick, and it's not fair that I'm going to miss seeing my friends on my thirteenth birthday!'

But she did always like it once they got there, in spite of the distance, and in spite of granddad. His farm was several hours drive away, up in the Far North, on the other side of Waipoua forest where they say there is a ruined stone city, and where the biggest Kauri tree still stands, Tane Mahuta, god of the forest. His farm was at the very top of a steep valley, near the west coast with its deserted beaches, and there were virgin Kauri forests where kiwis still lived, and sometimes pieces of kauri gum, golden like amber when you scraped them clean, and very valuable. Mark had tried to steal the piece she had on her bedroom shelf, where it glowed in the light as if it came from some other, more beautiful world. She had spent a long time polishing it with finer and finer grades of wet and dry sandpaper, then with brasso and a soft cloth. He had got into big trouble; dad had taken it very seriously – for once.

At granddad's there was also a waterfall with a deep swimming hole, and from the open window of his rambling house which looked out over the deep forested valley you could hear it at night, and the cries of the morepork and the kiwi. There was even a placid little pony to ride. Funnily enough, considering he had no time for the Bible, he had called his farm 'New Eden' – although it certainly was like paradise to Shelley. And everyone said how fast things grew there – the sheep, the longhorned cattle, and especially the kauri trees that surrounded the farm on three sides. These were so huge now granddad was grumbling about how they blocked his light and 'They ought to let a man mill his own timber.' The forest was covenanted and could not be touched. Shelley was glad, and had said so. She loved the trees and the quiet bush with its cool streams and secret glades and leafy smells. She had read with indignation the story of the settlers' burning and milling almost all the giant kauri in the north, then when that was gone, digging over the land looking for the buried gum. There were once great forests lining the harbours, which stopped erosion and kept them clear and deep. Now most of the trees were gone, the land was eroding and the harbours were silting up.

Dad interrupted her dreaming. 'We have to go, it can't be avoided. I have problems with the old man too, you know... but he refuses to travel, and we have to sort this out. Anyway, he's promised you a birthday party.'

'Oh yeah, right, like he knows how to bake a cake... Anyway, sort what out?'

'Your grandfather is convinced 'they' are after him, that 'they're' closing in on him, ever since he got on the internet. He claims his emails get intercepted, his phone is tapped, and there are grey hitmen in grey cars looking for him. They work for aliens, of course! Now a crony of his has handed me an urgent message from the old codger telling me to come to his place immediately. He says... he wants to give me something. And he says bring the kids.'

'Maybe he's rich and he's going to give us all his money before 'they' get him!' said Shelley sarcastically, but her interest was kindled at the thought of a dangerous mystery, and at all the things they could do with money. Maybe she could go to America and study to become an astronaut, and maybe she would be the first woman on Mars, and they would find signs of a civilisation like the Vulcans, and she'd meet someone like Spock and they would fall in love... Visions of splendid things tumbled through her mind in one of those vivid split-seconds that were more important to her than hours of ordinary time.

She had a piece of thick plate-glass in her room which she had laboriously chipped into a six-inch circle to make a telescope mirror out of one day. She had been dreaming of 'Space, the final frontier' more and more lately. Mostly this was because she had just two weeks ago met an old man, a friend of her father, an amateur astrophysicist. 'I'm called Loopy Loftus' by some,' he had warned her when they were introduced, but Shelley was not deterred. Her father had told her how he made big telescopes in his garden shed, grinding the parabolic mirrors out of disks of greenish porthole glass thick as the Arkles' kauri tabletop, polishing and testing them with home-made equipment, silvering them and fitting them into simple square plywood tubes, with eyepieces made from old binoculars.

While dad went 'garage saling' she had stayed to learn all she could. After a tour of his shambolic but scientific sheds, they had talked for hours over cups of tea and pancakes (his staple food) At times he grew angry and paced the threadbare carpet of his living room as he explained how 'the experts' were all wrong about the Big Bang and wouldn't listen to reason. At other times he grew tearful, as he told her about the universe.

'One look through a big telescope and you'll be hooked,' he said, 'See a globular cluster, or the Pleiades, or Jupiter and its moons' – he waved his arms as if to encompass the heavens – 'and you'll never be the same again. It's beautiful out there, awesomely vast, and best of all it's real, not like the damned TV... It's so far beyond us puny humans you'll want to weep when you see it... It's worth everything I've been through just to see the look on people's faces when they climb down after their first glimpse through one of my telescopes.'

She had gone away determined to go to the next viewing night, and to take him up on his offer to help her make her first mirror, 'Just a baby one at first,' he'd said, 'six or seven inch, and if you've polished it right – just to within a wavelength of light'll do – you'll be able to see the rings of Saturn and the moons of Jupiter, and it'll blow you away.'

Then he had shown her how he tested the mirrors for the parabola shape, and she looked past the razorblade at the reflection of the pinhole light and saw the surface of the mirror like a moon-crater, where every bump and hollow stood out as if by magic. 'And those great humps and hollows you see are thinner than a piece of tinfoil, but when I polish them smooth and silver it, through this mirror I'll be able to see the universe!' he'd said, and Shelley had longed to have a go for herself.

But dad still hadn't got round to taking her back to get the carborundum grits so she could start grinding her mirror, her own little window on the stars...

'I don't think it's money or anything like that, knowing your grandfather,' said dad, bringing Shelley back to earth again. 'But you never know,' he added hopefully, just to cheer her up.

At this point Mark burst out of the bathroom, complaining that Shelley had turned his music off. And dad had to explain all over again why they had to go away. By then it was time to leave, no 'garage saling' this weekend. And mum, who had been getting the sandwiches ready, was sighing at the talk of granddad, and thinking about all the gardening she was not going to get done.

I'm sick of this, I'm not going! Not with Mark. It's my birthday, you can't make me!' Shelley announced, and ran into the back garden. She went through the gap in the stone wall which led to the fairy garden, intending to lock herself in the dome and brood. A yellow leaf fluttered out of the arch of tangled briar rose branches and fell at her feet. She stopped and picked it up; it seemed to glow in the half-light under the roses and the loquat trees. Its veins were the colour of dark amber, in the shape of a tree. A tree that seemed to glow. Then she felt a chill up her back; among the branches of the tree a white stain on the leaf resolved into an image of a face. She had seen that face before. In the dream which now came back to her with full clarity. She almost dropped the leaf. 'This is getting really weird,' she said to herself. Now the fairy garden felt eerie, as if it had become part of the dream. She ran back to the house a little shakily, holding the leaf, wondering if she should tell dad. 'Or maybe mum,' she thought.

But Mark grabbed at the leaf. 'What are you looking at that stupid leaf for? We're meant to be going!' She started fighting with him over the leaf, and he kept jumping up and trying to rip it out of her hand, until dad said, 'Enough of that! Out! Get in the car!'

They were almost out the door when the phone rang. 'Leave it!' said dad, but mum frowned at him and Shelley said, 'It could be Anna wishing me happy birthday. At least she takes birthdays seriously.' Sure enough, it was Anna, and when she heard they were leaving she said, 'Wait a minute, I'm coming round, I've got you a present. It'll come in handy if you're going away.'

When she arrived she gave Shelley a little parcel covered with hearts and butterflies. 'Open it!' she said, breathlessly. Mark crowded in to look. Shelley pocketed the leaf, shouldered him aside and opened the present. Inside was a cute cellphone – purple, her favourite colour – and two prepay cards for it. Dad looked over her shoulder and said, 'Nice toy, I suppose. But what about the effect on your brain? They give out microwaves. I don't trust them.'

'What do you care about my brain?' said Shelley, bitterly. 'You didn't even buy me that cheap encyclopaedia at the garage sale.' Mum sighed and said, 'Don't be so hard on your father, Shelley. You know his condition...'

'Why doesn't he "heal himself" like his books say?'

'I told you not to read those books in the attic, Shelley, they're dangerous and don't solve anything,' said dad.

'Are you sure you shouldn't have an aspirin now?' asked mum, alarmed at the direction the discussion was going.

'I'm all right, it's just the thought of seeing the old man – it's bringing up all the old stuff. OK, let's get this over with!'

He told Anna they had to go, 'And thanks anyway for the present, it's a nice thought.' Shelley rolled her eyes and snorted.

Anna, offended, made an attempt at a smile and said, 'Text me, Shelley.' She ran back down the front path, her golden hair shining in the wintry sun. Shelley turned on dad after she was gone, and there was a row, which threatened to turn into a full-scale fight when Mark took dad's side.

Finally they all piled grumpily into the car, an old white Japanese import with air conditioning that didn't work. But apart from that it was reliable, and they headed off through the Saturday morning city traffic. 'Where the heck they're all going to I don't know,' said dad impatiently at the fifth red light.

'Escaping from their boring homes I suppose,' said Shelley.

At last they were onto the motorway and over the harbour bridge. Big spots of rain dashed against the windscreen, and the sun disappeared behind black clouds. Mark was in the front with dad, as he was the one who always got carsick, and Shelley was in the back with mum. 'Turn the heater on, Mark!' said Shelley several times, kicking the back of his seat when he didn't respond. So he put it on high, and the fan whirred loudly. Dad reached over and turned it back down. 'Damned noise!' he growled.

Mark hadn't been reminded to go to the toilet before they left. Now he demanded in his most whining tones, 'I need to go to the toilet! Stop the car!' Shelley, wrapped in her own bitter thoughts, and trying to text Anna on her new cellphone, for once didn't give him a hard time.

U OK? SORRY DADS SUCH A D@#$K

XOXO SHELL

'Not now, Mark, for goodness' sake!' said dad.

'Make sure you don't turn off... along here... won't you?' said mum, as if she didn't want to say the words. They had just passed the first sign for the Silverwood turnoff.

'Of course, Ellen. Why would I?' Through clenched teeth he muttered, 'As if I'd want to bring all that drama up again!' Shelley noticed a look of near-panic on her mother's beautiful but sad face as they passed the Silverwood sign.

Shelley knew her dad had married her mother for her haunting beauty – she was like a fairy that might inhabit one of his more idealistic structures which nobody bought. So there was bitterness; she could not live up to the romantic ideal he had of her, and he could not afford to buy her beautiful things or take her to beautiful places – or even do up the house. 'He's such a loser,' thought Shelley, bitterly. 'Maybe I really am adopted. I bet my real father would be brave and romantic, not a nerd like him. And my mother would be independent and happy. And Mark would NOT be my brother – yay!'

Her cellphone beeped. She worked out how to look at the text after a few curses at dumb software.

DATS OK WHERE R U?

The rain was pelting down now. Ahead, flashing red and orange lights and the piercing blue lights of police cars filled the watery windscreen. A man waving a light stick signalled for them to slow down. The car skidded as dad slowed to a crawl and was directed past the mangled wrecks of several cars and an articulated truck, off the motorway and onto an offramp. Shelley saw the sign gleaming cold and wet in the headlights: Silverwood.

In pioneer days the town had been the end of the line, before the Great North Road was built, and cut it in two. Later it had been by-passed altogether by the new motorway. Now it was a backwater. Its name sounded romantic to Shelley, but when they had driven through once, years ago, she had been disappointed: it was just a little valley with a huddle of shops and factories, a muddy tidal stream at the bottom and the noisy motorway running through the middle. Still, she held onto the belief that with a name like that there must be something special there, just hidden, like buried treasure.

And there was something there all right, something the locals did not like to talk about. There had been several disappearances of young children from the town over the years, and none of them had ever been found. And in certain weathers the silvery mist which gave the town its name would blanket the valley, and over the Fairyhill Reserve it was thickest of all.

They said the Fairyhill Reserve was the centre of the strangeness. There were certainly some strange folk living in the town and in the hills round the Fairyhill Reserve. Some of these folk were openly interested in the disappearances and talked of Silverwood as a portal, like the Bermuda Triangle, and they searched for standing stones and the like, seeking the remains of ancient magical civilisations. The Maori had tales, too, of the People of the Mist, the patupaiarehe, dangerous fairy folk.

'I'm sorry, Ellen, I had no choice,' said dad. Mum was looking out the window, as if resigned to whatever fate was up to. They drove slowly towards the town.

Shelley texted back:

SILVERWD – DETOR! THIS IS DA TRIP FROM HEL

Mark's high-pitched, harsh voice broke the silence. 'Hey, what a dump! Isn't this where you and granddad used to live, when you were a boy?' Dad muttered, 'Dragged me round the countryside, damn selfish old codger,' and Shelley looking up from clicking the letters into her cellphone, commented sarcastically, 'Funny place to settle, wasn't it dad? For once I agree with Mark – sort of the middle of nowhere isn't it? A dead-end dump, really.' She said it to get at dad. She knew he had a thing about his old hometown and didn't like talking about it – let alone visiting it.

'Don't tease your father!' said mum. 'He doesn't want to talk about it. He's tense enough as it is.' Shelley noticed that mum, too, looked pale and nervous, and a flutter of something like fear went through her stomach.

Chapter Ten

Detour to Silverwood

Coming into Silverwood it was as if the dark clouds were specially gathered over this little township beside the old road, just to envelop it in grey sheets of driving rain. The wipers were on intermittent, and Mark reached over and flicked them onto high. Dad jabbed them back to normal. Shelley noticed he did seem very tense – even for him. He was muttering about the 'damned rain,' wiping his brow a lot, and rubbing the windscreen, which kept fogging up, and also looking in the rear view mirror.

'Damn guy in that flash sportscar, he's been right up my tail all the way,' he muttered. Dad was irritable and paranoid like that, sometimes. It didn't help his driving. Shelley glanced back as they slowed to turn in to the ugly toilet block on the main street. The red sportscar, its black canopy up, with dark-tinted side windows, pulled over on the other side and stopped, but no one got out. It was a very flash sportscar. The window went down. The man inside had dark glasses on. He was wearing a grey suit jacket. Shelley felt a chill run down her spine as she thought of granddad's talk of sinister grey men who tapped phones and... followed cars? She looked at the number plate: XP 1307. She memorised it. 'Just in case,' she thought. 'Not that it's really going to be anything!' her cellphone beeped.

REAL DUMP EH? BUT GOOD CLOTHES SHOP

GO THERE WIT U 1 DAY

LUVANA

Shelley felt a tug of affection for her friend, and wished she could go shopping with her instead of going on this long trek (though she couldn't see any clothing shops in Silverwood, except a factory seconds outlet for lingerie. 'Maybe Anna means that,' she thought).

LUV 2 IF I EVA RETURN FROM THIS

SHEL

Shelley moved into the front when Mark went to the toilet. Returning to the car he kicked and fought her through the window, but ended up in disgrace in the back seat with mum after denting the front door. They set off again, up the old Silverwood road that wound into the hills before rejoining the main north road. Shelley noted with relief that the sportscar didn't follow them. They passed a turnoff that said 'Silverwood Psychiatric Hospital.' Mum, sitting quietly in the back, let out a strangled cry and put her face in her hands. Shelley turned around and saw that she was trembling. Mark had refused to eat mum's sandwiches and was munching on the potato chips (with noisy open mouth of course). Dad clutched the wheel and looked as if he wanted to say something to mum, glancing repeatedly in the rear-vision mirror and flicking his hand up to wipe his face. Was he coming down with a migraine? Sometimes when it hit him he would see funny lights and have to lie down in a darkened room. It was all just stress, of course. 'But grownups don't seem to be able to be honest with themselves and live for what really matters,' she thought. 'It's their own fault, for making such a depressing world to live in. The Rat-race. The Daily Grind. And they call it the "Real World"! Well it sucks. Maybe we're really living in the Matrix. If only there was a way out! I'd take it, even if I had to go through what Neo did to get out! I wish I could find a way!'

Little did she know the powerful effect such thoughts can have, or she might not have let herself wish that. On a sudden whim she took the strange leaf out of her pocket and stared at the ghostly image of the Lady on it. 'If only...' she thought, and she noticed her heart was beating faster. 'But no, silly me. It's just a leaf, and that world in the dream was just my imagination.' She remembered one of dad's books talked about wish fulfilment dreams. 'What about the nasty people in the dream, though?' she wondered.

Mum was still crying. Dad spoke in a loud voice, looking into the rear-vision mirror at mum. 'I've just about had it, Ellen. You still haven't got over it, have you? After all these years. You still think you were brainwashed in there. You got me to go along with your silly lie that that madman up north is my father, and that Shelley is our daughter. Well, that would make me a criminal, wouldn't it, because you were only fifteen when you had her!' He was shouting now. He didn't often do it, but when he did it frioghtened Shelley. He went on, and there was a sense of doom in his angry words. Something irrevocable was happening.

I married you because I saw something special in you... I thought I could help you. I think we should just go back now, and go our separate ways!' But he kept driving as if possessed. Mum said nothing, but burst into tears.

They were out of the town now, ploughing through wind-gusts bearing thick rain straight at the car. Mark lunged forward over the seat and turned the wipers on high. She was sure he turned slightly towards her and smirked, but for once he said nothing. She elbowed him, but missed. 'Did he know?' she wondered. It was a sickening thought. It was all right for him – he was born after... after whatever had happened when her mother had her... Shelley felt horribly hollow and shaky inside, and angry, and helpless. Whatever the truth was, it was too late – it had already happened.

Mum was still weeping. Shelley went over what dad had said, not wanting to provoke him by asking the questions burning in her mind. Did he really mean what he had just said? Could he really be just her... stepfather? The word sounded hollow and horrible in her head. But somehow she knew it was true. So that was the explanation for his tension and defensiveness, and so many little things she had heard them say to each other when they thought no one was listening.

Mum turned to Shelley, her eyes brimming with tears, and touched the side of her face with a trembling hand. Shelley felt her own tears stinging her eyes as she struggled to send the text message she had been writing to Anna. It read:

IT JUS GOT WORSE

THNKN OF RUNING AWAY

SHEL

Just as the 'message sent' envelope icon sailed across the screen, a bright flash lit up the car, then an explosive thunderclap straight after it, which meant, Shelley knew, that the lightning was very close. Dad jumped and the car swerved, but he didn't slow down. Wiping away her tears, Shelley stared out her window, at the green hills obscured by slanting grey rain, wondering where the lightning had struck. Then her heart gave a huge leap. She forgot everything else – her family, her state of shock, her plans to run away. A huge horse was on the hillside only about twenty metres away, cantering through the rain. It glowed white against the drab hillside, moving in parallel with them, seeming to float rather than jump over the fences that went up from the road across its path. Its mane was long and silvery, and streamed out behind its graceful neck, and its tail also streamed out in the wind. She could see the rhythmic rippling of its muscles beneath the sleek silvery-white of its coat.

'It's keeping up with us!' she thought, strangely soothed by the wild apparition. 'It's totally excited by this thunderstorm! What's it doing now?' It was plunging its head as it galloped, and appeared to be looking straight at her. Then she saw the horn in its forehead, where a moment before there was nothing. With a shock like lightning hitting her, the dream came back to her. Her heart was pounding. This time she knew she was awake, and the unicorn was real. A moment before everything was (relatively) normal; now it was full of magical danger – and an electrifying excitement which was close to terror.

There were no other cars on the road. The man who had moments before been father to her was still driving fast, too fast considering Shelley could hardly see anything out the front because of the rain. Before she could say anything about the unicorn galloping alongside them, mum leaned forward and almost shouted, 'Stop the car! I want to get out NOW!'

Don't be stupid, woman!' dad retorted. 'Can't you see its RAINING?' Suddenly dad wrenched the wheel around, cursing as the car spun.

'Damn puddle!'

A great sheet of water sprayed up, slowing the car as they lurched off the road and veered into a deep roadside ditch full of weeds. There was the sound of an approaching car, and headlights on the road above. The red sportscar hissed past and disappeared into the cold grey rain.

Chapter Eleven

Out of the Storm

'Damn, damn, damn,' said dad. The bonnet was steaming in the rain that pelted down. Everyone breathed heavily in the sudden silence, then both Shelley and Mark began to shout at once.

But a moment later dad saw the white unicorn. He silenced them with a quick motion of his hand as he stared out the window in horror.

'Nobody move or open any doors. Mark, get down on the floor, NOW!' He reached over and pushed Mark down, ignoring his protests. Then he too cowered down, looking as if he had seen a ghost. But Shelley hardly heard him. As if in a dream – though the most real dream she had ever had – she picked up the leaf (which she had dropped during dad's outburst) opened the door and began walking towards the unicorn, which had come to within a few metres of the car and was looking straight at her. She held out the leaf to it, and it whinnied, as if it knew...

She heard dad calling after her in an odd-sounding voice, as if he was trying to whisper and yell at the same time, 'Wait! Shelley! No! Drop that leaf! Come back! You don't know what you're doing!' She turned to look. Mum was staring from the back window, motioning to her to go. Shelley felt a sudden huge irrational bond with her mother that leapt crazily over all the negative feelings. Her mother understood! Maybe she really was mad, but she didn't care; she believed her mother knew this was ok... She waved goodbye, then turned and climbed the fence. As she walked towards the beautiful apparition before her, she heard its breath, saw the mist coming from the wide nostrils, felt the silent command:

'Come!'

Up into the windswept paddock he led her. She glanced back; the car had faded from view completely, as if they had passed into a different Silverwood, a dream Silverwood. Higher and higher the unicorn led her, until they saw the rain below them and the sun shining on the wet leaves of the forest. The unicorn leapt the fence where the sign said 'Fairyhill Reserve. No shooting.' She climbed the stile, dried her glasses on a dry part of her t-shirt, and followed the magical creature into the trees. It was waiting for her in a clearing with a large mossy stone in the middle, and big trees all around. There was no sound but the steady dripping of raindrops from the wet leaves.

Now she somehow knew something really scary was going to happen. Her heart was pounding. The unicorn stood, waiting for her to catch her breath. She knew exactly what he wanted her to do. She reached up with a trembling hand, grabbed hold of the shining mane, and jumping as high as she could, managed to swing up onto his great back, still damp and steaming from the rain. His coat was silvery, silky smooth, and smelled reassuringly like a horse's hair in the rain – like her grandfather's pony had smelt. But this was no safe little amble down a farm track...

Rearing high, the white unicorn leaped with awesome power out of the clearing into a silent night sky filled with millions of diamond-bright stars. She clung on to the mane for dear life, still holding the leaf, as if it was a ticket. For a moment she felt they were falling; then she realised they were now gliding weightless, the unicorn's head tossing, his horn brilliant white mother-of-pearl with rainbow hues against the gem-studded blackness of space. For an unforgettable second there was a great silent immensity all around her. Then they really were falling. Then the glorious warmth of golden sunlight enveloped her as she landed lightly on a rocky ledge overlooking a slope which ran down to a dusty reddish road. The unicorn had vanished. Stumbling forward as she regained her balance, she stopped, inches from the edge. The dream-like feeling had gone; this was hard reality again. But where on earth was she? She dropped the leaf, adjusted her glasses and looked around, her heart beating faster than ever, but now less from fear than a kind of wild joy.

Part of her had no doubt she was in the foreign land of her dream; the other part reacted with disbelief and began desperately looking around for familiar things: the rain, the tarsealed road, dad and mum and the car in the muddy ditch. But there was nothing familiar. Everything was subtly different; even the hot sunlight felt odd – it had a different colour somehow – a deeper gold, she thought. From the feel of the air and the height of the sun overhead she got the impression that it was morning. But she knew that in an alien place like this all appearances could be misleading. The unicorn was nowhere to be seen. She was utterly alone.

The silence rang in her ears, not even a breath of wind to disturb it, and now, despite the strangeness of what had happened to her, the warmth and light began to envelop her in a summery mood of languid contentment. The light seemed lighter somehow; 'sparkly' was the word that sprang to mind. She felt the way she always did when she woke up on the first day of the school holidays, or like the time she had gone caving with dad and emerged from cold dark into warm sunlight though it had been raining when they went in. She noticed she was still quite wet from the rain.

'Happy birthday, Shelley,' she said to herself, and smiled, bravely. It was scary, of course, but also an awesome adventure, a dream come true. She felt very alive, and free. Wide plains faded into blue in the distance, and there were pretty hills behind her. It reminded her of pictures she had seen of the Mediterranean – perhaps the Greek islands, rugged and bright – and she spun around with her arms outstretched. She was sure she must indeed have arrived by magic into the land of last night's dream. Nothing seemed impossible now. Her wish to be free of her family had come true, with a vengeance. She didn't even know any more who her real father was. She knew she should feel distressed, but somehow now all she felt was relief. 'At last all the lies are over. One day I can find out the truth, who my real father is, and what mum's big secret is,' she thought. 'Now, I wonder, where is that unicorn? And are there any humans in this whole country?' She glanced again at what she had taken for a patch of forest, out on the plain, and saw that it looked more like brambles or a dried-up blackberry patch, but very tall, almost as tall as trees. And was there any water anywhere on that whole expanse? Sudden doubt came upon her: maybe she was caught in some kind of space-time warp, and soon maybe it would all change again and she would fall back into space, or a black hole. Then the memory of the thorns and the stick creatures returned, with a shock of fear. Why had she forgotten them? They could be lurking anywhere, waiting to catch her. Dreams, after all, can change into nightmares.

Fighting back panic, she felt for her new cellphone, hoping she had pocketed it before getting out of the car. Thank God, it was there. Shakily she dialled her home number. There was no sound of ringing on the other end, just an eerie silence. On the display, she now saw the message:

'No Service.'

Now she really felt sure she was in another world. The back of her neck prickled. She looked down the slope towards the only sign of any human presence: the road. She went cautiously to the edge of the rock-shelf, looking for a way down.

Chapter Twelve

Two Strangers

She was about to step off the ledge when a rattling noise came from below. The road ceased to be a comforting sign of civilisation, and became full of menace. Who or what was travelling on it? Could it be the creatures from her nightmare? No, she thought, that was too horrible to contemplate. Forcing herself to look, she saw that the road went around a bend behind a rocky outcrop to her left. That was where the noise was coming from - the unmistakable sound of rumbling wheels and horses' hooves. Her heart beat wildly as she stared at the place where the road emerged from behind the outcrop. Something was slowly, creakily approaching, and she had the clearest feeling that she did not want to meet it. Then whatever it was stopped, still out of sight.

Another sound came from behind her. She spun around. There, not more than fifty paces away on the hillside, was a tall man silhouetted against the deep blue sky; a huge man, it seemed to her, his bearded head covered with a hood. He was calling out, in a voice of urgent command, but in a foreign language. She heard a word that sounded like 'ducktrabbla,' then (she thought) an English word: 'enemy.' The man was holding a long staff with a nasty knob on the end of it, pointing with it, first at her, then the road, and wildly waving a thin, bony arm apparently expecting her to come to him. Instead, she turned and ran from him in a panic, jumping off the ledge, landing on loose stones, tripping and skinning her knee, tumbling and scrambling down the rocky slope. She tripped over a rock and fell headlong onto the road. The dust and grit stuck to her wet clothes and her skinned knee as she began to painfully pick herself up.

At that very moment her phone decided to work. The text message alert tinkled the frantic little tune she had set it to. 'Thank God it was just a dream, I'm waking up now,' she thought. 'This'll be Anna. Maybe I fell and hit my head following that horse, and now I'll be rescued, if I can just text back...'

She looked at the display, and her heart did a flip. The message was not in English. The first letters were a jumble, then it got clearer. It read something like this:

KRKMDAMANARKPHKEWAUBVVZ

SDPHLW.....KORMAN

TIDAK ARCRATINE

TIDAK AGRAK KORTANA

TINE AGHMAATH

Then there were several more lines of jumbled letters, followed by these words:

KORMAN ESTAMON EAYA

EIM AROVORA

AXPAGLAB OKA KOR

URPAMA PAGYOKA EAM

AINENIA

'This is really random,' she thought. As she puzzled over the text, forgetting in her amazement the strange man still waving at her from the hillside, a shadow passed over her. A chill ran down her spine. She slowly rose to her feet, staring wide-eyed at the creature towering over her: the long thin feet, yellowish-white and scaly like a bird's, ending in long sharp claws of pearly white; the heavy black robes; the pale, hooded face peering down at her – an alien face, unless the pointed shape of it was only armour (please God let it be, she prayed). But it looked very alien, sharp and menacing, like the pointed helmets of the medieval suits of armour she had seen in Mark's military books. She had an impression of a horrible gap where the throat should be. Then she saw that the head looked more like a giant seedpod – of some giant thistle perhaps – with spiky segments like sharp petals, pearly like the claws on the feet, as if they were made of hard shell. The segments were parted slightly, pointing down at her, and there were dark wide-set eyes glittering within, blinking slowly. The face had a set expression like a smile. The head was swaying slightly from side to side like a snake's, and she saw that it was held up on a long thin snaky neck which curved at least two feet back before joining the shoulders – but then these, what she could see of them inside the heavy robes, were more like a writhing junction of pale, gnarled roots emerging from a dark, bulbous taproot.

All this flashed before her in a second while her insides felt as though they were turning to water. Fear and horror oozed through her body. She knew what this thing was. It was one of the thorn creatures from her dream.

Chapter Thirteen

The Deathwagon

She breathed in to scream, but before any sound came out the thorn creature had grabbed her throat with the pale stick-like fingers of one hand, cutting her off in mid-breath. It began frisking her with the other. Its arms seemed, horribly, to have no joints, or else to be all joints, and she had the image of an eel's body writhing under the black sleeves (she hated and feared eels at the best of times, ever since Mark had caught one and put it in her bed, still writhing). She felt she was going to be sick, choking in its hard, clinging grip.

It found the cellphone where she had hidden it in her pocket and held it up, its sharp eyes flicking over the sleek plastic surface as if to penetrate its secrets. She heard its wheezing breath for a moment, as – a horrible shock to Shelley – it began reading the text. Then it made a guttural exclamation that reminded her of an angry rooster. With a snake-like movement it thrust the phone under the dark robes which hung off the short bulbous body. Then, still gripping her throat, it made a sound like the caw of a crow. There was the swish and crack of a huge whip in the silence, and a tall, black wagon rumbled into view. It had stopped behind the bluff while the thorn creature had run ahead to pounce on Shelley. Its sides were made of riveted plates of black metal, and it rolled along on huge iron-bound wheels. Great draft horses pulled it, driven by another of the thorn creatures sitting high up in the front. There was sweat on their flanks, and blinkers on their eyes. Now the black hulk of the wagon loomed above her, blocking out the sun. With a harsh cranking sound, a long mechanical arm extended out of the top of the wagon. It reminded her of the hydraulic grabbers on the trucks which picked up the rubbish trundlers along her street. These trucks had always looked slightly menacing to her – but nothing like this wagon. This, she knew, was built for some evil purpose. 'For live rubbish?' she wondered, horribly. As if to prove her right, the arm jerked down to where she stood, heart pounding, pinioned by the thorn creature. Its pincers of steel gripped her waist, and the thorn creature let go of her. She felt the pincers jerk upwards, pressing up into her ribs, making her gasp for air. The creature held up its clawed hand, and the arm stopped. It had seen something. Slowly it reached out both hands towards her face. The hands were long and pale, and clawed like the feet. She tried to turn away, but the hands darted in quicker than thought and snatched her glasses off. Tucking them under its robes, the thorn creature raised its hand again to the driver. With a sickening wrench that forced the air out of her lungs even as she screamed, the arm heaved her up until she was dangling above a dark hole in the top of the wagon. Then it jerked down and lowered her into the dark, stinking hole. The pincers snapped open, and she fell with a jarring impact onto a metal floor thinly covered with slimy, mouldy straw. The light from the hole above vanished to a crack as the hatch clanged shut. A harsh sound like laughter came through the metal walls, then another crack of the terrible whip, and in the darkness she felt the floor lurch forward under her feet as she tried to get up. The dreadful wagon was bumping along the road again, and Shelley, dazed and shocked, was a prisoner inside it. Her worst fear since the night of her dream had come true. She had met the Thornmen.

She crouched on the floor, trying to keep her balance, and stared into the darkness about her. As the light spots dancing in front of her eyes faded, she began to make out a few huddled forms in the corners of the wagon. Big sad eyes were staring at her, but no one spoke. The forms resolved into children - human children, she thought with relief, though she couldn't see them clearly in the dark and without her glasses. They were all younger than herself, and all very dejected-looking.

'Where... are they... taking us?' Shelley asked, still breathless from the pincers. She felt her heart pounding, as she reluctantly breathed in the stinking, stifling air and tried not to be sick. No one spoke; they all just stared back at her blankly.

Then a sliding window in the front wall grated open, just enough to show the dark eyes of the Thornman who had captured her. It was still smiling, she thought with disgust, as she looked up at it. Or was it just the strange armour around its head that made it look as if it was smiling? She got to her feet without thinking why she was doing it and took a step towards the creature.

She noticed that its skin, pale before, was turning dark to match the blackness of the inside of the mobile dungeon. Then, as she looked into its hawk-like eyes with huge pupils like an owl's, without warning the sharp petals of the facial armour opened wide. They seemed to be part of its body, pivoting in bony sockets around the face. Her eyes were drawn to the broad forehead: there was something odd about it, an outline, like a huge closed eyelid. Shockingly, it opened, not with normal lids but sharp, outward-folding petals like those that surrounded the face, and she was staring into a huge eye like the single eye of the Cyclops of Greek legend, dark amber like a crocodile's, with huge fathomless pupil which dilated as she stared into it, transfixed. She made an effort to break away from its stare, but she could not. Resist as she might, she felt her mind, at least the vision part of it, being taken over, and horribly, she began to be shown things: dark forms before her eyes swirled and congealed into moving pictures of fear and horror. With a terrible clarity, as if she had been given glasses to see every detail, she saw the road ahead, dipping into a deep valley and plunging down through long corridors of tall thorn bushes or brambles like those she had seen on the plain, only much bigger. Rasping tendrils waved over spiny grey-green foliage, and cruel dagger-shaped thorns covered the tangled snaking branches beneath, where the light was dim, and large pale cockroaches scuttled through the dry thorn-mould. She saw their waving antennae and their mandibles opening and shutting.

Then the real nightmare began. She saw things which made her skin crawl: people impaled in the thorn thickets all along the roadside by a foul lake, some dead and rotting, others seemingly in a coma. Their hair was matted and they looked as though they had been there a long time. With a sickening shock, she recognised one of the impaled figures as the beautiful Lady from her dream – but she was not the same person. She was thin and drawn, with a look of pain on her face, bedraggled and wretched. Her eyes were half open, but she was not moving at all as they rumbled past. Her long uncombed hair was tangled up in the cruel thorns, and her fingernails were so long they were curling over. Despair hung in the air along that road, and seeped into Shelley's heart so that it seemed to stop beating.

'So it's hopeless,' she thought, or was he saying this in her head? 'The good people have already lost and now they're...'

'...being punished for their futile resistance.'

'The Thornmen are...

'...in control.'

'So that text message came from...'

'The accursed witch. She is not dead, not yet, but she dares to send futile messages to foolish children – and others, blinded by love – whom she will lead to their destruction, to share her fate. She will be punished by seeing you – and those others – hung next to her. Soon, very soon.'

She was hearing the creature's voice in her head, unmistakably. Her throat choked up with a sob that would not come out, and then (still held against her will to the vision the creature was showing her) she saw the wagon grinding along, slowly, inexorably, towards a low rocky hill with a black cave entrance shaped like a gaping human skull. They entered the mouth of the skull under the pale jagged teeth and the world of light vanished. Stick-like thorn creatures crowded towards them, black like the dark pit from which they emerged. Some were holding cage-like lanterns, containing lumps of something that glowed with a sickly green light. The wagon disgorged Shelley with the rest of the prisoners into an echoing hall of horrors, like an underground railway station seen in a fevered nightmare, full of smiling, silent stick men. There were doors leading off everywhere into darkness. Then to her dismay she was singled out, and pushed into a passage that wound like entrails left and right but always down, down. There was a stomach-churning stench like rotting fish. Finally she approached the lowest point: a great void, utterly black, with horrible black nightmare shapes writhing within it, waiting to swallow her up. She felt herself sliding down the tunnel towards it. But now it glowed with an oddly welcoming light, black like velvet, a kind of un-light that promised oblivion, eternal rest and safety, release from fear and suffering. She heard the urgent command: 'Embrace the Void, let go of your foolish struggles, be embraced by the peaceful Dark!'

She tried to cry out. She guessed she must be fainting. It had never happened to her before. There was a roaring in her ears as she dropped to the jolting floor of the wagon. The creature that had shown her the visions, its Cyclops eye now lidded, was still smiling down at her through the peephole. The wagon rumbled on, and the other prisoners huddled in the corners, in their own private nightmares, eyes downcast.

Chapter Fourteen

The Boy Raiders

The peephole slid shut, grating on dry dusty sand. The wagon still bumped along, hot, smelly and dark, towards its unthinkable destination.

Nothing in Shelley's former life had prepared her for this. She was aware, for the second time that morning, of being totally alone. When she had just arrived the feeling had been one of exhilaration, breathing the fresh air, looking out over a new world. Now she was a prisoner in that world, a stranger in a strange land, without friends or any hope of rescue, without even glasses to see with. She began to cry, trying to block out everything, burying her face in her hands.

After a while her sobs subsided. She felt a little nudge. A small boy was holding out a rag to her. He was close enough for her to make out his features. He had a head that was big for his body, a small pointed chin and large eyes with a sad but inquiring expression. A wave of pity engulfed her, and gratitude for the little urchin's act of kindness in that horrible place. She sniffed heavily, took the rag, wiped her face a little, and said with heartfelt gratitude, 'Thank you, little guy! Hey, can you people understand English?' But the boy put his finger to his delicate mouth, alarmed to hear her speak.

At that moment there was a lurch, then stillness for a few seconds. There came a low rumble outside, like thunder. It was the sound of galloping hooves, a lot of them, getting louder and louder. There were clanging impacts against the iron walls, making Shelley's ears ring, then muffled shouts and a horn being blown, then silence. They were all huddled in the centre of the wagon by this time. There was a slight rocking and the sound of someone clambering up the outside of the wagon. Shelley heard the peephole in the front wall slide open again. A beam of sunlight pierced her eyes, and through the dazzle she saw a pair of eyes. She shrank back. But the eyes did not belong to the leering creature which had tormented her. They were those of a boy, wide and innocent. The boy shouted out in a foreign language, in a shrill excited voice, talking fast. Her fellow-prisoners began to call out in the same language, and laugh and let out triumphant whoops. She heard one word joyfully repeated over and over. It sounded like Emragga. Later she would know the name well: Émragir, otherwise known as Quickblade, brave leader of the Boy Raiders. The word, repeated so joyfully, lifted her own heart. She felt a quiver of anticipation. Now there was a thudding and scraping – someone was climbing onto the roof. The hatch swung open, flooding the dark wagon with blinding golden sunlight and fresh air.

A lithe figure dressed in brown dropped down into the welcoming crowd of prisoners. 'Emragga! Emragga!' the boys cried, jumping around him like puppies.

'He's just a boy himself!' thought Shelley. He spread his arms wide, grinning at his admirers, laughing with (Shelley thought) excessive self-satisfaction. He wore a silver helmet or skullcap with green camouflage netting stretched over it, in which was stuck a row of feathers which reminded Shelley oddly of the thorn creatures. It occurred to her that they could actually be from the creatures. This had a mixed effect on her. She thought he must be a brave but also a dangerous boy, to have actually hunted such fearful beings.

With a swift heave the dangerous boy hoisted the smallest child up and shoved him (none too gently, Shelley thought) out onto the roof. One by one he swung them all up, until only Shelley (the biggest of the prisoners) was left. The boy smiled gallantly at her, the perfect white teeth flashing in his handsome dark-tanned face, and she smiled back, more weakly than she would have liked. She felt quite shaky and self-conscious. She was afraid he was going to grab her by the waist. But he bent down and motioned to her to get up on his back. She hesitated, but he said something impatient-sounding, so she clambered awkwardly onto his back, thinking how strong he was for his size – he was not much taller than her, and (she thought) much skinnier. She reached for the edge of the hatch and bravely tried to pull herself up, but was not strong enough, and was relieved to feel the boy's strong hands catching her flailing feet, powerfully pushing her up. She was very glad she wasn't wearing a skirt. Still, she was sure she felt his eyes on her as she kneeled on the hot steel of the wagon-top. She held out a hand tentatively to help him up, but he impatiently waved her aside, leapt out onto the roof and looked around calmly as if it was nothing. They climbed down off the wagon, the boy going first, helping her down after him. She had no time to be awkward, as the boys in the silver skullcaps were moving urgently to get everyone onto their horses. They also cut loose the horses that had been yoked to the wagon. These were now whinnying and looking very happy at their sudden change of fortune.

There were dozens of the wild boy-warriors. Some were going around giving drinks to the prisoners from dirty-looking leather waterskins. Shelley noticed how thirsty she was, and gratefully accepted the waterskin which one of the boys offered her. 'Ugh! What is that?' she expclaimed. 'It tastes like fermented passionfruit juice.' The boy seemed surprised, and took the waterskin back. (Later she would find out that she had been right; the Boy Raiders favourite drink was passionfruit juice - fresh or fermented, and always full of seeds - and their villages always have plenty of passionfruit vines growing up the trees.)

'Wait a minute,' thought Shelley, 'those two don't look like boys!' She stared at them, squinting to try and see more clearly. A very wild-looking girl of about thirteen, and another even younger, were sitting on enormous horses (for the girls' size), with two little ex-prisoners clinging on behind them. But looking around, she guessed most of the rescuers were boys, from maybe ten up to fourteen or fifteen by the look of them – though none of them looked like the kind of children Shelley was used to. She wondered who they were, and why there were no adults. It frightened her to realise they were completely unsupervised. She thought uneasily of the book she had just read, Lord of the Flies, and did not feel at all safe. But of course she felt excited, and it was very good to be free.

Some of the ambushers were dragging off the bodies of two of the dark hooded creatures – their chameleon-like skin now a ghastly pale shade – into the thorn bushes by the roadside. Shelley didn't want to look, but saw that arrows were sticking out of them. Shocked, part of her thought, 'Should they have shot these creatures?' but another part of her thought, 'Good! So they aren't invincible, after all.' Then she noticed several of the boys gathering around one of their number, a boy of about fourteen. There appeared to be something wrong with him, though he was not injured outwardly. Unlike the others, who had silver helmets or skullcaps on, his head was bare, and his hair stood out from his scalp as if electrified. His eyes were staring and vacant, and he was making gurgling noises as if he was not aware of the sound of his own voice. The others led him to a horse, and bundled him onto it, like a sack of potatoes, held upright with difficulty by the horse's rider, a boy of about thirteen. Shelley wished she could ask what had happened to him, but felt sure it was the creatures' doing, and her skin crawled at the thought. It was as if the boy's mind had simply been wiped out.

As she was noticing all this, squinting so that her eyes stung, the wagon, its pincer arm swinging useless now, was being ransacked for removable parts by some of the boys who carried sacks and tools. As soon as they had finished their frenetic demolition, some of the biggest boys pushing the wagon towards a thorn-lined gorge near the road. Shelley could just make out the sinister logo on the side: a spidery hexagon made up of six white scythes, red-edged, on a black background, spinning around a black centre in which a white snake made a circle by biting its own tail, as if to devour itself. Then the wagon teetered over the edge and plunged into the gorge, ripping through the dry thorn-thickets which heaved and crackled as it disappeared into their impenetrable depths. The boys, panting with the exertion, saw it off with whoops of joy and broke into a strident chanting song, surprisingly guttural but more tenor than baritone, with soprano accompaniment from the smaller boys. She didn't understand the words, but it sounded very warlike. It was in fact their favourite raiding-song, as recorded in the Ennead of Aeden, 'Of the Boy Raiders':

We are the Children of the Wind

We come from the east, we ride to the west

We came from the stars, we fight for Aeden

Our mothers are lost, our fathers are blind.

We have no fear, we laugh at Death.

We ride like the Wind, we strike like the Snake,

The Caller will come, the Jewel will return

The Rainbow will rise, The Sword will awake.

As they sang, they made a tall pile of thorns and dead branches and, carrying the two Thornmen, four boys to a body, they tossed the bodies onto the pile. Shelley was surprised how light they seemed for their size. 'Like birds, I suppose,' she thought. And she saw that some of the boys had taken long feather-like objects from the bodies and were sticking them into the leather bands of their silver skullcaps.

The fierce chant ended. The boys gathered around the pile while one of them cracked two stones together and soon had a fire crackling at the base. After a few seconds the thorns blazed up, sending billows of smoke and sparks into the still, clear air, and the boys cheered wildly. The figures of the Thornmen could be seen writhing horribly in the flames, as if still alive. She remembered she had once seen a freshly-killed eel cut into pieces for cooking and, horribly, each piece still moved. She had a phobia about eels. 'It's only reflexes,' she told herself, but still she felt sickened, and turned away from the sight. The blaze increased until she could feel the fierce heat of it on her back. 'I hope they know what they're doing,' she thought. 'That smoke will be visible for miles.'

Now the leader of the raiders – of course it was the handsome boy who had hoisted Shelley out of the wagon – called the others urgently back to the waiting horses. Smiling with grim satisfaction, and wearing several more feathers in his cap, he came to Shelley, and held out to her a strange yet familiar object: her new cellphone. The screen was broken. The boy looked inquiringly at her and asked her a question in his alien yet musical language, and pointed at the cellphone. 'Yes, thanks, it is mine,' she said, guessing his meaning. 'I don't suppose you've seen my glasses?' He smiled and bowed as he handed the cellphone over. She blushed at his gallantry, and pocketed Anna's broken present. She couldn't bear to throw it away.

'Émragir,' said the boy, and pointed at his chest. Then he looked enquiringly at Shelley.

'My name's Shelley Arkle.'

'Shelliarkol,' he repeated.

Just then another boy ran up excitedly. Bowing to Shelley, he handed Emragir an even more familiar object, one she had missed terribly: her glasses. Smiling and bowing again, he handed them to her. 'Thanks,' she said. But her heart sank and tears came to her eyes; her glasses were broken. She tried putting them on, and squinted, but it was no use; both lenses were too cracked to see anything through but shards of coloured light. And now the children were all laughing at her and pointing. She took the glasses off, and threw them on the ground, trying not to cry. The little boy who had brought them darted in and picked them up, putting them on and prancing around until he ran into one of the horses and almost caused a stampede. All the children roared with laughter, until Emragir yelled something at them. Then he swung effortlessly up onto his great chestnut stallion (which towered over her), and reached down his left hand. The veins of his lean, suntanned arm stood out with the heat of the fire and his recent exertions, but he was cool and calm, as if he did this sort of thing all the time.

She hesitated. 'Where exactly are we going?' she asked, trying to regain her dignity after the glasses joke at her expense. She was scared of being taken even further away from the portal, or on some mad gallop into enemy territory – after seeing their horrible stronghold, the thought filled her with dread, though she wanted to appear brave. 'After all,' she rationalised, 'this isn't my war. It's not even my planet!'

But Émragir was talking fast, impatiently. She tried to ask him in sign language where he planned to go next, but he just pointed at the fire, then made a popping sound and flung his arms wide. Just as Shelley was getting ready to try again, a small excited boy ran up to her and held out a book he had been drawing in. Emragir sighed, and went to grab the book away, but then seemed to think better of it. Shelley peered at the book. There was a picture of two huge comet-like things streaking out of a fire towards some stick figures on horses. Shelley did not understand completely, but the picture made her uneasy. Then the boy showed her the next page. He had drawn a girl and boy riding on a big horse (she wondered if it was herself and Émragir) coming into a little village consisting mainly of treehuts. There was a beach nearby, and canoes on it. The boy pointed to her, then Émragir, then the road and finally the picture of the village. He put his hands together and rested his head on them as if going to sleep. Shelley felt much better now. She liked the look of the village, and the direction the boy had pointed was the way they had come, so it was closer to the portal. 'I could stay with the boys just one night,' she thought, 'then look for the way back home in the morning.' She gave the boy his book back and offered Émragir her hand.

He sighed with impatience, said something that sounded sarcastic, and pulled her up powerfully as she jumped, and there she was, seated high up behind him, riding his great horse bareback, thrilling with an irresistible sense of adventure and romance. She noticed the short sword (or long knife) at his right side. 'So he would draw it with his left hand,' she thought, and her stomach did a flip. 'So, he's left-handed like me!' She had always felt a kinship with other left-handers; now she felt even closer to him. Everything was moving so fast. Already she felt a huge admiration for this reckless band, and (to be truthful) especially for their leader, this mysterious young warrior who had just defeated a terrible foe and yet looked so calm. He sounded his horn, and they were off like the wind. She had to grip his waist as they spun around and galloped off with a thunder of hooves, back up the road toward the hills where the wagon had first captured her.

Suddenly there was a sound like a cannon going off, then another. Two things like great cannonballs hurtled through the air, one high above the galloping boys, the other lower, right past them, narrowly missing one of the horses. They left ghostly vapour trails behind them. The boys yelled and whooped, but carried on galloping. Craning her neck Shelley saw the higher projectile soaring like a comet high overhead, leaving a white vapour trail against the deep blue of the sky before vanishing. She understood the boy's first picture now. He was trying to warn her that something dangerous – two somethings – were going to explode out of the fire. 'What on earth were they?' she asked Émragir, yelling into his ear, and he yelled back, 'Zarkim!' and grinned. She was unsure whether this was just some exclamation, or the name of the things that had exploded. Either way, she was none the wiser. 'Well, if he's not too worried, I guess I won't be either,' she decided.

The day had become hot, and the wind on her face felt delightfully cool. Her long hair streamed out behind her as they ate up the miles. Their horse was at the head, and looking back through the reddish dust Shelley saw the others close behind, galloping madly, bows and long knives at their sides, quivers on their backs, long hair flowing, brown-and-green tunics and capes flapping.

'Just like Robin Hood and his merry men,' thought Shelley. 'Only much younger. Maybe more like Peter Pan and the Lost Boys. I wonder where they live? Is there a forest somewhere that isn't made of those horrible thorns?'

She began to get thirsty again. It had only been an hour or two since she stood on the ledge where she had entered that world, but it seemed much longer. She found herself thinking about the tall robed man who had appeared on the hillside and driven her into the arms of the creatures from the Deathwagon. Who was he, and why did he call to her like that? 'As if he was expecting me,' she thought uneasily.

The hill where he had stood approached on their left. Shelley had a sudden thought: 'Probably that man was a friend, trying to warn me about the wagon. Why did I run away? Because I don't like to be told what to do, I guess... I'm going to have to recognise friends a lot quicker in future. I suppose I should ask to get off here, and try and get back home somehow. Mum and dad must be getting frantic by now!' A wave of nostalgia swept over her, replaced unexpectedly by a strong desire to stay – she had already found so much excitement (along with the terror) in this other world. 'And, after all, I had intended to run away!' she smiled to herself. This world was mysterious and held the promise of a life more real than anything she had ever experienced on Earth. And this boy she was riding with, Émragir... She admitted to herself she could fall in love with someone like him – if she hadn't already... 'Although he's probably old-fashioned, ignorant as anything and a real male chauvinist. And I haven't even got glasses any more,' she mused. 'Oh well, I'll just have to see what happens. One night at the treehut village can't do any harm... This is too exciting not to enjoy, even if I can't see much!'

Just then a tall robed figure came out of nowhere, strode out onto the road and held up its arms. She couldn't be sure now she had no glasses, but it looked like the man who had yelled out to her before the wagon took her away.

The Boy Raiders' horses slowed to a walk. Émragir held up his hand, and they stopped. He kicked his own horse forward and approached the stranger. Shelley saw it was the same man. He held the same long staff. The knob at its end, she now saw, was actually a small carved tree with interlaced branches, and inside the branches was a clear, flashing crystal with three points. This reassured her, somehow; it didn't look warlike. Then she noticed the great sword at his side.

Bows were held at the ready, covering Emragir, and there was some murmuring among the riders. He dismounted, leaving Shelley clinging to the mane of the great horse. He went forward boldly and defiantly, but stopped when the stranger spoke.

Shelley's heart gave a great leap as the stranger pointed straight at her, and her eyes met his. He was a stern-looking man with a greying beard but long dark hair, tall and gaunt, dressed in something like monk's robes. Yet he looked like a warrior, broad-shouldered and strong. She felt sure he was telling Émragir (in few but firm words) to hand her over. She began to tremble, but gazed back defiantly. She was sure Émragir wouldn't betray her. But the big man took something out of his robes and gave it to him, and the boy returned reluctantly to his horse and extended a hand to Shelley. She was mortified, and mad with anger. Kicking the horse's flanks with all her strength, she tried to ride off. The great stallion turned once and reared, and she slipped straight off its back onto the hard road. Some of the boys laughed, but Émragir spoke sternly to them and helped her to her feet. Then he led her gently but firmly to the big man. She was being unceremoniously exchanged, and there was no escape. 'I think I've just been sold! He's a slave trader!' she thought with a sinking feeling of shame, betrayal and helplessness. Aloud, all she managed to say was, 'What's happening? Who is this man?'

Émragir gave her an odd look, shrugged his shoulders and leaped back onto the horse which he had been sharing with her a moment before. He smiled briefly, kicked the horse and galloped off like the wind, his band following close behind. She was left standing by the towering stranger who was strong enough to break her like a twig. There would be no one there to stop him – the boys had already disappeared round the bend and their hoofbeats had faded into silence.

A fresh pang of loss and betrayal stabbed at her heart – and fear, as she turned to look at her new captor.

Chapter Fifteen

The Guardian

Shelley glanced up, fearful, tensing her body for a last hopeless dash for freedom. But the big man was smiling; the most beautiful smile she had ever seen on a man – except perhaps her father when she was very small and she had just given him a flower. 'But he wasn't my father after all, any more than this man,' she thought, and she tried desperately not to add to her misery and shame by bursting into tears.

The stranger's grey-blue eyes twinkled, but they were also remote, somehow, as if they saw things normal eyes do not. She realised he was not looking quite at her, but at something or someone above and behind her. It was disconcerting, and Shelley was about to look over her shoulder. Then he spoke, but in a foreign language, and all Shelley understood was the questioning tone. There was a silence. Shelley began to feel awkward and self-conscious.

Then he gave a long sigh and his shoulders shook beneath his rough brown robe as he let out a low chuckle, and for a whole half-minute she was gazing into the eyes of a man at once stern, infinitely hard, and swept with great waves of emotion. She had never seen such sadness and joy combined. It was very disconcerting.

He composed himself and said, in English, 'Forgive me, child. I laugh for joy. It has been a very long wait... and... I expected a boy.'

'Not another chauvinist,' she thought, but she felt relieved all the same. And he spoke English, of a kind. In fact, he had a pleasant accent and manner of speech, archaic, Shelley thought, and romantic – which was something she approved of almost as much as logical thinking and justice.

'I have something of yours,' he said, and handed Shelley the strange leaf from the back garden which had reminded her of her dream. Now that itself seemed like a dream...

The man went down on one knee, and his big face was level with hers as he laid at her feet his tree-staff of silvery polished wood, tipped with the clear three-pointed crystal that had made it flash in the sunlight on the hill. She noticed he wore a curiously carved silver ring on his left hand, set with a large transparent gem, glowing golden in the sunlight like amber or topaz. But apart from that, he looked like a mendicant monk, gaunt and dusty. Looking into her eyes he spoke in a deep, rumbling voice, the words of a long-prepared vow:

'I am Korman the Outcast,

Son of Entanifer and Tarasura

Of the Red World, Kor-Tinnama

Keeper of the Portal of the Plains

By the will of the Lady

Ainenia of the Nine Lives.

'By Her, and by the Order of the Red Dragon

And by the Order of the Makers,

I swear:

Apith shak-ëaya,

Pambath lak-ëaya

Ëa qua tin ëalav,

V'qua pabath ëalav

En edka irkabya elavya

That is, By my life or by my death

I will protect you

And bring you to the fulfilment of your Task.'

Shelley stood dumbfounded, blushing, still holding the leaf.

'Um... thank you... But what task?' she finally managed to ask. She noticed that his right arm was very thin, almost withered compared to his strong left arm. 'Is he a left-hander too?' she wondered. She realised she was staring at his arm, and to her embarrassment, she blushed.

Korman rose swiftly, sweeping up the staff. He held her shoulder with his skinny right hand, and she shrank away from his touch. He noticed, and said wryly, 'Some also call me Korman of the Withered Arm. It was not always like this.' Shelley thought he looked very sad for a split second. Then he said, 'Child, I will tell you of the Task later. Right now you are in great danger. The Kiraglim will be coming. But I am your guide. Be brave, and follow me!'

With that he strode off at a great pace towards a blurry line of broken hills which stood a good few miles away from the road – south, if Shelley had known it, in the opposite direction to the little hills where he had found her. This new route looked positively dangerous, and Shelley hesitated. She said, a little petulantly, 'But I was thinking of going home.' Korman swung around. He looked surprised, even shocked.

'Do you always question those sent to you? Where is your home now?'

Shelley looked around helplessly, as if looking for a doorway back into her world, and finally admitted, 'I don't know. But I've been taught not to talk to strangers... and I don't like the look of those hills, and I'm thirsty and tired, and I can't see anything clearly.' She hoped her voice didn't sound wobbly, but she felt close to tears, lonely and frightened.

Korman's mood seemed to soften, and he looked sympathetic under his bushy eyebrows.

'I know how you feel. I too came from another world, long ago. And now I must leave my cave without a goodbye, leave my books, my animals and my crystals, and flee with you into the wilderness. So, we must be kind to one another. Here, drink this!' He held out a leather flask. She hesitated, then put it to her dry lips. She felt refreshed immediately, and showed her surprise.

'It is well water from deep inside my cave. I came upon the spring this year when I was digging a new room. I took it as an omen from the Lady. It is good water, full of subtle virtues.' Shelley managed a smile, and gave him back the flask.

'Anyway, my name is Shelley.' He seemed to ponder the word, repeating it under his breath.

'Well met, Shelley of Kor-Edartha! Others have come through the Portal before you, but there was no sign, and I let the Boy Raiders adopt them. You, Shelley, are different. The face of the Lady was on the leaf you bore from Edartha. Now, you must trust me. We must leave this place. The Kiraglim are coming!'

At that moment she saw the white unicorn, on the very spot where she had come into that world, standing on the hillside. Although she couldn't see it clearly, somehow she knew it was looking at her. She felt a sudden irresistible pang of longing for home and safety. Ignoring Korman's words, she began to run towards it.

'Not that way! It is a mind-trap. It has begun – they are closing in,' said Korman sharply. Something in his tone chilled her. She stopped. The sky was growing darker. The unicorn looked so beckoning there on the hill, a clear white beacon calling her to safety...

A gust of wind swept dust into her eyes as she stood undecided in the middle of the road. There was a chill in the air, and thunder echoed in the hills. Under the swiftly darkened sky, three alarming objects, like huge tumbleweeds or runaway flywheels from some nightmarish factory, were racing down the road towards her, growing larger by the second. The unicorn had vanished.

'Quick! Off the road!' ordered Korman, his deep voice just audible above the hissing of the wind that swept the giant tumbleweeds along the road towards them. Shelley turned and ran, stumbling over the rough ground at the side of the road, where the builders long ago had thrown up a low dike. Korman hauled her over, and pressed her to the ground beside him, so that they were hidden from view but could see between the rocks and long grass at the top.

The wind blew ever more strongly, and with it grew a sound like sweeping yard brooms. Then the wind died, and the sweeping noise stopped. Peering through the gaps in the rocks Shelley saw to her horror that the three giant thorny tumbleweeds, taller than Korman, had stopped right opposite their hiding place. She began to wonder if the tumbleweeds were actually harmless (unless they happened to roll over you). But Korman stayed motionless, and she saw that slowly they were all beginning to open outwards like the thorny petals of some giant thistle. In the midst of each tumbleweed stood one of the Thornmen. Each was slightly different in form. The tallest was signalling the others to stay, as it emerged with birdlike steps onto the road. The creature peered around suspiciously, close enough for Shelley to hear its wheezing breath and see the glint in its dark reptilian eyes. She felt a sudden urge to come out and give herself up, then for a confused moment she thought she was seeing the boys who had rescued her, not the Thornmen at all. The unicorn was there too, and she saw her mother and father, waving to her to come.

Then the mirage swirled away and she saw the creature slowly step back into the tumbleweed, and the eerie storm-wind sprang up again, and all three balls began picking up speed and rolling on up the road in the direction the boys had gone.

Korman breathed a sigh of relief. 'That was Hithrax, chief Kiraglim of the Aghmaath. He is taller than all the rest, vicious and deadly. If he had released the hornets, we would have been found. My mindweb deflected their thoughts – just. We were lucky.'

'I'm sorry,' said Shelley, in a small voice, shaking in every limb – and shaking inside at how easily she had been deceived. 'I will follow you now. Though I don't know what a Killergrim is, or a hagmouth.'

'The Kiraglim are the expert trackers of the race of the Aghmaath, who come from the Darkened World, Phangkor. For now, it is enough to know that they are hunting you. They will be back, maybe with Dagraath Nazglím – wardogs – if I know Hithrax.'

'"Wardogs"? You're a great comfort, you are,' Shelley managed to smile. He looked at her curiously from under his bushy brows, but said nothing. Then he gave her another drink of well water from the leather flask, and she felt better and her limbs stopped shaking.

'Why did those crazy boys light that big fire just to burn the bodies? That's what brought the... the Kiraglim, I bet!' Shelley complained as they hurried off across the exposed plains towards the dubious refuge of the jagged hills.

'The boys may be wild and unruly, but they are not crazy: they know that if a body of the Aghmaath is left, two things will happen,' said Korman ominously.

'What?' Shelley asked, not sure if she wanted to hear what the two things were.

'First the body will burst open, ejecting a seedpod containing an homunculus...'

'A what?'

'A small copy of the original Aghmaath, retaining its memories, which will, after hatching from the pod, grow up into a new version of that Aghmaath, bent on one thing: revenge.'

'And what's the other thing that happens?'

'If the soil is good under the body, or if the body is buried, it will grow roots, and come to the surface as a Mother Thorn. As the Boy Raider rhyme says:

A dead Thornman we left unburned

Later sprouted roots, we learned

And as a stabber-thorn returned.

That is their word for a Mother Thorn.'

'What is a Mother Thorn?'

'The great rambling thorn-vine of the Travellers, in which they shelter, and which feeds them and protects them and provides them with thornwood spears and thornpod armour. Also the thorndagger – hithrax in their tongue – our Tracker is named for his frequent use of these. They are barbed, shaped like an awl, and pump poisoned sap into the wound. The branches of the thorn can move, and lash out with tendrils like hooked whips. Any unwary creatures that touch it are held fast for the Thornmen to capture – or for the Mother Thorn to slowly digest.'

'Oh yuk!' said Shelley in horror, looking around wildly as if a clawing tendril might appear out of the ground.

'It is best you should know,' said Korman soberly.

'So the explosions were the other thing, the homuncu... thingies.'

'Yes. The homunculi from the chests of the two dead Aghmaath.'

Shelley stumbled on. She tried not to think about it, but a hollow nagging voice inside her kept talking: 'So, it wasn't just a nightmare you had in the wagon. That's what really happened to the beautiful lady, and all those other poor people. It'll happen to you next.' She tried not to think of the lashing, grabbing thorns – or the little Thornmen, the homunculi, bent on revenge.

The afternoon was wearing on as they hurried over the wide plain, and the shadows cast by the rocks strewn over it like knucklebones began to lengthen. Any other time Shelley would have been fascinated by those rocks. She was a keen rock hound and fossicker, given half a chance, and these rocks were varied and beautiful. Some were volcanic, she was sure; others appeared to be pieces of coral, or fossilised shells. Squinting, she thought she could make out the spiral lines of a giant ammonite in one boulder. But Korman was setting a punishing pace, and they had passed it by before she could be sure. The shock of the tumblewheel-riding Thornmen and the fear that they might come back was giving way to a numb exhaustion, and her legs felt rubbery under her.

They passed several skeletons of unknown animals. One was perhaps a horse, Shelley thought. 'Or maybe it was a unicorn,' she thought foggily. The dazzling ground began to blur more and more beneath her stumbling feet as they went on and on over rocks and sandy spaces and fields of white stones littered like seashells, crunching underfoot in the heat of the afternoon. The plain was far bigger than it had looked from the road. Every now and then Korman would turn and check that she was keeping up, and scan the horizon, his skinny, gnarled right hand shading his keen eyes. Shelley was getting desperate for a break, but he didn't seem to notice her distress.

'Why couldn't you have a horse like those boys?' she asked, and she stopped and flopped down, rubbing her aching legs.

'Korman the Outcast is called by the Lady to walk hidden paths where a horse cannot go,' replied Korman, not stopping or turning around.

'So am I called by her too?' yelled Shelley after him.

'Of course,' he replied, turning back just long enough to fix her with his steady eyes. He slowed down and held out a hand.

'Great,' Shelley groaned. But she felt strangely energised by Korman's certainty, and got up again and followed in his footsteps as they went on and on into the unknown land.

Just when she felt she would fall down in a heap and not get up again, Thornmen or no Thornmen, they reached the first outcrops of the jagged hills. There was some long grass under the outcrops, but it was dry and rustled sadly as they passed. The whole land was oppressively dry and dreary, she now felt, as if parched by years of drought.

They stopped in the shade of one tall outcrop like a giant frozen wave of limestone, and Korman gave her a little more water.

'I am sorry I did not rescue you from the Deathwagon,' he said. 'I was going to wait until dark. And I was still unsure if you were The One...'

'What "One"?' Shelley felt a fluttering in her stomach.

'The one who is foretold to come from Kor-Edartha – Earth – to accomplish the task I told you of.'

'You mean, didn't tell me of.' Now she was getting really worried...

'That is right. So, I did not dare to leave my post. But when the Boy Raiders turned up, hunting the Deathwagon, I asked their leader Émragir – that is "Winged dagger", or better, Quickblade, in your language – to bring you back to me. It seems he changed his mind. I had to speak sternly to him.'

'And bribe him!'

'You could take that as a compliment. He seemed quite... how do you say... taken with you.'

Shelley blushed. To change the subject, she asked, 'Where is this world of yours, anyway? And where are you taking me?'

'This is the island realm of Namaglimmë, on Kor-Aedenya, Aeden for short. It is one of the Nine Worlds. It was formerly the sacred hub of Ürpax Pharoï, the Order of the Makers, who are gone. Your world, Edartha, was once part of that Order.'

'What?' said Shelley, open-mouthed. She felt her head starting to spin. 'OK, OK, don't tell me any more about that just now, I don't think I can handle it. Just tell me where we go from here.'

'We go now into the old country of the Stone People, the Padmaddim, who were a learned people. They are gone; now this place is called the Badlands. But there is a village of ordinary folk in a valley one day's march from here. We must find it, for I could not risk going back to my cave above the portal through which you arrived, and we need food and water and things for the journey. Tonight will be cold.'

'Where are we going after that?' asked Shelley nervously.

'To the Faery refuge of Ürak Tara, the secret hill of the Lost Labyrinth, where you must be trained and – how do you say – initiated.

'What is that? Does it hurt?' asked Shelley, trying to make light of it, but imagining some tribal ritual.

'It is not that kind of thing. It takes effort and courage, but you will not be hurt in body, or mind - unless you do it to yourself, of course!'

'That's reassuring!' said Shelley.

Korman continued, to her annoyance seeming to miss the irony. 'Then, if you are... who I think you are..., you will pass the Test. But meanwhile, you are still in danger. Your mind is exposed to the deceptions of the Dreamcasters. Beware – appearances may deceive you. The mindwebs of the Aghmaath are everywhere.'

'Yes, well, I guess I've already seen some very weird things... And then what?'

'Then you must be given your task.'

'And what might that be, and who said so?' Shelley had never liked being told what to do, let alone being 'trained' and 'initiated' by persons unknown...

'It is your part in the Great Dance, the Unfolding, and the poets have foreseen it. The task I cannot speak of yet. Your mind is still open to the enemy. He may learn too much. Also, we do not yet know you fully. I have been betrayed before by trusting too soon. You have not yet passed the Test.'

'What is this "test"?'

'That too is a secret, until we reach the secret hill.'

'There are lots of secrets in this country, aren't there?'

'Yes, more than you know. That is the effect of the dark way. Many wonderful things which once every child knew are now forgotten.'

'Anyway,' said Shelley, thoughtfully, 'I don't think I believe in prophecies. Hardly anyone does now, where I come from.'

'Your world is indeed darkened, then.'

'So is yours.'

Korman shrugged a little at this, a smile flickered on his rugged face, and he stood up.

'The sun is low. We must go on. We must climb far into the hills before dark, and hide in a cave. I will spread an illusion over the mouth of the cave and we may be safe – for a while.'

'What the heck does he mean?' Shelley wondered. 'Does he go in for wishful thinking, or some "think positive" mumbo-jumbo?' But she was by now much too tired to question him. As she wearily followed in his footsteps, beginning to trail further behind, he turned back.

'Little one, you are tired. I will carry you now.'

'But what about you? Don't you ever get tired?'

'Yes; but there are ways to bear with any pain, and still go on. You will learn of this.'

'Very comforting, once again!'

'Yes, it is good to know these things.' Once again, he didn't seem to notice her irony – or did he? She sensed a knowingness in his measured responses, as if he was an expert fencer, choosing at his leisure every move, never taken by surprise. 'Well,' she thought, 'I'll try and catch him out some time. Just not now, I'm too tired.' She would have protested at the idea of being carried if she was not totally exhausted.

Cradled like a baby in his strong left arm, his skinny right arm gently steadying her, she felt herself relaxing, lulled into sleep. But she ventured another of the questions that nagged at her, though she was not sure she wanted to hear all the answers.

'How do you know English, Korman?'

'There have been other visitors.'

'Really? Boys or girls?'

'Both.'

'Is that where the boys who saved me came from, Earth?'

'Some of them. Others come from Aeden, and are orphans from the rebel villages that defied the Aghmaath. Sometimes they are called the Rebel Raiders, or the Boy Raiders.'

'They're so brave! I liked them. Can they save Aeden?'

'Yes, and no. All who resist the darkness help to save Aeden, but no one can save it alone. There are helpers wiser than they, to whom they ought to listen.'

'Do they trust you, then? They seemed suspicious.'

'I am an old outcast. I no longer wear the sign of the Red Dragon. Nobody trusts me, entirely. They cannot love what they do not know. But the Boy Raiders trust no one completely – especially adults! Still, the days are dark, and there are many deceptions. Even I could have been a mindtrap.'

'I don't know if I believe in these mind things.'

'Then what did you see when you were in the Deathwagon, or when the Dark Ones stopped on the road?'

'I don't know... it was just my imagination, I guess.'

'That is what your mind says to you now? What do they teach you in your schools?'

'I don't know... stuff...'

'Your world truly is darkened. Yet my ancestors came thence many years ago. They were Knights Templar. Do your histories not speak of them any longer?'

'Maybe... did they wear big red crosses and fight in the Crusades?'

'Yes, and many works of peace as well, before they were called to this world.'

'Do they live here still?'

'No, some were killed by the Aghmaath in my lifetime; most had already gone to dwell in the caves of Slumber in Kor-Tinnama, my old home, awaiting the time of the Awakening, the time of the Chosen One who will restore the Balance. The way there is now blocked. All the great paths between the worlds are blocked.' Shelley remembered her dream of the sleeping knights in the cave, but she didn't say anything. It was all getting too much...

'How did I get here then?' she asked.

'The Lady sent the white Ürxura, and you trod a secret path that still lies open to some, children only, who are pure in heart. And usually... odd... in some way.' She thought she detected a slight smile when he said 'odd'.

'So, I'm pure in heart?' She chose to ignore the 'odd' comment, and tried to sound ironic.

'That would follow logically. As would the "odd." Do they not teach the truths of the Concept in your world any more? Are Plato and Aristotle forgotten?'

'I think we have lots of that concepty stuff still, in books, but nobody much learns it. I guess most of us watch television and eat junk food instead.'

'Your answers tell of great darkness on your planet. It gives me pain to hear them.'

'Can't you just "bear with it," like you said?' She was testing him, now.

'Yes. I have borne with many griefs. This is just one more. Your world is my ancestral Mother too.'

Shelley could not seem to ruffle him with anything. She was reassured by the fact that he believed in logic. She felt secure, peaceful. She had one more question, one that had been nagging at her mind, and she had to know the answer. 'Does being left-handed count as "odd" or do you think there's... something else odd about me?' Korman cleared his throat. She hoped it was not to hide a laugh.

'Some say the left-handed are "sinister" – the Latin word for left-handed – and folk of ill-omen. And some of the oddest people I have met are left-handed. I am a left-hander by necessity, since the... accident... to my sword arm, and it has changed my view somewhat. Be that as it may, it seems mostly to be the odd children, the "misfits," that come through the Portals. Left-handers, dreamers, the bullied, the orphans, the lame or injured in some way, in mind or body.'

Shelley felt happier now she knew what he meant. She knew if there was something else he had noticed he would be honest and tell her. 'So,' she thought, I'm "odd," but not in an obvious way that people here will laugh at me for. I'm just a leftie, like Émragir... Quickblade....' She drifted off to sleep thinking of the Boy Raiders as Korman trudged on silently, winding up narrow secret paths into the Badlands.

Chapter Sixteen

The Cave of the Padmaddim

Night was falling and unearthly sunset colours lit up the sky when Shelley awoke to a sound she had almost forgotten: falling water. Korman had put her down in the comfortable curve of a rain-sculpted, mossy limestone outcrop, in a gully high up in the Badlands, overlooking a rugged, forbidding land of thorny ridges, bush-filled gullies, crags and sheer cliffs. Stretching, she looked around sleepily for the water. There below her was a trickle of a stream, tinkling away into dark pools between mossy boulders on the floor of the gully. She saw that it issued from a bigger pool by the rock she was sitting on, right at the foot of the high cliff which formed one wall of the gully.

Korman was standing very still on a huge flat-topped boulder nearby, facing the setting sun. In the triple crystal on his staff three glittering reflections of the golden sunset flashed. There were just a few flecks of distant cloud, lit up like precious metals; otherwise the sky was clear, with a star or two already appearing. A gentle breeze smelling of wet leaves and moss was flowing up the gully. Shelley climbed down into the stream, filled her hands with cold clear water and drank, then washed the dust off her face and arms. She felt peaceful and awed, knowing she had her very own Guardian knight who was sworn to protect her. He looked in perfect harmony with nature, calm as the hills or the deep sky above, she thought. He was holding something in the palm of his hand. It glittered faintly as he struck its edge gently with his staff. It rang out with a surprisingly low tone, mixed with higher vibrations reaching right up, it seemed to Shelley, beyond the range of hearing. 'What's that?' she called. She was starting to wake up again, and felt strangely energised. Back on Earth, she speculated, she would have been absolutely exhausted.

'It is my singing bowl. Guardians use them to re-tune their minds to the Music of the Spheres, the sound of Creation.' Shelley felt she wanted to listen close up, and feel the subtle resonance again.

Then a gong rang out, deep-toned, distant but still shocking in that quiet, wild place, intruding upon the primeval silence which had followed the ringing of Korman's bowl. It boomed three times, echoing in the valleys and dying away. Shelley called nervously to Korman, 'What was that? A giant singing bowl?' He came down from the flat rock, lightly bounding from boulder to boulder, his weather-beaten cloak flying out behind him, and stood beside her at the edge of the pool beneath the cliff.

'It is the sound of the gong calling the people to worship at the black stone,' he replied. 'It is the law of the Aghmaath that all must bow every evening to the black rock, the image of their god, which is the Void.'

'Ugh, how freaky! Anyway, it's getting dark, hadn't we better look for one of those caves you said you knew? And I'm starving, have we got any food?'

'Yes, and yes. I was bringing back to memory former times when I wandered here, happier times when some of the Padmaddim still lived here. The land has changed, and many thorn thickets have sprung up, but I am sure there should be a cave right here. It was the dwelling of an order of wise men of the Padmaddim who sought to recover the old knowledge of the Makers and of the Crystalline Entities.'

'Where has it gone then? Have the Thornmen blocked it up?'

Korman raised his hand for silence. He waded into the pool until the water came right up to the top of his boots, and surveyed the cliff. Shelley marvelled to see that the crystal in his staff was beginning to glow in the gathering dark as he swept it this way and that across the cliff-face. It looked like a little tree-shaped lantern, and without her glasses it had a fuzzy halo around it. Now part of the rock appeared to swirl a little, as if a mist was passing over it, and slowly a dark cave-mouth was revealed, arching above the still water of the pool, which she now saw did not end at the cliff but extended into the cave, the calm ripples from Korman's movements reflecting thousands of stars – but then Shelley realised, they were not stars at all but glow-worms, like the ones she had seen in a little cave her father had shown her on the way north one time, at a limestone reserve, where the land was full of limestone formations and deep fissures with trees and peculiar-smelling weeds growing in them. But these glow worms were not just the pale blue ones she knew; there were emerald green ones, and twinkling red, diamond white, and topaz yellow. Shelley had read that the glow worms of Earth imitate the stars, to trick little gnats into flying up into their glowing embrace, a deadly false night sky full of sticky threads. She looked up at the real sky above the cave mouth, and gasped. There high above was a mirror of what she had just seen – unfamiliar stars, yellow and red and green, brighter than terrestrial stars and planets, she thought, (though without glasses all lights looked big and fuzzy). There were whole constellations of them, twinkling away.

'So I really am on a different planet, somewhere out in space,' she thought with a thrill, head upturned to take in the sight until it made her giddy. Korman looked up too. 'Another mindweb – a very cunning one,' he whispered. 'Somebody still lives here. But who? The Padmaddim did not know the art of mindwebs. Unless another Guardian lives still, and came this way.'

Shelley was beginning to wonder whether they would ever find a safe place to rest (and eat) and this water-filled cave definitely didn't look like it. But Korman seemed determined to go in. 'This could be an enemy trap, but I think not. If some of the Padmaddim still live here, that would be good news. They will be able, and I think willing, to help us. Come, be brave. Enter with me! I will protect you if there is an enemy within.'

There were no ledges to walk on, and Shelley had to wade into the cold dark pool. She decided to keep her shoes on and get them wet rather than step barefoot on something slimy that might bite. Following close behind Korman as he waded on into the darkness, she tried not to think of eels – or worse things. The reflection of the glow-worm constellations rippled and broke up as they waded in, a gentle current of cold air in their faces, flowing out of the depths. The triple crystal on Korman's staff was brighter now they were in darkness, and by its faint glow (a cluster of three tiny lights) she saw a bat or two flit past on its way to hunt in the night air and, peering this way and that so she could get close enough to see them, she admired the glistening cave walls with their calcite flows and stalagmites and stalactites in the hollows and overhangs. She had been very young when her parents took her to the famous caves where the tour boats glide through long passages lit only by glow-worms, but the memory came back to her now, and it comforted her. 'This planet may be light-years from Earth,' she thought, 'but some things are just the same.' Except, she knew of no crystals on Earth like the one that was lighting their way right now... She decided to break the silence and ask him, partly to distract herself from the cold dark water they were still wading through (and it was getting deeper).

'Korman, what is the crystal on your staff? What makes it shine like that? Is it... magic?' Korman did not turn around, but answered in a slow thoughtful voice that echoed in the dark recesses,

'It depends what you mean by magic. All things have a cause, most from inside the Magisphere, the great Bubble we call the World, a few from outside. But those are rare. All that is repeatable is natural; what is unrepeatable is what we call chance – or a miracle. This lightcrystal is natural, but also magic, in that it relies on the natural laws of the mind to activate its subtle energies, which, on Aeden, are bound up with the energies at the Centre, where the Tree of Life grows. Or... grew. Its light is dim now, very dim, compared to what it would have been in the old days, before...' He broke off, and Shelley waited for him to go on. There was no sound but the steady swish as he waded ahead of her, and Shelley's own lighter swish, and her sharp intake of breath as she stumbled on sharp rocks and slipped on slimy ones. Now, at last, it was getting shallower. 'Thank goodness,' she sighed.

At that moment rhythmic splashes echoed in the passage ahead, and Korman pressed her against the cave wall. Over the stones in the shallows in front of them slithered a snaky something, coming straight at them. Then it hesitated, stopped, and reared its swaying head a moment. Shelley screamed. For a split second she saw big eyes and needle teeth glinting in the light. Suddenly the creature darted past them, wriggling off down the pool, skimming the surface with its waddling, webbed feet, and was gone. 'Wha... what on earth was that?' she gasped. A chill went up her back. She found she was shaking, clutching Korman's sleeve. She let go, trying to look brave. Although she didn't mind the bats, eels and snakes gave her the shudders.

'Harmless little – how would you call it – dragon-snake,' replied Korman.

'Really harmless?' asked Shelley dubiously.

'Certainly – if you do not get between him and the water, or between him and his hole, or between a mother and her young. Did you see the pretty coloured wings with the pattern of the Lady upon them?'

'No, how could I? It moved like greased lightning. Anyway, I've lost my glasses. I can't see properly.'

'You will learn to observe in the moment, and see things that move faster than that dragon-snake – and fight them if need be.'

'Well, I hope I won't have to tonight, not in here!' said Shelley with a shudder.

'The Aghmaath brought with them many creatures that live in the thorns: mostly harmless insects, like the giant stick insects. But some animals also. I do not want to frighten you, but there is one kind like this dragon-snake. They are rare, but not harmless. They live in caves. The Boy Raiders call them the Rog-tanax.'

'What does that mean?'

'It means big-bad-mouth. They bite. You must be prepared for them.'

Shelley found she had lost her nerve. She blurted out, 'I'm scared. How can there be anywhere safe to sleep the night in this horrible place? Let's go back!'

'What, and be out in the open when the Kiraglim come?' replied Korman. 'It is, I hope, not all cold water and hard rock down here. There used to be a stronghold in here deep inside and high up above the hills of the badlands. If it exists still, there will be warm beds and food – and maybe help in our quest. It was a comfortable place, like the cave dwellings in the cliffs of my native world. Trust me to lead you, and save your strength.'

Shelley found it hard to imagine any comfortable place in the cold wet caves, but she replied, 'Lead on, then.'

They went on past another bend or two without incident, wading in the stream, which was now shallow and tinkled down little rapids between glistening ivory-coloured slopes of flowstone into smooth-lipped basins and rippled clear as crystal over colourful gravel. This wonderland was all made of crystallised rock, Shelley knew, deposited over the ages out of the seeping calcite-laden water. 'At least, that's how it happens back on Earth,' she thought. It comforted her to think that caves too were the same here as back home. 'Good old laws of the Universe,' Shelley thought, 'I can count on them, wherever I am. Well, I suppose I can...' She shivered at the slight uncertainty, and splashed on after her untiring guide who, being taller, often had to duck or go around a low-hanging stalactite or a whole formation – upside-down 'organ pipes' or flowing 'Dwarf's beards.' She tried not to get too far behind, and he occasionally stopped to let her catch up. They passed a tributary that poured into the main tunnel from a little side-passage halfway up the wall, and she wondered where it led. Once they had to climb a steep place beside a long waterfall that churned into a basin that was too deep to see the bottom of. Chimings and tinklings of the water were all around, but gradually she realised these sounds were coming more from behind than ahead.

Rounding another bend, they came upon a parting of the ways. On their left the water became still and deep, and the cave roof sloped down to meet it. There was no way forward there, except by swimming. Looking to the right, Shelley almost thought they had come to another entrance: the cave floor rose in great steps of rock and there were myriads of stars again. Then she realised they were in a huge hall, and the stars were only glow-worms. The walls glittered with fine crystals like frost in the faint light, and the roof rose up in starry canyons high above them, the glow-worms like constellations and milky ways of diamond, emerald, topaz, ruby and sapphire.

Under this starry sky of the underworld they climbed up and up, over vast tumbled sections of fallen roof, until they stood high up in the echoing hall. Their shadows were faint but enormous on the walls. There was a narrowing of the hall a little way further up, which then turned into another passage like the one they had come through, but dry and utterly silent, with a nearly level floor. They pressed on into this new passage. Korman was looking around carefully.

After a few more minutes of this, when the floor had begun to slope up again, and Shelley was lagging behind and her feet – still wet – were getting very sore, Korman suddenly exclaimed, 'Aha!' He strode towards a side passage, a glittering dead end, where a magnificent glistening pale rose-coloured stalagmite almost met a stalactite hanging above them, and he knocked loudly on the stalactite with the end of his staff, with a peculiar rhythm. It chimed as he struck it. Shelley came running and stood behind him, puzzled. Nothing happened for a while, and the silence grew. She began to get nervous. What sort of creature would be living way in here, behind a stalagmite? Shelley heard the tinkling of the stream echoing far below them in the dark. Then from above there was an answering knock, to which Korman replied, in a peculiar series of taps like Morse code.

From above came the sound of stone grating on stone. A golden light (dim in fact but seeming bright as daylight to their light-starved eyes) shone down on them, and a rope ladder tumbled down. It was as if a trapdoor into a summer's day had been flung open. Shelley was speechless with surprise.

A man's voice, a bit cranky-sounding to Shelley, called out a question in the same foreign language that the Boy Raider spoke, which was starting to sound almost familiar to her. Korman was visibly relieved as he replied. He told Shelley, 'It is my old friend, the learned teacher Barachthad, which means "Blessed Head." All is well. We have come to a safe haven.' He smiled, remembering. 'His students used to call him Padrathad, which means "Marblehead," on account of his round, bald head. But don't you go calling him that!' Korman indicated to her to climb the ladder. It was not as easy as it looked, as rope ladders bend and sway as soon as you try to climb them. But Korman steadied the bottom of the ladder with his foot, and soon Barachthad was helping her over the threshold. She stood blinking in the light as Korman nimbly climbed after her and pulled the ladder up.

What struck Shelley first was the cheeriness of the little old man standing before her, bowing and welcoming her in several languages, none of which she understood. In the light of the golden lamp he held (a beautiful sphere of amber in a cage of twisted silver wire, glowing softly from within) the greens and golds of his coat and waistcoat sparkled, contrasting with the dirty brown of his trousers, which had huge pockets full of objects, some of which dangled out: pens, various tools, some wire, string, and a lensed tube which Shelley thought looked like a periscope. She noticed the extreme shininess of his large bald head, framed by wisps of white hair sticking out the sides. He reminded Shelley of a 'nutty professor,' and she tried not to grin at the oddness of being met by such a caricature deep in the bowels of an alien planet. 'I wonder what "odd" portal he popped through?' she wondered, and suppressed a giggle.

Korman bowed to him, and introduced Shelley. She tried to bow too, but then stuck out her hand, and said, 'I'm Shelley Arkle, from Earth. This is how we do it.' The teacher imitated her gesture, and she took his extended hand and shook it. They both laughed, and Korman said something wryly, at which the teacher laughed again, but kindly. Shelley hoped she had made a good impression, as she liked the old man already. They then followed him up a polished winding stairway, carved or rather (it seemed to Shelley) melted out of the living rock, with a smooth arched ceiling, wide enough for two or three to walk abreast, as they did now. They had come out of the wild places underground into a place obviously built by very skilled miners – 'The Padmaddim, I suppose,' said Shelley to herself.

After several flights of stairs they came to a landing, with a solid arched wooden door, which was open. 'After you' said Barachthad, ushering them in with another of his bows. They entered a large room that looked like a lounge with several arched doorways opening off it. It was comfortable-looking, roughly oval with many bookshelves and alcoves carved into the sparkling rock, lit by more of the golden amber orbs like the one Barachthad held, in brackets on the walls. Shelley felt like going up to the amber and gazing into it, as if there was some miniature world, sparkling, half-hidden in its transparent yet variegated golden depths.

In the middle of the lounge was a semicircular couch around a big low round table, and towards the far end, a rugged kitchen table and chairs in an alcove. There was some kind of woven matting on the floor, springy to walk on. The white ceiling was low, but not too low, and it was arched. Several paintings adorned the polished walls of living stone. They were scenes of that alien world, with some odd-looking folk in them, but they were beautiful, and somehow reminded Shelley of the illustrations from some of her favourite fairy tales.

Overall it was very homely, especially after the wildness of the cave and the lands they had journeyed through. The only odd feature of the room was the assortment of bizarre technical gear on the big round table in the centre of the room, jumbled together with loose papers and books, dominated by a huge crystal mounted on an ornate wooden and copper tripod. It was amber-coloured, with some rainbow-gleaming flaws. It, like the amber orbs, appeared to be glowing with an inner light. Shelley was drawn to it, and as she approached she was conscious of a faint high-pitched humming, musical and variable, as if many subtle harmonies were weaving in and out.

Barachthad gently motioned to her not to touch it, then ushered them into the kitchen alcove to sit down. Shelley felt dizzy with tiredness – and hunger. Promising smells of cooking wafted in through a nearby doorway, and soon the old man was serving them up a hearty meal, a kind of vegetable and mushroom stew with dark sauce and lots of greens, served on big polished wooden platters. He said something, and Korman laughed. 'He says I timed my visit well, as usual.'

There were knives and forks just like on Earth, which surprised and pleased Shelley. Korman and Barachthad talked and nodded and passed things to each another, chatting merrily in their incomprehensible language. Shelley was happy not to have to talk, just to be warm and safe and eating at last.

After the stew Barachthad brought crisp fragrant apples in a bowl, and a jug of clear cold water to drink, which had a wonderfully refreshing, almost intoxicating, effect.

But the apples were better still. There seemed to be some special significance to them, and the two men bowed their heads, intoning a short chant which sounded like a sort of grace. Then Barachthad took a sharp knife and cut one of the apples across the core – something Shelley had never even thought of doing – and placed the halves on the plate. She looked at the beautiful star pattern in the cross-section of the seed cavity and the seeds, but wondered what the point of the ritual was. Barachthad, seeing Shelley's puzzlement, pointed to the star shape and said, 'Aeden,' then waved his arms madly around, reeling off an explanation that was mostly in his own language, leaving her more puzzled than before. She was too tired to pursue it, so she just nodded politely.

The rest of the apples he carefully cored, and placed the cores in a small bowl with exquisitely painted pink apple blossoms edged with gold. When they finally ate the cut pieces, they were delicious, like nothing Shelley had tasted; fruity, with an aroma like roses, yet substantial like bread, while at the same time ethereal, as if she was eating the essence of sunlight and moonlight mingled. She wondered if she was hallucinating, when the pieces began to look almost as if they really were shining with a silvery-golden light, and her body began to feel weightless. Korman looked at her, and smiled. 'The apples will be good for your eyes, I think.'

Shelley looked at him, and wondered what magic might be in those apples from another world. She could almost imagine that her eyesight was improving. But she dismissed the thought as wishful thinking. 'I guess if I stayed I could get some crystal or glass from Barachthad and try to grind some lenses and make myself some new glasses,' she mused. 'But I don't even know my prescription...'

After a while she started to yawn as the two men talked on, laughing and raising their mugs often in salutes to each other and to imaginary persons in various other directions. Presumably, Shelley thought sleepily, they were toasting the Fairies and who knows, maybe the Lady of her dream. This thought brought up the memory of the Deathwagon, and she tried not to think about it and the dark void and the Lady stuck in the thorns. Images began swirling up in front of her eyes, bats that turned into Thornmen, horrible faces, birds with witches' faces that dived and pecked at her. She felt herself falling, and woke with a jolt. Korman caught her as she slid sideways off the chair.

'You are tired. I should have thought... Now it is bedtime for you.'

'What about a bath? I'm filthy!' Shelley replied, trying to keep her eyes open.

'A bath can wait until morning,' he said kindly. 'Bed-time now!' She was about to say that she wasn't a baby, but was too tired to protest and just nodded.

He lifted her without effort and carried her to a little bedroom through one of the doorways, laid her gently on a soft bed, and went out. She had already taken off her muddy shoes and socks and jumper, so she just pulled the downy blankets over her, snuggled down, and glanced around the room contentedly. It was similar to the main room, with a low curved ceiling, carved-out shelves in the walls, and simple wooden furniture. She noticed there was fresh air coming into the room from somewhere. She closed her eyes.

Her parents came into her mind at first, but this was too painful. Then she turned in her mind to the Boy Raiders, especially their leader, the dashing Quickblade, who had rescued her and rode with her. That was a better subject... She wondered if she would ever see him again. 'I liked him. But he's probably much older than me. Doesn't seem to have a girlfriend though.' So thinking, she fell asleep on the night of her thirteenth birthday on a different planet, to the exquisitely peaceful sound of someone else doing the dishes in the kitchen.

In the world of Aeden, as in all worlds where there is life, there is a place called the Dreamweb. There fragments of souls may meet in jumbled forms and veiled communications; there also walk the lucid dreamers, who know the secret of waking-sleep. These may use the Dreamweb to speak to one another – or to those sleepers whose minds are unguarded.

Out of the Dreamweb of Aeden, in the middle of a dreamless sleep, something crept into Shelley's mind. It spoke wordlessly to her, and, still asleep, she got out of bed and followed it to a door in the big room with the glowing crystal. When the door opened there was white light all around, and she was standing on the brink of a high cliff far above the badlands, looking out across a vast space of air to a distant mountain with many peaks – five, she thought, sure that she could not be dreaming, since she could count quite easily, something she never could do in dreams. She found herself flying towards this mountain, levitating, gliding like a seagull. The sensation of flight was the most blissful thing she had ever felt, and she hoped she could do it forever. As she approached the mountaintop she saw it had a high stone wall running between its tall peaks, but she flew easily, blissfully, over the wall and came to rest on a green lawn with many apple trees, laden with beautiful red apples. Their sweet fragrance filled her with a strange yearning. The smell was richer than the apples she had eaten that night, darker, like autumn leaves or rich red wine, mingled with a musky sweetness like angel's trumpet or jasmine on a warm summer's night.

Then some of the Thornmen appeared. They were no longer dark and ugly, but radiant beings of light. They spoke into her mind and told her how special she was, that she should find a way to come to them in the waking world and eat the apples, which they called Apples of Peace. Then she would know what they knew, and together they would build a wonderful future for the whole world, and all the worlds – even the Earth.

They told her sadly, 'You have been deceived and led astray by Korman the Outcast. You must pretend to trust him, but escape and come to us at the first opportunity you get. He is trying to reawaken an ancient Heresy which was in this land in ages past. He is a servant of an evil witch, the so-called Lady of Avalon, the "Apple Isle". But her apples are not apples of Peace and Enlightenment, but of sick indulgence and false hope leading to endless, painful life.'

'Why did you seem so dark and frightening in the wagon when I was shown those terrible things and the Black Hole?' Shelley asked.

'That was a false dream put into your mind by the one you have trusted. For he is a sorcerer, an evil Dreamcaster. But also, it is true that we will appear as grotesque thorny beings to you, and the Void will seem as a fearful darkness, until your eyes are opened by eating the fruit of these apple trees, these or others like them which we have planted for the redemption of this land. Seek out the Apples of Peace, and fear them not, but eat of them, and you will be like us, able to fly on beams of light into the peaceful Void. We can give you many gifts. Remember, we are the wise ones, the Travellers. Trust no other knowledge: it leads to strife and unrest. We alone bring peace.'

Beams of light – as they said these words the intoxicating vision began to melt into ordinary daylight, and she awoke. She heard, very faint through the air vent, the sound of the gong which, Korman said, called the people to the worship of the Void.

Chapter Seventeen

The Battle for the Mind

Shelley lay in the warm bed in the little room, the covers glowing in the morning light streaming through a skylight in the ceiling. It took her a moment to work out where she was: still underground but apparently high enough up in the cliffs to allow the light of day to shine down. Korman had said the Padmaddim lived in the cliffs... A shadow passed over her mind at this; after her dream, how could she be sure of anything he told her? She was beginning to believe in her dreams; the last one had come true, about the white unicorn. If only she could work it all out. But where to start, now that nothing could be taken for granted? She wished she could be back home with her family, where at least she knew where she stood. Sinister mysteries lurked everywhere in this new land, and veils lay over the very landscape, mindwebs laid... by whom? The Thornmen, or the Lady and Korman?

In spite of what reason told her, she found herself seeing Korman in a different - and alarming - light. 'Why didn't he tell me about these apples that make you able to fly, and give you such peace? All he's offering is danger and drudgery, running away from the best feelings I've ever had! How lovely, to just rest! Who needs the battles of life? Endless striving to learn stuff, to "succeed," when all along there's such a blissed-out state of rest?' she thought, lazily stretching in the warm bed. 'And just what is this other place, this Ürak thingy, that Korman wants to take me to? Probably a hotbed of that "Heresy" they warned me about.' She imagined escaping through the caves and finding the Thornmen, but there was the waterfall to get down in the dark, and the Dragon-snake in the water, the one Korman said was 'usually' harmless, which could attack her if she was on her own. She imagined being dragged underwater and torn to pieces by those needle-sharp teeth. No, she would have to keep quiet and bide her time.

There was a sharp knock on the heavy wooden door of the bedroom. Shelley jumped, but managed to say 'Come in' calmly. The tall figure of Korman appeared in the doorway. She shrank inside, but glancing up at his steady eyes she guessed that her doubts of a moment ago were groundless. If any man was true, it was Korman. And yet...

'Good morning!' he said brightly. 'The Teacher and I have been up a long time, and breakfast is cold. I have been teaching him your language. But come to the lookout room and see the morning sun shining over the hills. From there you can see the five peaks of the Plateau of the Tree – or, as we call it, the Tor Enyása, the High Mountain of the Nine Worlds.'

Shelley was still dressed, so she got up, feeling a little foolish for doubting Korman. She was still sleepy, and feeling stiff and sore from the huge trek the day before, but her body felt healthier than it had for a long time. The slight cold she had had was gone. 'I still feel like I did after those apples last night,' she thought. 'Glowing on the inside, sort of. And things look brighter... Sharper, even... Maybe my eyes are getting better! I still really need a bath though.' She stumbled down the hall after the Guardian.

They went through the same doorway she had gone through in her dream, and came out into a pillared room full of light. The room tapered towards a large curving wall with many arched windows, like the bridge of a ship made of carved stone. There was deep blue sky straight ahead. She had the feeling of being very high up, and as they approached the windows, looking down, she saw just how high up they were. The little gully where they had found the cave-mouth was somewhere down there, but too far below to recognise, and there were mists still rising from the ground in the morning sun. Stretching away beyond the mists she saw the Badlands. It was hard to be sure, with all the mist, but she thought she was seeing more clearly than last night. She walked to the left-most windows and looked down. She thought she saw the way they must have come yesterday, a long valley leading down to the plains, rusty nearby, shading to bluish further off. Beyond the plains, was a dim line of dark blue – the sea, Shelley thought. Going back to the middle window, she looked out. A few miles off at the edge of the rugged hills of the Badlands, overlooking another long valley, she could just make out a scattered cluster of maybe fifty reddish-brown cottages and one bigger building with a domed roof, all nestled in the folds of the bushclad hills. Korman pointed it out as Barachthad came out to join them. 'That village is the next place we will stop. The people there are faithful to the Old Order – or were.'

But Shelley wasn't listening. 'I can see those houses!' she exclaimed. 'It's not my imagination; I don't need glasses any more! What's happening to me?'

Korman smiled. 'You are becoming well. Did you not believe me last night? You are on Aeden now. There is still great virtue in the soil and the fruits. Especially the apples. That is why the enemy has used them, and turned the power to other ends.'

But once again Shelley barely heard him. She was looking beyond the village at the tall mountain in the distance, standing in serene contrast to the tumbled hills of the Badlands below. Her stomach gave a lurch. It was the five-peaked mountain she had flown to in her dream. She felt an intense vertigo at the thought now, looking across that vast expanse of air, hazy blue in the distance where the mountain stood wreathed in white mists, with its five wooded peaks surrounding a lofty central plateau (as she knew from her dream – the five peaks hid the plateau from view). Five slightly lower peaks surrounded the mountain, and Shelley could just make out a line of white, as of a great wall, joining them. She gripped the stone window-ledge to steady herself, and breathed deeply, her heart racing.

'That is the High Plateau, the Tor Enyása,' Korman was saying, unaware of her panic attack. 'Alas, it is now the greatest stronghold of the Aghmaath, apart from the Valley of Thorns itself, and Phagra, the harbour of black ships. There behind ancient walls grow the impassable thorn thickets, guarding the corrupt apple orchards of the Aghmaath. There sit their most subtle Dreamcasters, weaving deceptions over the whole realm; and the Mindprobers and the Mindscouts, and Rakmad himself, they say. But on the five peaks still stand five Jewel-trees. When the Arcra was in the Tree of Life, they were portals to five other worlds of the Order (and through Earth, to all eight). In the centre, upon a green island in a deep lake full of sacred fish, stood the Tree of Life, the Centre of centres, the Hub of hubs which linked them all. It will be dying, alas – if it is not already dead. Perhaps it stands there still, or perhaps it has been cut down. Or perhaps they have found some way to corrupt it to their evil ends.'

As he spoke of the Tree of Life, Korman looked grieved, and he fingered the hilt of his great sword, which Shelley had noticed he never unbuckled, even at the table. The knob at its hilt-end was fashioned out of a single gem like golden amber or topaz, but laced with gold fire within, as if lit by some energy. She wondered what kind of sword it might be, and what other magical powers Korman had, beside the mindwebs. Shelley was seeing many hints that this world was not simply primitive and medieval, as she had assumed at first. Those clear windows that looked very like plate glass, for example; and the golden amber lights that lit the rooms at night, and that glowing crystal on the table... But the apples, and her eyesight being healed overnight, that was something deeper, she felt. That was magic.

She wondered if she should tell Korman about her dream. Perhaps she had already been mind-probed as she slept, and the Thornmen were right now weaving their webs in her head? Or was her dream a true warning from them? Was it not still possible that she was in enemy hands and the so-called Thornmen, the beings of light and peace, were her real friends?

Pushing down these scary questions, she said, 'Wow, that's a great view. And something wonderful's happened to my eyes. I want to learn more about this country! But first, I was wondering, could I have a bath before breakfast?'

Barachthad shocked her by saying, in very passable English, 'Korman, we must look after the little girl! A bath – yes, of course! What a good idea. I have some of my best ideas in the bath! Indispensable for relaxing and thinking. It's down the hall, just past your bedroom, to the right.'

'How did you learn English overnight?' asked Shelley.

But Barachthad just smiled. 'All in good time! After you have had a bath.' They had not yet told her about the mindstone which lay on a round table in a secret chamber off the living room. Meanwhile, she felt glad to get away from that window, with its disturbing view over the hostile land Korman said they must travel, under the all-seeing eyes of the mind-readers on the Tor Enyása.

The bath was delightful, better than her old bath at home with its limited hot water and uncomfortable Victorian shape. This was almost like a spa-pool, hollowed out of the living marble, smooth and polished like the stairs, showing the serpentine veins of greyish blue and flecks of deep green and iridescent gold. There was a hot and a cold tap, with handles of engraved silver, tipped with polished stone knobs, a shiny red one for hot and emerald green for cold. (Later she learned that the water was heated by the sun, trickling over black rock under crystal panes in the hidden valleys of the hilltops above the caves. All the hot water one could desire – as long as the sun shone.) The floor was also of polished marble. On it was a bathmat of the same woven stuff as in the living room. In carved hollows in the walls were all manner of soaps and perfumes, lotions and little oil bottles, covered in dust. The old man apparently did not use them.

'It's sad that he lives all alone in this beautiful place,' said Shelley to herself as she looked around contentedly. The bathroom was lit from above by another of the skylights, though she saw now it was more like a light-pipe, bringing down the sunlight from far above where it shone on the land above the caves – the karst, as Shelley remembered it is called, where the rainwater drains into chasms and fissures that led to the cave systems, maybe miles and miles of them, far underground. There was a winding staircase, she would find out later, which led from Barachthad's cave up to the karst, where the Padmaddim had tended their terraced gardens and apple orchards in the days of their prosperity, before the coming of the Aghmaath.

She was luxuriating in the bath for some time, thinking lazily about this new world and how free she could be living here, if only there was no Mission, no Enemy, just peaceful living and exploring whenever she got bored. And of course she would want a few friends. She wondered if she could go back and bring her best friend Anna to this place. How she would gape when she told her she didn't need glasses any more! And when she herself ate the apples and didn't need contacts...

She wondered briefly whether she would invite her mother too, but then thought, bitterly, 'She told me lies all those years, about dad.' She continued to daydream. 'And then the Boy Raiders would come and visit – after the Aghmaath were defeated, of course.' Apart from the unsettling dream of the night before, the hidden house of Barachthad the teacher felt like the perfect hideaway, far from the troubled world below. Her thoughts became euphoric, blissful. She lay back smiling in a daze, floating free in the warm deep water, and drifted off into sleep.

Then she was back on the mountaintop, floating just above the grass, bathed in the purplish light of the Tor Enyása, and the Thornmen, glowing with inner light, were bending over her. But this time they were asking her urgent questions: 'Where are you? We know Korman the traitor is with you, but he screens his thought from us by his black magic. You can help us, Shelley. Where are you right now? Let us stay with you when you awake. Let us see with your eyes. We want to help you, Shelley, but you must help us. Surrender to the light. Let us IN!' At that point, she felt a sudden pressure in her forehead like a white-hot poker, and a choking as if something – someone – was trying to enter her mind and body through her mouth. She tried to resist, petrified, suspended halfway between sleep and the nightmare awakening, when this thing would be part of her, controlling her. She struggled fiercely against the dark writhing entity as it sought to possess her. It stopped for a second, but then more came, all together, seeking to subdue her. With a huge effort of will, she pushed them away, and awoke, screaming and spluttering in the bathwater.

Korman and Barachthad rushed to the door, and just as Korman was about to break it down, Shelley called out, 'I'm all right now! I'm coming out.' She emerged, wrapped in a towel, trying to look unconcerned. 'Just another dream,' she said. 'I fell asleep in the bath.'

But Korman could see that she was trembling. He looked with grave concern into her eyes for a moment, then looked relieved, and said, 'You have had a fortunate escape. It is plain that the Mindscouts have found you already. Perhaps the Dreamcasters were working on you in the night. They very nearly took you over! You are strong, Shelley – fortunately! But also foolish, not to have told us immediately of your dream last night – you had one, didn't you? And I should have guessed. I should have told you about the Dreamcasters, but you were so tired, and I did not wish to frighten you. Now we must protect you, before they come back.' Shelley burst into tears, in spite of herself. 'It was such a nice dream. They said I could fly... they offered me peace, a feeling I'd never had before... but while I was dozing off in the bath they turned into these horrible eel things and tried to get into my mind... Oh, Korman, I'm sorry, I started to doubt you. They said...'

'They lied,' said Korman. 'It is good that they lost patience and thought they could overpower your will, so revealing their true nature to you. Otherwise you might have been won over. Come, have some breakfast, and be comforted.'

Barachthad brought out a small silver helmet, which he placed on Shelley's head.

'This is for you. It would have helped to screen your mind, though I dare say you would have taken it off in the bath, so there we go,' he said, cheerily, making light of her near escape. Shelley was thrilled to receive such a beautiful gift. It was of solid polished silver. Embossed, interwoven dragon-snakes ran around the edge, and inside it was padded with blue velvet. She hugged Barachthad. 'It's nothing at all,' he stammered, and turned bright red. He was not used to the company of girls.

She ate her breakfast, which was a kind of porridge. Barachthad had reheated it for her, with stewed fruit that tasted like delicious feijoas (which reminded Shelley of home). Barachthad told her it was a kind of apple he was very proud of, being bred 'Right here on the Karst' by his people. She found her courage returning, and asked Korman and Barachthad many questions, now that she trusted them again. Barachthad answered most of the questions, in his jovial yet detached way, while Korman looked thoughtfully at her, as if weighing up her state of mind.

She asked how Barachthad had learned English so fast, and learned of the Mindstone, a product of the Makers long ago, through which a skilled person could communicate knowledge directly into the mind of another. Her mind began to reel with the implications of what she was learning. The world of Aeden was apparently once home to beings far beyond humans in technology and in wisdom. Yet they were gone, and only a few precious relics were left.

Barachthad admitted to being a tinkerer with bits and pieces of machines and devices from the Old Order (those that were comprehensible to him from the limited literature and examples remaining), and even an inventor 'in a small way.' But mostly he and his people had been mathematicians, delighting in the exploration into the infinite world of the abstract. Shelley had read a book which spoke of the 'wild blue yonder' of pure mathematics: the continuum, 'transfinite' sets, n-dimensional spaces, and equations whose graphs are like fantastic coastlines with sea horses and intricate designs, all infinitely repeating down to tinier and tinier scales, yet each repetition subtly different from the one before. She told Barachthad what she knew of Earth computers, how they can calculate such patterns, like the famous Mandelbrot set, and create detailed maps of them. Barachthad was intrigued – and envious. Shelley was delighted to hear of some of their explorations, and to think that this world shared with Earth at least many of the same truths. She wondered what it would be like to venture into the world of the Crystalline Entities. These beings saw, according to Barachthad, far deeper than the Padmaddim into the unseen reality that underlies all worlds. He had a name for this Reality: Ovokor, the No-World. 'For it is not one of the things numbered among the branches of Rathvala, the Tree of things which have unfolded into the Continuum of Possibility. Rather it is the "world" which underlies and shapes all possible worlds, whether they exist or not.'

'Is it the same as Korman's "Concept?"' Shelley asked. Things she had never really thought through before now seemed to be falling into place.

'Yes, I think, roughly the same,' replied Barachthad, 'Speaking for the Guardians, who rarely say much about it.'

'They rarely get the chance, in the company of the Padmaddim,' said Korman drily.

Barachthad laughed. 'We have to make up for you Guardians. Such a grim and silent lot!'

Shelley plucked up the courage to ask about the Thornmen. 'What do they want – why do they do all the horrible things they do?' she asked Barachthad, as Korman seemed lost in thought.

Barachthad became serious and replied, 'I have learned something of their secret counsels. Korman here may know more. I understand that they truly believe only in their god, the Void, but they will tell you anything you want to hear at first, to get you to let your defences down. Then you find out, too late, what it is they worship: the Nothing, the Void. Giving up and drifting down the black stream into nothingness, taking all they can with them, rejoicing in their power over life, even their own lives, which they have taught themselves to hate. And at the edge of the Void there are the Dark Entities, more powerful than they, of which I have heard only rumours. But the Aghmaath may have secret dealings with them.

'There, I have told you all you need to know of the religion of the Aghmaath. All the rest is details. The thing to remember, no matter what they or their servants say, is that they will not rest until everything is sucked back into the Void from which it was created. Everything, you understand... On all worlds, even your Earth.'

Shelley stopped eating. The colour drained from her face. The menace of the Aghmaath, who could invade your mind and lived only to drag all living things down into nothingness, had finally sunk in. She looked around, bleakly.

'Isn't there anyone who can stop them?' she asked, though she felt hopeless and sick at heart.

'Now your training can really begin – if you really want to stop them,' said Korman into the silence which followed. 'For you must know despair before you can find hope, and join the fight against despair, which is their most powerful weapon.'

'Yes,' added Barachthad, 'and our most powerful weapon against that despair is joyful love, the secret of which is the foundation of the Old Order of Aeden. You will learn it, and through the Unfolding become more powerful than you can guess.' There was an awkward silence. Shelley hoped she could be joyful, loving and powerful, but she felt sure she would let them down.

'Then there is the old knowledge which we are recovering,' added Barachthad.

'Oh yes, tell me about that!' said Shelley, eager for their intense, demanding focus to shift away from her.

So Barachthad told her about the wisdom of the Crystalline Entities, of the world of Kor Zuratimaddi, now under siege by the Dark Entities. She learned of the crystals, like the one on the round table in the main room, through which Barachthad and others had laboured to make contact with them, and of the fragmentary memories of ancient knowledge he and his students had thereby recovered, and how they had been close to a breakthrough in understanding.

'But then the Mindprobers and Dreamcasters came from the Aghmaath, and infiltrated our 'Community of Free Inquiry' – what you would call a university – and we were scattered. Some were converted to the Void; most fled. I do not know where they went. We lost trust in one another. We were naive seekers of knowledge, not trained in resisting terror.'

'How come you stayed on?' asked Shelley.

'It was thanks to Korman here. He told his brother Hillgard of our peril, and Hillgard came and protected me and the few others who chose to stay here. That was nearly seventy-three years ago, just before the fall of the Tor Enyása, where the Arcra-Nama was still being guarded by the remains of the garrison from the Guardian World.'

'Yes,' said Korman, 'the Guardians remained there to the bitter end. But I did not know for sure, until we came here, that my brother had gone on an errand to the Padmaddim. And so it was that he missed the last stand on the Tor Enyása, and almost certain death. Now, where he may be we do not know. I hope to hear word of him on our travels. But it was he that taught Barachthad, and maybe others, the secret of mindwebs and enabled him to stay here undetected.'

'So far,' added Barachthad. 'And I have not been idle. I have continued as best I could the researches of my fellows, and soon I may be able to find the key to...' he hesitated, looked at Korman.

'To what?' asked Shelley. She imagined a vast store of secrets about to be uncovered. She wished she could be a part of it.

'The key to the hidden knowledge of the Makers, still locked away somewhere on Aeden, or under it. This, I believe, is one of the reasons Hillgard came here, too. He spent many hours in the library, and asked many questions. He and I both believed that the hidden knowledge is not all lost. Who knows, we may even be able to contact the Makers themselves, and call them back to fight the Aghmaath. Or failing that, find the Tenth World,' he concluded dubiously, looking at Korman. But Korman only shook his head, sadly, as if his thoughts were far away. Then, as an afterthought, Barachthad added, 'Perhaps that is where your brother went, to the fortress of Baldrock? He asked many questions about it, and I told him what I knew, which was not much. But he became excited when I told him that after the closing of the Crystal World, some say that the key to the Outer Door, long kept by the Crystalline Entities, was taken and hidden deep in the caves of Baldrock.'

'The Outer Door!' exclaimed Korman, startled out of his brooding silence. 'The legendary Portal to the Tenth World, Hub of the endless stars beyond the Great Sphere of the Makers, beyond the Nine Worlds! Much grief has come of men's search for that Portal, Barachthad. Is it not written in the Ennead that the Makers caused it to be hidden, after they had departed that way to battle the Dark Entities? We were not ready for that power.'

'But now the Makers are gone, Korman, and have not returned for thousands of years. Is it not possible that they would wish us to seek it?' said Barachthad, nervously, as if he was not sure himself. Korman shook his head again, but remained silent.

Later that day, in anticipation of Shelley and Korman setting out again Barachthad gave each of them silver shields, which he had devised as a backup to the mindbolt-deflecting silver helmets which they already both wore. Shelley's was in the form of an umbrella of delicate segments which folded away into a short rod. 'It's a kind of Dream-catcher,' he told her. 'Not for heavy duty – more for night use over the bed.' Korman's was more substantial: a pair of wings made from overlapping silver scales that fitted the contours of his broad back, and could be spread to form an impenetrable canopy over him, big enough to shelter Shelley as well, at a pinch. Korman protested, 'Gadgets! The only protection a warrior needs is a well-trained mind.'

'What about your silver helmet then, Korman?' said Shelley. Korman had no answer for that, so he took the gifts, and thanked the old man for his trouble.

Shelley had felt much safer wearing the helmet, knowing that if she kept it on and did not open her mind to the enemy she would be safe, at least from a frontal mindbolt. Now Korman also instructed her in the art of making the mind itself like a mirror of silver, reflecting back the thoughts directed at it by Dreamcasters, giving no surface upon which they can fasten.

'They prey upon fear, which comes from attachment to a separate self,' he said. 'Be as the chameleon lizard, which is not attached to its own colour, but takes on all the colours of the world, and so is invisible, and its enemies pass it by. That is how I remained hidden for so long by the Portal. So, if the Thornmen come as beings of light, you also become as it were a being of light, and they will see nothing but the thought they have projected. If they come as snakes of horror, be as a snake of horror. Reflect and be hidden; resist and they will find you.' Shelley said she thought she understood,

'Sort of. But I'm scared I'll be terrified of them finding me, and then they will,' she ventured.

'If you are scared of fear, you are already afraid, and more fear will find you. Therefore: do not fear fear.'

'But how? I can't let go of it.'

'I know. That is what you will learn – to be attached to nothing is to fear nothing, and then you may do as you choose, and nothing will have power over you.'

'This sounds awfully like the Void the enemy preaches, doesn't it?'

'Yes. But they are attached to the Nothing itself, and try to force all things back into it. The true wisdom is to let all things be, coming forth from Nothing and returning to it.'

'Then why fight the enemy? You sound so... defeatist.'

'We let the enemy be the enemy, and we let ourselves be those who fight him.'

'But,' persisted Shelley, pushing Korman's boundaries, half hoping for an answer, half hoping to see him flustered, 'you must be fighting for a reason, because you think your way is better.'

'Yes,' said Korman.

'Is that all you can say?'

'For now, yes.' He seemed to be smiling slightly, beneath his bushy moustache, and his eyes twinkled. Shelley thought, 'He seems to be enjoying this. Is he trying to push my boundaries?'

They were sitting in comfortable deckchairs in the lookout room; the Bridge, as Shelley called it. 'Humph,' she replied, stood up and walked back to the wide curve of the windows. She stared out. Far away, white specks of birds that looked like seagulls were wheeling, flashing motes in the sunlight against the growing darkness of an approaching storm front. Flashes of lightning drew her gaze to a peak she had not noticed before, which rose from the plains well to the left of the village Korman said they would head for.

'It looks like a storm coming,' she said. 'What's the name of that mountain over there, all by itself on the plains?' Korman came to her side and gazed out at the craggy peak that reared high above and to the left of the Badlands.

'That is Baldrock, a lookout place and fortress from long ago. It is deserted now, I think. But it still contains many secrets. My brothers of the Order, from the Guardian World, used to have a garrison there, long ago, but by the time I came to Aeden only the garrison of the Six Trees in the Tor Enyása remained, and when it fell all died but one, Hillgard my brother. I had heard nothing from him since, until we came here and Barachthad told me that Hillgard had come here, and so escaped the fall of the Tor Enyása. I fear he was captured after he left this place. But if he did escape the Aghmaath, perhaps he took refuge at Baldrock. It would be like him to find another fortress to defend, even if there was no company there but the rock-badgers.' Korman looked sad as he watched the dark rainclouds roll up the hills towards them.

'How long ago was this? Why weren't you there when the Tor Enyása fell?'

'It is a long story. Suffice to say that I was cast from the Order because I failed in my guarding of the central Jewel-Tree, whose Jewel was called the Arcra-Nama, or the Heartstone. Now it is often called the Arcra-Achrha, the Lost Jewel. For it was stolen. Seventy-three winters have passed over Aeden since the day I was banished from the Tor Enyása. Seventy-three years I have kept vigil on the plains of the Portal – waiting for you. This was my penance, to obey the call of the Lady when she appeared to me at the Springs of Hope. But it was a grief to hear of the battle for the Tree and the slaying of all the Guardians but one. And I could not go looking for that one, even though he was Hillgard the Lionhearted, my own brother.'

'Why not?'

'For fear of missing you when you arrived, as I knew you would soon be found by the enemy. I did not know the hour or day or even the year of your coming, but had to content myself with waiting in my cave overlooking the plains.'

'Wow,' said Shelley, 'That was a long wait. But... that makes you old! As old as my grandfather.'

'In Aeden, thanks to the apples, we do not age as you do in your world. At one hundred a man is considered mature, but not old. You yourself have eaten the apples, though you did not grow up with them. Still, I imagine that you too will stay young for a long time.'

While Shelley was getting used to this revelation, Barachthad came to them, and said, 'You can't leave in this weather – have you noticed the stormclouds coming in over the sea from the north? The barometer is plunging. We are going to have a thunderstorm. First in years! What do you think of that?' Korman nodded, then Barachthad added, in a lower voice but looking at Shelley, 'Now, Korman, what of my suggestion? There is time for it since you are staying. Surely you can trust her enough now?' Korman was considering his reply when the room was lit by a great branching bolt of lightning that seemed to bore right into the centre of the Tor Enyása. Korman started, and staring out into the growing darkness of the storm, he thought, 'Another sign! The silver sap is rising in the Tree... the lightning strikes the Tor again! O Lady, is this possible? After all these years... So the Tree is not yet dead. There is still hope!'

Aloud he said nothing; he was too moved to speak of the significance of what he had witnessed. He just nodded and continued looking at the lightning-flashes and the thick drifts of rain over the parched land. He glanced often at his ring; the amber orb set in it was glowing. Barachthad was examining the amber orb-lights in the alcoves of the room, talking excitedly to no one in particular. 'Or-agathra!' he kept saying. 'The lights are getting brighter! Another sign!' But Korman kept staring out the window at the Tor Enyása. At last he turned and asked Shelley, 'Do you still wish to follow me to Ürak Tara, and learn of the Order and the Concept, and seek the Heartstone – now that you know the peril?' He spoke gravely, but there was a light in his eyes like the amber of his ring which glowed like a cat's eye in the light of a torch, and the shining orbs on the wall which shone like the sun of Aeden as it came up out of the mists of the sea.

Shelley, who was very relieved at the talk of a postponement of their journey into danger, and was gladly imagining the prospect of an extended stay in this safe house (at least, safe as long as she didn't give in to fear and wore her silver helmet), didn't quite hear what Korman said. He repeated his question.

'Yes, I suppose so,' she said slowly, after a moment's reflection. 'If you're right, I suppose I haven't really got much alternative except to go on, have I?'

'There are always alternatives in the Unfolding of Life, the Ever-branching Tree,' said Korman. 'By our thoughts we shift the Unfolding and the Tree grows branches where it would not have otherwise.'

'Of course, she could stay here and help me contact the Crystalline Entities, and learn many wonders – things to help in the cause, also, of course,' said Barachthad to Korman in Aedenese. But Shelley was looking thoughtfully at Korman. 'If I didn't go I'd always feel bad that I hadn't done whatever it was I've been called into Aeden to do,' she said, her fear giving way to a rising sense of adventure.

'Then you know what you need to do,' said Korman.

'All right. So what is this thing you were thinking of showing me?'

'Barachthad wants you to be shown the language of Aeden, our main dialect. It is spoken, or at least understood, by most of the races of the island.'

'What do you mean, "Shown?"'

'There is a Mindstone in this cave, through which I can impart all my knowledge of the language in a single sitting – at least all the grammar and the common words and sayings.'

'You're joking!' Shelley had struggled with French at school, and Latin was even worse. This sounded too good to be true.

'I rarely joke, and I never lie,' said Korman.

'OK then,' said Shelley, taking a deep breath, 'Seeing is believing! Let's do it.'

Barachthad led them to the door of the chamber. It was locked. After some rummaging around he drew from a deep pocket in his jacket a small silver key with a blue crystal at the tip. He slid the crystal into a triangular hole in the brow of a carved head which was so lifelike it looked as though it was about to speak.

'This carving on the door is a metaphor for the open mind, and my key is like the Mindstone which fits into the inner eye, illuminating it with the knowledge of new words,' commented Barachthad. The door swung open, and he motioned for them to enter. Korman went in first, followed by Shelley, a little alarmed at the thought of a crystal entering her forehead. 'I hope it really is just a metaphor,' she thought as Barachthad wished her luck and shut the door behind her.

Chapter Eighteen

The Mindstone

The chamber of the Mindstone was round, with a small round table in the middle. The table was bare except for a dark oval stone, about six inches long. There was no light when Barachthad had shut the door, except for the faint glow of a small crystal which was set in the ceiling directly above the table. They sat down opposite each other on the comfortable bench seat which curved around the table.

Korman told Shelley to place her hands on the stone, and he did the same, holding the ends while she rested her hands on the top of it. He said, 'You will begin to see things in your mind, and hear words, which will get faster. Do not fear. You may also see glimpses of my memories; take no notice. I will try to show you only my knowledge of the principal language of Aeden, and you will find it will become yours.'

They sat quietly in the half-light for a long time.

'There's nothing happening,' said Shelley. She had begun to feel silly. 'Have I been sucked into their superstition and it's really all in their heads, and I'll have to sit here, holding this stone, and pretend to be seeing something?' she wondered.

'It may take a while for our minds to establish contact,' replied Korman. 'Shut your eyes again, clear your mind of doubts, and wait.' His eyes glinted in the light of the crystal above, which, now their eyes were accustomed to the dimness, lit the whole room in a kind of faint multicoloured moonlight.

Shelley shut her eyes. The stone under her hands seemed to tingle, and the darkness filled with images, like in a vivid dream – too vivid. The intensity of it shocked her, as scene after scene flashed past, faster and faster. She pulled her hands away.

'Keep your hands on the mindstone!' said Korman. 'Have no fear!'

She put her trembling hands back onto the smooth surface of the stone, now sparkling like black opal, electric to her touch.

She saw deserts and cliffs and terrible scenes of battle with Thornmen and dragons and grim men like Korman, but dressed all in silver armour, terrible and glorious. Then she was inside a cave. She saw a big man in dented and bloodied armour lying on the cave floor, and a beautiful woman weeping over his body. Somehow she knew it was Korman's mother and father. Then the cave scene vanished and there was a Tree shining with a light that came from the top of its trunk where the branches began. It was radiant gold. Then a boy came up to it. He looked familiar somehow. There was darkness and confusion and a roaring noise, and everything went black. Then there was the desert again. She heard words of expulsion and judgement, and she thought she could understand them. Korman was being cast out of the Order of the Red Dragon. There was nothing for a while but bleak desert, and a lone tree under which she saw Korman slumped, head bowed.

Then a woman, wearing a beautiful white gown with buttons of silver-petalled apple blossom, with white flowers like little stars in her hair, came and spoke to Korman. Shelley was sure it was the Lady she had seen before in the dream. A spring began to bubble up under the tree, and the desert became a valley of delight with green grass, trees and flowers and animals playing. The Lady took his hand, and they walked together through the grass.

Then the beautiful scene vanished and a confusion of harsh voices was all around them. Over the clamour of battle Korman was shouting the battle-cry of the Guardians:

Hethür, Krithür, Shaktha!

She understood the words perfectly: 'The One, the Concept, the Soul of the World!' His great sword flashed out, but the Lady was taken by the trackers of the enemy and thrown into the thorns.

Now Korman spoke the words of a solemn vow. If translated into modern English – a poor vehicle for such things – it would read something like this:

'I, Korman the Outcast, the Ill-starred,

Will never again draw Arcratíne,

Heartstone-defender,

Until I have found again

The hidden way of the Lady,

And walk in the realm of Faery.

Then if she bids me,

I will surely draw my sword,

And strike down her enemies.'

There followed a torrent of words and poems and songs, along with swirling images, on and on until Shelley almost feared for her sanity. Aeden was unfolding before her mind like a huge tapestry of interwoven threads from all the Nine Worlds.

Eventually the tumble of images and words slowed down. The last vision she saw was her own cellphone with the message that had appeared just before the Deathwagon had come. It said

KORMAN ESTAMON EAYA

EIM AROVORA

AXPAGLAB OKA KOR

URPAMA PAGYOKA EAM

AINENIA

Now she could read it with ease:

Korman, my Moonbird

We are one

Break out from this world

To be with me where I am

-Ainenia

'It's beautiful! She loves him! I'll have to tell him.' But something made her hesitate. 'Maybe later,' she thought.

She was roused from her trance-like state by Korman's voice. He was speaking to her in Aedenese, and she understood it perfectly.

'Welcome to the world of Aeden, Hub of the Old Order, the last and greatest handiwork of the Makers.'

'Thanks for nearly blowing my mind! I'm really hungry. What time is it?' she replied, in perfect Aedenese. She put her hand to her mouth and gasped. Korman smiled and, opening the door, ushered her out into the cosy lounge, where Barachthad sat reading. He rubbed his eyes sleepily.

'About time,' he said, looking up at them. 'How did it go?' Shelley launched into excited speech, delighting in her fluency, calling up multitudes of memories she did not have an hour ago. She now felt much more like a native of Aeden, and Earth, though still important to her, no longer felt like the centre of the universe. It was an exhilarating feeling.

They had something to eat - hours, in fact, had gone by while they were in the chamber of the Mindstone – and Korman said, 'It was fortunate, coming here, and being able to use your Mindstone, Barachthad. The Lady had given me one long ago and I had planned to use it to teach the Kortana in my cave, when she arrived. But that was not to be.'

'I hope the precious thing is well hidden, Korman,' said Barachthad.

'Yes, very well. With a mindweb, in a place one would never look.'

After the meal Barachthad suggested, 'Now you have the words of our world, come and see some of the books that have been written! Precious, dangerous possessions now – the Aghmaath would burn them and haul me off to the Dark Labyrinth if they found this library. Now, follow me!'

He opened another secret door behind one of the bigger pictures on the wall, a picture of the Karst under the Blue Moon, with little people, the Fairies of Aeden, sitting around the pools and waterfalls and in the orchards, lit up with little amber lamps like fireflies, and dancing around a bonfire in the centre of a moonlit cornfield. Ladies and men in beautiful clothes sat at outdoor tables drinking and talking under the stars, while their children played hide and seek with the Fairies, and little monkey-like animals (called 'wurriers,' she later learned) scampered after them.

Shelley was delighted with the library. She loved books (as long as they were not 'Prescribed Reading' at school), and had thought she might never see another one. There were fat tomes and thin, tall ones and short, but all were richly illuminated with interweaving motifs from Aedenese folklore. They were beautifully bound with covers of embossed leather or thin sheets of wood overlaid with embossed copper, silver or gold.

There was one little book which caught her eye, very different from the rest, like a pile of autumn leaves bound together with threads of golden hair. The leaves were filled with curious markings which looked as if they were grown into the leaves.

'What is this one?' she asked.

'That, my dear, is evidence.'

'Of what?'

'That what I was telling you about seeing Fairies when I was a boy isn't just an old man's tale. This book was left behind long ago by one of the little people after a party up on the Karst. I found it and kept it hidden. I was only a boy then, but should still have known better. They do not share their secrets lightly with anyone, the Fairies, and would have been very cross. Some say they are descended from the Makers themselves. It is written in the Ennead that some of them chose not to leave with the others, but changed form and stayed on as the Little Folk of the woods, caring for the land in their own way, leaving the great battles to the rest of their race, choosing forgetfulness of much that they once knew. But in this very book, woven into the leaves of the Cicada Trees of the Green World (from which they say the Makers came, long, long ago), may be written in a secret code the old knowledge to which they can refer for help and guidance in times of great need.'

'Shouldn't it be returned, then?' asked Shelley.

'I suppose so... but it has been so very long, and you know how embarrassing it is to return something so late it's been given up for lost – or stolen!' Shelley looked at him dubiously. 'Perhaps not. Yes, I'm afraid I have a few other books like that... skeletons in the alcove, as you might say. Anyway, I don't know what has become of the Fairies. Sometimes at night by the full moon I go looking for them in the mountains, thinking perhaps to return their book, but I never have seen one – unless glimpses I sometimes saw in the shadows were more than just a wurrier shuffling off late to its bed in the trees, or a night bird hunting insects in the leaf mould.'

'We will take the book, with your permission,' said Korman. 'I believe the Fairies still live in hiding about Avalon, the enchanted lake of the Lady, far to the north of here. And my heart tells me we must pass that way before we can reach the Faery refuge of Ürak Tara.'

'That would be a long way round, and a dangerous one,' said Barachthad. 'But if you will take it to them, or any of their kin that you may meet on your travels, it would be a weight off my conscience. One less skeleton for an old man to have in his alcove!'

Next they looked at a beautiful old hand-drawn map of the whole island realm of Aeden, or Namaglimmë, which means 'Starfish-isle that causes flight-across-the-void,' that is, the Hub that joins the Worlds. The sacred Island spread like a beautiful five-armed starfish in the deep blue sea. 'It's exactly like the star-pattern in the apples!' said Shelley. She remembered her puzzlement at that first meal when Barachthad had pointed to the apple, then waved his arms and said 'Aeden'. Now his meaning was crystal clear.

In the middle of the Island of Namaglimmë was the Tor Enyása where the Tree of Life grew, and five streams came from it, turning into the five rivers of Aeden. The five ridges of the five arms ran from the small mountains at their ends (Korman told her these were also called Enyásae, world mountains) up to the Tor Enyása, the high world-mountain. Each arm ended beneath the five tall peaks on the perimeter of the Tor Enyása. There were high cliffs around it, and winding paths between the five arms were the only access to it. These were marked in red ink.

The roads on the map were marked in thick unbroken red lines in places, and in other places with thin broken lines, with signs marking swamps and forests through which they meandered. They were few and far between by modern standards, but as Barachthad commented, getting there was more than half the fun. It seemed that once you stepped through a portal from another world in the Old Order, you were not expected to go anywhere on Aeden in a great hurry. This was an old map, Barachthad pointed out, though made long after the departure of the Makers, so it showed none of the thorn forests or the encampments of the Thornmen.

On the map several inns were marked, and Shelley was reminded again of the depth of history of the Aedenese civilisation, once so wise and happy and free, now almost lost in forgetfulness and betrayal. She began to wonder if each of the five arms of the island was associated with a particular world of the Old Order: for example, the Northeast Arm where she had appeared on Aeden was the Guardian Arm, and at the outer end was the Enyása of the Tímathians, or as they were often called, the Guardians, Korman's ancestors. (This was the mountain she had seen looming over her when she first arrived.)

But also near the Northeast Arm, in the tumbled hills of the southern Badlands, she saw marked Caves of the Padmaddim – the Seekers of Knowledge and of the wisdom of the Crystalline Entities. 'So, they don't live on the Southeast Arm, which ends in the Crystal World Enyása. Oh well... nice theory. Anyway we're right there somewhere – I wonder if Barachthad's cave is marked?' she murmured.

On the Northwest Arm was the Enyása of the Travellers' world, looking out to the setting sun (depicted on the map in gold leaf), and just south of that arm was the Valley of the Rainbow, with a long lake at the bottom, and a small island on which was marked an apple-grove temple, and a Labyrinth of Teaching and Initiation under a hill at the western end of the lake.

Korman pointed to it and said, 'The Aghmaath, with the help of three very powerful Mother Thorns, sprung from the bodies of three of their greatest mind-sorcerers, overran that valley. It is now called the Valley of Thorns – a place of indoctrination and punishment. Running along the lakeshore is the Avenue of Despair. It leads to the Dark Labyrinth beneath the Hill of the Skull.' Shelley shuddered, remembering her vision of that place, but she did not speak of it to Korman.

In the south, between the Southwest Arm and the Southeast Arm, were marked several blue lakes, and on the plains surrounding them was written in long sweeping letters of silver, Here live the ürxra-narabadrim which literally translated means, 'One-horned thunderers' - the Ürxura, as they were usually known. Shelley was excited at the thought of meeting them, and the realisation that her unicorn had a homeland, and was not just an apparition. She hoped they would visit that land, if they were going to have to go a roundabout way to get to Ürak Tara.

Korman pointed to the general area where he thought Ürak Tara was, quite close on the map to the Badlands and Barachthad's cave.

'Why can't we go straight there?' she asked, surprised. She was even more surprised when Korman admitted that he did not know exactly where Ürak Tara was, or how to find it.

'We will just look, and follow the leads we are given. All roads lead where you wish to go, if the heart is pure,' he replied.

'But, Korman, how come Ürak Tara isn't even marked on the map? Are you sure it even exists?'

'There were two Labyrinth-containing colleges of the Makers on Aeden, the Exoteric and the Esoteric, the Open and the Hidden. The Open Labyrinth (where I was schooled and initiated) was taken by the Aghmaath and turned into a place of terror, of initiation into the Void. It is now called the Dark Labyrinth, and...'

'Yes, you told me, under the Hill of the Skull, at the end of the Avenue of Despair. I've been shown it!' said Shelley.

'By whom?' asked Korman sharply, looking at her with concern.

'By the Aghmaath in the wagon. He showed me a vision of it!'

'Ah, to begin the process of breaking your will. That was to be expected!' said Korman with a sigh. 'You should have told me before. Telling helps to dispel the darkness.

'But the other Labyrinth, the Hidden Labyrinth, Ürak Tara, was always hidden, at least since the departure of the Makers. It was, they say, a place of great learning and great secrecy, where a Master presided over an esoteric Community of Inquiry, which kept very much to itself. Foreseeing a time when Aeden would fall, the Lady, with the agreement of the Master, hid it even further from prying eyes. She took it into the realm of Faery, so that when the Kortana should come, in Aeden's darkest hour, there would still be one place of initiation left. It would be one of his – or her – tests, to find it.

'Over the generations since then, Ürak Tara came to be all but forgotten. There has not been a single proof of its existence for all my days, as far as I know.'

'How do you know it's not just a myth, then?'

'Because the Lady told me to take you there! That means that she believes that it still exists. And if the Lady believes it exists, it exists. Besides, look!'

On the margin of the map was written, among other notes under the heading 'Addenda':

'Ürak Tara, Faery Refuge and college of the Makers: Hidden."

'Well, that's a lot of help!' said Shelley.

After looking over other parts of the map for any other clues, they went back to the viewing room and had drinks and gazed out at the view. The countryside below was grey and gloomy, with great areas blotted from sight by heavy rain, but Shelley could hardly recognise any of the features from the map. There were whole forests and patches of thorny wasteland in areas which were marked on the map as pasture or fertile fields.

Shelley remembered a question she had meant to ask before, but felt a curious reluctance, as if the truth might be too uncomfortable. Now she decided to find out. 'Korman, back in the library, you said something about the Kortana needing to go to Ürak Tara for initiation. That's what you want me to do too. Who is this "Kortana"?'

'The Kortana is the Chosen One, the one who will find the lost Heartstone, and save Aeden.

'What does Kortana mean?'

'Kor, as you now know, means many related things: world, or egg, or seed, or heart; but in this case Heartstone; and Tan is old Aedenese for mouth, or the act of speaking or calling. So, the Kortana is he, or she, who calls to, the Kor - the Heartstone. The one who can find it again. It is usual to assume that it will be a man – odd, seeing the form of the word is feminine.'

'So,' said Shelley, 'You actually think I could be this... this Kortana.'

'Definitely... perhaps.'

'And you're called Korman... What does that mean?'

'I am the Man of the Heartstone, the Guardian of the central Kor, the star-seed within the Apple. But I failed. I cannot retrieve it now. Only the Kortana can do that. And my task is to guard her.'

'You actually think I might be the one who is meant to save Aeden!'

'Shall we say, the thought has crossed my mind.' Shelley looked down over the wild lands of Aeden, and a cold thrill went up her spine. She could not think of anything else to say. She was afraid to hear any more.

Seeing her unease, Korman changed the subject, telling her the latest news he had gleaned, just before her arrival on Aeden, from the old hermit outcast who lived in the foothills of the Northeast Mountain near Korman's cave. 'Moonwit spoke of new thorn dens, that is, the thorn-hedged villages of the Aghmaath, which have sprung up between the Badlands and the Tor Enyása. Perhaps the road to the Northern Arm is now blockaded. And Ürak Tara, we think, is somewhere on the Northern Arm.'

'That sounds bad,' she said.

'If we can believe old Moonwit. He is not completely reliable, being given to visions and ecstasies and falling asleep for days on end in his cave. But he got the news on good authority, he says: from a Trader who has been bringing him supplies for many years. So, we must assume they are pressing their occupation northeast towards the plains of the Portal, trying to cut off the Kortana, the Jewel-Caller, if she should appear, and to hem in the Boy Raiders to the east. There will be Kiraglim with Dagraath – sniffer wardogs – in that whole area, and tracker hornets.'

'What will we do, assuming I do go with you?' asked Shelley.

'We will just have to go and see for ourselves,' said Korman. 'If there is still a way through, we will go by that direct path. If not, we will have to go west, and find the pass, travel around the whole island, keeping well away from the Tor Enyása and the western desolations, until we reach the northern forests where Lake Avalon lies, and in the midst of that lake the Island of Avalon. And there we may meet the Fairies, and who knows, even the exiled Maidens of the Lady, if any survive. And they will help us to find Ürak Tara.'

'You make it sound easy, Korman,' said Barachthad, and shook his head.

'And after Avalon, what?' asked Shelley.

'I will bring you to the Faery refuge and sacred school of Ürak Tara, of course.'

'If it exists,' said Barachthad, dubiously. Shelley stared at the grey curtains of rain sweeping over Aeden, and felt very small and insecure.

Chapter Nineteen

A Reprieve

All the rest of that day the storm lashed the windows and made mournful organ notes in the skylight tubes above, but mostly it was quiet and peaceful, underground, in the house of the teacher. Shelley and Barachthad went back to the library, while Korman sat a long time in the lookout room, sunk in a deckchair, silent, brooding over the lands below.

After some hours contentedly reading in the cosy library, during which she managed to forget the quest that would take her far from libraries and safety, Barachthad invited her to help get a meal. It was somewhere between lunch and dinnertime, Shelley thought, but didn't care. No one was counting. She noticed Korman was gone.

'Do not be concerned, Shelley! A Guardian may come and go, but he always returns to those he is sworn to protect,' said Barachthad.

So they sat down to a delightful spread of yellow seedcakes, baked by Barachthad, crispy roast vegetables of many subtle flavours, more of the miraculous rose-scented apples (she wondered what it would be like to return to Earth if she stayed the same age for years), and the cold spring water that had so refreshed her the night before. Shelley was pleased to find herself eating so healthily, and enjoying every bit of it. She felt a new vibrancy in her limbs, and a brightness and clarity in her sight and her thoughts. She felt she was bursting with life compared with how she had usually felt back on Earth. And she was really enjoying Barachthad's company, practising her new-found skills, conversing in Aedenese. Some of the words that popped into her head came with a picture of something quite unfamiliar, and she asked about some of them.

Barachthad did not seem to be the sort of person that worried about the outside world, the world of action, but lived, completely content, within the confines of his home. Shelley realised that what he called his 'adventures of ideas,' and the world of contemplation, were more real to him than anything else. He appeared almost irresponsible at times, but overall she loved the feeling of trust that this gave her: he really didn't think she needed bossing around, or lecturing to, or 'educating,' even though he had been a teacher.

'What did you teach, and who did you teach?' she asked him.

'Whom,' smiled Barachthad. 'Oh, just the young ones of our people who chose to come to me. But I didn't really 'teach' them. I just listened and encouraged them in their own adventures of ideas. If they were stuck, they would ask me and I would suggest where to look for a solution.'

'Sounds like my kind of school, Padrathad!' She cheekily used his old school nickname to see what he would do.

'Cheeky gagavala! "Rock-head", indeed! But ah, that name brings back memories of students I have had... So many years, so much potential, lost...' Barachthad's eyes misted over, and Shelley was worried she had unlocked too much pain for the old teacher. But he pulled himself together with a sigh and a shrug, and continued, 'Teaching in your world sounds like what the Aghmaath do: they do not trust in the flow of minds into what is or may be, and seek to force people to go on a certain path to a fixed destination.'

'Yes, they're always on your case. But I don't even want to think about school! Can you tell me more about Korman, now?'

'All I know I will tell you, but it will not be the half of it,' said the old man. 'Korman was of the Guardian World, the world of the Tímathians, before that world was closed off. But he was not of the Tímathian race, but a descendant of the sons of Athmad, warriors who came from Kor-Edartha long ago, seeking paradise. They wore red crosses upon their white robes.'

'Sounds like the crusaders! Templar Knights, I think they were called.'

'Yes! Well, Korman distinguished himself in his home world, avenging himself upon the Aghmaath there for the death of his parents. Then he was promoted and was sent on the great path across the void – it was still open in those days – to Aeden.

'Here he rose to become the central Tidak – the Guardian of the Tree of Life. But he was cast out from the Order of the Dragon when the catastrophe occurred...'

'What was that?'

'Somehow, under his guardianship the Tree was despoiled of its great crystal, the Heartstone, the Arcra of Life. Naturally, then the Great Paths between the worlds vanished, and the Tree, grieving for its Jewel, began to die, and its silver sap no longer rose into its branches, and so the lightning ceased to energise it, and the agathra - amber from the sap of the jeweltrees - also began to fade.

'Korman's life was forfeit, and as is the custom among the Guardians, he went forth into the wilderness to lie down and die. But there he met, or had a vision of, the one he calls the Lady, and she spoke to him, and he did the unthinkable: he refused to die, but rose up to serve the Lady. He has done penance in the portal hills ever since, waiting for the coming of an Edarthan child he called the Kortana, the Jewel-Caller, prophesied long ago by a poet-seer.

'But myself, I do not know if the old poems tell truth when they foretell the future. I myself do not count on the Timeless breaking forth into the affairs of men.' With that, Barachthad sighed. He had said all he wanted to say about Korman. Shelley was troubled to hear the word 'Kortana' again, and felt as if an unseen finger was pointing at her. She wondered what would happen if it was true, if it was really her, and she refused to do whatever it was the Kortana was supposed to do.

After lunch Shelley and Barachthad played a game which reminded her of chess but which appeared, to her bafflement, to include moves which advantaged your opponent. It was only after the second game that she realised it was some kind of collaboration, and the aim was not to beat the other player but to create together the most beautiful possible path through a maze which was itself woven by the two of you: each move left a track consisting of turned-over paving pieces.

It was getting dark early because of the still-cloudy skies, and Barachthad drew the curtains before setting his amber lamps glowing, seemingly by magic. Best not to rely only on the mindweb to hide us from the Dark Ones,' he commented.

'How did you do that – make the amber glow?' asked Shelley.

'By focussing my thought on them, calling for the light to come through the network of light that goes all the way back to the Tree of Life itself. One must be an Ortan to do it, of course, a Light-caller. That is becoming rarer in these troubled times,' he added, as he bustled about, fluffing up the cushions and adjusting the lamps with a touch.

'Can I do that with the amber?' asked Shelley.

'Try,' said Barachthad. She shut her eyes and asked the light to go. She opened them – the room was dark.

'So, you are an Ortan too,' said Barachthad, trying to be pleased for her. 'Now, can you bring it back?' Shelley silently asked, and the amber flared up all at once, brighter than before.

'A very precocious Ortana,' said Barachthad. 'Korman will be pleased! It rhymes with Kortana...'

'Where is Korman, anyway?' asked Shelley, concerned that he had been away so long, and annoyed at the unsettling mention of that word again.

'He went up to the karst, to stand in the wind and rain and to use his sword to feel the ground and the air for news.'

'When will he be back?'

'Probably when he is finished.' Shelley was about to say something sarcastic, when Korman appeared noiselessly at the door leading to the upper stairs. He was wet but looked calm and pleased.

'There is something changing in the air,' he said. 'It is good.' He looked at the brightly glowing amber lamps, and then at Barachthad, who was looking at Shelley.

'Well, she is an Ortana at any rate,' said Barachthad. And Korman smiled.

At dinner they sang a few of the old songs of Aeden, and everyone was merry. Korman was of the opinion that this weather was the breaking of the long drought of many years, and a good omen – as was the renewed glowing of the jeweltree amber.

Afterwards they sat in the comfortable couch in the lounge to drink and talk. Barachthad talked of the old days in Aeden, in his childhood, when the Fairies from the north would come visiting the Padmaddim and there would be parties under the Blue Moon in the apple orchards high up on the karst. Korman listened for a while, a smile on his face, then excused himself to go to the library and study the maps there.

Finally Barachthad got up to do the dishes, and Shelley followed him into the kitchen, a homely room well set up for good cooking, with a huge walk-in pantry carved from the living rock, filled with home-made provisions for the winter: bottled fruit, dried fruit, pickles, smoked fish from the ponds, and different kinds of nuts in bags hanging from the ceiling. After looking around the kitchen awhile, as Barachthad started on the dishes, she found herself asking if she could help. It surprised her, and made her a little self-conscious, as it always did when she realised she was changing.

'Of course, my dear. There is a – what would you call it – cloth for drying.'

'A tea-towel, we call it, though I don't know why,' said Shelley.

'There will be a logic to it, if you look deep enough, as with anything, don't you think?' Barachthad offered, and Shelley agreed. It was so good to be with reasonable people and be treated as a grownup, and at the same time be happy to be a 'little girl,' as he called her.

They talked as they worked, and Shelley found herself wondering why on earth she had hated doing the dishes so much, at home. 'I guess I hated being made to do them,' she thought. 'Freedom is such an important thing. I'd love to be able to free Aeden from those Thornmen.'

She went to bed early that night, and slept in peace, wearing the silver helmet, until the early morning when she dreamed a dream. She was back on the plains where she had first arrived in Aeden. She was riding the unicorn again, and her mother was on the other side, on Earth, waving out to her. But her voice didn't carry. It was as if the invisible wall she had sometimes felt between them was there again, and she was trying hard to get a message through, something very important. But the unicorn whinnied and she found herself calling goodbye as it turned and galloped away into the early dawn light, leaping into the air and flying over hollows where the thorn thickets lay dark on the land, skimming over moonlit waters, on and on into another dream which eluded her waking memory.

The morning dawned rain-washed and mostly fine, with the last of the clouds being swept away by a stiff wind. There was little hot water due to the lack of sunshine the day before, but Shelley washed happily in the marble handbasin in the bathroom.

At breakfast Barachthad said, 'Let's go up on top, and I will show you the gardens.' He led Korman and Shelley up to the karst by the winding upper stairs, emerging through a cunningly disguised trapdoor into a high place, hidden from the country round about, with nothing but sky on the horizons formed by the rugged peaks. These were partly clothed with tall forests, with many bare rockfaces of grey marble crisscrossed with mossy fissures and draped with dark green ivy. Beneath the peaks, forming a private world of terraces and fruit trees in little patches of dark soil between sculpted rock-faces, were the ancestral gardens of Barachthad's folk. Looking across at the hillsides beyond his garden Shelley could see dark entrances to other caves, behind tangled old orchards and overgrown gardens.

'Now it's all mine,' he said wistfully, 'though I need only a fraction of it, and the weeds do take a lot of pulling. And lately there has been the occasional thorn seedling. Like this one, here.' He pointed to a thorn shrub that was beginning to creep over the garden, bristling with dark needle-like leaves, smothering all life beneath it.

'Is it a...'

'Mother thorn? No, but it still takes a lot of killing, and would prepare the way for the Mother thorns, if it got away on me. Fortunately, we are too high up here to get many of them. It is a different matter in some of the villages.' He hacked at the weed with a mattock, and finally broke the root-mass, turning it over to dry it in the sun. 'Later I will have to burn this,' he added, sucking the blood from his hand where a thorn had whipped around as he struck at the roots. Shelley imagined how much worse the Mother thorns would be, moving of their own accord, seeking flesh to fasten onto...

They gathered some leafy vegetables with bright gold-coloured stalks like some kinds of silver beet, and dug some potatoes; red, purple and white varieties. Then they went to a grove of big nut trees and gathered the fallen nuts under their deep shade. The trees reminded Shelley of macadamias, with their serrated leaves, silver underneath and dark green on top.

After they had filled Barachthad's bag with nuts, they followed a path through the herbs, flowering in the early sunlight, some pungent and some sweet. They came to the apple grove, full of the rosy scent of the Aeden apples, and Shelley did not want to leave, lying in the sweet-smelling grass in the dappled golden light under the laden trees.

But Korman looked at the sun, now level with the mountain peaks, and said, 'Long I stood here yesterday in the rain, and was refreshed. I see you love this place too. Perhaps we will return one day. But now, it is time to say goodbye. We must set out very soon or we will not reach the village before dark.'

On the way back they visited the fishpond. It was paved around the edge, with stone seats for looking at the fish. It was narrow but deep, reflecting the blue of the sky, full of fat silver and gold fish like Koi of Earth, gliding peacefully under rocky overhangs and lilypads. Shelley dipped her hands and face in the fresh cold water, and wished she could stay and watch the fish for hours.

They returned to the hidden door and Barachthad shut it securely behind them. The light and green freshness of the upland paradise vanished, and they descended the dark echoing stairwell. She imagined them getting their things, leaving the safety of the cave and going back into the hostile outside world. She had a sinking feeling, like she had had the first day of school in a new town where she didn't know anyone. There were bullies at that school, who had it in for her. But these bullies, the Aghmaath, would kill her, or worse, brainwash her into joining them... She thought of Mark, how he had been bullied at the same school, and she had done nothing to defend him. Eventually he had joined the gang, and become a junior bully himself, apprenticed to the loathsome Gareth Snead. She thought, 'What if he found his way here? He would go over to them just like that. And then he'd come after me too, I bet. Ughh! What a thought!' She shivered.

In the lounge they got their things together. Shelley was given a backpack like Korman's but much smaller, and a warm cloak like his, camouflage brown with flecks of green, and travel-stained, and some light tramping boots, quite new. Barachthad seemed to have some sad memory about these, but he did not say anything, just smiled wistfully as he gave them to Shelley. There were many other items Korman put into his pack, some familiar camping things and others Shelley didn't recognise. She put the light silk tent in her pack, and some rope, silvery and supple. 'Silk from the Southwest Arm,' said Barachthad, fingering it fondly. He seemed to be remembering something about that also. They packed some of the fresh produce they had picked, mostly the apples and nuts, and added some of the dried fish, long-lasting unleavened bread and dried fruits from Barachthad's pantry – especially the dried apples, which, being sliced core-wise had little star-shaped holes in the centres where the seeds had been. 'Good apples may be hard to find where you are going,' said Barachthad, 'and even dried there is a virtue in these.'

Finally they filled their water bottles with icy spring water, and all went down to the landing of the stairway that would take them back down into the caves. Barachthad fumbled for the key and opened the door. They followed him down the winding stairway to the trapdoor. There they said a final goodbye to their kindly host. He shook Shelley's hand warmly, and said, 'Remember to return, my dear – when you have found what you must now seek. Perhaps then there will be time for some real adventures of ideas. I know you have the mind for it.'

'Thank you for a lovely time. And I'd love to return one day,' she replied. 'Oh, and maybe you could do something with this. It's broken, I'm afraid, but you might find it interesting.' And she gave Barachthad her cellphone. 'It's for talking to other people who've got them too, from a distance.' He thanked her enthusiastically, and would have dismantled it on the spot, asking her everything she knew about its construction and mode of operation, if Korman had not said, 'Time is marching on, my old friend. You will have to work it out from what you have already learned from Shelley. And keep it secret! The enemy would be very interested in it. They have factories where they put earth children they have captured to work, re-creating all the Earth devices they can, for use in their war against the free peoples. Now, we must go!'

'Of course you must! Goodbye!' Barachthad paid out the rope ladder into the darkness below, then turned to embrace his old friend, his arms barely reaching half-way across Korman's broad back. Korman apologised on his part for having nothing to give him in return for his generous hospitality and aid but thanks. But the old man just laughed. 'What do I need but a few books and a garden and a cosy room hidden away from the mad world below? Go with the Concept in your heart, good Guardian.'

They climbed down through the hatch into the glittering blackness of the caves beneath, and as Barachthad closed the stone over them, there was one last glimpse of his big smiling face, now so familiar, as he wished them well. Then it was really dark, except for the faint glow of the crystal at the end of Korman's staff. After all the rain, even the walls of the higher passages were wet, and from further down, still a long way ahead, there came the continuous rumble of the waterfalls. As they went on, the dark and the sound of dripping water began to prey on Shelley's nerves. She began to imagine she heard little furtive noises in the dark ahead, over the growing roar of the cataracts. She didn't want to meet another dragon-snake, in spite of Korman's reassurances about them. She strained her ears to catch any sound that was not definitely just one of the infinite variations of falling or flowing water. As if in response, there came a noise that was definitely not water.

'What was that?' she whispered, clutching Korman's arm. 'It sounded like a growl!'

'I do not know... It was not a dragon-snake, or a lynx.' They stopped, listening. The growling came again, louder.

'If I did not know better, I would say it was an anklebiter!' said Korman.

'Are they dangerous?'

'Only if you stand too close to their burrows, or get between them and their treasure.' In the dim light of his staff, Shelley saw his brows wrinkled as he stared into the gloom. Then he broke into a smile, and strode ahead. 'It is an anklebiter. In fact, it is my anklebiter!' he exclaimed. 'That hermit – he cannot be trusted with a simple task!'

Shelley followed behind. The growling now sounded more plaintive than threatening, and too high-pitched to come from the lungs of a big, dangerous animal.

'There he is! Bootnip! Come to papa... There you go!' Korman reached up into a little ledge above the stream, and nearly fell into the dark water as he lifted a little wet shivering bundle off the ledge. It had a wide grey-tinged muzzle, and was about the size of a rabbit, but shaped more like a wombat or badger, squat and big-pawed. It was squeaking and wriggling ecstatically, as Korman stroked its wet fur and spoke soothing words to it. Without warning it bit his wrist, and he yelled, toppling into the water. He struggled up, the anklebiter still attached to his arm. 'You little...' he began then laughed. 'He's only trying to tell me he's very annoyed at being left behind,' he explained as he prised the little jaws off his arm. 'They hold a grudge, I'm afraid. They have quite bad tempers.'

'Why have one, then?'

'Well, for one thing, they sometimes get orphaned, and latch onto the first person they see. If you pick them up, like it or not you have a friend for life. I thought the hermit of the Portal Hills would be able to foster Bootnip here, but it seems he let him out too soon and he ran away. Or perhaps Bootnip bit him and he set him loose on purpose. You are lucky, Bootnip. You could have been eaten by a dragon-snake or drowned in the flood.' He paused, and furrowed his brows again. 'Or worse, you could have led the Kiraglim here.'

'Oh, pets, who'd have them?' groaned Shelley. 'He is kind of cute, though – aren't you, Bootie?' She reached out to pat him, but he shrank from her touch, trying to back into Korman's robes, growling and baring sharp little teeth.

'He may grow to like you in time,' said Korman. 'You have to be patient with anklebiters. They are very useful too, in some ways.'

'What ways might those be?' asked Shelley, shaken and annoyed. 'The little monster,' she thought to herself. Her family had never kept pets, except for one very docile cat – and the ill-fated guinea pig Mark had been given for his seventh birthday. The cat had caught that. Shelley always suspected Mark had fed it to the cat when he got sick of feeding it after only a few days.

'Come, let us go on, and face what is ahead. I will tell you about anklebiters as we go. Their official name is Limtanglim, which means foot-chewer. The shorter Galagog, footbiter, is their common name. But Miners and prospectors call them Gathragog, which means amber-eater, and they find them very useful indeed...'

And Korman told her how the anklebiters live in burrows on the plains and rocky hills, wherever crystals or shiny nuggets of gold or amber are to be found, and they dig for these and hoard them, guarding them fiercely. They live near but not too near one another, as they are irascible and suspicious of one another on account of their treasure. For with their treasure the males woo their mates each spring, laying down a trail of bright things to lure them into their burrows. But whenever one dies, its mate will raise a mound over it along with some of its hoard of treasure and of seeds, and from the mounds grow beautiful sunflowers and other plants. The other anklebiters tend the grave mounds, and store the seeds to eat in the winter. So, a sure sign of anklebiter territory is clusters of little mounds with flowers and grains growing all around them.

And if one is tamed, it will find crystals or gold or amber for its master (or rather, for itself), and bring them home and pile them in its bed. Then if the master is very kind, it will take a crystal and lay it at the master's feet – and if the crystal happens to be a Lightcrystal (like the one on Korman's staff), or amber, this is a very valuable gift. But if it is annoyed with the master, it will nip him on the ankles. So owners of anklebiters usually take to wearing knee-high boots at all times. Korman smiled as he remembered one anklebiter a Boy Raider was trying to train, which used to grip onto the top of his left boot and be dragged along, refusing to let go. 'I saw the boy walk over a mile that way,' he said. 'The next time I saw him, the anklebiter was riding on his back inside what was left of the boot. It became a very good fighter for the boy. He called it Vicegrip. It beat the champion, Cufftug.'

As they neared the entrance of the caves, the stream (no doubt fed by the heavy rain on the karst high above) roared and foamed, sometimes close to the roof so they had to bend down so close to the rushing water that it wet Korman's beard. They were careful to step only on rock or in the stream itself, leaving no footprints. It was as if they had never been there, and the caves were home only to glow-worms and bats. They saw no sign of the dragon-snake this time. The stream rushed and roared through the dark abyss, swirling against the back of their legs as if impatient to push them out of the safety of the caves and return them to the risky adventures of the sunlit world.

Chapter Twenty

The Apples of Peace

'Now we are back in the wilds, without any sure refuge,' said Korman when they finally stood blinking in the golden mid-morning sunlight under the cliff face, wet and cold from the amber floodwaters which burst out of the cave mouth and roared away through the massive boulders. 'We are going deeper into the Badlands, and we must watch every step. There will be Kiraglim about, after your narrow escape in the Dreamweb. They know you are in this area, because news will have reached them of the boys' raid on the Deathwagon. And now they know you are from Kor-Edartha, they will be very eager to find you. In fact you will be Hithrax's prime quarry, and he will be hunting for you ceaselessly. Let us hope they did not pick up Bootnip's trail. I should not really have taken him...' The little anklebiter seemed to understand, and burrowed nervously into Korman's pack, where it found the crystals, curled up around them and fell asleep.

'I don't ever want to meet that Hithrax,' replied Shelley with a shudder. 'So, let's get it over with – find that village, Pebblebrook, and then... How far is it to Ürak Tara, did you say?'

'I did not. I do not know the way yet. As a Guardian, duty kept me close to the Tree and the Tor Enyása. Then after being outcast, I was given a new vigil, at the Portal: waiting for you, for seventy-three years! So there are many places on Aeden I have never seen, including the hidden refuge of Ürak Tara. And along the way, even the places I did know will have changed. There will be many thorn dens, between here and there – wherever "there" is. We must go one step at a time. We may have to go a roundabout path. As is often the Way, I have found.'

'Korman, if I'm really going to go through with this, I want to start learning about this Way. I want to be a warrior like you!'

'I have already begun to teach you. But do not expect to learn always what you expect to learn. It is often something different. You may have to learn patience, for example.'

'Ok... got it. Patience. Now can we go?' she joked.

But Korman was focussing on the cliff face, his staff raised. The dark opening wavered and disappeared. Soon all that could be seen was a spring bubbling up from the boulders at the foot of a sheer cliff in the bright sun.

'Can you teach me how to do that?' said Shelley, in awe.

'Perhaps later,' he replied with a slight smile.

Shelley knew she was being tested, and decided not to show her impatience. She plodded after Korman all that afternoon as he picked a path through bramble-filled gullies where the air was hot and full of buzzing flies, over scrubby ridges where the breeze cooled them but they had to bend double to avoid being seen, and down several cliffs. After the last and most difficult of these, Shelley was shaky from the climb and hunger, so Korman let them stop for a brief meal under an overhanging rock which jutted out from the cliff-face. Tiny greenish birds like wax-eyes with long beaks warbled in the bushes at the foot of the cliff as they ate, but there was no sound of bigger creatures – or Trackers.

They set off again, always walking on the rockiest ground to leave no footprints. At last they came to a little stream at the bottom of a bush-filled gully. 'This is the Pebblebrook, I think!' said Korman. 'It winds down to the village we are looking for: Pebblebrook, so named for the stream which waters it and provides power for its mill.' They followed the stream down the gully, treading warily. It ran through a tunnel of overhanging brambles and other bushes, greener and broader-leafed than those further up in the hills. At each turn of the gully Korman scouted ahead, then beckoned to Shelley to follow. She was amazed at how quietly the big man crept along, and how he merged with the surroundings. Sometimes she lost sight of him altogether and only saw him again when he waved her on. When he reappeared his face seemed brighter, as if he had seen something wonderful but invisible to her. He looked at her as if he thought she saw it too. 'He's practising the Way of the Lady, walking in Faery,' she thought, and she felt envious. She thought back to the mindstone visions, so puzzling and fragmentary, and Korman's great vow, when he swore never again to draw his great sword Arcratíne until he learned the Way of the Lady and walked with her in Faery again. 'Well, he'd better not walk into Faery and leave me behind!' she thought, and she resolved that she would learn to do it too. 'If it's really true and not just some mind-trick,' she muttered. 'He could be mad, after all; I don't know him well enough to be sure he isn't. Maybe this Lady drove him mad. He does seem to be obsessed with her.'

Their shadows were long in front of them as they followed the stream out of the bushes. The gully had now opened out into a small valley. A track appeared beside the stream, with green pasture bathed in the late golden sunlight, and scattered trees on either side, bearing nuts like the ones in the gardens of the Padmaddim, that looked to Shelley like macadamias.

'Ours will be nearly ready to eat,' thought Shelley. 'I bet that Mark will already be cracking them open, before they're properly ripe.' She felt a wave of nostalgia, followed by that hollow feeling, knowing that her father was only her stepfather... It was too hard to think about. She wrenched herself back to the here and now. She noticed the track. 'Oh good, a track at last!' she said.

'Do not walk on it!' warned Korman. 'We must continue to walk in the stream bed, to keep the Kiraglim off our trail.'

'Where are the people who use the track?'

'The shepherds have already put their sheep away for the night, and the people will be safely indoors also. It is not safe to be outside at night in the Badlands,' said Korman.

'What are the people like?' Shelley asked, to keep her mind off the dangers, as they picked their way along the stream, which was now up to her ankles, and pleasantly cool to her tired feet – bare, as she was carrying the boots Barachthad had given her (she made sure to keep them well away from Bootnip, who eyed them now and then from Korman's pack).

'Peace-loving shepherds and spinners of wool, mostly,' Korman replied, 'and loyal to the Old Order, or what they remember of it – mostly superstitions and old wives' tales. They do not take kindly to being told the truth.

'Before the coming of the Thornmen they had not been up onto the Plateau of the Tree, the Tor Enyása – not for generations. They no longer trusted us, the Guardians who protected it. They thought the place was haunted and dangerous. Then, seventy-three years ago the Aghmaath came in force and we were overpowered. The Aghmaath told all the villages round about that the Guardians had betrayed the Order of the Makers, and that they, the Aghmaath, had been sent to restore order on the Tor Enyása. A new order – the so-called "Order of the Aghmaath."

'And the villagers believed this lie – at least at first. They just wanted to be left alone, and anyway had no desire to go up to the haunted Plateau. But the power of the Great Sphere of the Makers began to wane after the Arcra-Nama had gone, as the Tree languished and dark thoughts crept into their hearts, and droughts and dust storms increased.

'Then the Aghmaath began to send out many colonists to the Northwest Arm of Aeden, which belonged in ancient times to their fellows from the Aghmaath world, Phangkor, before that world fell into darkness and was cut off from the Order. But in happier times it was called Kor-Zürglim, which means 'World of flight from crystal mountains,' and it was beautiful. So these Aghmaaths, claiming to be the rightful heirs, took over the harbour villages and the Tower of the Northwest Arm. They renamed that beautiful harbour Phagra, which means Gutwater, or Blackwater, and they defiled it with the waste of the Nered factories which they built to make new weapons of bondage and destruction, such as the Deathwagon which captured you.'

Shelley shuddered at the memory. They crunched on the gravel of the now-cold stream bed while the sun sank lower towards the hills behind them. Korman continued:

'And lately they have grown thorn dens on all the main roads leading to the Tor Enyása. Now they send out their missionaries to persuade, and their Kiraglim to hunt those few who, like the Boy Raiders, seek to resist them. And the thorn spores begin to take root all over the land, while the Dreamcasters darken the minds of all who are unwary.'

'Will the villagers trust you, Korman, if you're one of the Guardians?

'We will appear to them as refugees. Some will remember me and welcome us for the sake of news from abroad – I hope.'

'And put us up for the night?'

'We will have to hope so.'

'It doesn't sound very hopeful at all!' groaned Shelley.

It was already getting darker. The sound of a huge gong rang out, echoing up the valley.

'Is that coming from the village?' asked Shelley in alarm.

'No, not this village. The one further down the valley, Milltown, has already been converted to the worship of the Void, or so Barachthad tells me. If so, it will not be long before they come up the valley to Pebblebrook.'

'Is there nothing you can do to stop them?'

'I will try to speak to the villagers, and warn them against believing any of the false promises of the missionaries. But people who live in fear want to believe comforting propaganda.'

They rounded a bend, and at last there below them was the little village of Pebblebrook, with a narrow cobbled street winding down by the stream, and little whitewashed houses crowding on either side of it, and to Shelley's delight, the waterwheel Korman had spoken of. It was turning slowly, taking water into its wooden buckets from the race above and spilling it into the pool perhaps twenty feet below. She wondered what machinery it drove.

They paused awhile, looking down into the valley. There was just enough light to see the terraced gardens in the hills above the houses. Higher up on either side of the village were olive groves, then bare rock rising steeply to a jagged skyline, where some crags still glowed in the setting sun.

Smoke came from one or two chimneys, but no one was out on the street, as far as Shelley could see. A little higher up from the houses, down some steep steps cut into the rocky path just below where Shelley and Korman stood, was a larger stone building, very old-looking, built of weathered blue-grey limestone on a foundation of massive flint-like blocks, its rounded end rising to a stone tower with a green copper dome surmounted by a flagpole. The flag was hidden, limp in the calm evening. There were gleams of light coming from tall stained-glass windows along the walls.

'There is a meeting going on in the town hall,' said Korman. 'Let us go down the steps and join them.'

By the time they got down to the level of the hall, it seemed much taller. Shelley began to be nervous. There was a guard at the door, and he seemed suspicious, but he let the two strangers in after Korman laid down his sheathed sword and staff. There was a little low growl from Korman's pack, but no one heard it. They went in quietly and sat on a bench at the back. The hall was dimly lit by three nine-branched candelabra hanging from the massive oak roof-beams.

On a white cloth on a table at the front was a pile of rosy apples. The rich smell of them, combined with the beeswax from the candles, wafted down the room and made Shelley's mouth water, and she realized how hungry she was. But there was something too sweet, too drug-like, about the smell of the apples, like the poisonous datura, or angel's trumpet as her mother called it, which pours its perfume into the night air. She remembered her dream in Barachthad's cave, and shuddered.

A man standing next to the table was addressing a gathering of maybe a hundred folk, men, women and children, who sat on benches in rows. He spoke the language of Aeden, and in spite of the rustic burr to his accent, Shelley found, to her amazement, that she could understand his speech.

'The missionary who came today,' he was saying, 'gave us this answer: he brought these new apples so we could taste and see for ourselves. And my brother Yewbow down at Milltown said one of these a day keeps a full-grown man alive for a hard day's work in the fields, and he doesn't even feel tired, but he just sort of floats through the day. They're our answer to the shortages, he reckons. And -' (here he lowered his voice, almost whispering) 'he reckons they open the Third Eye to see a whole new world.'

'What's wrong with the old one, I'd like to know, Bill?' called a woman.

'And who caused the shortages in the first place? Who dried up the springs?' said a man sitting beside her: her husband, Shelley thought.

'Don't think you can pull the wool over our eyes, Bill Crabapple,' the woman went on. 'We all know it's since those Thornmen came that the rains have been staying away, and the Fairies, that used to help with the crops...'

'You still believe in Fairies, and you expect us to listen to you, woman! And it's Mayor Crabapple. It'd pay you not to forget it,' interrupted the mayor scornfully.

'...and the thorns and thistles have been getting into the crops more every year and making hybrids that can't be eaten!' she persisted.

'My brother Yewbow knows, and he says that's blasphemy, Ira Steadman. The Thornmen offer us new crops, ones that take no weeding and need next to no water. Anyway, it rained just last night.' There was a murmur of agreement from some of the front benches.

Ira's husband spoke up again.

'Are you telling us to throw away all the Makers taught our foreparents about the land and how to care for it? What is the end of this? If we listen to these Travellers, the land could end up a desert, with us their slaves. You must all have heard the rumours.'

'Aye, rumours, Grim, rumours,' said the mayor. 'Didn't the Travellers deal with the Guardians, up on the Plateau after the Guardians destroyed the jewel in the Tree of Life and the skybeams went out and the so-called "renewing lightning" stopped? Hasn't it been near on seventy-three years since that day, and has the sky fallen? No! Because the Aghmaath were up there to put things right. And because the old myths are wrong, the Tree of Life isn't what keeps us alive. And now the Aghmaath are coming down to us, to help us. To tell us new truths. Anyway, they have powers we don't. They destroyed the Guardians, didn't they? What makes you think we could stand up to them even if we wanted to?'

'Is that a threat?' said Grim.

'Maybe,' said the mayor.

The people went very quiet.

Then an old man at the back struggled to his feet. 'I still remember that day, seventy-three long years ago, when the sky beams went out. It wasn't the Guardians that did it; it was a thief from Kor-Edartha! The Aghmaath are liars! The Guardians would never betray their trust. Never! They guarded the Tree of Life faithfully since the Makers left to battle the Dark Entities. It wasn't their fault that Athmad and Ewana, our foreparents six thousand years ago, betrayed the Makers and stole the Jewel of Knowledge, and were banished to Kor-Edartha, and Kor-Edartha was closed off from Kor-Aedenya.' He shook with anger, and gasped for breath from the passion of his speech.

'There, you answer yourself, old man, with your Kor this and Kor that!' said the mayor. 'If Kor-Edartha was closed off from Kor-Aedenya, how could a thief from Kor-Edartha have taken the Life Jewel? Your precious Korman, the Outcast, Korman of the withered arm, he was lying to you!' Shelley glanced at Korman. Apart from involuntarily rubbing his thin arm, he sat impassive, but alert. The old man sat down, confused. The people stirred, looked to the mayor approvingly. Some of them laughed at the old man. He had them in the palm of his hand now.

'And so I hereby announce to you a brave new world, where the Plateau is open to the holy Void at night, and we can fly up there, and the good Aghmaath, our elder brothers, look after us and make us citizens of the Kingdom of Peace.' His voice rose, impassioned. 'PEACE! From failing crops and weeding and struggle! PEACE! From old wives' tales about the Makers! PEACE! Through the Apples of Peace!'

'Peace! Peace!' the people began chanting.

Korman whispered to Shelley, 'The mayor has already eaten of the evil apples! The Aghmaath Dreamcasters are speaking through him!'

'Come forward and eat, and know the peace of the Void!' said the mayor, in triumph, and bit noisily into an apple, and the red juice of it stained his chin. The people began to come forward. Grim and Ira and the old man were the only villagers still seated now.

Then Korman stood on the bench and cried in a great voice:

'STOP!'

All the people turned to stare at the stranger. 'I am Korman the Outcast. I was the Tintazürash, the Guardian of the Tree of Life and its Jewel.' There were gasps and a few jeers from the gathering, but Korman went on:

'The Tree was not destroyed by the Guardians; they were the Tintazürim, the Tree-guards, and their lives were bound up in the life of their trees. They were faithful to the end. I failed; it was stolen. And now, slowly but surely, the vital power of this once most-blessed land is ebbing away as the Tree dies, and the power of the Great Sphere of the Old Order is waning. That is why the crops are failing and you are filled with doubts and confusion, and are tempted by the false peace of the Aghmaath.

'But there is still hope that the Jewel will be returned, the Tree healed, and the Aghmaath banished from Aeden. And that is our only real hope. For the Aghmaath will destroy Aeden, and yourselves and your children, little by little. Do not eat their drugged Apples of "Peace". That will lay your minds open to them, and you would lose all power to resist. Do any of you know what happens to you, if once you have eaten the apples, and then try to stop? You will suffer torment of mind and body until you would kill to get another mouthful. So you will become their slaves, and then they will sacrifice you to the Void! But there is still hope, for the Aghmaath are still fewer in number than the people of Aeden. If we resist them and do not give up, the Chosen One will come to restore the Jewel, and the Order of the Makers will be restored!'

'This sounds like hard work, "Korman the Outcast" – if that is who you are!' said the mayor, contemptuously. 'More likely, a wandering beggar and trickster! Show us this "Chosen One"! Or, better still, show us some of the power of the Old Order, and maybe we'll be convinced. Heal your own withered arm, for a start.'

'The power of the Order comes first from knowledge of the truth: the Concept. I tell you the truth now. If you reject it, I cannot help you. The magic will not work where there is faithlessness.'

'Yours is only the truth of old wives' tales, Korman of the Withered Arm! And your faith is as futile as theirs. I prefer the new truth, and the new faith, and a new order, the Order of the Aghmaath! Here's the truth of the New Order!' replied the mayor, and he began chanting in a deep voice that was not his own:

'Peace! Peace! Peace!'

Bootnip was growling and whining, looking out through a little hole he had chewed in Korman's pack.

'Peace!' The people began to join in the chant again, and all of them turned away from Korman – all except the old man, and Grim and Ira Steadman, and their boy. These came to Korman at the back of the hall, and the old man said, 'Welcome back, Lord Korman! I believed you all these years, and I still do. Long live the Makers, the Guardians, and the Concept!' Korman, bowing to the old man, replied, 'Greetings again, Elgar! It has been a long time. Well spoken in the meeting!' Grim put in, 'Yes, well spoken, Elgar. But now we'd better get out of here. You are all welcome to come to our house.' Shelley was wobbly on her feet by now, too tired to care much about anything but rest, but horrified to see the people munching the Peace Apples, teeth stained red by the poisoned juice. Just then some of them turned and started shouting, 'Get them! Make them eat the apples!' But Korman and Shelley and their new friends seemed to have disappeared, and the villagers, confused, went back to their feasting. Some now lay on the floor or on the benches, in a drugged stupor, and their eyes moved as if they were seeing visions, and others laughed hysterically.

In the darkened corner to which they had retreated, Korman took Shelley's arm and they hurried out with the other faithful, picking up their packs and Korman's staff in the vestibule where the guard had left them to join the apple feast. 'Where is my sword?' cried Korman.

'And where is Rilke?' cried Ira. She and her husband ran back into the hall to look for him, while Korman, looking around the room, saw a cupboard door slightly ajar, and strode over to it. Sitting inside was a little boy. It was Rilke. He had been trying to draw the sword. He cowered before the fierce warrior, and with an effort held the heavy sword out to Korman, who smiled and took it gently, too relieved to be angry. The boy jumped out of the cupboard and said, 'Sorry sire, it's just...' Just then Grim and Ira ran back into the room.

'Where were you?' growled Grim as Ira took his hand.

'I was just looking in this cupboard,' said Rilke. Korman said nothing, and Rilke glanced gratefully up at him.

As they went out into the night, the people in the town hall were still chanting, 'Peace! Peace!' and now some chanted, 'The Void! The Void!' with strange, fixed smiles on their faces.

Chapter Twenty-one

Bootnip and the Birthday Cake

'I'm scared, mother,' said Rilke as they all hurried down the dark cobbled street to Grim and Ira's home, a solid old two-storied cottage with oak beams and whitewashed walls. 'Everything will be all right, Rilke. The people will come to their senses in the morning, you'll see. It's just that mayor, he whipped them up to a frenzy,' said Ira. But Shelley caught her worried look.

Rilke opened the wrought-iron garden gate and they stood in the little front porch while Grim unlocked the heavy oak door with an iron key. Inside, Grim and Ira lit candles, and in their yellow light Shelley, Korman and Elgar were settled on a couch in the dining room. Shelley looked at the boy Rilke. He looked about Mark's age, ten or so, she thought. But she liked the look of him better than her younger brother.

'How old are you?' asked Rilke, who had been staring back at Shelley admiringly. Anyone who was the companion of a great Guardian warrior like Korman must, he thought, be very special, and definitely very lucky. And he liked her dark brown eyes and honest look, strong and brave, but also sisterly. He had no sisters, or brothers.

'I... I'm thirteen, in Edarthan years. It was my birthday the day I arrived in Aeden.' Shelley felt sad and homesick. She was even missing Mark. Rilke reminded her of him, somehow.

'Did you get a birthday cake?'

'No, I was captured by the Deathwagon, then I was rescued by the Boy Raiders, then Korman found me and we ran from the Trackers. So there wasn't much time for a party!'

'Oh. But what adventures you had!' said Rilke. 'I'd give anything to go with you two! Where are you going? Can I come?'

Ira had been listening with alarm, and she hastily put in, 'Oh you poor dear, no party on your birthday? Korman, how like a man not to do anything for her! I tell you what, Shelley, we'll bake you a cake tonight!' She brushed away a tear as she looked at Rilke and the girl from Kor-Edartha, and she thought, 'Who knows how long we will have them with us, and what tomorrow will bring?' So she hurried into the kitchen and began to bake, and called Rilke to help her. 'Can we put a surprise into it, mother, a big jewel just to cheer her up?' he whispered.

'We haven't got anything, dear, you know that. It's all been sold to pay for food. Even the amber eyes from the icon.'

'But it's tradition, mother! We have to find something.' He went to his room and found a small shiny stone from the brook that he called a diamond, but really it was just quartz. 'One day I'll find a really big diamond and give it to her,' he told his mother as he stirred the stone into the mix.

When the cake was in the oven they all sat around a solid rough-hewn table of oak, worn smooth with age (Grim told them it was made long ago by grandfather Steadman), and ate what little the couple had, (nuts and olives and some ryebread), along with food from Korman's pack, and a drink like home-made ginger beer for the children. Grim brought the last of his beer and honeymead from the cellar for the adults. There was no cider left; the apple trees had been dying, Grim explained. 'Or being poisoned,' he said darkly. 'And there's something gone badly wrong with the hives this year. There's black hornets killing the bees and taking over. Can't go near them or they attack in a swarm. My boy here nearly got killed by 'em, didn't you?'

Rilke beamed up at Grim. 'Yes father, I did. They'd have got me for sure if I wasn't such a fast runner and hadn't of dived into the river and stayed under for at least five minutes!' he bragged. 'Still got three bites,' he said, showing Shelley the nasty raised scars on his neck and shoulder.

'Rilke, what has your father told you about telling the truth?' said his mother. 'The truth is, Shelley, he was paralysed by the stings and nearly drowned in the bottom of the millpond, but my Grim here dived down and pulled him out.' She smiled at her husband, and he smiled back, but he looked worried.

'They must be hybrids,' said Korman. 'Be thankful. The pure-bred black hunting hornets used by the Kiraglim are far bigger, and they can kill with a single sting. Or if their masters want the victim alive, they will just paralyse him until the Kiraglim arrive.'

'Ugh!' Shelley shuddered, and Rilke rubbed his scars nervously, trying to look brave.

'How can my people be so blind to the evils brought by the Aghmaath?' said Ira.

'The truth is hard to face,' replied Korman.

'Standing up for the truth is a way of life for some of us, Korman,' said Elgar, who had been silent up to that point, recovering from his public humiliation in the town hall. 'We just don't seem to get it, do we, that the herd is always right, eh?' He smiled sadly, and sighed.

'Well, Elgar,' Shelley put in, 'I think you are the ones who are right. As they say, "The majority is always wrong!"'

'That's a good one, miss,' said the old man, perking up again. 'Where did you hear that?'

'Earth – I mean, Kor-Edartha.'

'You mean, you're one of the Edartha-born, a daughter of Ewana?'

'I guess so... if the story I've heard here is true, and our ancestors back on Kor-Edartha all came from Adam and Eve – Athmad and Ewana – and the Garden of Eden, or Aeden, was actually here on this planet! I thought it was just one of our Earth myths.'

'Most myths have at least a grain of truth in them,' said Korman.

'Well, at least once in a Blue Moon, anyway,' said Shelley. 'Like Troy in the Iliad – it turned out to be real.'

'There's another Edarthan memory of Aeden!' said Korman. 'The Blue Moon actually happens here. Aeden has a moon which appears in our skies only irregularly (roughly once every three months), and stays overhead for three days and three nights. It is a beautiful blue. We also have a golden-silver moon, similar to yours, which is visible nearly every night.'

'Your ancestors would have seen our moon, Korman,' said Shelley, '...if it's really true the Templar Knights came here and you're descended from them.'

'Of course it is true. The Guardians, who kept the knowledge of our lineage over the centuries, never lie.'

'Do you have a Templar sword, Lord Korman?' asked Rilke.

'No, my sword is of older lineage than that, and not to be drawn lightly! It is Arcratíne, Jewel-Defender. It comes from the dawn of the Order, the Golden age, when the Makers and the Crystal entities worked together to make many wonders, such as the Mindstones, one of which Shelley has already seen. The blade of this sword is made of living fire crystal. Korman the First, after whom I was named, bore it in his guarding of the Tree nine thousand years ago, after the Makers left to battle the Dark Entities in the void beyond the Great Sphere of the Nine Worlds.'

'They left the Order in the hands of the Guardians?' asked Grim.

'Yes. And we failed, at least partly. We stuck to the guarding of the Trees and neglected the teaching and renewal of the knowledge and wisdom of the Order to the common people, as they came to be called. Originally there were no "common people" – all were enlightened. But this only happened by teaching and love and nurturing, which through complacency, gradually over the countless generations, grew less and less until only a remnant fully remembered the Tan Krithür, the Sayings of the Concept, and used the Labyrinths to become initiated into the knowledge and wisdom and joy of the Order. And eventually, almost none. Then the Labyrinth of Ürak Tara was lost from sight, withdrawn by the power of the Lady into the Faery realm. Likewise the Island of Avalon where the Lady's maidens still live, they say.'

'So how can we get to Ürak Tara, if it's in the Faery realm?' asked Shelley.

'We must walk in that realm as well as the visible realm. This has become easier for me since you arrived, Shelley.' She remembered the strange looks he had given her on the journey down the stream, and how he had seemingly vanished and reappeared several times. She wondered when she would start seeing things too, and whether she would have any idea whether it was real or whether she was actually just going mad. To deflect these thoughts, she asked, 'What about the technology of the Makers? Did that get lost too, as Barachthad says?' Korman, who had been looking hard at her, replied, 'No, I do not think so. The Makers themselves hid its secrets in the soil of Aeden, not to be restored until they returned. For they knew it was perilous, if the Aghmaath were to steal it. Their wisdom was to leave the stewardship of the Order to good men and brave, to defend the Order and the Concept by wisdom and love, not technology. They left behind only a few tools of their visible power. This sword is one; the three Vapáglim, medallions of Opening, were another (but they are lost, it seems, and there is some rumour that they were forged not by the Makers themselves but by certain Travellers, who all came to a bad end by using them). The Mindstones were a better idea by all accounts. And in some ways the greatest of all the ancient marvels: the two Great Labyrinths of Aeden, with their spheres of initiation and their living pictures.'

'They had movies! Where were these Labyrinths? Can we see one?'

'As I have said, one was in the Valley of the Rainbow, now the Valley of Thorns, and it is dark and dreadful. The other is under Ürak Tara, where we are going.'

'So we will get to see it!'

'I hope so. Our mission depends on finding it.' Shelley didn't want to hear any more just then about her Quest, or the realm of Faery, and she fell silent. But Rilke said, 'I want to see the Labyrinth with the living pictures! I thought you said it was just an old fairy tale, father!'

'A lot of the things I have heard tonight I used to call fairy tales. Now, I am inclined to believe them all,' replied Grim.

'So, can I go with them, father?'

'No, of course not,' began his mother, but Grim said, 'If Korman would consider it, I would be grateful. My heart tells me this village has become a dangerous place for us. If we cannot turn the people back from the Aghmaath, then...'

'Then your son will be taken for indoctrination, along with all the children of the village,' said Korman. 'But we will take him with us, if you wish.'

'Oh, yes please!' said Rilke, and his eyes shone in the candle-light.

As they discussed the route they must take in the morning, Ira looked at the motionless hour-glass, and exclaimed, 'The cake! I almost forgot!' and hurried into the kitchen. But the fire had died down and the cake was only a little burnt. She scraped it and brought it out in triumph. They lit little candles on it, just as on Earth. Shelley wondered at this, but blew out the candles happily. Then, just as Ira was about to cut the cake, a rustle came from the corner where Korman's pack lay, and a furry streak clawed its way up Korman's cloak and lunged onto the table, scrabbling on the polished wood. Before anyone could stop it, the anklebiter had burrowed into the heart of the cake. After a few seconds of frantic movement, his head reappeared, covered in cake. He was holding the piece of quartz proudly in his jaws. 'Bad boy!' said Korman, holding Bootnip up by the scruff of his neck. 'Drop it!' he ordered, but Bootnip held onto the stone, growling ferociously. 'Bootnip, drop it!' said Shelley, holding out her hand, and to her surprise, with an expression of disgust the anklebiter let it drop into her hand, covered in anklebiter saliva. He had, in fact, only let it go because he had felt it with his teeth and knew it was not a real jewel. Anklebiters are, at bottom, almost completely indifferent to authority and impervious to commands, just like cats.

'It's my fault,' said Korman. 'I should have remembered, he knows about birthday cakes and the jewels that are hidden in them. I used to give him a birthday cake every year, back in my cave. It is their instinct, of course, to dig for precious things.' He put Bootnip firmly back in the pack, where he rustled about licking the bits of cake out of his fur.

'The stone's for you anyway,' said Rilke. 'Happy birthday!'

'Thank you!' said Shelley, with a lump in her throat. Then she washed her hand and the stone, and Ira cut out the parts of the cake that Bootnip had mangled, and after singing a birthday song they all ate a piece. Then Ira said it was really time for bed – at least, for the children. 'Yes, we must leave before dawn,' said Korman, 'or those who follow the Aghmaath will arrest us as traitors, and bring us before the Inquisitors. The Aghmaath are very interested in this Edarthan girl, Shelley.'

'And in Korman the Outcast,' said Grim.

'If they came for us you'd use your sword to defend us, wouldn't you, Korman?' said Rilke. Korman looked sadly at him.

'Alas, I cannot. I used it once in wrath, and the Lady was taken by the Aghmaath and thrown into the Valley of Thorns, and my sword arm was withered. I have sworn an oath never to use Arcratíne again until the Lady gives me the word, and the strength. I am her disciple now, learning a new way for the Guardians. I am practising the hidden powers that come from harmony with the earth and the rock and air and fire and water, and all living things. She is teaching me to walk in Faery. You will find we should not need to use this sword. We will go with a mist about us, and the Dreamcasters and the Trackers will draw up an empty net.'

Rilke looked puzzled and disappointed. Then he asked, 'Will you show me your withered arm?'

Before Ira could scold Rilke, Korman bared his right arm and held it up.

'Not very good for deeds of valour, is it?' he smiled. 'But one day, I believe it will be healed.'

Ira drew Rilke close and hugged him, tears in her eyes. 'Time for sleep, you cheeky young man. It is long past your bed-time. Your biggest-ever adventure is only a few hours away, sword or no sword!'

Old Elgar had been looking troubled. He looked at Korman and said, 'I do not know about this Lady. But I have heard stories about the Kiraglim trackers. They still do not work openly, but they have been seen in the hills around here, and there have been disappearances in the villages that no one can explain. You declared yourself openly tonight at the meeting, and the mayor will send messengers in the morning to the Aghmaath in Milltown – if he hasn't already.

'So, here is my suggestion: let me be a decoy. My wife Lilly and I will do this for you and Shelley. We will exchange clothes, and in the morning we will leave, taking the low road, with our hoods over our faces, pretending to be you. Meanwhile you and Shelley will be long gone, taking the high road through the olive groves and up into the mountains, south-west towards Baldrock, then (giving that haunted mountain a wide berth) south-east through the Eel Hills. And with us wearing your boots and your clothes, the Trackers and their dogs will follow us, not you. But there are many streams to cross, and by the time we reach the place I have in mind, we should have given them the slip.' Shelley shuddered at the mention of eels, but said nothing.

'That is a brave and noble offer, Elgar,' said Korman. 'But where do you mean to go? – assuming Lilly agrees to it.'

'She has long been wanting to return to the old Guardian enclosure – Lakeview it was called – where we farmed so long ago, before the fall of the Tor Enyása. We would rather die trying to get there, than stay in exile here and be taken away by the Aghmaath to their place of endarkenment.'

'I think you should take their offer,' said Grim. 'The Trackers must not find you! We would do it but our place is here in the village, to try and turn the people back to wisdom.'

Korman finally agreed to Elgar's plan, and soon Elgar came back with Lilly, dressed for travel in the fashion of the villagers of Aeden. Shelley immediately liked Lilly, a merry little old lady about her own size, but wrinkled and wiry, and brown as a nut. They went off and changed into each other's clothes, as did Korman and Elgar. Then they returned to the living room. It was an odd feeling for all of them. Shelley looked wistfully at Lilly wearing the supple boots Barachthad had given her.

'Don't let Elgar stop to argue with any strangers along the way, will you Lilly?' said Ira.

'Certainly not! We'd never get away,' replied Lilly.

'You look like a true Guardian, Elgar,' said Korman. 'You will lead the Trackers on a merry chase! Just remember to take your staff so you can hit them over the head if they find you!' The two men laughed, and Lilly looked proudly at Elgar. Shelley felt very serious, and proud, to be with such brave people.

'Well, it is getting very late,' said Ira, finally. 'Time for you young ones to get some sleep.'

Rilke showed Shelley their bedroom and the simple bathroom. But her bed of wool and goosedown was soft and warm, and it seemed the height of luxury to her, compared to her visions of sleeping under the brambles somewhere in the wild. She hoped it would not be too cold in the early morning when Korman was to wake them. Rilke shyly got into his little bed in the corner, and in spite of his excitement soon fell fast asleep. Shelley, though she was now exhausted, took a little longer. She was thinking of home as she held the little stone Rilke had given her.

Ira and Lilly talked in the kitchen as they did the washing up, while Elgar and Korman stayed in the living room, talking of the routes they would each be taking, and of the Guardian lands in the Northeast Arm of Aeden. Korman gave Elgar a talisman of the Guardian Order (a medallion with a Salamander-dragon entwined around a sword), in case any of the old Guardians were still alive, and questioned him. Elgar thanked Korman, and embraced him warmly.

'You are like a son to me,' he said. 'And so I return to what we were speaking about earlier: Be cautious about this Lady, Korman. She is not in any of the lore of the ancient Order that I have heard. Can you be sure she and this Faery realm are not another deception, perhaps a rival to the deceptions of the Aghmaath? Many uncanny things walk in Aeden now that the Jewel is gone. Or if as you say she has been imprisoned in the thorns, she may have come under the sway of the Dark Ones, and be sending out mindwebs to lure you into their trap.'

Korman smiled at the old man's concern, and said, 'I am sure in my heart, good father Elgar, that she too is good, and has not come under the sway of the Aghmaath. And the works she has done, for me and for the land of Aeden and its protection, bear me out. Also, nothing she has said to me is against the Concept.' Korman looked hard at Elgar, then went on. 'Besides all that, you have heard of her: she is a descendant of the one who was called Venus.'

'But surely, Korman, Venus was just one of the fairy tales of the Golden Age?'

'You would not say that if you had seen this Lady. And it was she who set me the task of waiting for the Kortana at the Portal of the Plains.'

'Is Shelley the Kortana, the Jewel-Caller, then? If the old prophecies are to be trusted, and there is such a person at all...'

'She is the Kortana. I live or die in that belief, Elgar. Only time will tell if I am right.'

'Let us all hope you are right, and that this Lady is not leading you into a delusion. Take care, my dear Korman. If you take my advice you will be faithful simply to your old Guardian Order, and the Concept, and the memory of the Guardians.'

Korman was fingering the amber ring on his finger, and seeing it glowing Elgar said, 'That is no Guardian ring! It looks like something from the Faery realm to me – I saw something similar that an old Trader was trying to pass off as a genuine Guardian ring. But they are red of course, for the Guardian World and valour. Lightgold is forbidden, Korman! As are images of intertwined Tree-men and Tree-women. Where did you get it? Not from this Lady of yours?'

'No, Elgar, I made it myself during my long vigil, from a nugget of pure silver and a piece of golden agathra Bootnip brought me one day. I took them as a sign of new things, and formed the ring as a talisman and loyalty-ring for the Lady Ainenia. For I lost my Guardian ring the day I was cast out from the Order.' Elgar shook his head and sighed.

'Well, speaking of Guardians, may you find your lost brother on your travels, and come safely to Ürak Tara.'

Lilly and Ira came out of the kitchen. Elgar and Lilly embraced Korman again, and left for their own house. Then Ira and Grim excused themselves, and went off to bed, locking the outside doors securely. The sound of gentle snoring came from Korman's pack, then twitchings and happy grunts. Bootnip was dreaming, perhaps, of birthday cakes with huge jewels in them.

Korman did not go straight to bed, but sat by the dying embers of the fire, deep in thought, and the voice of the Lady began to weave into his thoughts, and he meditated for a long time on her wisdom, and on the wisdom of the Makers, and the Concept. Then he took out a little box from the folds of his robe and carefully opened it. Inside was a single flower about the size of a lawn daisy. It was closed tight like a bud. He whispered to it and stared at it as if willing it to open. But nothing happened, and finally he lovingly closed the box, put it away again, and sighed deeply. He took out his singing bowl and tapped it sadly. The hum of Creation filled his consciousness, and he smiled a little.

Then he stretched out in front of the cold grate, and slept until the dark hour before dawn.

Chapter Twenty-two

Into the Badlands

In the dead of night, three visitors came to the foot of Barachthad's cliff, where the pool reflected the many-coloured stars like watery gems. Their leader did not care about the beauty of the reflections; he was there to follow a trail. He scanned the cliff-face, then bent down to examine the rock on which Shelley had lain. The other two tall dark figures huddled around the rock, feeling it to pick up any subtle vibrations. Three bulldog-like creatures, their bulbous eyes gleaming in the starlight, grunted and snuffled at their feet. Their tongues, rough like a cat's, but sharp as a rasp, and long as a dog's, lapped the cold water.

The trail of the anklebiter was cold, and the Dagraath sniffed around the boulders in growing frustration. But the leader of the Trackers jumped, bird-like, to a lower boulder. He had seen a tiny impression in the moss. A faint hum of hornets came from the thorny basket on his back as he stood a second in thought. Then he raised a hand, wiggling a claw to beckon them on, and they began to work their way down the hill, towards the stream called Pebblebrook.

It was still pitch dark when Korman came to Shelley's door with a beeswax candle in a red pottery candlestick. He looked like one of the villagers, in a hooded woollen cassock with a belt of leather and tall leather boots.

'You look like a shepherd,' she said sleepily, and rolled over to go back to sleep.

'Now is the time to be strong and brave, Shelley. The Trackers are near. A little breakfast, then we must go.'

Rilke jumped out of bed and danced around Korman as if to fight him.

'I'm a Knight! On guard!' he cried. There was a sharp growl from inside Korman's pack, and Bootnip's beady eye glittered out of the hole he had chewed.

'What's that?' asked Rilke, and put his hand out. The growling increased, and teeth appeared at the hole. Rilke jerked his hand back.

'It's Korman's anklebiter, silly! It bites. I will too if you don't be quiet!' said Shelley, and hid her head under the pillow. But Rilke pulled the pillow away. 'Let's go, sleepyhead! It's adventure time!'

Shelley growled like Bootnip and pretended to bite Rilke's arm, but that just got Rilke more excited and he started hitting her with the pillow. Finally she gave in and got up.

After a breakfast of bread and honey and nuts, with sheep's milk to drink – Shelley found it surprisingly mild-flavoured, though very creamy – Ira and Grim farewelled their son solemnly. They knew they were unlikely to see him again. Ira wept openly, but Grim hid his tears. He gave his son a little hand-forged sword in a black leather scabbard, and put it on Rilke's belt.

'This is an heirloom of our house, made by the sons of Calibur, the Smith of Edartha. Their forge was in Baz Apédnapath long ago. See, on the blade their sign: the sword in the stone. Do not draw it hastily. Obey the Lord Korman at all times, my son,' he said in the archaic form of speech the Aedenites used at such times. 'And respect and protect the esteemed lady, Shelley of Edartha. She may be the Jewel-Caller, the Kortana, who will one day save us all!'

Korman farewelled them in like manner, hoisted the heavy pack onto his back, and said to Rilke, 'Lead on!'

Shelley looked into Rilke's face, and wondered how he could be so cheery, leaving his loving parents and home village in such mortal danger, and becoming a hunted refugee. But she caught the hidden fear in his eyes, and knew he was just being extra brave for them. She smiled at him, and he gave her a slightly forced little smile.

'Goodbye!' he waved to his parents, and walking close by Shelley's side he strode bravely away from the only home he knew. Shelley felt a sudden wave of sadness as she thought of her own parents, how they would have felt when she disappeared without a goodbye. 'But they don't really care that much, I suppose,' she told herself. 'They've probably separated by now. Serve them right really, trying to live a lie... I wonder if dad got Mark. He was always his favourite. Now I know why of course – he's his. I'm only mum's, not really his at all. Well, I don't care any more.' But she felt the tears welling up and stinging her tired eyes. She turned her face so Rilke wouldn't see.

They went down the street a little way then turned right, winding their way up the paths to the terraced gardens where rye and corn and carrots and cabbages, and many other vegetables Shelley had never seen, were growing. There were piles of thorny weeds heaped up by the path, and Rilke said they were from the floating seeds that came over the mountains from the Plateau. 'Yippee! I'll never have to weed them again!' he grinned. Now the parting was over, and he was with his new friends, this kind girl and mighty Guardian, his boundless enthusiasm for adventure was filling his heart with exuberant joy.

They passed the gardens – Rilke pointed out his parents' patch – and came to the claypits. He told them breathlessly how he used to help the villagers cut the straw and trample it squishily into the mud and sand then slop the mix into moulds to make bricks. Soon they were climbing the steep hillside under gnarled olive trees, up and up towards the high canyon pass which Rilke had told them about.

'Not even father knew about this pass I'm taking you to,' said Rilke, proudly. 'He doesn't do much exploring. Not like me! Well, it's more like a crack in the rock, really. But I can squeeze through. You just have to watch for spiders and cave hoppers. Sometimes there's bats too!'

Shelley did not like the sound of it, but expressed polite admiration for his exploring skills.

Dawn was approaching in pearly splendour above the olive grove and the stony path was becoming even steeper, with the occasional step cut into the rock, when Korman heard a faint drone. Instantly, he responded. With some things, he knew, there are no second chances.

'Tracker hornets! Lie on the ground and keep perfectly still!' he whispered, and the children dropped down beside him, hardly breathing as the noise got louder. The hum was mostly overhead, but a single louder droning sound was coming through the trees at eye level, darting this way and that as if searching. It sounded like a very big bumblebee or a distant trail bike to Shelley. It was getting rapidly nearer. It passed by a little to their right, and she looked up in time to see a huge black hornet disappear down the slope. She looked to where the others lay, but she could hardly see them. They seemed to have merged with the earth. Even Bootnip was making no sound.

'They are gone,' said Korman, rising up as if out of the leaf-mould, brushing dead leaves from his cassock, 'but the Trackers are not far away.'

The children were shaky as they got up, but Rilke said bravely, 'They weren't so much bigger than the ones that stung me.'

Down in the valley, two hooded figures, a tall man with a staff and a short woman, looking remarkably like Korman and Shelley, walked down the single street of Pebblebrook village and turned left at the far end. A few faces at windows watched them as they set off up the path that led to the hills.

On the other side of the valley, much higher up, the real Korman and Shelley, and Rilke their enthusiastic guide, were still climbing. They were now out of the olives and picking their way up a rocky slope, almost under the line of huge blue-limestone crags at the top. Rilke was already looking out for his hidden pass. Shelley, panting, stopped to get a pebble out of her boot.

Then Rilke called out, 'Over here! I've found it!'

Shelley looked up in time to see him disappear behind a tussock-covered mound at the foot of the sheer crags. She saw there was a crack between two huge rockfaces, but it hardly looked big enough for anything bigger than a rat. 'Or a bat,' she thought with a shudder.

Korman beckoned for her to follow Rilke, and he brought up the rear as they pushed past dry bracken covered in climbing vines. The crack in the rock opened up as they approached, and Shelley saw it was just wide enough to walk through without having to go sideways. Looking back she saw the mountains of the other side of the Pebblebrook valley, and thought of the life Rilke was leaving behind, down there in the quiet valley. She hoped his parents would be all right. Then she turned and looked into the dark crack. She saw there was light around the corner, though hardly any above, as it was so far to the top and plants were growing in cracks all the way up.

Then she saw a dark, leathery creature hanging from a ledge in the rock; then another and another. They were big bats, like the flying foxes she had seen in documentaries. One woke up and looked straight at her, its foxy face inquisitive and bright-eyed. Then it opened its mouth and let out a squeal, high-pitched like a dog-whistle. She screamed, and the whole line of bats opened their leathery wings, all of them squealing with thin piercing shrieks, and made for the open air, some flying away from her, others straight for her. She flung herself down as they passed overhead with a musky smell, their flapping wings fanning her body.

'Wow, fun, lots of bats this time! I'll protect you, Shelley!' said Rilke, whooping and drawing his sword to slash at them.

'Do not hurt the bats!' said Korman, behind Shelley. 'They are harmless, and also the smell of their blood will attract unwanted attention.'

'From the Trackers?' said Rilke.

'Not only the Trackers,' said Korman.

Rilke quickly sheathed his sword. 'Father has warned me about the fierce creatures in the rocks, the ones that come from the Plateau,' said Rilke, 'but I've never seen one of those, those...'

'Rog Tannax. No, we do not want to meet one, especially now when we must hurry into the Badlands and head for Ürak Tara before the Trackers find our trail.' Korman stopped, motioning the others to wait. Then he raised his staff at the entrance to the crack. 'This is only a hasty defence, but the narrowness of the gap makes it worth trying to conceal with a mindweb,' he said. He chanted a short mindweb spell, waving his staff with a weaving motion. 'Now, let us go on, into the trackless wilderness.'

'There are tracks in there, I think,' said Rilke seriously, 'but I've never been past here.'

'Then let us beware of whatever made the tracks,' replied Korman, with a slight smile. Rilke who had been rushing ahead, stopped. Looking around nervously, he waited for the others to catch up.

The walls drew in as they went forward, until Korman and Shelley were inching along sideways, with their packs off. Shelley tried not to think of spiders and cave hoppers in the dark above her, but her neck bristled, and she felt as though things were in her hair. She tried to wipe her face and cobwebs dragged stickily over it, catching in her eyelashes and mouth. She felt as if she would choke. 'This is not a good start to the Badlands,' she muttered apprehensively, spitting out cobwebs.

Now Rilke was running, down a slope full of dead leaves that crunched under his feet, out into the light and air. Beyond him there was a panorama of wild mountains, jagged cliffs with gnarled trees clinging to their faces. They all blinked in the early morning sunlight.

After a while Korman spoke. 'We are looking down from the great Northeast Arm, the backbone and sacred pathway from the Tor Enyása to the Guardian World Mountain on the coast. When the Golden Jewel, the Heartstone, was in its place in the Tree, the beam of subtle light would pass this way, linking the Jewel in the Tree of Life to the jewel in the Northeastern Peak, then to the Jewel in the Guardian Tree, and from there all the way to the Guardian World. And all who walked the sacred pathway along the Spur would be bathed in the energy of the beam, and sense something of the spirit of the Guardian World.

'Ahead of us now are the northern Badlands; beyond them is the beginning of the Northern Applefields (now wild and untended) and the Great Northern Fairy Forest and Lake Avalon, where the maidens of the Lady perhaps still live. But we only need to go a little way northwest, skirting the hills of the Badlands, then strike out west through the Vale of Applegate until we come to the great Northern Arm, where I think Ürak Tara is. We must also keep as far away from the Tor Enyása as we can, so we cannot go south. That is where the Traveller's strongholds are, and the thorn thickets are most dense. Hopefully further north, near Ürak Tara, the thorns will not be impenetrable.'

'Will we get there before dark?' asked Shelley, not very hopefully.

'No, it is not an easy path through the Badlands, and we will be at least another night and a day before we arrive at the Northern Spur. Then we will have to search for Ürak Tara,' replied Korman.

'Oh, goody, camping under the stars!' said Rilke. But Shelley's heart sank, and she felt a foreboding that this would not be an easy journey.

After a lunch of Grim's honey and Ira's homebaked ryebread, washed down with springwater from their leather waterbottles, the little party began the descent into the Northern Badlands. They had to cross the great northeastern highway which ran almost straight along the northern flanks of the Spur.

'This,' said Korman, 'is the road the Aghmaath take to transport prisoners, mostly Boy Raiders, from the Portal hills where you first appeared, Shelley. If you had not been rescued by the Boy Raiders, you would have passed here on your way to the Tor Enyása, then down into the Avenue of Despair in the Valley of Thorns.'

Shelley shuddered at the memory, still vivid but almost dream-like, something that had happened to another person. So much had happened since then, and the mysteries of Aeden and its ancient history deepened with each passing day.

There was a feeling of nostalgia, now, remembering the Boy Raiders, and Earth, and her own family so far away. She hoped she could get the journey over fast, find the Lost Heartstone, if that was really what she was expected to do, and then go home.

'Do you think I'll be able to get through the Portal again from this side?' she asked Korman as he led them quickly across the road.

He replied, without looking back, 'When the time comes, I am sure the way will open up. More so when your mind is purified and you understand the Way of the Lady.'

As the afternoon wore on, the Trackers found the headwaters of Pebblebrook, and the Dagraath picked up a faint trail. Now they ran, panting and grunting eagerly, as their masters followed, stepping with spurred feet rooster-like, bent double under the overhanging brambles. But long-legged Hithrax was always at the front, tirelessly pursuing his quarry, his keen mind and third eye probing for traces of them, his glinting hawk-eyes darting from side to side as he ran.

Soon they reached the path down to the village, and the Dagraath ran to and fro trying to pick up a scent of Korman or Shelley – or the anklebiter. But Hithrax said, 'Heel,' and the dogs followed the three Trackers past the meeting hall and down into the village. He knew his quarry had passed this way. And he knew the mayor would tell him which path they had taken from the village.

As the Trackers and their Dagraath prowled down the street the geese in the fields honked their alarm, and the local dogs ran and hid whimpering in their kennels. Soon the Dagraath were sniffing at the door of Grim and Ira. Mayor Crabapple came out of his house and bowed low before Hithrax, then waited for the door to open. Grim was in the fields, but Ira answered the door.

'What can I do for you?' said Ira.

Before the Trackers could reply, the mayor said in his most official voice, 'We have reason to believe that Korman the Outcast, who is wanted for Treason, and Elgar the old fool, friend of Guardians, and the dangerous Edarthan girl, an escaped prisoner in league with the rebel Boy Raiders, are hiding in your house.' But Hithrax opened his baleful third eye and gazed at her, not saying a word, searching her mind.

'You won't find them here, Crabapple,' said Ira. The mind-probe was hurting, but she did what Korman had told her, and focussed on Elgar and Lilly as if they were Korman and Shelley.

Finally, just as she was wavering, Hithrax turned and said, in the crude trading dialect, which the Travellers mostly used in their dealings with the villagers, 'I hunt the girl and Korman. They go up valley over there. I leave old man to you. When missionaries come back, they deal with him.'

Mayor Crabapple bowed. To him the Travellers appeared as angels of light, wise and noble, just as they had, at first, to Shelley in Barachthad's cave. To Ira, Hithrax pretended to be forgiving, and told her no harm would come to her if she co-operated. But the Dagraath stared up at her with hooded eyes and growled menacingly before following their masters who were stalking off down the street.

Ira watched them go, their clawed feet scratching the moss off the cobblestones. The trackers seemed divided as to which way the trail led. She only breathed again when the Dagraath let out an excited grunting and veered left, following the trail of the brave and desperate decoys, Elgar and Lilly, dressed in Korman's and Shelley's clothes. Ira sent out a prayer of protection for them, and hoped they would be far away by now. Then she prayed likewise for her son, and for Korman to wisely guide them to the lost Faery refuge of Ürak Tara.

Chapter Twenty-three

Moonbird Hollow

Korman and the children left the dangerous highway behind them and followed the folds of the hills up into the northern Badlands. Korman began to cast about for a place to make camp, as they were all tired from the early start that morning, and the climb over Rilke's pass. The golden light of Aeden seemed to glow extra brightly over this deserted hill country, and Shelley felt they had left the immediate danger behind them on the other side of the pass.

They settled into a pleasant little grassy hollow high up in the valley they had been following for an hour or so, and began to make camp. Shelley and Rilke wanted to light a fire, and started gathering wood – there were plenty of dead branches, white and rust-red and chrome-yellow with lichens, on the trees that clung to the sides of the hollow – but Korman warned them not to be complacent.

'We have escaped one danger, the Trackers of Hithrax, for now at least; but not far ahead the land narrows between the great northern lake of Avalon and the north-eastern Spur we have just left. That region, called Applegate, is under threat from the Aghmaath. We must not attract any attention, so we cannot light a fire.'

'Why is it called Applegate?' asked Shelley, to distract Rilke from his disappointment at not being allowed to light their firewood.

'It is called the Vale of Applegate because of the great woven arches formed by ancient espaliered apple trees, at the borders of the Vale, and at the gates of the village. How well I remember the village of Applegate, and its golden cider! It is north of the way we will be taking. I wish we could go there. It was beautiful in the spring when I visited it many years ago, when the Heartstone still glowed in the Tree of Life. I wonder, do the people of Applegate still farm the groves there, and resist the deceits of the Travellers?'

While Shelley laid out the food and plates on a blanket by the tent, Rilke rolled some stones for seats into a semicircle around the blanket. Korman stood still at the lip of the hollow, staff in hand, looking west over the Vale of Applegate. Its gently rolling hills were fading into hazy purples as the golden sun sank towards the high Northern Spur beyond. Then he turned and went down into the hollow. He smiled a little to see the children's handiwork: a little picnic all ready with a pile of twigs for a fire in case he relented. But Korman was solemn as he spoke to them.

'Do not light the fire! I have been thinking about the road ahead, and I fear it may be guarded, although I see no sign. The Boy Raiders are the only active threat to the Aghmaath in this region, and it would make sense for the Aghmaath to fortify the narrowest approaches to the Tor Enyása against them. We are only a few miles from the narrowest point now, so we must be very cautious.'

He let Bootnip out, and Rilke got his first proper look at the grumpy pet. But it wouldn't let him near, and backed away between Korman's boots.

'I wish I had a pet,' said Rilke wistfully.

'One may find you,' replied Korman. 'Mine did.'

The deep gold of the sunlight was fading from the rugged hills about them as they ate a frugal meal by the tent door, sitting on some flat-topped stones which reminded Shelley of giant bleached bones. Korman said the usual grace over the two apples they shared after the meal, cutting one apple so as to save the core with its seeds for planting, and the other cutting across the core to reveal the five-pointed star within.

O Vapastra Pagy'avalastra

Pagya'vala elrápaön!

O Vapastra, vapaäm éim

En Gha v'Ürpama!

O Star-key in the applestar

In the apple shining!

O Star-key, open us

To Life, and Love's entwining!

Shelley now knew the grace off by heart, and sang along with Korman and Rilke, who stumbled a little, as he knew a more rustic version of the ancient prayer:

Applestar, Applestar,

Shine in me

Make me all that I can be!

'What is the "Star-key," Korman?' asked Rilke.

'The Star-key is the Tenth Seed which only some of the apples of Aeden have - most having nine seeds. And only some of the star-key seeds are fully formed. Their husk is of tough silver - or sometimes gold - which no knife can cut. That seed represents the Heartstone of the Tree of Life, and if planted in the right conditions and in the right place, it will grow into a great tree, not an apple tree - though it comes from the apple - but a throw-back to the ancient days in the Green World. It draws precious metals up into its sap through its deep roots, and when it is mature its silver-and-golden sap in the topmost twigs will attract the renewing lightning. For it is a ratharxé, a Lightning-tree. Or, as it is usually called, a Jeweltree. And its sap hardens into light-bearing agathra, which you have seen.

'Long ago, the Makers added the life-pattern of the Jeweltree into the apple trees of the Green World, so that there would never fail to be a replacement for the Jeweltree groves and the Tree of Life wherever folk planted the apple trees.

'The Jeweltrees grow taller than almost any other tree, having five strong trunks joined in a ring at the crown. Some, if they are given a jewel-crystal from the Crystal World as saplings, will turn into trees that open a path across the void, across the stars, using the power of the lightning. Hence the seed is called a Star-key, and the mature tree a Stardoor, or Lightning-gate. But the Jeweltrees do not bear apples. They bear smaller fruits of great virtue, but not apples, and they do not have the Star-key seeds within them. So the apple trees remain essential to the future of Aeden. For they keep us healthy and ward off old age. And they are the Mothers of the Jeweltrees.'

'Oh,' said Rilke, but it sounded like a very long process to him, growing apples. He was already distracted, teasing Bootnip with some moss, tickling his nose where he crouched between Korman's boots. 'Careful, he bites!' said Korman, as Bootnip snapped at the moss, chewed it once and spat it out in disgust.

One or two of the brightest stars came out as the light faded and strange birds called to one another through the silent air as they hurried overhead, wings whistling, black against the twilight.

'I'm so relieved there weren't any gongs at sunset,' said Shelley, yawning. As they sat and quietly talked, even Rilke became subdued and sleepy. Shelley stretched and yawned again. She noticed a bluish glow over the tent behind her, and turned to look.

'It is the Blue Moon rising in the east,' said Korman. 'Listen for the moonbirds, which sing most beautifully on the nights of the Blue Moon. And look! The star-flowers, called by the old ones hopeflowers, which open on the nights of the Blue Moon and (they say), also when the Lady or the Kortana walk upon them.'

As he spoke his white teeth flashed pale blue beneath his moustache, also bluish in that eerie light. They saw the little white flowers like stars slowly unfold in the grass at their feet, glowing in the blue light, and they breathed in the perfume wafting through the cool night air. They listened for the moonbirds, and Rilke talked into the silence as young children do, but after a while he became quiet also.

Then through the silence came a musical call like liquid silver, and it was answered by one, then two, then many more as the bluish light grew stronger, each song different in detail but weaving together in harmony with the others.

'The Blue Moon is a lovers' moon, and those are the love-birds of Aeden, brought from a far planet by the Makers, they say, when this land was first formed,' whispered Korman sadly. Shelley thought of the leader of the Boy Raiders, Quickblade, remembering the conversations she heard way back then before she learned the language of Aeden through the Mindstone. She wished Quickblade was here to share this sight and to tell her more about his strange but beautiful world, and to talk of life and love with her. A peaceful sadness came over her. It seemed as if the Blue Moon brought out hidden feelings, yearnings normally buried deep, turning them to dream-like musing.

But Rilke was too young for that. 'Tell me about your sword again, Lord Korman,' he asked. 'Is it really true that you'll never even draw it?'

Korman returned, it seemed to Shelley, from some bittersweet memory. 'What's that? No, Rilke, I can draw Arcratíne, only not for fighting. The blade is made of living fire crystal, of the same nature as the sacred Jewel of the Tree of Life. When that jewel was close, it had a great power, which is now diminished. But it is still of some use. I was going to do this when you were asleep, but...'

Using his stronger left arm, he drew the sword from its scabbard, glittering in the blue light, reflections running up and down the sharp facets of its blade. Then he lifted it vertically skyward, blade down, and let it fall into the earth, where it stuck, vibrating slightly.

'It is energised by the moonlight, and amplifies the vibrations in the earth,' said Korman, 'so that many things which are happening in Aeden come into my mind, as in a dream. And those who are of the Order, or honour that on which the Order is based, may sometimes communicate with me in the Dreamweb. And sometimes I think that the Paths between the worlds are reopened for a while by means of the sword, and the Ürxura (unicorns, as they call them in Shelley's world) walk the Paths of Beauty to bring those young ones, unhappy and unwanted in their own worlds, who are called across the void to this land.'

He looked at Shelley. Rilke stared at the glittering blade, and at the amber gem at the hilt end, mesmerised, hardly hearing Korman's words.

Shelley remembered the night when the white unicorn came to her in a dream, and sleepily wondered if she would ever see it again, and if it would lead her back, across the void, home to Earth. She no longer felt she would be unhappy, or unwanted, if she was back home. There was Anna, for a start... She got up and stretched full length, bathed in the pale blue moon-glow. She was growing taller, and her slim figure (if she had known it) was becoming shapely.

'I think I'll turn in now,' she said dreamily, and lifting the dark silken flap of the tent, crawled in and found the corner where she had put her pack. She took off her rough outer clothes and snuggled into the downy cocoon of her sleeping bag, being careful to pull the dreamcatcher net over her head to guard against the Aghmaath mindprobes. She put her silver helmet by her pillow, and went to sleep listening to the song of a pair of moonbirds that alighted in the trees above the hollow.

Rilke, growing tired of waiting for something to happen to the sword, followed soon after. He burrowed into his little sleeping bag, yawning, tossing and turning until he got comfortable.

Korman remained a while outside, sitting cross-legged opposite the blue-glowing sword planted upright in the soil of Aeden, soundlessly vibrating to the subtle energies all around. He took out the little box with the tiny flower in it, now dead and dry, and tenderly put it on the ground, and picked another flower, one of the star-flowers at his feet. It glowed blue in the moonlight. He sighed, smelled it lovingly and placed it in the box. Then he put the box away again, and lingered a while longer, pacing the hollow, looking up at the stars and moon. But eventually he too retired, sheathing his sword and lying at the doorway of the tent to guard it even in sleep.

In the dead of night, Rilke awoke. He was restless. He had been dreaming, something about kind men in bright armour, who invited him to eat their shiny red apples and join their army of light. But first he had to have a sword... He had woken, heart beating, thinking of the Sword of Korman, filled with a yearning to hold it again. The sight of its diamond-like blade had aroused a greedy passion in him, to have and to wield it. He was sure if he swung it something amazing would happen. 'Maybe fire will come out of it, like in the old tales... Arxphare Orbalax, the Flame Unquenchable,' he thought. 'Just a little try, it would be so awesome. Lord Korman swore not to use it; and his sword arm is withered anyway, so maybe I could wield it and save Aeden! Then I'd be Sir Rilke! Just one try can't hurt! I could put it back before he wakes up.'

He crept out of his sleeping bag, not bothering to dress – the night was not cold – edged towards the sleeping bulk of Korman, slid the sword slowly out of its scabbard. Then he sidled out of the tent, holding his breath. The sword felt cold and heavy.

Outside it was cooler, and dewy, and the Blue Moon glowed overhead in a cloudless sky. Rilke swung the glittering sword fiercely three times round his head, and it swished through the night air and began to glow with a red fire from within.

'I knew it!' he thought in triumph. He raised the sword aggressively, and looked for something to point it at. Blue static arced around its diamond-sharp facets and pronged hilt.

A moonbird broke into song, on a branch high overhead. Without thinking Rilke turned and pointed the sword directly at the bird, jabbing it upwards with savage intent. A razor-thin beam shot out and sliced through the branch, piercing the bird's breast in mid-song. It plummeted to the ground along with the branch and landed almost at his feet with a feathery thud, dead.

Bootnip woke from deep anklebiter dreams. He sensed the activation of a great crystal – his crystal, which Korman merely carried for him. Growling, he bit Korman on the toe.

Far away on one of the five watchtowers of the Tor Enyása, high above the impenetrable thorn hedge about the Wall of Guard, sleepless eyes saw the stab of light go up into the sky. 'The Sword of Korman!' they whispered, and were answered by the watchful Dreamcasters in the Vale of Applegate.

Before Rilke, horrified at what he had done, could make another move, Korman was on his feet, limping from Bootnip's bite.

'Put the sword down!' he commanded. The light in the crystal blade faded as Rilke obeyed, then backed away, his heart pounding. Korman picked up the sword, and it glowed briefly blue in his hands before he sheathed it and said, 'Pick up the bird, Rilke! Feel what it is like to have killed an innocent creature for sport.' Rilke picked up the warm downy body, its eyes closed, beak half-open. Tears sprang to his eyes. He looked up at Korman.

'I didn't mean to...' he began, but his voice faltered as he met Korman's calm but knowing gaze. He knew that in a way he had meant to hit the bird. Now he felt the warmth ebbing from its body, and he repented of his violence.

'Now you must pluck the moonbird, and gut it so that we can cook and eat it, and so avoid the added sin of waste,' said Korman.

'I... don't think I want to eat meat any more.'

'The bird must not be wasted.'

'Must I pluck it, Lord Korman?'

'Yes.' Korman took a thin knife from under his cloak and sharpened it on a stone while Rilke plucked the bird. It was about the size of a wood pigeon. Its back and tail feathers gleamed with iridescent peacock greens and blues in the moonlight. There were soft white feathers under the throat. Rilke had seen his father pluck and gut the little grouse that ran under the olive trees, and once the big goose that had been kept for the feast of the summer solstice Blue Moon; he had even helped. But this was different. He felt sick. The berries in the bird's crop looked crimson in the moonlight, and stained its white throat feathers, and also his hands.

As he was finishing, with Korman's help, the moon sank below the hills. Korman said, 'Take some of the tail-feathers, Rilke, to remind you of this night, and to use for decoration. Did you see how they gleamed in the moonlight?' Rilke took five of the long silvery-blue feathers, and Korman took one for his silver helmet. Then they carefully buried the rest of the feathers and the head and innards, and Korman wrapped the little plucked body in leaves from the tree in which it had been singing.

'We will call this place "Moonbird Hollow,"' said Korman, 'in honour of the beauty of their singing tonight and the sacrifice of this little one for your learning, Rilke.' He remembered his own first lessons far away, long ago on the Guardian World when his father was still alive, and he was young, innocent and fierce, just like Rilke. And he remembered the song of the Moonbirds in the orchards of the Vale of Applegate, when he saw the Lady all in blue with a clasp of golden apple blossom, walking in Faery beneath the Blue Moon. The tears that might have come to his eyes were sent back to the deep lake of sorrow he kept within. A Guardian did not cry. That was one of the first lessons...

They washed as best they could, in a tiny pool of water under some long grass at the bottom of the hollow. Then they went back to bed. Shelley stirred a little but stayed fast asleep. Korman went to sleep sadly pondering the events of the night and wondering if he had been too hard on the boy. 'How did he manage to draw my sword without waking me? Was there a Dreamcaster at work on my mind as well? I must be more vigilant.' And he made sure the dreamcatcher net was fully spread over the children.

Rilke lay awake for a long time, seeing the sword killing the bird over and over in his mind, and finally fell asleep. He dreamed he was running through endless thickets pursued by a pack of Aghmaath, led by an angry Korman who had turned into an Aghmaath, his sword slashing with deadly beams, seeking to cut him in half.

They woke with the new day's sunshine slanting in through the dew-drenched door flap.

'I will risk a little fire to roast the moonbird for breakfast,' said Korman. Rilke, and Shelley when she heard what had happened, didn't want to eat any meat, but as it cooked over a cheery fire of dry twigs, the aroma sharpened their hunger, and they shared the meal of roasted moonbird and bread with olive oil from Pebblebrook, and enjoyed it in spite of themselves. Korman pronounced a thanksgiving over the meat before they ate, and Rilke looked solemn and wide-eyed as he took his share, reluctantly at first, then greedy for more. Shelley became annoyed at him.

'You're a typical boy! Cruel and violent, no thought for consequences,' she growled. 'You deserve to choke on it.'

But Korman said, 'Peace, Shelley! He has learned his lesson. And Rilke, now that you know the cycle of sacrifice, do not be hasty to draw any sword – least of all one that does not belong to you.'

'I don't believe in sacrifice,' put in Shelley, still annoyed at Rilke. She hated to see anything killed for no reason.

'Then what do you call this?' said Korman, indicating the cooked bird.

'A stupid, pointless accident.'

'There are no accidents, Shelley. Only the reasons are often hidden.'

'The reason for this accident is sitting right over there!' She pointed angrily at Rilke, who averted his eyes guiltily. But Korman replied, 'There are higher reasons why this accident, or any other, is permitted within the Great Dance. One reason for this sacrifice is so that you, Rilke, even if you become a powerful warrior, will never again lightly take up a sword to kill.' Rilke cast his eyes down, and murmured, 'Yes, Lord Korman.' But then he looked up and said, 'So, will you still teach me to be a warrior, and use my sword? I am afraid of the Aghmaath. They were hunting me in my dreams.' Korman looked gravely at him, and replied, 'I will teach you. Last night you learned one of the first lessons of any true warrior: respect for life.'

'But the only good Aghmaath's a dead Aghmaath, right?'

'No, Rilke, the Aghmaath – even the ones changed into the likeness of vultures and serpents – can know the Concept too, and may turn. I have heard of some that did. One Aghmaath turned to serve Life instead of Death would be worth a thousand slain in anger, and I, like any true Guardian, would defend him to the death.' Shelley looked at Korman in wonder.

'Do you mean that?' she asked. But the expression on his face was answer enough. 'Also,' he continued, 'in the earliest days, before even the Order of the Makers, the Aghmaath were a wise and noble race; but then they were not called the Aghmaath (which means "Darkened Ones"). In those days they were the Zurglimmati, the Sky-travellers, leaping from the high crystal peaks of their world. It is written in the Ennead that the Zurglimmati went far out into the Void between galaxies, and met a being they called the Keeper, and they founded the Order of the Keeper, with three divisions: Wizards, Poets and Seers. They fashioned staves of the wood of the Makers' World, tipped with crystals from the Crystal World. They were the teachers of the first Guardians. My first staff was from them originally, handed down from father to son.'

'What happened to that staff?' asked Shelley. But Korman shook his head, sadly.

'It is a story of grief and failure. I will tell you one day. But this staff' – he patted it as he spoke – 'I cut from a scion of the sacred grove in the Valley of Thorns, killed long ago by the Aghrakeim, the Jeweltree-bleeders, then felled for the precious timber. All with the blessing of the Tenth-worlders, curse them! But one was miraculously growing again, bearing crimson roses. I carved the branches and set within them the triple Lightcrystal which Bootnip found in a ravine near my cave in the Portal Hills. He would not give it up until I bribed him with a whole apple. Since it was triple in form like the mystic horn of the unicorn, I called it Tarazüra. It is almost as good as the one on my first staff.'

'Where are they now, those good Sky-Travellers?' asked Rilke, fingering the slightly glowing crystal in the staff, smiling as it began to glow more brightly with the energy of his hand.

Korman replied sadly, 'I do not know. Some went back to their home world to try to stop their own people from falling to the doctrines of the Dark Entities, but others may still walk undetected on the other worlds.'

'So some Aghmaath could be on our side, even on Aeden?' Shelley asked.

'Perhaps, though I have not yet met any. Once an entire people falls into great error, few of them return to wisdom until that error has run its course, and its evil seeds have flowered and borne evil fruit.'

They put out the little fire, and packed the tent and sleeping bags. Rilke was extra helpful, and said to Shelley, 'Sorry for doing that to the bird and making you sad.'

Shelley replied, a little grumpily, 'Not as sad as the moonbird. But it's all right now, I suppose. I just hope there's a bird heaven where it can sing forever undisturbed by little boys.' She smiled at him, and he grinned back.

'I think I won't eat meat any more.'

'Really? We'll see. Somehow I can't see it - Rilke the vegetarian...'

'Oh no, I won't just eat vegetables. I'll eat nuts, mainly, and fruit of course. And cakes, and pies, and bread.'

Korman, smiling at Shelley trying to explain to Rilke what a vegetarian was, dug a hole where the fire had been, and buried the remains of the moonbird along with the saved apple core, and sang a blessing over it. Then they left Moonbird Hollow with a mindweb over it and a blessing, and headed west to the Vale of Applegate, between the Tor Enyása and the southern reaches of Lake Avalon.

Chapter Twenty-four

Ambush at Thorngate

The early morning sun shone on their damp packs, making them steam as the three travellers set off eastward over the rim of the hollow and down a hillside covered in long grass dotted with windswept bushes. Birds were flying over the green lands below, motes of silvery white in the sun. They looked and sounded like seagulls to Shelley – almost. She thought of Earth, her home, and how she used to swim in the blue seas off Northland, seagulls wheeling overhead.

She found herself wondering if her father had any idea that this country existed. Had he tried to keep her from following the unicorn because he knew? His behaviour when the car had stopped and the white horse appeared had been very odd. She wished she could see him again, and ask him. But now he was not really her father, and she was stuck in this alien world, being led away, further and further from the portal which led back to her own world and safety, looking for a Faery refuge which even Korman had never seen, to be trained for a probably impossible task she knew almost nothing about.

'Well, at least there's no sign of the Thornmen,' she thought. As if in answer, Korman's low voice interrupted her musing:

'We must be vigilant as we approach the Northern Spur. Keep your silver helmets on, and tell me if you see anything out of the ordinary. I see no thorn forests from here, just the pleasant Vale of Applegate. But since last night, I have been uneasy. If the Mindscouts sensed the activation of Arcratíne, they may have probed the mind of Rilke as he slept. If so, they will know we are coming.' Shelley looked at Rilke, skipping on ahead, his silver skullcap, a spare from Korman's pack, bouncing loose on his head. She wished she could be that young and carefree too.

'Should we turn back, go the long way round, like you were suggesting?' she asked.

'No, we will try this path,' Korman replied. 'Time may be short. The Aghmaath are not idle on the Tor Enyása. In the night, listening by the sword, I heard rumours of evil deeds there. I fear they are tampering with the Tree, seeking to replace the lost Arcra with some other device. Barachthad alerted me to this possibility.'

'So the Tree isn't dead?'

'No, I now believe it still lives. It is thousands of years old, but that is nothing to a jewel-tree. I see now that the Aghmaath will not try to cut it down. They want to use it, to travel to the other worlds of the Old Order; especially to Kor-Edartha.'

'You mean Earth? You're joking! What would they want to go there for?'

'To seek for the lost Jewel of Knowledge, partly. And to convert your world – then in the end, destroy it in the Great Holocaust to the Void.'

'Is the Jewel of Knowledge really on Earth? I've never heard of it.'

'The ancient lore, written in the Ennead of Aeden, tells us that the Jewel of Knowledge was stolen by Athmad and Ewana, who came from your world, more than six thousand years ago. You do not know of such a jewel?'

'Not by that name,' said Shelley. 'But we do have a story about Adam and Eve. Something about a tree of knowledge... I wonder... I thought it was just a myth. But it fits: Earth sure is a world with lots of knowledge...' Her idea of history was getting stretched, and it made her feel giddy.

They were now in more level country where the old orchards grew, mostly overgrown with other trees and meadows of wildflowers and herbs. Shelley recognised rosemary and thyme and lemonbalm, and there were many others which Korman pointed out and told her of their uses. The air was heavy with the smell of them, and bees hummed around the flowers. It was a fine day, and their spirits were high. But Korman kept the children close about him as they went forward, and he looked about warily. Rabbits, or creatures very like rabbits, perhaps a little longer in the legs, hopped away as they came out into more open ground, with close-cropped turf between scattered trees.

Korman pointed out the fold in the land which was the southern end of Lake Avalon. Shelley wondered if this could be the Avalon of the old English legends. The story of Camelot, and the Lady of the Lake, and the wizard Merlin, flashed before her memory. 'Maybe it's all true! If so, Merlin could have been an ancestor of Korman's!' she thought. 'It wouldn't surprise me, somehow.'

They were approaching a huge, gnarled apple tree when Shelley whispered, 'Shh, what's that noise?' She crept forward, and from a hollow of the tree came a faint whimpering. 'Wait! Let me look first. Do not put your hand in!' Korman whispered. He approached softly, Rilke close behind. After peering in for a moment, he shot his hand into the hole. There was a high-pitched squeal followed by a frantic chattering.

'Ow, you little...' said Korman.

'What is it, what is it?' cried Rilke.

'He bit me.'

'Who bit you? Not another anklebiter!' exclaimed Shelley.

'No, this!' replied Korman, and he lifted out a furry, whining little bundle, holding it firmly by the scruff of its neck. Growls came from Bootnip, who had woken and was peering over the edge of Korman's pack, sniffing the air to see what creature was disturbing the peace.

'Quiet, Bootnip! It is just a baby wurrier, as the people of the villages call them.' He pointed to a little pile of skin and bone in the grass near the tree. 'Look, children! There is the body of its mother. Do not go near! There could be hornets in it. They may well have stung her to death.'

Rilke, who already knew all he wanted to know about hornets, circled round behind Korman. Shelley put her hands under the little wurrier. 'We can't just leave her here, can we? I'll look after her. She can be my pet.' Korman looked dubious.

'And mine!' said Rilke.

'Please, Korman! After all, you've got Bootnip,' pleaded Shelley. The wurrier seemed to understand, and stretched out two little arms to Shelley. Korman hesitated, then released his grip on the baby, which leapt into Shelley's arms. From the safety of her embrace, its little monkey face peered out at Korman, then at Rilke, looking as worried as its name suggested.

'Be gentle with it, and it will probably not bite you!' said Korman, sucking his hand and spitting.

'Oh, thank you!' said Shelley and Rilke together. Shelley looked at the bite-mark on Korman's hand and added, 'I hope that bite doesn't get infected.'

'It is very unlikely. Aeden is not like your planet, full of diseases. Our soil holds some virtue that stops that evil. Have you been even a little sick since you came here?'

'Come to think of it, no. I've been feeling great all the time, physically anyway. Not to mention my eyesight...'

'Can I hold him, please, please?' Rilke interrupted.

'Oh, later, when she's feeling safer,' said Shelley. 'She is a girl, I'm sure of it.'

'No, he isn't! Let me hold him!'

They began to argue, but Korman told them, 'Peace! We must be going again. Bring the wurrier.'

'I'm calling her Worriette,' said Shelley.

'That's a girly name,' grumbled Rilke. The wurrier began sniffing and nosing around Shelley's clothing, and clawing her way towards her pack. 'She is hungry, and perhaps smells the wurriers' favourite food,' said Korman.

'What's that?'

'Apple! That is why this is wurrier territory – because of the abandoned apple groves. Their 'official' name, gagavala, means "apple-eater." And wherever there are wurriers, the apple trees will not die out, as the wurriers spread the seeds.'

Shelley took off her pack and got out some pieces of dried apple. Worriette grabbed one and began frantically gnawing it. 'Now she will be your friend for life,' said Korman. 'Let me feed her too!' cried Rilke. Shelley reluctantly gave him a piece to feed the hungry, shivering little wurrier – it was a sacrifice for her, as she was still a bit annoyed with Rilke, and did very much want a pet that was all her own - she still missed Sophie. They took turns feeding Worriette in their arms until she seemed satisfied, and began making a quiet purring noise, then fell asleep in Shelley's arms. 'We must go now,' said Korman sternly, but Shelley noticed he was smiling. 'Must we go? I want to play with her!' said Rilke.

'Don't be selfish!' said Shelley. 'Can't you see she's asleep?'

Rilke stopped trying to prize the little bundle out of her arms, and sat down in a huff. He was still tired from his wakeful night.

'Come now, Rilke. As we walk I will tell you the story of the wurriers,' said Korman. Curiosity banished his tiredness, and he got up and walked at Korman's side. 'It is bound up with the history of Aeden,' began Korman with a sigh. 'They were, in a way, the cause of a great schism between the peoples. When the Jewel of Knowledge was stolen, some men tried to use what knowledge they had to grow new knowledge and have power over things, whether crystals or fire or lightning or creatures or plants. Some of them went far along this path in subtle experiments, and moulded new hybrids from the seed of animals and humans. The ancestors of the present-day gagavala were one such experiment. But some escaped into the land and ran amok, not being the timid creatures which survive today, but bold and daring raiders of orchards and gardens – and sometimes cradles.'

'Yuck!' said Shelley, looking down at the cute little bundle shivering in her arms.

'This wurrier wouldn't eat babies, would it?' asked Rilke.

'No, the bold, meat-eating ones – the Rogue Wurriers, the Rogavala, or Werewurriers, as they were called – were hunted to extinction, and only the small, shy, vegetarian wurriers remained, living in secret places and remaining few in number. I had thought they could even be extinct. So then the people of Aeden threw out many of their machines and their books, and the Seekers of Knowledge were banished to the hills, and made to foreswear their experiments.'

'Barachthad! Is he one of those people?'

'Yes, he and all the Padmaddim are descended from them, and are now almost forgotten by the folk of the villages, who consider themselves to be the only rightful inhabitants of Aeden. As you have seen, even the ancient Order and its Guardians are viewed with suspicion, and the Tor Enyása is now a forbidden place. But the Aghmaath are winning the people over with promises of deliverance, and when that does not work, by naked fear. Aeden is indeed divided, and will be conquered soon, if help does not come!'

'And where will that help come from?'

'We must allow ourselves to be the help we seek.'

'That sounds like another one of your paradoxes.'

'As do many of the principles of the Concept, at first hearing,' smiled Korman.

The land ahead became more like a plain, short green grass mainly, cropped by the wild rabbits, with clumps of longer pampas grass and fern and scattered trees. It gently sloped down from the north-eastern shoulder of the Tor Enyása on their left towards Lake Avalon, which they could now see to their right, hazy in the distance. They were coming to the narrowest point, where Korman had feared there could be a thorn blockade. Still the way ahead looked clear.

They walked where possible in the shelter of trees and clumps of fern and pampas grass, looking always to the Tor Enyása where danger lurked. Still the only sign of the Thornmen was an occasional thorn patch, spreading over all in its path, spiderwebs in its outer branches, darkness within. Korman gave these patches a wide berth.

'Are those thorn dens?' asked Rilke, keeping close to Korman and eyeing the dark thickets suspiciously.

'No, these are not the true Mother Thorns of a thorn den, in which the Aghmaath live and by which they are fed. These thorns can be cut and burned; those of the Aghmaath are much bigger, and their branches can writhe this way and that, and put out any fire kindled against them. And any living thing caught in their tendrils is held fast, animal or human alike.'

'Ugh, do we have to know?' said Shelley.

'I'm not scared,' said Rilke, who was walking between them now. 'I'd cut my way out with my sword.'

'I should have a sword too,' said Shelley. 'Then we'd cut our way out together, wouldn't we, Rilke?' Korman said nothing; he was looking ahead intently. There was now no sound but the swish of their boots through the grass.

'Where have all the birds gone?' said Shelley.

'And the bees!' added Rilke. He now had Worriette, and had tucked her inside the folds of his tunic. Only her little head was visible, peering out. She began whimpering. 'There there, it's all right,' said Rilke, stroking the wurrier with a finger as he walked. But she kept looking tensely ahead with a fixed stare. The fur on her head started to rise and she started to make a high-pitched trilling growl. 'The wurrier warning-cry!' Korman muttered. The anklebiter in his pack was growling too. Korman stopped dead. He raised his staff. A disturbance in the air like a heat haze from a huge bonfire appeared in front of them, and spread to left and right. Materialising out of the haze, stretching as far as the eye could see to left and right, was a high hedge of giant, bristling thorns.

'The way is blocked!' cried Korman. 'Back, quickly!' They turned to run, but at that moment horns rang out from behind the hedge, and a thorny gate creaked open under thorny arches. Out rode a tall thin figure in black armour, with a black cloak over its shoulders. It was no human horseman, but an Aghmaath warrior, like a giant armoured stick insect, fixing them with vulture eyes. He clutched a long spear tipped with cruel thorn-barbs. Other warriors on foot appeared, on either side of the gate.

But they did not give chase. They stood, while the horseman reined in his tall bony mount – a horse, Shelley thought, but its face was covered with a mask of black iron. The rider raised his spear – Shelley noticed in the terrible clarity of that moment that it had round joints up its length as if it was made of several segments – and called in a mock-friendly tone,

'Hail, travellers! Greetings in the name of the Void! We have been expecting you. Rilke, son, welcome! It was we who called to you as you slept last night. Shelley, why did you resist us?' He held out a shiny red apple. To the two children the Aghmaath now looked like kind angels of light, inviting, irresistible. They began to totter toward the horseman. Mindbolts crackled from his third eye and sped towards them, writhing with seductive images of peaceful rest. Under the withering intensity of these mindbolts at such short range, the children's helmets did little to protect them.

But Korman, shaking off the spell, leaped in front of them, deflecting the deceptive thoughtforms with his winged silver shield. He took their hands and turned to flee.

'Stand and fight, Korman of the Withered Arm, or have you forgotten how?' cried the horseman in a terrible voice, now transformed by hatred. Korman reluctantly turned to face him as he continued his evil speech: 'The Lady you serve, the accursed witch who dared to defy the Void and now hangs in the Avenue of Despair, has deceived you, and withered your strength. And now she has left you with no defence, since you swore to her, in your folly, that you would not draw your sword. Even the boy, Rilke, knows better than that! Soon you will join her in the thorns, to repent at your leisure.'

Shelley looked at the hedge, remembering her vision of the Lady in the thorns, and to her horror she saw many little birds, skylarks and thrushes and wax-eyes, trapped in the prickly tendrils of the writhing branches about the thorny gates. They appeared to be alive – at least some fluttered weakly – but drugged and unable to break free. A harsh piping cry came from the depths of the hedge, and a small bird, almost the same colour as the thorns, emerged and hopped along a spiny branch towards one of the trapped thrushes, and began viciously pecking at its breast. The bird was, like the Earth shrike, a killer of other birds much larger than itself. Shelley turned away, sickened.

While she had been looking at the bird, Korman's wrath at the horseman's mockery had blazed. Shelley saw that he had his strong left hand on the hilt of Arcratíne. His knuckles were white, and his face was drawn as he slowly began to draw the sword he had sworn not to. He grimly intoned the battle chant of the Guardians

Hethür, Krithür, Shaktha!

Time seemed to slow right down for Shelley as she realized what he was doing. She tried to call out, but the words seemed to take forever to come out.

Then Korman looked up, as if he had remembered something. He let go of the swordhilt. He crouched down, sheltering the children under the silver wings of his shield, and whispered,

'Quick, Shelley, hold my hand. We will walk in Faery. Remember with me the beauty of Life. Think of the most beautiful thing you know, and Love, which is stronger than death.' He held out his staff at the enemy, as Shelley tried thinking of the beauty of the moonbirds, and of galloping with Quickblade, and of sunrise that morning and rainbows and the flowers they had seen along the way. She screwed up her face with the mental effort, blocking out the terror in front of her. Then she saw in her mind's eye the Lady, dressed all in blue, with a clasp in the form of a golden apple blossom. She was free from the thorns, which had sprouted beautiful crimson roses all around her.

Rilke, meanwhile, cringed under the shield, still shocked at being mentioned by name. He lay quiet as a mouse, holding the shivering wurrier under his tunic, and covered his head with his hands.

Though nothing had changed outwardly, Shelley felt a deep love sweep over her, like the peace which the Aghmaath promised, but vibrant and wholesome. Then, just as the terrible horseman gave the order to seize them and the vulture-like foot-soldiers came loping and hopping through the grass, everything went wavy, a golden mist surrounded them, and the sun shone off it, blinding their enemies. They rose up and walked in wonder and delight over green grass, and skylarks sang overhead as they went back the way they had come, leaving the dreadful hedge and the sound of pursuit far behind. The wurrier stuck her head out from under Rilke's clothes and looked brightly around.

A little later a pack of Dagraath crossed their path, shadowy in the brightness the three walked in, but they saw nothing, sniffed this way and that, then turned back, baffled. Korman led the way, and said, 'Thank you, Shelley! We are walking in Faery – you have revealed it to us. Behold, the magic of the Lady is stronger than the deceptions of the Aghmaath. Especially here, among her apple groves. But the Dreamcasters are working hard to undo the spell. We must be far away when it fades; as soon as we re-emerge into the waking world they will be able to track us.'

The land all about them looked greener than any green, beautiful like a dream of a perfect springtime in the mountains. 'Like walking in a crystal world, where everything is sparkly,' said Shelley to herself. 'Or like a scene you see in a mirror.' Butterflies fluttered like living jewels about the apple trees laden with ripe red fruit. Worriette, who had calmed down, went frantic trying to reach one. After some hesitation, they picked some of the apples and were refreshed, and Worriette munched happily on one as they walked. But Rilke began to lag, so Korman hoisted him onto his broad shoulders, and they pressed on until the sun began to set. Gradually the springtime feeling ebbed away with the sunlight.

'It is fading; we are returning to Aeden as we know it,' said Korman. 'We are now high in the Badlands, south of Moonbird Hollow, perilously close to the Tor Enyása and the southern end of the thorny hedge, which now lies – look! – uncovered to our sight in the red sunset, stretching all the way from the mists of Lake Avalon to the ridges of the Northeastern Arm. We must cross over that arm again. But we cannot risk going back to Rilke's pass. We will have to climb it nearer the Tor Enyása, above Baz Apédnapath, the Bottomless Canyon.'

'Sounds like fun!' said Shelley. She was feeling safer now than earlier in the day, in spite of their brush with the enemy. Their magical escape through Faery had given her a new confidence.

From far below, behind the now-distant hedge, came the faint sound of a gong, mournful and sinister in the twilight.

After they had made camp for the night and sat down in the cool, long grass, Korman said, 'I will call the place where we came upon the hedge of the Aghmaath, "Thorngate". Unless our mission succeeds, and the Jewel is replaced in the Tree of Life on the Tor Enyása, the Vale of Applegate will soon be over-run with the thorns of the Living Death, and the apple groves poisoned to bear the apples of forgetfulness, the so-called "Apples of Peace." That is one of two reasons they are putting forth such strength at Applegate: to take the orchards to pervert them. It is a grief to me. I have fair memories of that land. Of all the lands of Aeden, only in the Vale of Applegate were the people wholly friendly to the Lady.'

'What is the other reason?' asked Shelley uneasily. She had decided she wanted to find out all she could about the enemy that was ruining the land she had already come to love so much.

'To push an impassable line towards the east where the Boy Raiders live, and hem them in, and then exterminate them.' Shelley thought of Quickblade, and burst out, 'No! We can't let them do that!' then found she was blushing. Korman looked at her sadly.

'They will do it, unless they are stopped.'

'Then why don't we go back and find the Boy Raiders, and join forces with them, and stop the Aghmaath? I can walk in Faery now! I bet I can help! Maybe that's what I'm meant to do!' She jumped to her feet as if to start there and then.

'No, you must once more be strong and brave, and yes, patient I'm afraid, Shelley. To succeed in your mission you must be initiated as the Kortana. I believe you can only receive this initiation at Ürak Tara. So, even though the way I hoped to take you is blocked, we must still find a way to get there. Ürak Tara lies somewhere on the Northern Arm, so we must go around the whole Island of Aeden, and come at last to Ürak Tara from the other side: from the west.'

'If it's meant to be, why is it so hard, Korman?'

'Struggle is all part of the Unfolding, the way things are.'

'Well, why can't we go and 'struggle' with the Boy Raiders instead of all on our own?'

'We are not alone: we have each other, the Lady is with us, and we follow our part in the Unfolding of the Great Dance, the Ever-branching Tree of Life.'

Korman opened the little box with the single star-flower, and began to stare at the little bud. But it was tightly shut, and did not move.

'What's that, Korman?' Shelley couldn't help asking, though she felt he was trying to avoid talking about it.

'A closed hopeflower. When you are ready, you will be able to open its petals by directing your love onto it.' Shelley eagerly bent over the little flower, lying as if dead in Korman's gnarled hand. She willed it to open, whispered words of love and encouragement to it. But nothing happened.

'Open, you silly flower!' she yelled. Korman closed the box and put it back into his robe.

'Hush!' he said. 'Do you want to bring Hithrax to try also?'

Shelley flopped back on the ground, beaten. She knew she could not deviate Korman from his task, any more than a butterfly could stop a steamroller. Not because he was unthinking like the steamroller, but because he had thought it all through, battled with all his doubts and answered them, and made his vows. 'Not to draw his sword until She says; not to stop until I'm safely delivered to Ürak Tara; not to believe I'm ready until I can open some silly flower,' thought Shelley grumpily, but with grudging respect.

'So, where do we head for first, when we've crossed this Arm?' she finally asked, after a silence during which she knew Korman was patiently waiting for her to speak. He smiled and replied, 'That, I think, is clear: we must take the hidden path through Baz Apédnapath, the Bottomless Canyon, which will lead us to the fortress of Baldrock, not far to the south. We will lie low at Baldrock for a time, and perhaps make contact with my brother if he is near; also any of the other Guardians who may still live there. It could even be that we will find the Tidak at Baldrock.'

Rilke, who had been dozing, woke up and exclaimed, 'The Tidak! I've heard of them! They are great warriors – mother would tell me bedtime stories about them. Are they really real?'

'Yes. At least, they were,' said Korman.

'But who are they?' asked Shelley.

'The Tidak are a secret order of Guardians who, among other things, are sworn to defend the Kortana with their lives and obey him, or her, without question.'

'How will that help us?' asked Shelley, but she guessed the answer.

'Because you are, I hope, the Kortana,' replied Korman.

In the dead of night, as the Pale Moon of Aeden sank into a cloudbank above the badlands, Rilke awoke to the sound of chatterings and rustlings. He sat up and saw many dark shapes moving through the long grass. Worriette was edging towards them, nervous but eager.

'Stop! Come back!' he whispered to her, alarmed. But she had reached them, and before he could act, one of the dark shapes had approached her. It bent down and sniffed at her, then bared its teeth and spat, swiping her head with a long paw. She was knocked head over heels, and came scampering back and sprang into Rilke's arms, quivering from head to foot. The dark shapes disappeared into the night, growling and hissing. The wurrier band had rejected Worriette. She was a human now, for good or ill.

Soon after the little wurrier had been rejected by her kind, she was asleep again, curled up beside Rilke. Then she began twitching, her paws moving as if she was trying to run, her head turning this way and that. Shelley stirred in her sleep. She found herself in a tunnel. Ahead there was a commotion of huge wurriers with horrible oversized fangs and snapping grabbing fingers, and one tiny squealing wurrier running away from them in slow motion, struggling as if it was stuck in treacle. 'Worriette, is that you?' she called with an effort, and immediately the wild wurriers fell back, growling and chattering in their high-pitched way. Worriette came running and leapt into her arms, shivering. From the safety of Shelley's arms she growled fiercely at them. They shrank to normal size, turned tail and disappeared, yammering in terror. 'There there, I've got you!' she said, stroking Worriette's furry head. Rilke came running around a bend in the cave, and nearly bumped into them. 'What are you doing here?' he asked indignantly, panting. 'This is my dream! I wanted to save her!'

'You're in my dream?' gasped Shelley, and promptly woke up. Rilke was still fast asleep (though he was twitching slightly), and Worriette was lying in his arms with a little smile on her lips, fast asleep. 'It must have been that "Dreamweb" Korman was telling us about!' thought Shelley. 'Maybe I could meet Quickblade there!' She turned over and tried hard to go to sleep again. Of course that made her more awake than before. She tried deep breathing and counting wurriers. It took a long time, but at last she drifted into sleep.

All was dark, a thick, close sort of dark. She was standing in the same tunnel as before, but something was wrong. Worriette was nowhere to be seen. She looked at the walls as her eyes got used to the faint greenish-grey light. They seemed to be moving slightly. Then she saw what the movement was. The earth tunnel had turned into a horrible tube of writhing, interwoven branches, with spines facing this way and that. Only the floor was smooth, the bark of the spiralling thorn branches polished as if by the passage of many feet. Now she could hear the sound of those feet, tramping down the tunnel towards her. She turned to run the other way. The sound of tramping feet began to come from that direction too. She tried to scream, but no sound came.

Then she heard Korman's voice, as if from a long way away, but clear, and unlike his waking voice it was neither old nor young. He was calling urgently, 'Make your mind like a mirror! They are coming for your mind, not your body!' She remembered his words to her: 'If the Thornmen come as beings of light, you also become as it were a being of light, and they will see nothing but the thought they have projected. If they come as snakes of horror, be as a snake of horror. Reflect and be hidden; resist and they will find you,' as clear as if he was speaking the words to her then. So she turned herself into a Mindscout, and merged with the oncoming creatures – just in time. The two bands of hunting Mindscouts met in confusion. As they conferred and did an angry roll-check, she simply melted into the tunnel wall and drifted weightless and blissful out of the thorn tunnel, out of the Dreamweb which had almost trapped her, into the calm night sky of Aeden just before dawn.

She opened her eyes and saw the pink-tinged clouds. She gazed at the peaceful dome of the night sky as it silently changed into dawn, and her heart slowly stopped pounding. But it was hurting in a different way, thinking of Quickblade, wishing she could have met him in the Dreamweb, and she wept quietly. Then she turned over and fell fast asleep. She did not stir until she heard Korman gently calling her name, and Rilke's.

Chapter Twenty-five

The High Pass

The morning was already bright and clear when Korman finally managed to rouse both the children. He had been up since dawn, sniffing the fresh air of Aeden and looking out from the heights for any sign of the Thornmen. But far higher, looming above the Badlands, was the path they were to take, over the top of the Northeastern Spur. He was anxious to get them safely to the other side before the Trackers picked up their trail.

'Did you see me in a dream last night?' Rilke asked Shelley. She nodded, and rolled her eyes.

'You told me to get out of it, you cheeky boy,' she scolded. She looked at Korman, who was smiling at them. 'Thank you,' she said.

'Well done,' he replied. She had no doubt that he had, in the Dreamweb, seen her turn herself into a Mindscout and slip out of their clutches.

They ate a quick breakfast, feeding the little wurrier the same; bread and dried fruit mostly. It ate ravenously, holding the food in its tiny hands, looking up at them with nervous worried looks. Korman fed the anklebiter separately, as it was growling and baring its teeth at Worriette and the children. Before the children had stopped yawning they broke camp and began the long trek up the slope to the foot of the Spur, which now towered above them, its smooth furrowed marble cliffs and outcroppings still in shadow. The sun was rising on the other side, but it had a way to go before it would appear over the top.

Korman led them through winding ways to keep them hidden as much as possible, especially from the high peaks of the Tor Enyása far away to their right, which looked like clusters of watchtowers, or warning fingers raised to the sky. The spur they were to climb now came out from the nearest of those peaks.

'How can we get up that?' asked Shelley. 'It looks like a blank wall of rock to me.'

'Maybe we can find a pass in it, like my secret pass,' said Rilke.

'Let us go right to the base of the spur, and look for tracks of the mountain goats,' said Korman. 'They are rare in these parts, and shy of people nowadays, after being hunted by some of the Traders for their horns. But hopefully there will be some still here, and they will have left some signs to follow.'

'But could we follow? We're not mountain goats,' said Shelley.

'We will see,' said Korman.

As he had hoped, there was a narrow grassy pathway, invisible before, angling up a fissure in the rock. This led onto a narrow ledge, then around a curve in the rock face. There they saw other ledges tracking steeply up across the rock.

'Keep pressed against the wall, and keep looking up, not down,' said Korman. The grassy line at the foot of the cliffs looked very small to Shelley when she looked down, in spite of Korman's warning. She felt a sudden giddiness, and looked up again. She felt Worriette clinging tightly to her clothing, her little head turning this way and that, peering out over the neckline of her woollen vest. 'Keep still, Worriette, you little wriggler!' she scolded. But Worriette just shivered and kept on wriggling.

They went forward, shuffling carefully up the narrow ledge. Korman, who was in the lead, disappeared around a bend. Rilke followed close behind. Shelley, in the rear, tried not to hurry to catch up, in case she slipped. She wondered what would happen if any Thornmen saw them.

But soon she was round the corner herself, and saw to her relief that there was a wider crevice ahead, with a floor of fallen rock and dark sandy soil with thick-leafed plants growing in it. It had been hidden from below, but now they saw it was a way right over the spur. The sun was now slanting in, illuminating what looked like a fairly easy climb to the top. The rock walls on either side overlapped so that side-on it would have been very hard to see the pass at all.

'The high pass to Baz Apédnapath, the Bottomless Canyon!' said Korman. 'I knew it would be here somewhere. Traders go this way to the Canyon. But is it guarded?'

They walked together, looking up at the clifftops ahead and behind, but there was no sound or sign of life, except that high above on the sheer rockface, white in the morning sun, a small herd of shaggy mountain goats walked the ledges, nibbling at the plants that grew out of cracks, and looking down at them curiously.

'Look at them! They can walk on cliffs!' said Shelley. 'I wonder if they ever fall?'

'Sometimes,' said Korman. He pointed to a bleached, horned skull half-embedded in the soil.

'Can I get the horns? I could make knife handles out of them,' said Rilke.

'Better leave them this time,' said Korman. 'We must hurry. When there is peace, you can come back and claim them.' Rilke groaned loudly, but Shelley silenced him with a look – of such vehemence and effectiveness that Korman had come to think of it as 'The Look'.

Then it was Shelley's turn to be distracted: higher up in the rock wall she saw a coloured gleam like a diamond or dewdrop catching the sun, or a crystal like the one that hung in her bedroom window on Earth so far away. The gleam appeared to be coming from a fallen rock on a ledge. She turned aside from the narrow path at the bottom of the ravine and began to climb up to the ledge.

'Hang on a minute,' she said, 'I'm just looking at something.'

'Be quick,' said Korman, 'And careful.' Shelley got to the top of the ledge – here it widened out into a little balcony with mosses and more of the glossy-leafed plants. She looked at the fallen rock. There was a little outcrop of brilliant clear crystals on it. But as she bent down to look at them, a blaze of reflected light from above caught her eye. There in the rock wall was a glittering cave entrance, triangular, maybe five feet high at the apex. She climbed up and peered in. The cave was covered in clear crystals, some tiny, some as big as the crystal on Korman's staff: almost as big as her fist. She tried to pull one off. It was golden-yellow and she wanted it passionately. The cold smooth facets hurt her fingers as she tried to prise it off.

The others were carrying on up the gully, their footsteps receding. She was getting left behind. It was very still in the cave. She gave up trying to loosen the crystal on the wall with her bare fingers, but as she looked around for a stick she noticed a little loose crystal on the sandy floor, and picked it up.

'How beautiful! My very own Crystal Cave,' she murmured. Just then there was a loud hiss in the dark, further in. Worriette gave a piercing squeal and hid her face in Shelley's vest. The hissing turned into a yowl like a tomcat's. Shelley backed out quickly and scrambled and slithered painfully back down the ledge. She ran to catch up with the others, her heart pounding. Looking back, she saw a sleepy-looking cat-like creature peering down from the ledge.

'Why didn't you warn me what could be in that cave? What if it had been one of those Rog-dragon thingies?' she asked Korman between gasps when she caught up.

'I told you to be careful,' he replied. 'That should be enough! So, if it was not a Rog-tanax, what did you find there?'

'A big cat thing,' said Shelley.

'Mountain cat. Mostly they are harmless,' replied Korman.

'Sometimes they eat you,' said Rilke. An unearthly yowl came up the rift behind them. Worriette shivered under Shelley's vest.

'You're joking, right?' replied Shelley. Rilke laughed hysterically, his wiry little frame shaking with mirth.

'Quiet!' said Korman. 'This is not a village picnic outing.'

They walked on in silence. They were coming to the top of the pass, and apart from the occasional bleat of a mountain goat high above, there was no sign of any other living creature. The sun was shining. 'I want a mountain goat,' Rilke announced suddenly, and stopping, he flung himself down on a clump of tussock and began scanning the cliffs for signs of the elusive goats. 'Not this time,' said Korman. 'Later, when happier times have come.'

'And we don't have the Aghmaath army on our tails!' added Shelley. She gave him The Look, and he got up with infinite weariness and staggered on after the others.

Reaching the highest point of the pass, they paused to catch their breath and look out over the lands ahead. A wide expanse sloped down, with many undulations, to the distant blue haze and sparkle of the eastern sea. To their right another spur like the one they were crossing angled in a majestic line on the horizon down to a solitary mountain topped with finger-like peaks.

'That is the Southeast Arm, leading down to the Enyása of the Crystal World,' said Korman. 'And almost straight ahead is Baldrock, our destination.' Shelley looked at the lands ahead, between where they stood and Baldrock. Its dark peak towered sheer and craggy above all the other hills. And, starting almost at their feet and stretching all the way to the single peak of Baldrock, was a long, zigzagging rift.

'It looks as if the earth was ripped apart down there,' said Shelley.

'It was, thousands of years ago,' replied Korman. 'It is written in the lost Ennead of Aeden, the Great Ennead of Limrath the Third, that at the end of the Third Age, the Limnakorites captured the Tor Enyása. And:

There came a great shower of flaming iron stones from the heavens, and the craters of the land of the Ürxura were formed, which filling with water formed the lakes Marelrapath and Marevalya. Also in that battle the powers of the earth were unleashed by Kortin, Tidak of the Heartstone. For when he saw that the usurpers had won and his consort Ainenia the Sixth lay dead, he called upon the Power of the Void, and smote the earth with the firesword Arcratíne, cursing the Limnakorites. Then it was that the Great Rift opened in the depths, and Lake Avalon and Baz Apédnapath were formed, and also Baldrock and the Fire Rock Peninsula.

'That's the name of your sword, Korman! Could yours do that, open up a rift in the earth?' asked Rilke.

'It is the same sword,' replied Korman.

The children were silent for a moment, taking this in.

'Why hasn't the Canyon filled with water?' asked Rilke.

'Good question!' said Korman. 'Because it is honeycombed with caves which, they say, go all the way to the sea, or issue in springs far away. But there is a lake at the bottom of the Canyon, and the inhabitants there live by its bounty, and boat upon its calm waters.'

'Inhabitants?' said Shelley in surprise, and Worriette popped her head out as if to look for them.

'Yes. I have never come this way or met them, but Traders cross this pass and exchange dried apples (a scarce resource these days) and other fruits for the wares of the Canyon folk.'

'What are their wares?'

'Books, diamonds and Icons, mostly.'

'Icons! You mean pictures of saints and things? Is it a monastery or something?'

'Not exactly. There are many factions in the Canyon, all seeking truth, each following a different path to it. There are many mystic traditions there, some based on Kor-Zuratimaddi, the Crystal World, some on Kor-Marrépag, Kor-Achmadditi, or Kor-Ovotannama: the Water, Fire, or Air worlds. Some follow the tradition of the Makers' world; not so many follow that of the Aghmaath, Kor-Zürglim as it was. A few follow the Guardian World tradition, and paint icons of things from my home world. I have bought one of those paintings, a small one, and not by one of the Masters, but it brought me good cheer in my cave of vigil.'

'Are there any icons of Earth, I mean, Kor-Edartha?'

'Yes. They paint the Lady of Avalon, and her maidens and symbols of her wisdom: the Grail and the Sword in the Stone which was forged by Calibur the Edarthan, whose sons came to Aeden long ago and set up as smiths in Baz Apédnapath...

'My sword was made by them!' said Rilke, and drew it to show the mark of the sons of Calibur.

'Indeed it was!' said Korman, looking at the icon of a sword in an anvil-stone stamped on the hilt. 'Look after it, for the forge where it was made has been cold for a thousand years. The sons of Calibur became icon-painters and some wandered off seeking to return to Edartha or crossed to Tímathia. And some went to the Fire World, they say.'

'But back to the present: others of the icon-makers paint the cross which came to Aeden by my ancestors – it is a sign for them that the Balance will one day be restored – though with suffering. Vertical for the transcendent sky and the idealistic masculine, horizontal for the outstretched arms of earthly love and the all-forgiving feminine. Also they paint images of the Kortana, which they say are from visions they have seen. And they firmly believe that this Jewel-Caller will be a girl. I have heard that there is still a great hope in some of their traditions that the Lady will restore Aeden, through great sufferings, with the help of her Chosen One, the Kortana. Alas, the painters of those icons will be among the first to be taken away for endarkenment if and when the Travellers finally conquer the Canyon.'

'I saw a little painting of the Lady on the wall at your place,' said Shelley to Rilke.

'I like that icon!' replied Rilke. 'It had real gold leaf for her robe. And jewels for her eyes, and real amber varnish that made it glow.'

'That would have been painted in the Canyon,' said Korman. 'Alas, it will bring down the wrath of the missionaries, if they see it, and it would be taken, trampled and ritually burned.'

They were descending now, treading carefully to avoid slipping on loose rocks. There was a breeze in their faces, and Shelley thought she could smell salt air and seaweed. 'The Oceans of another world!' thought Shelley. To their right, the Spur rose toward the Tor Enyása. They followed a ledge that angled down, then a flight of steps cut into the rock sloping down the other way, then another ledge, and finally they came to a grassy slope between two huge outcrops of rock like giant worn-down teeth.

To their right and lower down, in a little valley sloping towards the Canyon was a cluster of dark cave openings in a reddish cliff-face. Outside the openings were several people in rough brown clothes standing and gesturing in front of something familiar to Shelley, but completely unexpected: a large artist's easel. Then she noticed, in folds of the hillside, several other lone artists – if that was what they were – standing or sitting in front of smaller easels. All were oblivious to the travellers. Shelley saw the paintbrushes in their hands: they were definitely painting.

'Stay close, but I think they're harmless,' said Korman, smiling slightly. 'They look like defectors from the community of the Canyon.'

He led them down to meet the defectors. Soon the group by the large easel was talking enthusiastically with Korman, exchanging news and views. As he suspected, in recent years there had been a break-away group among the icon-painters, and they had founded a little village of artists, musicians and poets in this valley overlooking the Canyon. There they painted views of nature, as well as visionary paintings and mystical diagrams, and composed poems about the unification of all the traditions into a brave new culture.

They were very interested in Shelley, and wanted to paint her. She was flattered, but shy. Korman told her, 'Let them. They wish to honour you.' In the end she agreed. Korman stood watch and Rilke played with Worriette while she sat on a weathered rock, looking east over the Canyon and past Baldrock to the faint sea horizon, while they fussed around her and argued with each other as they painted. Some worked together on a single canvas, and others worked singly, bent over small polished wooden slabs, or sketching on sheets of coarse paper made from flattened reeds like papyrus.

When they were finished (at least their sketches and preliminary brushwork), the artists asked her to judge their works. Some were almost unrecognisable as portraits of Shelley; very abstract and surrounded by odd-looking symbols. The rest were ravishingly beautiful, totally idealised likenesses, one looking eerily like the painting of the Lady at Rilke's house. Shelley was moved by all of them, but could not believe she looked anything like the Goddess figures they had painted.

Before they left for the Bottomless Canyon, they were invited up the valley into the largest of the caves, the Cave of Meeting, for a communal meal. There were many ornate alcoves in the cave, filled with icons and little sculptures, and the walls were decorated with murals in red ochre and charcoal and cobalt blue. The artists talked and laughed a lot during the meal, sitting around long tables made from single slabs of wood. They sang songs they had composed themselves, and old songs of Aeden, and drank a whisky made from the local grain, a kind of wild wheat, which grew along with wildflowers and herbs in terraced gardens below the caves.

The artist across the table from the visitors, a small, dark-haired, earnest man who made nervous movements with his hands and blinked a lot, told them about many things, mostly matters of craft and the creation of beautiful paintings. He had renamed himself Azure when he left his sect in the Canyon, 'After my favourite colour,' he confessed, 'and also symbolizing the Sky of Unlimited Imagination.'

'Do you make everything yourselves?' asked Shelley, fascinated by their independence and free, creative way of life.

'Good heavens, no!' Azure laughed. We are much too busy painting or composing to make everything. We trade. For example, these cups and plates are of porcelain made in the valley of the Milkwater stream by the villagers of Potterville. I love the dark blues and azures, don't you?'

'I've heard of Potterville!' put in Rilke. 'Father was going to take me there one day. You go down the Pebblebrook 'til you get to Milkwater, then you go upstream 'til you get to Potterville. Father says they have life-sized statues made of shiny blue and white porcelain, and the stream runs white like milk from the clay. It's a long, long way to get there.'

'Ah!' said Azure, smiling. 'You're from the Pebblebrook valley. They say further up that valley in the Badlands is the way to the lost caves of the Padmaddim.'

'Yes!' said Shelley, 'Korman and I have been there. It's wonderful. But the entrance is hidden by magic.'

'So some people did survive after the book-burnings and the exile of the knowledge-lovers! Do they still keep the ancient secrets?' asked Azure eagerly, twitching his fingers and blinking fast.

'Some of them are in the caves we visited,' replied Korman. 'Others may be with the Delvers, who moved on and now are lost to us.'

'So, when will the people of Aeden come back together to defeat the Aghmaath? We all follow our own light here, and I am one of the Unifiers, who paint mandalas of the integration of all the strands of wisdom, from all the Nine Worlds. But we only guess. How amazing it would be to have some of the old books!'

'There is a whole library in the caves of the Padmaddim,' said Korman.

'Alas, we are now separated by the Aghmaath as well as by the divisions of our own beliefs. We know that missionaries of the Aghmaath have been going down from the High Pass which you have just crossed, and into Milkwater valley. We have not seen Traders from that valley for months now. We think Potterville has been converted to the Aghmaath.'

'You are probably right; we know that Millbrook has fallen. How is it that your people here have not succumbed, living so close to the Pass? The missionaries must surely have visited you.'

'Yes, several times. But we love life and freedom too much to fall for their theology. We here all came from the strict systems of the Canyon communities, looking for a brave new world, and fresh air and sunshine and big views from high mountains. It may be that they are right, and the Void will swallow all life in the end, but we want to live in hope, to touch true Life before we die, not give up hope and become slaves worshipping a negation. And we have all sworn to follow the Rule of Beauty, Truth, Freedom and Love. They may have Truth on their side – we hope not – but they certainly do not have Beauty, Freedom and Love. And what is Truth without those?' He blinked hard, as if to shut out the very idea.

'Well said. Perhaps you do not know it, but the Lady also will be protecting your thoughts from their webs of deceit.'

'Some of our number think so too. They say they have seen a vision of Her, and ever after they try to capture in paint the beauty of that vision. Also they look for a Chosen One sent by her to unify Aeden... and restore... the Jewel of Life.' He stammered, looking at Shelley and drumming his fingertips together nervously. Her heart leapt at the mention of the Chosen One, but she just smiled and said nothing.

'Let us hope they will not be disappointed. Perhaps she is closer than they know,' said Korman, not looking at Shelley, but she blushed.

'Let it be!' said Azure, 'Let it be!'

After the meal there was a meeting of the whole community. Korman spoke of the threat of the Aghmaath, and they discussed ways to resist them. Some laughed when Korman said that he wanted to go down into the Bottomless Canyon, because he needed to disappear for a while.

'You'll never get out! They'll all demand that you study their teachings for a year and a day,' they predicted. But they became more serious when he mentioned the Thorn hedge and told them of their narrow escape.

'Times are getting grim, if Applegate has fallen,' said one. 'Was that not part of her special domain? Where is the Lady in all this? Has she forgotten Aeden?'

'No,' said Korman, 'She has not forgotten. She suffers for this land, and if it were not for her magic, woven in the very shadow of the thorns, they would already have overrun this place and all of Aeden.'

'Where are you going with these two children?' asked the oldest of the artists, a poet named Metaphor. 'If you know the ways of the Lady, we would welcome you to stay here with us and help us resist the Aghmaath. Is that not a sword at your side, and are you not one of the Guardians?'

'I am. But I am an outcast from that Order, and my sword arm is withered. And now I am on a sacred mission from the Lady, to bring Shelley safely to the lost Faery refuge of Ürak Tara, or die in the attempt.'

'A pity. You could have helped us. Ürak Tara, you say! Does it even exist? But Korman, reconsider your idea of going to the Bottomless Canyon. Easily in, perhaps, but not easily out. Some of us believe we have seen the young girl here before, in a dream. Could she be the Kortana? If so, the factions in the Canyon will want to keep her there. They may even fight over her. With the best of intentions, of course. They will all want to initiate her into their way of thinking, so that the promised reunification will be according to their beliefs.'

'We must take that risk. The Trackers hunt for us even as we speak, and we must go where they cannot easily follow.'

'Perhaps, then, there may be a way of initiation to be found in the Canyon, perhaps a combination of the teachings, so that the long and dangerous journey to Ürak Tara would be unnecessary?'

'No! Nothing less than a return to the full wisdom of the Old Order will suffice. This was the message I received in my vision:

Seek for the lost faery hill

Where the Masters of Wisdom dwell

Where the Makers' Labyrinth still

Unweaves the mindweb's spell.'

'You speak as a seer, Korman!' cried Metaphor. 'So be it. Find the ancient Labyrinth, if it still exists, before the Aghmaath devour this land, and freedom is no more! And may the Lady be with you! But if you will take my advice, do not go to Baz Apédnapath as Korman, last Tidak of the Tor Enyása.'

Korman thought for a moment, wondering if he could do that and yet not lie. For Guardians do not lie. Finally he said, 'I will go as Nimmath, the Newborn, for in truth I am a new man as I at last accompany the Kortana in the path of Faery.'

The eating and singing and talking had taken all afternoon, and outside it was already getting dark. The artists pressed them to stay the night. Shelley was relieved when Korman accepted their invitation. Most of the artists then went to their own caves, while the visitors stayed in the Cave of Meeting. Metaphor and Azure, with some of the other more serious artists, showed Shelley and Korman many blueprints and a model of a city they wanted to build, like Petra on Earth, a city carved into the rock, not in a dim canyon like their former home, but catching the sun high in the Guardian Arm on either side of the High Pass. There would be towers of stone on the top of the Arm, capped with silver and topped with great crystals. There would be dance halls and swimming pools and long slides and tall swings and a sacred Labyrinth and a temple to Beauty, Truth, Love and Freedom, honouring all the Nine Worlds and their wisdoms, and a library and gallery for all the books that would be written and the paintings that would be painted, and the sculptures. Shelley saw the light in their eyes as they described the architecture of their Utopia. Then they unrolled the plans, detailed mandala-like diagrams which depicted the manner of life and the wisdoms and institutions that would ensure the happiness of all and give the greatest possible freedom to all.

'But this can only come to pass if Aeden is unified and the Aghmaath killed or driven out of Aeden,' said Metaphor wistfully, rolling up the blueprints of their Utopia and putting them away.

'Or converted back to love of Life,' added Korman.

Rilke was yawning and fidgeting. He had been fascinated with the blueprints, but now he was exhausted. Azure showed him and Shelley to their little bedrooms cut from the living rock, not smooth and shiny limestone like the caves of Barachthad, but rough, reddish sandstone, banded with honey-coloured lines, like the grain of cedarwood. The beds were cosy alcoves filled with heather, aromatic dried lavender and even the valuable downy hair of mountain goats, gathered from thornbushes in the hills. There were bowls of water for washing on rough stone pedestals, and plain but clean towels of linen.

Shelley washed, and got Rilke to wash also. His face was grubby from scrabbling in the soil on the High Pass, trying to dig up a goat skull while Shelley was looking at the cave. She tried giving Worriette a wash, but she grimaced and squirmed out of her arms, jumped to the floor, then went wild with relief at her narrow escape from water, scampering around the cave. Shelley flopped in a chair made from a hollowed-out stone lined with soft mountain-goat felt and watched Rilke play with Worriette, jumping in and out of his bed, seeking her where she was burrowing into the heather, scattering heather and goat-hair over the floor. But nobody minded. In the end Rilke jumped into bed and stayed there, curled up with the little wurrier, by turns feeding her a piece of apple and eating one himself. He sleepily called for Shelley to tell him a story from Earth. Shelley, yawning, told him the story of the Happy Prince. By the time the impoverished writer in the garret had received the jewel from the little swallow (and Shelley felt a lump in her throat and tears stinging her eyes), he was fast asleep, his arm round the sleeping Worriette. Shelley felt like a mother, full of tenderness as she tucked him in and blew out the candle.

She lay in her bed, smelling the lavender, gazing at the candlelight dancing on the rough ceiling, and fingering the crystal she had picked up in the cave in the High Pass. It gleamed in the warm yellow light as she tried her light-calling powers on it. To her delight, it began to glow faintly. She blew out her candle and fell asleep holding the glowing lightcrystal, wondering what other powers there might be in it, and whether she would ever get back to explore her crystal cave, and whether mountain cats could be tamed, and whether they ate wurriers or anklebiters.

Korman kept vigil at the cave mouth, thinking and meditating a long time before going to sleep with one eye on the darkness outside. Nothing moved there but the breeze coming down the valley and stirring the mists in the Bottomless Canyon below.

Far away in the green hills of Silverwood on Earth, Shelley's mother was searching. She had separated from Mr Arkle after the dreadful morning when Shelley disappeared; for her too, the lies had become unbearable. She wanted to find out the truth of her past, and who the real father of her first child was. The marriage, she now thought bitterly, had been a mistake, a desperate elopement by a lonely girl afraid to raise her child alone in a hostile world, and an older man afraid of growing old alone. A man who recognised and desired the Faery in her, but could not nurture it, but only draw from it. So now Ellen searched for clues to her past in the hills of Silverwood, all the while hoping that her daughter would return, or better yet, that she herself would be let through to that other world. Sometimes it came into her dreams, and she saw the white unicorn flying above a blue lake, and a tall tree on a high peak.

The locals muttered about her and called her crazy, but she did not care. Every day she could spare she had gone there, sometimes taking Mark along too, on weekends. But he had scowled and grumbled. This time he announced, 'This is the last time I'm coming with you. I'm going to live with dad in the South Island, and that's final!'

'Don't you want to help find Shelley, Mark?'

'You've got to be crazy! I'm glad she's gone.'

They were in the Fairyhill Reserve now, criss-crossing an area Ellen felt instinctively drawn to. She had heard talk of strange happenings there, and was determined to check it out thoroughly, though she also felt fearful of its dark woods.

The sun went behind a cloudbank and it grew cold. A silver mist rolled over the valley and spread until all that was free of the fog was the Fairyhill Reserve. Ellen felt they were on an enchanted island, cut off from the ordinary world below. She turned to comment on it to Mark. He was not there.

Mark had intended to teach his mother a lesson by hiding in the woods to scare her. He blundered through the undergrowth until he came to a clearing with a moss-covered rock in the middle. He wandered over to look at it. Next minute he heard an eerie chant. A group of young children were singing somewhere nearby. But they sounded oddly faint, as if they were underground or behind a wall. He stepped forwards hesitantly. There were several children in foreign clothing holding hands in a ring by the rock. He wondered why he hadn't noticed them before. They smiled at Mark, and he found himself walking towards them. Two of the children let go of each other's hands and pulled him into the ring. They began circling and singing again. He felt uneasy, but couldn't help joining in. They were holding his hands very tightly. Then a blackness opened up in front of his feet like a deep pool of nothingness. He felt himself sliding into it and falling, falling. His screams were unheard in the forest or indeed in our world. He had found what his mother had sought for so long: the portal into Aeden, and been drawn there by the children who had been converted to the worship of the Void. The portal was no longer open only to the pure of heart.

Before long Mark was bowing low before Hithrax, and eating the Apples of Peace. Then Hithrax merged his mind with Mark's, and poured all the words of Aedenese he would need – but none of beauty, of love or goodness – into his young, pliable memory.

'Gareth, my son,' said Hithrax.

'My father,' said Mark in perfect Aedenese, smiling up at the tall Thornman as he had never smiled at his own father.

And soon his old life was but a dream to him, and as surely as Hithrax was his father, so his Mother was the Void. And Shelley was no longer his sister, but the accursed Guardian traitor's apprentice, deserving only of a lingering death. He was going to enjoy his new life very much, he thought.

Next morning after a breakfast of maize porridge, Shelley, Rilke and Korman said their goodbyes and got directions for finding the doorway to Baz Apédnapath. The artists' colony was hard to leave, especially for Shelley, who had fallen in love with its bohemian lifestyle, its intoxicating freedom and its creativity bursting forth in endless inspiring forms. She told this to Azure.

'The only thing I don't understand is why there aren't any women and children,' she said.

'Some of us came from strict sects that do not allow marriage. Others, like me, could not persuade their womenfolk to come out with them. They begged us not to leave the security of the Canyon for the outside world. They told us we were dreamers, deceived, mad. I replied in a poem:

Are we dreaming?

Then do not waken us.

Are we deceived?

Then do not correct us

Are we mad?

Then do not cure us

For we are dreaming a new awakening

Unweaving a worn-out lie

Healed by a new-found sanity

Like lightning from a clear blue sky.

But they replied, 'Driven mad by lightning to the brain, more like!' And so we parted. We still live in hope that one day we will lure them out with the beauty of what we create here.'

'They don't know what they're missing!' said Shelley. 'Good luck with everything, Azure. I hope I can return some day, and your wife will be here too, and I can meet her!'

'Perhaps you could try to meet her before that, when you go through the Canyon? Her name is Goldheart, G-Goldheart the Fair. I got a present ready for her in case...' He blinked and stammered.

'I'd love to!' said Shelley. Azure gave her a small package wrapped in hessian rags and tied with flax.

'It is a new poem, and an icon of you as the Chosen One of the Lady, an image of love and hope,' he said. 'Tell her I love her and count the days until she comes to me.' Shelley blushed at the thought of herself as a sacred icon, and at this young man's passion for a woman.

'I hope one day I'll have someone who feels like that about me,' she thought as she tucked the icon into her pack.

Korman brought out a sheet of papyrus, on which he had copied a page from the Ennead in the library at Barachthad's cave, and gave it to Azure as a present, saying, 'This tells of the Makers and the arts that flourished in the Golden Age of the Order. It reminds me of your community.' Azure thanked him, and they all embraced. Piping and chanting a new song about new beginnings and the coming of the Kortana, the artists waved from the cave mouth as they left. Shelley felt very inadequate, and a lump was in her throat as she wondered whether she would ever see any of them again. 'If they are right, and I fail, Goldheart will never get back with Azure,' she thought, and she had to wipe the tears from her face with her sleeve.

It was an overcast morning, with restless puffs of wind swaying the junipers, and rippling over the wild wheat and the patches of wildflowers. A pheasant called its warning of rain. Following the artists' instructions they turned off a mile or so down the valley and hurried down the narrow winding path that lead to the door of Baz Apédnapath.

Chapter Twenty-six

The Bottomless Canyon

The Door was not a welcoming place. The Canyon dwellers had been outcasts, or at least self-exiled from the main population, from the beginning, so they did not trust outsiders and did their best to keep them out, except for those they had to deal with: the Traders. As it says in the Ennead of Aeden:

They were the Seekers after Truth who were tarred with the same brush as the Seekers of Knowledge at the time of the plague of hybrids, the Gagavalas. When the books were burned and the ancestors of the Padmaddim were banished, the Seekers after Truth, most of the philosophers and ascetics, the mystics and ritualists and reformers, gave up on the world and retreated to the Canyon known as Baz Apédnapath, the Bottomless Canyon. This they saw as the only safe haven in which they could continue their seeking and their celebration and defending of what truths they had found, or thought they had.

So began the ever-changing community of the Canyon, ever fragmenting into factions, ever expanding the rows of caves and hollowed-out ledges above the abyss which plunged hundreds of feet to the deep dark waters of a lake that stretched from one end of the Canyon to the other.

From the start, these disputing settlers of the Canyon agreed on one thing: that the place should be sealed off, no matter how great a task it might be, so that there would be only two entrances, one at each end of the Canyon. And that these should be difficult of access and defensible by a small force of guards.

Of these guards, one only would have the power to admit a person, after questioning, whether he be Trader or Seeker or Community member returning from business in the world above. This guard was to be called the Gatekeeper.

'Are you sure you want to go this way?' asked Shelley as they stood at the edge of the eerie funnel-shaped valley where great cracks in the rock snaked down to the mouth of the chasm. Gnarled trees clung to the stony sides of the valley and tree ferns and other gloom-loving plants grew in the cracks and crevices. In the half-light far down at the bottom of the valley, between the towering cliffs of the Canyon mouth, was a battlement and tower, which looked as if it was being squeezed in a huge vice, or had been dropped from the clifftops and wedged in the bottom of the Canyon.

The streams that ran in the gullies and cracks of the funnel-shaped valley all converged at the foot of this tower, and swirled into a dark opening there. Two narrow paths wound along cliffs above the torrent, one on either side, going up in flights of steps in places, then down again, finally meeting at a landing halfway up the tower. There Shelley could just make out the pointed shape of a tall gothic doorway, like an up-ended boat set into the dark stone wall. High above the door there was a row of narrow windows looking out over the two paths and the narrow landing.

'There's no way we could get to the door without being shot from those windows, if they're hostile,' Shelley thought, gloomily. It was a forbidding front door, and it was hard to imagine those within as anything but hostile. She repeated her question: 'Are you sure we should go this way?' Korman, who had been surveying the scene intently, replied, 'Yes, I think so. At least, it will be a perfect place to disappear. We will blend in, keep to ourselves and not be drawn into any of their disputes, and in a day or two we should reach the other end, where we will find the path up to Baldrock. I will go under the name of Nimmath, as the name Korman may arouse suspicions, and will be a give-away to any spies who may be in their midst.'

'Why will they let us in, if they're so suspicious of strangers?' asked Shelley, eyeing the windows.

'Because we will come as Traders, with manuscripts from the Padmaddim, and precious crystals from the Portal Hills where I lived during my seventy-three year vigil. At night, as I walked by the light of the Blue Moon over the lonely hills overlooking the Place of Appearing, I found many crystals by their glimmer of blue light. I knew there could be need of items to trade, if we were to make a journey like this. Also, they were a comfort to me, being so beautiful. Every once in a long while, I would find one of the rare ruby crystals, flecked with golden fire. And later, much later, I came upon Bootnip, and he led me to many more, though I suspect he kept most for himself! But one day he brought me a lump of pure bright-amber, xanagath as it is called, and a nugget of silver, which I took as a sign of the Lady's favour, and I learned to craft metal and polish gems. I made several, and traded them for food. But after seven years of practice I made this.' He held up the ornate ring on his finger, and it sparkled with golden fire like the sun of Aeden.

Shelley looked closely at Korman's ring for the first time, so lovingly carved, and tried to imagine the lonely depth of time that Korman had waited for her. She saw him in her mind's eye, wandering over the barren hills in the Blue Moon's light, stooping every now and then to pick up a glimmering crystal, always glancing anxiously at the Place of Appearing, in case this was the night she would appear. And later, patiently taming the disagreeable little anklebiter, carving the intricate ring day after day, and patiently polishing the agathra gem. It had been a long lonely time for him. She felt overwhelmed at the thought of anyone waiting that long for her. 'Since before I was born,' she thought. 'Since granddad was a boy!' She felt an impulse to hug him. But Korman was speaking again.

'Also, Metaphor the Poet told me the answers I should give to the Nine Questions which the Gatekeeper will ask. Now, have no fear! You will learn a lot on this journey...' But Rilke interrupted, 'Let me see your ring, Korman!' He held the big gnarled hand in his little hands for a moment, turning the ring back and forward. 'Nice amber... wish I had some... Ugh! There's a naked lady on one side and a naked man on the other!' He let go of the ring as if it was a snake.

'They are the Tintazürash, Guardians of the Tree, keepers of the Balance. They are protecting the golden Heartstone in the centre,' said Korman, smiling.

'There's nothing wrong with them being naked,' put in Shelley. 'Anyway, you can only see their backs.' But Rilke made a face and turned to play with Worriette.

Korman led them down the narrow winding path that led to the Doorway. Rilke picked up Worriette, and was quietly talking nonsense to her to comfort her in the cheerless valley. Shelley brought up the rear, wondering how the land of Aeden could ever be reunified, with such massive divisions between them. The threat of the Aghmaath seemed less, almost, than the weight of tradition and dogma dividing people from one another, in spite of a long heritage of enlightenment and wisdom. 'How could I ever get these people together to fight their real enemies?' she found herself wondering. 'But wait a minute, I didn't choose to do this impossible job! Or did I?' Part of her felt that in some long forgotten past, she had foreseen that she would be on this very mission, taking on this impossible task, and somehow bringing magic from deep within to make it possible.

At last they arrived at the bottom of the dark valley. There was a narrow path above the torrent, and narrow steps cut into the sheer cliff-face leading up to the landing halfway up the tower which blocked off the Canyon. Shelley tried not to look down as she edged her way up the last steps, high above the dark rushing waters that swirled through a massive steel grating. The cliffs on either side loomed up, blocking out all but a narrow strip of cloudy sky, from which heavy raindrops were beginning to fall.

Something stirred at the tower windows. Shelley felt a prickling up her back as she saw the arrows protruding from each window-slit, pointing down at them as they approached the landing. Korman turned and saw her and Rilke looking up at the windows.

'Do not fear; they are just suspicious of all strangers,' he said in a low voice. Undeterred by the sombre surroundings and the silently pointing arrows, he strode under the gothic arch of the doorway and knocked three times, his gnarled knuckles booming on the oak doors reinforced with black iron. After a long time there was a shuffling within, a sound of sliding bolts, and a gruff voice calling,

'Wait on, wait on.'

The peephole opened, and through thick glass or crystal they saw bright eyes peering at them.

'Now, who are you and what do you want?' the voice said through a circular grille below the peephole.

'We are Traders, and request safe passage through your realm on our way to Baldrock,' replied Korman.

'I am the Gatekeeper of the North Gate,' announced the voice from the grill. 'Stand by for the Nine Questions. Do you swear to go away if you fail to answer any question aright?'

'I do.'

'Do you call upon you the curse of the Holy Concept if you lie?' The raindrops were coming thicker now, hitting the mossy flagstones of the landing –and the cold travellers – with irregular drenching impacts. They put up their hoods. Shelley shivered as she muttered, 'Come on, come on!'

'I do,' replied Korman.

'So be it!' replied the Gatekeeper. He cleared his throat, and declaimed in a sing-song voice:

'First: What is your name and from which world do you come?'

'I am Nimmath, of Kor-Tinnama, the Guardian World.' There was a long pause, and they waited as the rain pattered on their hoods. Then the voice resumed, somewhat less confidently:

'Second: What is the highest truth?'

'That the Truth exists before all worlds.'

'Third: 'What is the Truth?'

'That is the business of those who live inside these doors.' There was a pause and a shuffling before the questions resumed. Shelley heard the Gatekeeper mutter something like 'Unorthodox, but then, the answer is not false...' Then he cleared his throat again and recited:

'Fourth: How do you serve the Truth?'

'By my service to those who battle falsehood and seek Truth.' The rain was now coming down steadily, dripping off their hoods and pooling at their feet.

'Fifth: How will you serve those who battle falsehood and seek Truth?'

'By trading crystals, amber and learned writings from the Padmaddim, for food and safe passage.' There was a muffled exclamation, then the owner of the voice cleared his throat again.

'Sixth: Who is the Chosen One?'

'The Kortana, the Jewel-Caller, who will restore the Arcra-Nama to the Tree of Life, the renewing Lightning to the Tor Enyása and the unity of the Concept to the minds of the people.'

'You mean Kortan, I presume.'

'Did I say Kortana? I stand corrected.' Korman looked at Shelley, who blushed.

'Seventh: Who is the great Enemy of the Chosen One?'

'He whose name must not be uttered, or written except backwards: the Dark Serpent of the Void beyond the worlds; Emperor of the Dark Entities and the true Lord of the Aghmaath and all who serve the Void.'

'Eighth: What are the Forbidden Worlds?'

'Kor-Ramanithi, now known as Edartha, from which came Athmad and Ewana who stole the Arcra-Padra, the Jewel of Knowledge; and Kor-Zürglim, which fell under the dominion of the Dark Entities and became Phangkor.'

'Ninth: What are the Five Ages?

'The First is the Golden Age of the Makers and the Alliance of the Nine Worlds. The Second is the Silver Age of the Keepers. The Third is the Bronze Age of the Guardians. The Fourth is the Iron Age, the Age of the Great Schism, which some say is drawing to a close at last. The fifth is the Diamond Age, yet to come, when the restored Alliance is linked to the Tenth World, Kor-Damaríthí, the Diamond World. So say the prophets of the Keeper.'

'You have correctly answered the nine questions. Or correctly enough. Now I have some others. Do you have news of the accursed Aghmaath?'

'News enough, which I will fully tell when we are safe within your walls.' The Gatekeeper ignored Korman's hint. He continued inexorably: 'Who are these children?'

'Seekers of safety, refugees from the Aghmaath.'

'Tired and wet, too!' put in Shelley. Worriette was shivering and her fur smelt. The Gatekeeper ignored her and went on, 'Is that a fire-crystal sword you wear?'

'Yes, but I am a scholar and a Trader, not a warrior, and the sword is a relic, quite unusable to me – as is this sword-arm! He held up his right arm. 'Perhaps at the dawning of the New Age, both will be mended.'

'Then we are obviously quite safe from your sword for a long time yet, Nimmath!' Bitter laughter echoed from within. From the depths of Korman's pack, Bootnip growled. The Gatekeeper coughed and added, 'At least, unless you take the old poets and seers literally.'

'I do,' said Korman.

'Do you swear then, by them and by all else you hold dear, to walk among us as a friend with sword sheathed, to trade fairly, and depart in peace?'

'I do.'

There was a long pause, then the sound of bolts being drawn. The doors swung outwards, and there stood the Gatekeeper: an old man with sharp eyes, tall and gaunt, nearly bald but white-bearded with dark bushy eyebrows. He wore a grey cassock with a silver clasp in the form of a seabird carrying a scroll. He greeted them solemnly as they stepped in out of the rain:

'I am Gullquill. Welcome to the Community of the Canyon.' The doors boomed shut behind them, and a guard bolted them securely. 'Now, about those writings from the Padmaddim,' said the Gatekeeper. He looked eagerly at Korman, but there was still doubt in his eyes.

Korman had to show him everything; any writings or books from the past were eagerly sought by the people of the Canyon, and they paid a high price for anything new, even for the loan of them for copying in their scriptoriums. Korman gave him a small blue book, his well-thumbed Poems of the Kortana by Monëluna, saying, 'You may be inspired to believe when you read these. I have no more need of it, as I have memorised the poems, and keep her near, in my heart.'

The Gatekeeper began to warm to Korman, and became almost garrulous as he pored over the treasures. 'I thought for a moment that you might be the Guardian they call Korman the Outcast, and was troubled. For there is a price upon his head, and trouble, they say, follows wherever he goes. And from your answers I knew you were learned, and no fool, that was clear! But the Guardians have failed, Nimmath, and are scattered to the winds. The Age of Iron may be over, but who will usher in a new one?' He looked up at Korman with sad eyes.

'The poets also speak of hope, Gullquill. They speak of the awakening of the Jewel-Defender, Arcratíne, and the coming of the Kortan.'

'But it is said that Arcratíne is in the keeping of Korman the Outcast, and he is sworn by a terrible oath never to wield it.'

'Perhaps we should not say "Never," but "Until the time is right."'

While Korman and Gullquill talked, spreading parchments on the table by the door, the children looked around in wonder. They were in the circular foyer of the tower, with winding stairs leading up to the higher levels. Across the foyer was an arched doorway; through it they caught a glimpse of the vast Canyon receding into the distance until it curved out of sight. In the middle of the foyer was a circular Labyrinth of flagstones of crystalline blue and white gems like dewdrops, which glowed in the many-coloured light streaming down from a great skylight like a many-petalled flower, decorated with gems of fiery crimson red and deep cobalt blue. If they had known of Chartres, they would have marvelled at the similarities, and Korman would have pondered the connection with his Templar ancestors.

Soon Korman and Gullquill joined them. 'All visitors must walk the Labyrinth before entering our realm,' said the old gatekeeper. They removed their footwear, and walked the turns of the Labyrinth with silent steps. All about them the dewdrop gems glowed in a halo of reflected light like cats' eyes. At last they stood at the centre where Korman recited the first stanza of the acrostic Labyrinth meditation:

Centre which is everywhere and nowhere

Emptiness which contains all things

Now we return and are reborn.

Truth that is before all worlds

Road which is both One and Many

Entrance and Exit, both to be blessed!

Then they walked out again, retracing their steps in single file, Korman in front, Rilke straining to step in Korman's footsteps, and Shelley at the rear, thoughtful and strangely stirred, her head clearing as she followed the single path which wound first one way then the other, but never became a dead-end: the symbolic path of life and rebirth.

When they reached the edge of the Labyrinth again Gullquill farewelled them and returned to his post. They put their shoes back on and walked with echoing steps around the Labyrinth perimeter, and stood beneath the arched doorway to the Canyon.

'Behold, the hidden realm of Baz Apédnapath!' said Korman.

Far below, almost at their feet, was the Bottomless Lake. The Canyon cliffs plunged maybe three hundred feet from the doorway, and rose up perhaps another three hundred above their heads. Drops of rain were still falling, but the sun was now shining, making the rain sparkle like diamonds, and slanting down into the Canyon, it shone on the right-hand side, making it glow with reds and ochres lower down, green with mosses and ferns higher up. The left side was still in shadow. All along the walls of the Canyon, roughly level with where they stood, ran a huge overhang, scooped out of the side of the cliffs, high-roofed and mostly level. It was honeycombed with carved stone facades with imposing doorways leading into the cave dwellings and meeting-places. There was a different style of building every few hundred feet or so. The sound of chanting, singing, and various kinds of music echoed from both sides of the Canyon. Shelley thought the music and chanting on the left sounded sad, and the music on the right, happy – at least, by comparison with the dirge-like sounds of the opposite side.

'Have you got a stone?' asked Rilke excitedly.

'What for?' asked Shelley.

'To throw into the Bottomless Lake, of course!'

'No I haven't. Anyway, it's not good manners. There could be somebody down there.'

'Yes, there certainly could be,' agreed Korman. 'Now, we must choose which side we go down: the sunny right-hand side (facing a little more to the sun, and lit up by silver mirrors placed high up on the opposite walls) or the shady left-hand side (facing slightly away from the sun, and not lit by mirrors),' said Korman.

'The sunny side!' said the children, both at once.

'Ah, the Way of the Optimists,' said Korman.

'Is there any reason why we can't?' said Shelley.

'No, we have the choice, as do all who come here,' said Korman. 'Some naturally join the Optimists, those who want to catch whatever sun there is, and believe in the ultimate positivity of the Cosmos. Others, the Pessimists, wish (or feel compelled) to believe the contrary, and do not bother to improve their outlook. The Aghmaath, for instance, are Pessimists. Is one right and the other wrong? Or are both partly right? These are deep questions, for the philosophers. The only question we need ask right now is, are we safer among the Optimists or the Pessimists? Possibly the Pessimists, as they are fatalistic and keep to themselves. The Optimists, on the other hand, will try to convert us. We may be delayed.' He looked left and right, trying to decide.

'I'm willing to take that risk, myself,' said Shelley, shivering. She was damp from the rain, and a cold draft was blowing up from the Canyon. She did not like the look of the left-hand side at all. Neither did Worriette; she was hiding her face from it, and beginning to make the strange trilling growl she had made once before, at Applegate.

'I think we should definitely go right,' said Shelley.

'Me too,' said Rilke.

'So be it,' said Korman. 'We will join the Optimists.' He did not say anything, but he was troubled by the wurrier's behaviour. He felt a warrior's sense of foreboding about the left bank. Something was lurking there, besides the usual negativity of the Pessimists.

'Yay!' said Rilke, and Worriette squeaked in apparent relief.

They descended the narrow stairway to the sunny side of Baz Apédnapath, and soon came to the first settlement, a small enclave of very serious-looking men in silken white robes, like Indian monks, barefooted and shaven-headed. But all had gold or silver pendants about their necks, some set with gems.

'These are descendants of the first colony of Truth-Seekers,' said Korman. 'They are prosperous. The further along we go, the less ancient is the community, and the less wealthy, with a few notable exceptions, such as the Diamond community whose mines have made them rich.'

They were being watched, but most of the men were absorbed in various Yoga-like contortions, sitting meditating at the edge of the Canyon or playing a board game which looked quite like Chinese checkers, with five sides to the board and a central Labyrinth like the one in the Tower, and the pieces were set with jewels. There were women going about their more mundane business, washing clothes and cooking on an open-air oven and barbecue, chatting, laughing and singing, ignoring the men or giving them the occasional sultry glance. They were dressed in various styles, some flamboyant and colourful, with many ornaments in their braided hair, and necklaces and bangles, and anklets with bells.

'It seems that the white monks live the contemplative life while their womenfolk keep up the practical and the social life of the community,' said Korman. Shelley frowned her disapproval. One of the men approached them and asked if they had items to trade. Korman took out his crystals, negotiated a price for one and got a supply of dried fish in return.

'Where do they get fish from?' asked Rilke.

'Look!' said Korman. Some of the white-robed monks were dangling silk fishing lines from long bamboo fishing-poles, all the way down into the water. There was a twitch on one rod and the monk began laboriously winding the line in, using a reel which looked remarkably like Shelley's father's, except it appeared to be made entirely of wood. When the fish was finally landed – a silvery fish like a mullet, but with much bigger eyes – the monk did an elaborate ritual, chanting indecipherable words, before dispatching the fish with a carved stone.

'I want to get a fishing rod and catch some fish!' said Rilke excitedly.

'I thought you were going to be a vegetarian,' said Korman.

'I'll only eat fish. They're not the same as rabbits and sheep and...birds.'

Meanwhile, a pair of highly evangelical monks were asking Shelley if she had ever considered joining the 'Mother Community.'

'We were the first. We built the Tower of the North Gate, and only we hold to the original Concept in its purity,' one was saying. 'Join us at a teaching session tonight at sunset! You have the Gift, we can sense it! Learn to seek the Kortana within!' Shelley noticed the two had very bright eyes, and seemed excited to see the newcomers.

'Only when the Kortana has reunited the Nine Worlds will the Golden Age return. By chanting and seeking the Chosen One, we hasten her arrival in our midst.'

'The Chosen One is a woman?' asked Shelley in surprise.

'Yes, little girl,' said the other monk, 'And we seek her daily. She will come here, to us, naturally. But fewer and fewer of our womenfolk heed the call and join the Order, preferring the affairs of everyday life. And they tempt us away from our devotion to the Search. Perhaps you, young stranger, will be different.'

But Korman excused her and led them out of the courtyard of the White Monks. The two monks followed behind, urging her to stay, their voices rising in protest, and finally curses, as the travellers passed through a door cut in the cliff, into the territory of the next sect, where the White Monks would not go without elaborate ritual protection.

'Couldn't we have told them, Korman – I mean Nimmath? After all the time they've been waiting...'

'We do not need them to tell us about the Kortana, or to risk their outrage if we tell them that you are indeed She,' said Korman as they hurried on. 'For they put flowers on the tombs of the prophets of the Kortana, whom their fathers killed. But would they welcome you? And if they did, would they let you go? They would make you their prisoner, put you on a gilded pedestal to worship at their leisure, and kill you with kindness.'

'I want a fishing rod,' said Rilke.

'Maybe later,' said Korman.

Before them was a long courtyard, deeply hewn into the cliff, pillared with a line of massive piers near the cliff-edge, and bustling with saffron-robed men, women and children. It was as before: preaching, entreaties to stay, then disappointment, indignation and anger when they passed on. Shelley began to feel uneasy at the intensity of their reactions.

In each little realm they passed through they inquired if anyone knew the wife of Azure, Goldheart the Fair. There was shaking of heads at the mention of the Artists' colony, and some spat on the ground and turned away. But no one knew of a Goldheart, the wife of Azure. 'Still, that does not mean much, the factions hardly talk to each other,' said Korman.

Eventually they came to the Debating Chambers, where a great scallop-shaped hollow in the cliffs amplified the speakers' voices and issues of Language, Truth and Logic were discussed night and day, always with reference to the writings of the founders and commentaries upon them, and commentaries upon the commentaries.

'Look at that big crystal!' cried Rilke, staring up at the many-facetted orb that nestled in a circular window over the arched doorway. 'What is it for?'

'Come inside and see,' said Korman. They saw that the light from the crystal sent patches of colour over the scalloped hollow. Inscribed around the orb were the words 'Crystal of the One Truth,' and a date, with the year twenty-seven in the Aedenese numerals.

'This was put here a long time ago, then, probably by the first founders, the exiled Truth-seekers, three Nineyears after their first arrival,' said Korman.

'I wonder if anyone here will ever be able to agree on what that one Truth is,' remarked Shelley.

'Ah, yes, that has always been the problem for the seekers of Truth,' sighed Korman.

All colours and styles of robe and cassock and loincloth were worn by the various debating monks, eager representatives of their own particular communities, and all manner of hairstyle and adornment, or lack of it. There were women, too, from ascetic nuns to voluptuous amazons. No one seemed to notice as the strangers passed through the outer edge of the chamber along the Neutral Pathway which joined the communities like a string of pearls. An impassioned speaker, a young man in a black monk's habit, with long black unkempt hair and wild eyes, had the podium.

'Thank you for receiving us to this side of the Canyon,' he was saying. 'For those that have ears to hear among you, O ye Optimists of vain hope, hear me now:

'It is certain to me that the Void, being that from which all things came, is our friend, not something to flee! Why do we run, down through endless years, seeking to build endless new forms, whether of thought or of material things, when all possible forms are contained within the Void from the Beginning? Wisdom consists in ceasing to create, and learning to embrace the blissful dissolution of all transitory, ephemeral forms into the eternal Real, the Void into which all forms return, whether we will it or not! Therefore, woe to ye who cling to the vanities of life! Only in death is there true life!' There were murmurs of disapproval through the audience, but a burst of applause from the front, where rows of black-robed monks sat solemnly beating the floor with their feet and clapping in unison. Worriette hid in Rilke's arms and shivered.

'The doctrines of the Aghmaath are being preached here, too!' muttered Korman as they hurried past. 'I wonder if any of their missionaries have come to the Pessimists' side, or is this the Dreamcasters' work?'

As the daylight faded from the narrow strip of sky far above, little lights came on one by one, twinkling in the caves up and down the Canyon. On the other side the lights were mainly a dull reddish-amber colour. 'Blood-amber!' thought Korman, 'Not a good sign.' A gong rang out, its deep tones reverberating along the cliffs. They walked on, uneasy at the sound, which was far too like an Aghmaath call to prayer for Korman's liking.

Chapter Twenty-seven

At the Flying Unicorn

They were making for the inn which they were told was at the back of the Market Chambers, where the Traders congregated to sell their wares – bolts of dyed silk, raw amber, olive oil, dried fruits, root vegetables, iron implements, paper and ink and ground pigments, and beer and wine – and to haggle with the tailors, the icon-painters, the amber-carvers and the diamond cutters, the poets and the prophets, the fishmongers and the silversmiths of the Canyon.

When they passed through one especially ornate archway, they guessed at once that they had found the Market Chambers. The walls were lined with booths lit by olive-oil lamps, and under the lamps were the Traders, settling down for the night by charcoal fires in front of their booths, guarding their wares until morning. There were also Pagrathim, the Willow People from the marshy river valleys of the south-east beyond Baldrock. Shelley looked at their beautiful willow basketware, but Rilke had eyes only for the little coracle of wickerwork stopped with resin, its hull polished and gleaming, its little paddle stowed under the seat. He imagined paddling along the Bottomless Lake, fishing and exploring. Korman noticed that they had packets of willowbark powder, for headaches and other pains.

In the middle of the inner wall was a large doorway in a protruding foyer which rose all the way to the rocky roof, five storeys high, with lighted bay windows at each level overlooking the semicircular marketplace. A shroud of smoke drifted up the roof and out into the Canyon. The Gypsy-like music of the Traders filled the space with an exotic market atmosphere. Around some of the campfires dancers swayed as the strip of sky turned sunset colours and made the Canyon walls glow red and purple. The brightest stars of Aeden began to twinkle in the twilight.

'Follow my lead, and do not speak of our mission,' said Korman quietly. 'We do not know if there are spies of the Aghmaath here. Not all of the Traders are to be trusted. They pass through places held by the Aghmaath, and pay tribute to them, sometimes in the form of information.' Worriette peeked out from under Rilke's tunic, and nervously sniffed the smoky air.

'And keep the wurrier out of sight,' Korman added. A knot of tough-looking children edged towards them, and Worriette disappeared into Rilke's tunic again.

'How much for the gagavala?' said one of the children, a little boy with a grimy face.

'What gagavala?' said Rilke.

'The one in your tunic,' said another boy.

Worriette peered out as if on cue, and the boys guffawed.

'She's not for sale,' said Rilke.

'We could take her off you,' said the first boy. But Korman turned and stared at the children, and waved them away. They scattered like leaves blown by a sudden wind. Rilke and Shelley felt pleased and safe to be walking next to Korman the Guardian. But one of the boys turned and called mockingly, 'What happened to your arm, old man?' Rilke made faces at him, but Korman ignored the boy. Rilke said, 'Show them your sword, Korman – I mean Nimmath!'

'It is not their fault. Traders' children,' he replied.

A thin, lanky man with an ill-favoured face which reminded Shelley of a starving wolf she had once seen on a nature programme, came sidling up to Korman. 'Good sire, I couldn't help but overhear the dear little boy,' he said, ruffling Rilke's hair in a way that made Shelley bristle and Rilke grimace, 'mentioning the... y'know...' He gestured furtively at the sword.

'It is not for sale,' said Korman.

'Every man has his price... Korman... is it?' said the wolf-man, a slight hint of menace in his voice.

'I am Nimmath, a poor scholar and crystal-trader. Perhaps you heard the boy here call me Korman. It is a game he plays – a dangerous one, given that Korman the Outcast has a price on his head.' Korman looked hard at Rilke as he said this. 'But as to every man having his price, sire, that may be true of the agragathra-diggers, but not of Tímathians.' Korman had noticed the man's stall, piled high with nuggets of red amber. (Agragathra, or Blood-amber, came from the bled sap of the dying jeweltrees long ago. Some was buried and never recovered by the Jeweltree Bleeders, and now some of their descendants were mining for it, scarring the earth of the sacred sites with their tailings.)

'I've got a living to make, same as you. Times are tough. And oikor talks. Especially gold oikor. So, is that a... y'know... firesword by any chance?' The wolfish man licked his thin lips.

'If it was, it would be beyond your purse. Go back to your stall.'

'Twenty shiny golden Tazzers say it's not.' (A Tazzer is short for Tazrashti, one hundred silver enrath.)

'Your oikor money does not talk to me. The sword is not for sale, especially to an amber-digger with that kind of money. Only if you had bribed the Aghmaath and dug in the ancient groves deep in the thornfields would you have such wealth.'

'By Oinkapag the Great, now you're really twisting my arm! All right, fifty. Come on, that's five Loonlith – a Maker's ransom!' The man's eyes glowed with a red light like the blood-amber he mined. Korman appeared to hesitate. His eyes narrowed.

'Those who swear by Oikorpaggith may find themselves dying for him. But show me the coins.'

'Korman! Don't sell the...' Rilke spoke his name before Shelley clapped her hand over his mouth.

The digger gave a wolfish grin, but made no comment as he opened a filthy leather purse hidden under his tattered cloak. Gold glinted pure as sunlight within. He poured out the coins into his big, gnarled, grimy hand, where they gleamed enticingly in the lamplight. There were heavy Tazzers with the Tree of Life on one side and the head of Oinkapag (the Trader who had first instituted the currency) on the other, and shiny golden Loonliths stamped with the Loom of Destiny; and a few smaller coins – silver avapads, avlits, avlasts and enraths – and one golden pharit with an image of what looked to Shelley like a cicada with hands, but which she knew to be a Maker. Rilke was mesmerised; he reached out to touch the precious coins. 'Ah-ah,' snapped the digger, grabbing Rilke's wrist and moving it away from the money. 'Get your own!'

Bootnip poked his head over the edge of Korman's pack and sniffed the air. He had heard gold; now he smelt it.

At that moment, a strangled growling noise came from the digger. 'As if his wolfy stomach is demanding meat,' thought Shelley with disgust. Ignoring the growling in his stomach, the digger picked up one of the golden Tazzers and bit it, then caressed it with his fingers. 'Pure as the driven snow,' he said, winking at Shelley and showing Korman the dent his teeth had made. Shelley noticed the saliva on it with disgust.

'I will meet you at your stall tomorrow night at this time,' said Korman, quietly. 'I will think about your offer.' Shelley looked at him to see if he was joking, but his face was impassive. Bootnip was beside himself now, growling ferociously at the digger's stomach. A small bristly head had appeared from under the man's cloak, growling back at Bootnip and baring long yellow teeth. Its snout was rubbed bare from grubbing for amber, making it look more like a large rat than an anklebiter. Its beady eyes glowed dull red as it stared first at Bootnip (now scrabbling to get out of Korman's pack) then at the gold coins as the man jingled them back into the moneybag.

'Your anklebiter looks hungry,' said Korman. Worriette cringed down even lower in Rilke's tunic, shivering. She did not trust Bootnip; two anklebiters was more than she could cope with.

'My Ratty'd eat yours for dinner, Nimmath,' smirked the wolf-man. 'Best fighting gathrag this side of Raiderville. Want to put them in the pit and wager?' Shelley now saw that the poor anklebiter was imprisoned in a tiny cage attached to the man's broad leather belt, and that it had gnawed two of the bars and stuck its head through the gap.

'I suppose you feed him blood-amber, too,' put in Rilke indignantly. 'Meany!' He looked ready to launch himself at the man, who was stuffing the anklebiter's head back through the bars with a filthy handkerchief as padding. But the man leered and winked at Shelley, who glared back at him.

'I feed Ratty some when he digs it up; and why not, little master? That agragathra's good stuff! One little piece of it keeps him digging all night. Why not come with us, boy, and find out how much you can earn in one night on the amberfields?'

'My anklebiter does not fight, and Rilke is not going to be apprenticed to a blood-amber digger for any money,' said Korman politely but firmly. Rilke had been entranced by the golden coins; now he looked almost tempted by the digger's offer. 'Come, children, we had better be going.' Korman pushed the snarling Bootnip back down into his pack, put a firm hand on Rilke and guided him away from the man, who seemed to have taken a liking to the boy.

'He'd eat your little rogga for supper, too,' the man grinned as he loped off. 'Get yourself a gathrag, and I'll show you how to train it. Make your fortune!'

'Worriette is NOT a werewurrier!' yelled Rilke. But he heard the suggestion, and was already imagining himself and his anklebiter digging up an amber fortune.

'Just joking, son,' said the digger over his shoulder. 'See you later.' Korman felt Rilke quivering with indignation – and perhaps with something else.

'How could you be so polite?' he asked Korman as they walked away. 'Why didn't you cut his head off and rescue the poor thing?' Shelley thought privately that one anklebiter was more than enough for them, but she had the good sense not to say so in front of Rilke.

'"Respect all, even the misguided. Choose your battles well. Talk twice, then if need be, strike once,"' Korman quoted the Tímathian sage.

'So you'll see him tomorrow and talk, and then you'll cut his head off?' asked Rilke excitedly.

'Rilke!' Shelley scolded.

'That is not exactly what I had in mind, Rilke,' said Korman. 'I cannot rescue all the mistreated anklebiters of Aeden, and we must keep out of trouble, for all Aeden's sake. And remember, I am Nimmath!'

They were now approaching the inn. Above the doorway hung its sign:

The Flying Unicorn

On the oaken sign was a silver winged unicorn, with a long spiralling ivory horn and eyes of amber and pearl. Shelley was reminded of the unicorn which brought her to Aeden, and she felt a stab of homesickness. 'At least we should get a comfortable bed and breakfast here,' she thought.

And the inn did seem very homely. While the children settled into their upstairs rooms (which looked out into the marketplace and of course beyond that the Canyon, which from that height looked even deeper), Korman went down to the dimly-lit bar. He walked to the long polished counter. He saw by the rich glow of gold and silver flecks in the grain that it was made from jeweltree timber, heartwood of the highest grade. He thought sadly of the history of Aeden under the influence of the Tenth-worlders, and the felling of the dead jeweltrees after the Bleeders had done their work. And on a shelf between the bottles of apple whisky was a large piece of red amber with an encapsulated hopemoth in it. He felt his anger rise, but reminded himself, 'Choose your battles!' He struck up a conversation with the barman, Ted, a rough but cheery Aedenite, a Trader's son from Applegate, as he soon told Korman.

'Ah, it's a bad business, Nimmath, it is! Those so-called missionaries comin' in everywhere. First they come, then it's them Apples of Peace, so called, then it's the Black Rock. Then the Deathwagon comes for all them as won't eat the apples and worship the black rock. That's why I came here, to get away from all o' that. They took my old man away, they did.

'Nah, it's no good on top any more. Anyway, the Flying Unicorn's got as good a beer as any up top. This is my 'ome now. If they want me, they'll have to come down and get me, and then I'll give 'em Bertha here.' He pulled out a heavy object from under the counter and showed it to Korman. It was a gun like the old blunderbuss of Earth, with a polished wooden stock and a huge dark oiled steel barrel ending in a wide trumpet-like mouth.

'Where did you get that?' asked Korman.

'It fell off the back of a supply wagon those monsters were driving east from the Nered factories. It's a new kind of weapon they got the Edarthan boys to make for 'em. Some of the amber-diggers got 'em too – in their trade, they'd need 'em. My dad bought it on the black market, showed me how to fire it. Cost 'im his life – they found out he had it. I escaped with it when they came for us. Shot one of 'em, too.' Korman shook his head grimly.

'That is unfortunate. May you not live to meet his avengers! They will be tracking you. I would not show the weapon here again. I would throw it into the Lake this very night. Weapons like that will not save you, only draw them to you the sooner.'

'Thanks, but I'll keep it all the same.'

'Then at least keep it hidden.' Ted just shrugged, and put the gun back under the counter. 'There, out of sight out of mind.'

'Not out of the Mindprobers' sight,' said Korman.

Then, seeing he was wasting his time warning Ted, he asked concerning Goldheart.

'Oh, 'er, nice girl, poor thing keeps to herself since her man left, crazy idealist he was! Tried courtin' her, but nothin' doing. Her 'ouse is just two chambers down the line, by the caves of the Icon Painters. Why?'

'I have a message for her from her husband,' said Korman.

'Well, what about a beer now? As I say, it's the best. Keeps me 'comin' back for more!'

'Maybe later. Cider's better for an old Tímathian.' Korman ordered a tankard of last year's Applegate cider (Perhaps the last, he thought sadly) and sat in a dark corner where he could listen to the gossip unobserved. The atmosphere was subdued, he felt. There was a shadow on the hearts of the Traders who were drinking there, and the Canyon people talked together quietly in twos and threes, pausing often to look around, as if afraid of being overheard. A poet, who had been drowning his sorrows in cider, got up and began to recite a ballad of the Golden Age, but few cheered him. Some sneered.

'There'll be no more of your 'golden ages' here on Aeden,' said one. 'More likely the dark ages!' The poet, discouraged, slumped back on his bench and resumed his drinking.

Korman listened and thought some more, remaining in his dark corner of the bar, brooding over the likelihood of an attack on the Canyon. What worried him most was the heedless prosperity he had seen; the undefended accumulation of wealth from trades and skills which few others on Aeden still practised or even knew: diamond-cutting, icon-painting, silversmithing, lamp-making, papermaking, manuscript copying and illuminating, and many other arts. The people seemed to almost completely ignore the world above, though they traded with it every day. But they put all their faith in the Gates and the gatekeepers. 'The Aghmaath will have heard of their wealth,' Korman mused, 'and will want to seize it, to add the carrot of bribery and corruption to the stick of fear and despair, the sooner to turn the good people of Aeden to the Void. For the roots of the old Order go deep, here in the ancient Hub. And the Ürxura have not yet been conquered; or the Boy Raiders. And Ürak Tara remains, a hidden source of power, as does the Lady...' He ordered a tankard of Flying Unicorn beer, to celebrate that thought. 'Just one,' he said to himself. 'It could be the last for a long time.'

True to his intention, he finished the beer (Ted was right; it was excellent) and retired to his room next to the children's. The market outside was silent. The only sound was a dog howling in the distance, a lonely sound that echoed down the starlit Canyon. Bootnip was fast asleep after his ferocious encounter with the stranger. Korman lit a candle, tapped his singing bowl and to its peaceful vibrations recited the Chant of the Concept. Then he blew out the candle and meditated upon the Lady, sitting upright with his hand on his knees like a statue of some ancient king.

But he could not concentrate, and began anxiously pondering the path ahead. He felt a tension in the air, and a familiar tension building in his head and shoulders. Now there was a dull pain beginning. It had been a long time since he had had a migraine. Sometime it was brought on by a mindprobe from the enemy, sometimes (he thought) by beer, but usually, he knew, it had been his own inner tensions, as the Guardian part of him fought with the worshipper of the Goddess, and his doubts and self-blame formed a nasty knot just below the surface of his mind. 'But now I have done penance, I am single-minded, (almost) and I follow the Way of the Lady in harmony with the Concept. Best of all, I have found the Kortana, and she goes with me according to the will of the Lady. So, why this tension?' he wondered. Then he remembered the unpleasant haggling with the amber-digger. 'Why did I make an appointment with the knave?' he groaned. 'Just to get away from him without a confrontation. But was it worth it?' He hated having something like that hanging over him; it was one cause of the headache, he knew. He wondered how much the information the man had gleaned would be worth to the Aghmaath. 'We will have to be long gone before tomorrow night. 'But no, I promised to meet the man again...' Anxious thoughts flew into his head like bats to amber. But he made himself lie back and let his thoughts flit out again to chase insects in the dark, and soon he was asleep.

In the dead of night a junior Mindprober stalking the Dreamweb paid his usual visits to the sleeping minds of the Canyon dwellers, and in many minds he saw fragments of great interest, which he conveyed urgently to the Tor Enyása, where the unsleeping Masters were. In those fragments, a girl and a fugitive Guardian walked the paths of Baz Apédnapath, and the Guardian had a sword he refused to sell to a certain amber-digger for fifty gold pieces. 'Could it be the Great Sword that is carried but not wielded, by the fool they call Korman the Outcast?' he wondered. 'My reward will be great if I... Just then his superior in the Void heard his lustful thought, and pierced him with a mindbolt. 'Report to me all you saw, then do penance in the thorn-seat,' snarled the voice in his head.

Gullquill was troubled. The Trader he had let out at midnight on 'Urgent Business, a matter of Life and Death,' as he had put it, disturbed him. There was a lean, hungry look on the man's face, and also a shadow of fear. Now Gullquill couldn't sleep, so he lit a candle and began to read the little book which Korman had given him, Poems of the Kortana. It comforted him greatly. 'Almost I begin to believe that old Tímathian,' he thought as he nodded off. Just then, there was a loud rap at the gates. 'Who can it be now? If it is that Trader again, wanting to get back in, I'll box his ears!'

Shelley, too, was restless. She got up and tiptoed to the window. The courtyard below was full of the tents and baggage of the Traders, but the fires were burnt out, and the only light was the faint starlight coming from the narrow strip of sky and gleaming on the damp rock of the other side of the Canyon. There were dark openings there, row on row of them, and she wondered what people would choose to live in there, on the side where the sun never shone.

'The Pessimists,' she murmured. 'I guess they like being that way. They never have to be disappointed. Maybe they're right, we're just hopeless optimists on this side. Doomed to disappointment.' A wave of sadness and loneliness swept over her. She shivered. Then one of the gaping openings across the Canyon caught her eye. It was shaped like a skull. Out of it came a glitter of eyes – or rather an Eye. It locked with hers and spoke into her mind chill words of death. In vision she stood again at the gaping maw of the Dark Labyrinth, into which the Death Wagons rolled, night after night.

'Why fight it? It is the destiny of all life to die. That is the portal to Nowhere, where you will at last find peace, forgetfulness of this struggle, this endless, pointless struggle you call life,' said the voice. She stood transfixed, horrified, but also strangely tempted.

'Why resist?' replied the voice, reading her innermost thoughts. 'For you will all surely die, sooner than you think. Surrender now willingly to death, and you will fly free, and be spared what is to pass.' Now it all seemed clear. She felt light-headed, and the darkness was inviting. She opened the window wide, and stood on the ledge, about to step out into the void. It was five storeys up, but she did not fear. Then she realised what was happening: this was a Dreamcaster speaking to her. But instead of following Korman's instructions to make her mind as a mirror of silver, she felt an unreasoning trust in the message of the voice. She whispered, 'I am coming!' and stepped out into the welcoming void. With a lurch in her stomach like taking off on a flying fox, she was gone, plummeting into the glowing nothingness.

But at that moment a white blur swooped into the courtyard and Shelley felt a warm powerful something lifting her up. Instead of falling to easeful oblivion, she was very much alive, flying effortlessly through the night on the back of the White Unicorn. Far below was the Canyon, receding fast. She gasped in the cold fresh air, exhilarated by the joy of flight. The unicorn wheeled, and there below them was the whole island realm of Aeden spread like a jewelled starfish in a silvery sea. The Blue Moon was rising, suspended over the distant edge of the ocean. Shelley was wondering what was over that horizon, when she found she was surrounded by glowing fireflies, like tiny jewels. They were singing, a huge choir of tiny angels singing the glories of life and of creation. She heard a voice saying to her, but not in words:

'Death is, but not as they have told you. For death is but a doorway to new life. We know! We are the Makers, with you in spirit always, though down on Aeden you walk in the midst of mindwebs. Be creative and joyful! Above all, love, and you will find a way for Aeden's life to go on, to triumph over the worship of death.' Then the song increased in intensity until she felt she would die of joy.

'No more!' she begged. Then she felt the unicorn beneath her falling, angling back down in long sweeps to the island. For an instant she saw an image of the Lady, still in the thorns of the dark valley, but glowing with light and radiant with love, then she was back in the Canyon, gliding along its length. There was a white mist lying in it like cloud-tops. And she saw, in the gaping caves of the Pessimist's side, an army of endarkened ones gathering, standing in the shadows, waiting with ropes, catapults, and cruel grappling hooks.

'They're going to attack!' she thought. 'I've got to get back and warn Korman!' But then the unicorn seemed to melt away into the white sheets of the cosy bed.

'It was just a dream!' she sighed, with relief. 'But what a dream!' Then she remembered she had taken off her silver helmet. She reached out and put it on, then sank back into a dreamless slumber, until she heard in her sleep the sound of knocking on a hollow door. She was in the hall of the Labyrinth at the head of the Canyon, and a deep dread grew on her as she approached the sound of the knocking. There was Gullquill the gatekeeper, trembling but refusing to open to the one who stood at the door, dark and menacing. It was Hithrax. His third eye flicked open like a jack-knife and mindbolts spewed forth, snaking up at the archers in the windows. Cries came from above; one man fell screaming out of a window to die at Hithrax's feet, then another. But the rest of the guards rallied, putting on their silver helmets and holding up their silver shields. 'The siege has begun!' cried Shelley in her sleep, but no one could hear her.

Chapter Twenty-eight

The Eel of Ill Omen

The next morning, Korman awoke at first light. He sat bolt upright at first, listening intently. His headache had grown. 'I should not have had that beer after the cider,' he thought. There was no sound of trouble, only the murmur of the early stall-holders in the square below the inn, and the lapping of the lake waters coming up from the depths of the canyon. He sighed with relief. His dark misgivings of the night before were receding with the coming of sunlight on the high canyon walls.

After a brief meditation to the pure tone of the singing bowl he also felt the tightness in his head lift. He called the children, and tempted by the smell of cooking they roused themselves and ran downstairs, with Worriette in tow. They had breakfast together in the big dining room, which was at this hour nearly empty. They were served by Ted the barman, who was burning apple fritters and fish in the kitchen and grumbling at having to stand in for the cook, who had vanished in the night and could not be found. Ted's cooking was not the best, and Rilke fed Worriette the burnt bits of apple as she chattered her appreciation. Korman thought, 'All is well, it seems, after all. We should be safely out of the Canyon before nightfall.' He smiled at Worriette as she clambered onto Rilke's head and put her little hands over his eyes until he fed her some of his fritter with cream on it as well.

But Shelley was subdued. When she told Korman her two dreams, his smile faded and he became grave. 'Still, you are privileged to have seen a vision of the Makers, as they are now, they say, points of light like firefly stars in the vastness of heaven,' he said. 'Even more, to have heard their music, which they say echoes the music of the spheres!'

'I... I didn't hear all of it. I asked them to stop. It was too much... But Korman, what about the dark army I saw, and the ropes and things?'

'That is odd. The Aghmaath did not formerly build siege devices, or make open war. That is a human trait.' He sighed. 'But if the Lady sent the Ürxura to rescue you from the Dreamcaster, she was surely also the one who sent us this warning of an imminent attack from the other side. We must try to alert the people of the Canyon.'

'But, talk about "Seekers of Truth" – they're hopelessly divided! And heedless of the outside world,' said Shelley.

Korman fell silent, pondering or praying – Shelley could not tell.

Then he announced, 'We must go back to the Debating Chambers. You will speak to them, and tell them to prepare for battle.'

'What? Me?'

'Of course. It was your vision – or do you not believe it?' Korman looked at her searchingly.

'Oh, all right. I'll try,' she sighed, trying to be casual, but her stomach flipped at the thought of getting up and talking to all those critical people.

'Good,' said Korman. 'Do not worry; I will address the people also. Now let us go immediately. Back to the Debating Chambers.'

Rilke, who had not been listening, and was now playing with Worriette under the table, poked his head from under the tablecloth. 'What, did you say go back? That's boring! I want to go on and explore, and have lots of adventures!'

'You may have all the adventures you want and more, soon enough,' replied Korman ominously, and Rilke fell silent for a while.

Then he asked, 'Can I go fishing then?'

'Let him, Korman!' said Shelley. 'At least then we'll be able to get on with it in peace.'

So they left Rilke with an old fisherwoman who sat patiently dangling several lines over the edge near the marketplace, and selling bait and fishing rods to passers-by.

'Five enrath for the rod and line, one for the bait,' she said, and Korman turned out his pockets for the silver coins. Crystals he still had, but few coins. He preferred the old way of honest barter.

'This crystal, perhaps?' he asked, but she shook her head.

'Only Oikor. Trader-money. Times are tough.'

'I've got some money!' Rilke said, and pulled out a handful of the tiny corit coins.

'Where did you get those?' asked Shelley.

'Traded a crystal with a boy.'

'Well, you shouldn't have. It was probably worth twice what he paid. At least; maybe even a pharit. How could you, after last night, and that horrible wolfy-faced amber-digger trying to buy Korman's sword for a few gold coins?'

The fisherwoman accepted Rilke's coins with a sniff, and showed him how to bait the hook and throw the line out towards the middle. The strong silk unspooled from the wooden reel, and Rilke was delighted, peering down where the stone sinker had plummeted into the dark green of the Bottomless Lake. He even didn't look up as the others went on their way. They heard him yell, 'I think I got a bite!' as Korman stopped at the Pagrathim's stall for some willowbark powder for his headache. Then they went through the carved archway and out of the Market Chambers.

At the Debating Chambers, Shelley stood up as soon as the daily assembly began, her heart in her mouth. She spoke of her ominous dream, and begged them to unite, reminding them of the oneness of the Truth, pointing to the Crystal of the One Truth that their forefathers had put over the doorway. Some of the listeners booed and jeered. But then, as the golden morning sun lit up the cliffs, a ray of light struck the crystal, and its divided colours stained the white walls of the speaker's shell with brilliant rainbows, all at different angles to one another, reminding Shelley of a photograph of the galaxies in deep space. She was blinded for a second by the beams from the crystal, ruby and violet and emerald flashing into her eyes. She looked away, and after-images danced in the darkness. Then she heard Korman's voice, full of indignation at the way they were treating her. He had apparently decided to throw caution to the wind.

'Descendants of the first Seekers of Truth who came here united! I am Korman, last Tidak of Aeden. Look! The light is one Light, though you see it through many prisms. Return to that unity, and know that you are all one. Then act together, to defend yourselves against those who would force you to deny not only the Light but Life itself! For they are surely coming. Yet help has also come. For those of you with eyes to see, the Kortana is here, standing before you! Now, therefore, is the time for battle, to stand together with her against the forces of endarkenment!'

It was Korman, but not as she had known him. He towered over her, an Old Testament prophet warning the people of imminent judgement. He held up his staff, and the rainbows of the crystal were swallowed up for a moment in a blaze of white light.

Shelley knew that the light came from the Tree of Life itself and the lightning which now charged it since she had arrived on Aeden. She felt sure that all the people would respond to Korman's call, so powerful it felt to her. But only a few cheered and rallied to their side; the rest shrank away, murmuring amongst themselves, each in his or her own group.

'Who is this presumptuous girl, and who are you to preach these worn-out lies, Korman the Tidak, or should I say, Korman the Outcast?' called a strident voice. It was the preacher from the day before, wild-eyed and exultant. 'Behold, I too had a dream: in my dream I saw the liberators from illusory life coming as the locusts to destroy the stubborn clingers to illusory pleasures and vain disputations about the Truth! They come, they come! Let us welcome them, the true prophets, lest we be justly condemned! You are not worthy to untie their sandals! I spit upon you!'

But Korman was already holding urgent council with those who had heeded the warning. Swift runners carrying alarm-bells were sent up and down the Canyon to speak to all those who might be persuaded to forget their differences and fight the Aghmaath. They were still making hasty battle-plans in the Debating Chambers when Shelley remembered: Rilke was still fishing in the Market-place. They made their way back through the jostling crowds who were now thronging the Neutral Pathway, like hornets in a nest which had been stirred with a stick. The runners had rung their bells and yelled 'Foes are at the gates! Rally to the Girl and the Guardian in the Debating Chambers!' as they went, and now many were hurrying there, if only to see what was going on, and to cheer or jeer as they saw fit.

As they walked, Korman praised Shelley. 'You did very well in the Debating Chamber! We have made a difference today. The pebble we threw may cause an avalanche yet.'

When the people got to the Debating Cambers and there was no Girl or Guardian to be seen, they grumbled and spoke ill of the runners. 'It was a false alarm!' they told everyone they saw, and the people stopped running and went about their various businesses again. But in the Debating Chambers, the preacher continued to rave, and many were moved to listen to him. There was a new feeling in the air, of impending doom, and their hearts told them the end was indeed near...

When Korman and Shelley got back to Rilke, he didn't want to budge, as he claimed he had almost caught a fish, a huge one, but it had got off just as he hauled it up the last few feet. But Korman said, 'Time for other adventures. Let the fish be, and let it grow even bigger for next time. We could sell the good lady the rod back, perhaps.' She held up a gnarled finger. 'One enrath.' Shelley was outraged at the old fisherwoman, and Rilke refused to part with the fishing rod at any price. But he slowly reeled it in (hoping for a last-minute bite) while Korman waited as patiently as he could. Shelley finally grabbed the rod and was about to hastily wind the rest of the line in, when the whole rod jerked downwards and the reel began unwinding in Shelley's hands, the ratchet noisily clicking as a strong, steady pull strained the line to breaking-point. 'Give me the rod!' cried Rilke, beside himself with excitement. Shelley nobly let him have it. By now the reel was screaming as the line sped out. Suddenly it came to the end, and Rilke was dragged against the handrail at the very edge of the canyon. The old fisherwoman sprang up and cut the line with a swift slash of her knife. Rilke watched in dismay as it snaked down into the lake. The others looked down too. Far below they saw spreading ripples where something big had broken the surface, then dived back into the green depths.

'It was huge! And you... you... cut the line! Why? Why?' Rilke stammered in shock and anger at the old woman.

'It was the Great Zaghlizagonamara. We do not catch those; and this one is so big he would have pulled you right in and eaten you up,' she snapped. Rilke burst into tears, and she added, more gently, 'He broke my line too, once. And that was long ago, when he was smaller.'

To Korman she added in a low voice, 'And no good came of it. Mark my words: it is an omen. They do not usually take the bait.'

'Perhaps you are right,' said Korman, and he told her of Shelley's dream. 'Therefore I counsel you: flee the Canyon, unless you wish to be ruled by the Aghmaath.'

'I would cast myself into the Bottomless Lake sooner!' she replied, looking at Shelley oddly, but with respect. She stood undecided for a moment. 'She who dreamt the dream, hooked the Zaghlizagonamara...' she muttered. 'It is an omen. I will heed your warning, though I dare say I'll perish in the wilderness.' She began packing up her things. Shelley tucked Worriette into her tunic and held Rilke's hand to comfort him. He was still shaking from the excitement, and still clutched the rod, now empty of line. 'Here is your money back, for luck, and a skein of new silk,' said the old fisherwoman. 'May you catch a big shiny meralav next time!'

Rilke brightened up, and thanked her.

'Now, south to the gates and the next stage of the journey!' said Korman. 'We have done what we can for these people. The Kortana must not be here when the noose is tightened.' Looking over at the stalls, he noticed that the wolfish amber-digger's stall was gone. 'The rat leaves the sinking ship,' he thought grimly, and turned to lead them swiftly out of the Canyon.

Then Shelley remembered Goldheart. 'Wait! We've got to go and try one more time to find Azure's wife, to warn her. And we've got to give her the present.'

'Yes, you are right! I had forgotten,' said Korman. 'But we must be swift. The trap is about to be sprung; I can feel it.' They left the Market Chambers and hurried to find Goldheart. On the way Shelley asked Korman, 'What is a Zaghlizagonamara, anyway?'

'It is a giant... ah...' he hesitated to finish the sentence. 'Suffice to say, it is as long as its name suggests.'

'You mean it's an... eel?' Shelley jumped to the worst conclusion.

'Of a kind...'

'Why did you tell me?'

'You asked. A Guardian tells the truth.'

Do they really eat children?' asked Rilke.

'No, they eat other fish, and the scraps the people throw down to them.' Shelley shuddered, and hoped fervently that she would never have to put a toe in those dark waters where the Zaghlizagonamara swam.

At the house which the barman had said was Goldheart's, a tall young woman with flowing golden hair answered the urgent knock of Korman's staff. Shelley thought she was strikingly beautiful, very calm but very sad. She burst out, 'Are you Goldheart the Fair? We've got something for you. From your husband.' The woman's large blue eyes lit up.

'Only my husband called me "The Fair"! So you have seen him! Where is he? Is he well? I was so angry that he left me to follow that crazy dreamer Metaphor, but now, I am just sad...'

'He seemed well, but he told me to say he still loves you and misses you badly, and hopes you'll consider coming to him at the valley of the Artists. He's made a beautiful cave for you and decorated it with lovely paintings.' Shelley handed Goldheart the present Azure had made for her. She opened it, and as she looked at the beautifully painted icon, tears filled her eyes. 'His painting has got better – this is really good,' she murmured. Then she looked at Shelley. 'This icon is a likeness of you, is it not? Portrayed as the Kortana!' Shelley shrugged and looked down.

'Some people say I've been... sent, to help find the lost... you know...'

'And I could believe them, if my husband did! He was always such a seer... Not very practical, but such a seer...' She looked again at the icon, burst into tears, holding Shelley to her as if she was a long-lost daughter. 'Now, I beg you, tell me more about the home my husband made, and any other news of him!'

But Korman gently interrupted: 'Lady, we must be swift. You now have a different path to follow. The Canyon is about to be attacked. Azure your husband...'

'Azure?'

'That is what he renamed himself, in honour, he said, of the pure azure sky of Unlimited Imagination.'

'Oh, how like him! He was always inventing new names for things...'

'I nearly forgot, he said there's a poem, too,' said Shelley. Goldheart looked in the wrapping again, and a little piece of paper fell out. Korman picked it up and handed it to her, glancing up and down the street, aware of the danger but also of the fateful decision Goldheart now had to make. She unfolded the rough hand-made sheet and read it aloud.

From Azure, to the Diamond-cutter's daughter.

Diamond Dreams

You warned:

My little Dream

Will cost me dear,

Ten times or more

Than what I thought:

"Dreams no less than diamonds

In grinding heat are wrought;

Then, mined in pain

Are cut, and dearly bought."'

"I quit," I said.

But you returned:

"You really want

To rust and not to burn?"

Goldheart the Fair, it was you who told me to follow my dream. Will you not come and join me, and burn brightly with me again?

Yours forever,

Azure

Goldheart caught her breath and tears gleamed on her cheeks. 'It is true... I did not want him to give up his dreams, even at this cost... But I stayed.' She drew herself up, tall and beautiful, and the diamond at her breast shone in the morning sun. 'Now I will be true to myself, too: I will join him, and take whatever suffering may come.'

Korman was moved. He knew what this moment meant for her, and for Azure. But he knew she could not go to him.

'Lady, I am glad that you choose life. But now, if you love him you must flee this place. It is doomed. The Kortana is here. She has foreseen an invasion from the other side. The endarkened ones are coming, and I must take her far from here.'

'But if there is to be a battle, I should go to the North Gate, and escape to the hills where my husband... where Azure is. That is my place, I know that now!'

'No, Lady! The Trackers are coming to the North Gate, if they are not there already. The Canyon will soon be under siege. You should come with us. We can only hope that the South Gate is still open.'

'Even supposing it is, where would we go?' Her eyes, a moment before shining with joy, were full of anguish as she looked into Korman's and read the omens of suffering to come.

'To the fortress of Baldrock. There is hope that my brother, the Guardian Hillgard, will be there and that it can be held against the Aghmaath. We will take you there if...'

'You are the brother of Hillgard?' the lady exclaimed, forgetting her grief for a moment. 'Hillgard the Lionhearted? I have heard that name! My parents spoke highly of him. He was one of my childhood heroes. They took him in, before I was born, let me see, seventy-two or seventy-three years ago, soon after the light of the Tor Enyása went out. He was a great knight, broad of shoulder, red of beard, but grievously wounded, and they nursed him back to health. After that he would not stay. He was heading south to the sacred mountain of Baldrock, but would not tell them what he hoped to do there.'

'I am very glad to hear news of my brother! I am called Korman the Outcast. Did he speak of me?

'My parents said that he would not speak of the battle on the Tor Enyása, or of his comrades, only of the days before... before the Arcra-Nama was taken.'

'He was always stubborn! So he survived, and perhaps lives still at Baldrock... But now, there is another terrible battle coming. If you will come with us, it must be now! Take nothing but what you can easily carry.'

They waited at her door while Goldheart went inside, gathered a few possessions and put them in a bag. When she had been gone less than a minute, Rilke fretted, 'What's she doing in there? Let's go! They could be coming right now! And anyway, I could have been fishing all this time!'

Worriette was agitated, too, shivering and looking up and down the street, then up at the horizon, far above where the Canyon cliffs met the cold morning sky. Suddenly she squealed and covered her eyes. Shelley looked up and saw crows, like black specks in the blue, circling and landing on the crags of the Canyon. Their harsh cries echoed along the cliffs of the Canyon, fading into the distance, and answering cries came back. 'The crows know something is about to happen,' she thought. 'Hurry up, Goldheart!'

Korman was drumming his fingers on his swordhilt. Just then Goldheart came hurrying out, carrying a bulging bag. Rilke shook his head and muttered, 'Women!' Shelley frowned fiercely at him. Goldheart shut the door and said, 'Lead on, Korman the Outcast! If you are indeed the brother of Hillgard the Lionhearted, and a Guardian, we will be in good hands!'

'If she knew how I failed all Aeden...' thought Korman as he bowed to her. Then he led the way, striding off down the Neutral Pathway so fast that Rilke soon lagged behind and Shelley had to carry Worriette for him. Korman cried out as they went, 'Man the defences, or else flee to the South Gate! The Aghmaath are coming!' but few took any notice. There were little knots of people of different dress hurrying to and fro, some looking behind them. But most seemed intent on going about their normal business, disputing and trading and lecturing and proselytising.

'It seems the runners... haven't... managed to stir up much of a response,' said Shelley when he slowed down enough for the others to catch up.

'An avalanche may sometimes take a little time,' said Korman grimly. 'When the first sign of an attack comes, then the people will take notice.'

'But then it'll be too late.'

'Perhaps. But my first duty is to get you out safely. You are our only real hope.'

Chapter twenty-nine

The Battle of Baz Apédnapath

They passed many little settlements, mostly poorer than the ones at the northern end. They passed the practitioners of self-sufficiency, where terraces had been hewn into the cliff face and piled with precious soil from above. Many vegetables, fruit and nut trees were growing in these terraces, watered from cisterns in the rock filled by rainwater from the cliffs above. Shelley, seeing the greenery, was filled with a longing to see open countryside again and feel the grass under her feet, and Goldheart sighed, thinking of the Valley of the Artists where Azure waited for her.

Late in the afternoon, as the golden sunlight was fading from the Canyon walls, they came to the Miners' settlement, where the blue-veined cliffs were honeycombed with mines, and sparkling white diamonds were found in abundance, and also the rare blue diamonds of Aeden, found only in Baz Apédnapath. These were called Avalazüra, Blue Apples. They were also known as Avlastrabel, the Blue Applestar, because of the five-facetted cut often used, echoing the five-pointed seed cavity of the apple.

At the Miners' settlement the people were different: confident, well-fed, and proud. They had laughed at the runners' talk of an invasion, and said to them, 'Off with you! We are well-armed, and they are cowards, those Pessimists on the other side. Pathetic Dreamcasters! They would never dare to cross over to attack us. We have strong armour and sharp swords. And good guard-dogs!' The diamonds flashed from gold rings on their hands, and some of the dogs that growled at their side wore collars studded with sharp diamonds. All wore mindbolt-deflecting silver helmets, Shelley noticed, and silver chain mail under their rich silken garments. Clearly they knew of the danger to their minds, however much they despised the Aghmaath. But Shelley did not like the look of some of them: they stared at her with dark eyes. She wondered if any were secret converts, and a chill ran down her spine. Worriette stared out from Rilke's arms, and her teeth chattered in fear. She did not at all like the look of the miners' dogs.

They came to an inn. Over the heavy doors hung its sign, a life-like carving of a snarling, leaping dog, of the breed the miners favoured, thick-set like a bulldog or a tracker Dagraath. Its eyes were Avalazüra which glowed deep blue from within. Around its muscle-bound neck was a glittering collar encrusted with diamonds, some in the form of sharp spikes. Worriette shrank from the carved dog in terror, until Rilke whispered to her: 'It won't hurt you, it's made of wood!'

'Korman,' said Goldheart hesitantly, 'perhaps we could stay the night at the Diamond Dog? There's no sign of an attack yet. And if there is one, we are close enough to the South Gate to make a run for it. Also, they have wonderful music and dancing here, or so my father used to say when he thought my mother wasn't listening! He used to come here to buy diamonds to cut and polish in his workshops. I would always beg him to take me, but he never did.'

'It is a risk,' said Korman dubiously. But he had begun to doubt whether an attack was imminent, and pitied Goldheart. He guessed what it meant to her to flee the only home she had ever known – and go into the wilderness even further away from Azure. Now Rilke was begging to be allowed to rest – and eat. 'We've been just about running to keep up all day long, you've been walking so fast, and Worriette's exhausted,' he complained. 'And so am I,' he added under his breath.

'All right, we will go in, and see what we shall see,' sighed Korman, and they went inside.

The Diamond Dog was the closest thing Shelley had seen in Aeden to a seedy bar on Earth, such as Westerns portray. There was already a band playing, and the women dancers were lusty and the men threw diamonds to them. The women would catch them in their mouths and wink at the men. Some of the miners asked Shelley her name, and asked her to dance. Shelley felt very shaky, and was about to reply that she didn't know any dances, when Korman approached and frowned at them. Seeing his glittering eyes and the big hand resting on the hilt of his great sword, they backed away. After that, Korman paid the innkeeper and took the children off to their beds, while Goldheart stayed to drink and watch the dancing, and forget her sorrows. But she brushed off the men who gathered around her asking for a dance, even when they offered her costly diamonds that flashed like blue ice. She was dreaming of Azure.

Outside, the lights along the Canyon glimmered, until one by one they were extinguished as midnight approached. Then a dense fog arose from the lake below and wreathed about the cliffs, until the chasm was bridged by a river of cloud so dense that it seemed a light-footed person might have walked on it. Out of the depths of the Canyon came the slow mournful drumbeat of the monks of the bottomless lake.

In the dead of night, after the music in the Diamond Dog had died away and the revellers had gone home to bed, and the drums in the depths were silent, a dog began to howl. Soon it was joined by another, and another, and soon all the guard dogs were howling. Some of the diamond miners stirred, cursed the dogs, then rolled over and slept on, secure behind their locked doors.

But not all the miners were asleep. Now the streets began to fill with silent figures, waiting for a signal. They were the miners with the dark staring eyes that Shelley had noticed. When all were in their pre-arranged places, they stood silently. Even the dogs were silent now. Then there came a cry: 'The Void!' It echoed all along the far side of the Canyon. Then answering cries came, 'The Void!' and out of the dark caves giant crossbows were wheeled to the cliff-edge, shooting black grappling-hooks which trailed thin but strong ropes in graceful arcs over the dark chasm. They landed with a clatter on the street outside the Diamond Dog. The silent waiters sprang into action, hauling on the ropes until a swaying rope bridge spanned the chasm. They made it fast on stone piers. Dark warriors began to cross the swaying bridge, shuffling in single file. And all up and down the Canyon, other bridges were flung across, and more dark warriors hurried over.

Far back along the Canyon, in the Flying Unicorn, Ted the barman stirred. He had been keeping vigil behind the bar, fingering his blunderbuss and drinking a lot of Applegate cider. He had felt they were coming, and if so he wanted to go down fighting and avenge his father. If Korman was right and there was an invasion, there was little chance of victory, he figured. He knew the people of this place too well: they would argue and bicker, but do nothing. They had been doing that all evening at the bar... 'Nar, I'm sick o' running,' he said to himself drowsily, 'This place is 'ome now. I'm not goin' anywhere. If they come, I'll take at least one o' them with me.' He patted the oiled barrel of the blunderbuss.

There was a sound at the inn door. The bolts gave way with a creaking of levered oak. A cold mist came in the open door. Then the first of the Dark Ones came for Ted, but he was ready for them. He pulled the trigger and there was a deafening explosion, and a thud as something heavy fell to the ground. The others pulled back. Then, as Ted tried to reload, a voice spoke, cold and hard:

'We have come for you, Ted. You are wanted. First for endarkenment – the Void awaits you. Then for death. We will plant one half of your body to feed the rebirth of Rekhab, whom you shot in Applegate, and the other to feed Menhak, whom you shot tonight.' The cyclopean eye flicked open, glittering in the darkness, piercing Ted's mind with cold fear which ran down his spine and almost stopped his heart. He gave a strangled yell and shakily stood to ram the charge down the barrel, but a mindbolt from the eye came seething at him and the weapon dropped to the floor as he mumbled, 'It's gone dark! I can't see!' and tottered out from behind the bar into their waiting arms. 'Do you wish never to see again? Tell us where Korman the Traitor is staying, and we will spare your eyes – for now,' hissed one of the Aghmaath. The Amber-digger had already told him about the Guardian with the great sword and the girl who was with him. Hithrax would be pleased. There was something about Korman that incensed his leader...

The sound of the blunderbuss woke the Traders outside, and horns were blown. Soon all those who were prepared to fight were awake, and up and down the Canyon answering horns were blowing, manning such defence-posts as there were, and people were running in the dark waving swords and axes. The bravest of the defenders ran to the rope bridges where the Dark Ones were crossing, and the swordsmen got ready to fight any who got across, while the axemen hacked at the tough ropes. The Dagraath came baying and snarling across the bridges, and were met by the bravest of the guard dogs. Dagraath to dog they fought in pairs with dreadful ferocity, some falling into the fog-filled abyss, their jaws still locked onto each other's throats. But the Dagraath soon tore the dogs to pieces, and ran into the streets, baying for more blood.

The mist was now billowing up from the river of cloud in the canyon below, hiding the other side. Some of the Aghmaath's bridges fell and swung back into the Canyon, and crashed into the cliffs, sending most of the attackers tumbling into the fog below, where their cries were extinguished long seconds later when they hit the cold waters of the bottomless lake.

But on most of the bridges there was a power not to be fought off with swords: Aghmaath mind warriors who rose up out of the mist, silently raised bony hands and sent the defenders reeling in a dark dream, plunging off the cliffs or stumbling into the arms of their attackers.

Then the people cried out for help from any who knew the defence of the mind. Some of the Mind Monks came forward, and did battle with the Aghmaath. One, Mandala Mindshield, overcame his opponent and cut down the bridge on which he had stood. But there were many other bridges already cast across the chasm, and most of the monks were no match for the enemy, never having been trained by real warriors for real battles. Also their minds had been infiltrated by the Dreamcasters for years, so many fell to the Void in the moment of trial, and were quickly led away for endarkenment.

So, before the golden sun of Aeden rose over the Canyon, the exodus began. Women and children, young men and old, began to heed the words of the runners sent by Korman, and made for the South End and the gates that led to the slopes of Baldrock, though they had never before left the Canyon and feared the mountain. Some of them wailed, 'It is the Haunted Mountain! We will all die in the trackless wilds that lie about its feet!'

And others cried, 'We would be better off with the Aghmaath. At least they will feed us. Perhaps the Apples of Peace are not so bad.'

So there was confusion, and waves of people went this way and that.

At the first clanging of the grappling irons hitting the streets, Korman had woken, alarmed, but unsure what the sound was. Looking out the upper window of the inn he saw the fog in the Canyon. 'The mist in Shelley's dream!' he thought. Then he saw the ropes already spanning the gap, and the dark figures hauling on the ropes. He held the hilt of Arcratíne and said a rapid Guardian prayer to the Concept, and a prayer of his own to the Lady. Then he roused the others. Soon Shelley, Goldheart and Korman were running down the stairs of the Diamond Dog, rousing the occupants as they went, followed by Rilke, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, clutching the terrified Worriette in one hand and his fishing rod in the other.

'Make for the South Gate!' cried Korman as he left them and ran towards the nearest rope bridge.

Shelley turned to follow him. 'Let me help!' she cried.

But he whispered urgently: 'Go now! You must not be captured! It is you they are after. You will be safer in the crowd. If I do not come, follow Goldheart to Baldrock. Seek out my brother Hillgard, and tell him from me, "My oath falls on you: to bring Shelley the Kortana safely to Ürak Tara!"'

She looked at him for a second, burst into tears, and ran after the others.

Korman strode out onto the bridge just as the dark warrior standing on it cast his mindbolt. It wreathed about Korman's silver helmet and silver body shield, then scattered in pale snaking shapes that faded into the mist. Korman held up his staff, and a silver-golden light was all about him, making the mist glow. The Aghmaath clutched the handrails and swayed as if in sudden deadly doubt.

'The Lady says: Awake from the dark dream, and live!' called Korman. But the mind warrior stopped his ears, stepped over the side of the bridge and toppled into the abyss.

A shrill voice screamed from the other side, 'Shoot the wizard! Shoot the wizard!' A plump boy, perhaps no more than twelve, was standing by the huge crossbow, shouting himself hoarse. He was dressed in black robes. The crossbow operators hesitated, afraid of the light about Korman.

'Come to the light!' cried Korman. 'You are not one of them!' But the boy raised his hand in the Traveller war-sign, fingers curved like a cat's claws.

'I am Gareth of Kor-Edartha, maker of engines, adopted son of Hithrax. He told me about you, Korman of the Withered Arm! You're a foul traitor. You were taught the secret of the Void, but betrayed it to join the evil Order of the Dragon!'

'It is true I was indoctrinated, just like you. But there is a better way...'

'I'm not indoctrinated!' screamed the boy, 'Shoot him!'

This time the operators obeyed, winding the winch tighter and tighter to load the massive crossbow, then turning handles for horizontal and vertical, aiming it at Korman's heart.

'Hurry up!' cried Gareth, stamping with impatience as the weapon slowly turned. He taunted Korman: 'Father told me about you, Korman of the withered arm! Can't draw your sword, can you? How can you save the so-called Kortana now? I know her, she's no saint. She was once my so-called sister in the other world!'

He cackled horribly as Korman opened his mouth in shock and amazement. 'Yes, I was Mark, her "brother",' he said sarcastically. 'She was a spoilt brat. But we'll catch her, and then we'll teach her a lesson! Ha-ha!' Gareth put his hand to his neck and made a choking noise, rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue. Korman was sick to his stomach. But he stood fast, holding his staff high, and the light grew and grew. Then he cried out in joy as the form of the Lady appeared between himself and the boy. She was dressed in sapphire blue, standing with arms outstretched in a wall of golden thorns which burned with fire but were not consumed. The light made a golden halo about her in the mist. The men at the crossbow covered their eyes. The endarkened do not fear ordinary fire, but this was numinous fire, Arxphare Orbalax, the Flame Unquenchable, and they quailed at the sight. 'The witch of Avalon!' they cried. But they fired the crossbow. The great bolt shot like a bullet straight at Korman's heart. But when it passed through the apparition of the Lady in the thorns it was deflected, and it soared flaming into the dawn sky, where it disappeared in a trail of ashes. 'Gareth' gaped in wonder and dismay, then turned and fled back into the dark tunnel. Korman, still gazing at the vision of the Lady, backed away slowly. The vision faded and the bridge erupted in flames. He turned and ran, scrambling off the bridge just as the two halves fell flaming into the mist.

All up and down the Canyon other fires were burning as the dark invaders scattered the remaining resistance and seized the courtyards, and the icons and treasures of art and of literature were tossed onto bonfires and destroyed, and the bodies of the Seekers of Truth who had resisted were also cast into the fire. But most of the people they took prisoner when they flung themselves down and begged for mercy; and always their new masters asked them, 'Where are the Edarthan child Shelley and the accursed wizard Korman?'

Hithrax had soon overcome Gullquill and his men at the North Gate. He made his way along the tunnels of the Pessimists' side, inspecting his troops, the converts from among the Pessimists (fewer than he had hoped; many had died rather than submit), and the engines of war, until he came to the southern end of the Canyon. The Keeper of the South Gate trembled as the band of Aghmaath entered the gate tower. Hithrax was at their head, like a giant bird of prey taller than any man. He crossed the sacred Labyrinth in a few bounds.

'First: Wh... who are you, and from which w- world do you come?' The gatekeeper stammered the first of the Nine Questions, in futile defiance, but he already knew the answer: Phangkor, the Darkened World. 'Second: What...what is the high... highest Truth?' the gatekeeper recited. But Hithrax rose up, towering over him.

'I do not like your Nine Questions, fool. I have only one answer for you: DEATH!'

The word echoed around the chamber as Hithrax's third eye snapped open. The gatekeeper shrank back, but could not tear his gaze from the huge eye as a mindbolt came darkly swirling from it and the gatekeeper sank to the ground, moaning and blinded. Then Hithrax's thorn-dagger pierced his chest, pumping thorn-sap to paralyse his heart. 'Kill the others!' he commanded his warriors.

Meanwhile Shelley, Rilke, Goldheart and perhaps forty others, were making for the South Gate, unaware that Hithrax was there and they were already too late to escape. As they approached the tower gate and crossed the Labyrinth courtyard, dawn was breaking, and the light streamed through the windows of the dome above. Beneath it stood a line of Aghmaath Trackers and warriors, blocking the way.

There was a terrible silence. The refugees cowered behind Mandala as their homes burned behind them, even as the mists blazed in the golden light of dawn reflected from the silver mirrors high above. The tallest of the Aghmaath stepped forward on stork-like legs bound with spiny greaves.

'Surrender the Edarthan girl, who is called Shelley,' it said in a deadly hiss. Then the memory of those shark-like features, the intelligent crocodile eyes, came back to Shelley. It was Hithrax, the head Tracker, head and shoulders above his warriors. He had so nearly caught her when she first came to Aeden. Korman had saved her then; but now she was about to be handed over to this monster, and Korman was nowhere in sight. The Dagraath growled menacingly at either side of Hithrax their master. Shelley felt her legs give way, but Goldheart caught her as she swayed, and held her protectively, defying the dark warriors.

Then through the horror that had fallen on them came a quiet voice of defiance. 'No, you will not have her,' said Mandala. 'For she is the Kortana, who will restore the old wisdom of the Order of the Makers, which your accursed people have denied.' As Mandala spoke, in the dark above, one of the guards of the gate crawled, mortally wounded by Hithrax's spear, but intent on his goal.

Hithrax gave a harsh croak, which could have been a laugh.

He spoke again, in a loud voice now, like the roar of a crocodile, 'Then you will all die, never to be enlightened, and you will suffer forever on the wheel of eternal rebirth.'

He raised his huge scaly hand in the claw-like salute to the Void. In his pale forehead the huge single eye once again snapped open, and from it surged the mindbolt Mandala had been expecting. He made the magical Sign of Averting. The mindbolt crackled and writhed over the heads of the people, but was reflected as if by an invisible wall around them, and they were unharmed.

'Run! I will hold them off!' cried Mandala.

The people hesitated.

'GO!' he cried.

They all turned and ran back down into the Canyon, now a place of ruin and death, smoke billowing from every cave. 'Back to the Diamond Dog!' yelled Goldheart. 'I have an idea!'

Mandala, sword in hand, was battling the guards on the Labyrinth, and the dogs of war were closing in, when the roar of heavy chains and iron grating on iron drowned out the snarling of the dogs. The wounded guard had succeeded in his last task: to release the chain which held the inner portcullis. Mandala, fighting for his life, saw what was happening, and rejoiced, but he was surrounded. The portcullis landed with a great boom on the stone floor, its spikes ramming into the deep holes in the great flagstones, trapping the dark guards and their dogs in the tower. But the Dagraath closed in, and dragged Mandala down, pinioning his arms and legs. Then Hithrax raised his ritual thorn spear and plunged it with inhuman force into the exposed chest. A second later, Mandala's spirit passed forever beyond their reach, beyond the gates of this life.

As they fled from the South Gate, Rilke was still clutching his fishing rod. He stumbled, and the rod almost tripped Shelley up. 'Give me that!' she said, a little more fiercely than she had intended. She grabbed the rod out of his hand and tossed it aside. Rilke cried out in protest but kept running.

Shelley was looking around as they ran. Korman was nowhere to be seen. 'Goldheart,' she gasped, 'I have to find Korman. He's my guide... my Guardian... I must find him. We'll meet again, I know. Look... after... Rilke... and Worriette...' She peeled off from the fleeing group and vanished into the mist before Goldheart could argue.

When Goldheart and the other refugees reached the inn, they saw its diamond-encrusted mascot swinging in the dawn breeze, red in the light of the nearby fires. They ran inside; it was deserted. 'Quick, there is a secret door somewhere in here that leads to the diamond mines!' said Goldheart. 'I spoke to some smugglers last night. They were drunk, and boasting of it. If we can find that door, it will take us down to the deepest mines, right down to the lake level.'

'The lake level?' said an old man, horrified. 'But the lake is haunted, did you not know? There lurks the Serpent of the underworld, devouring all who approach. I would rather face the Aghmaath than go down there!'

'You are free to go, sir,' said Goldheart. 'But listen to me: the monks of Zagonamara live by the lake. They can help us escape through the Cave of the Voice which leads out to the Milkwater springs. From there we can go to a safe place, the Potter's Retreat, where there is a colony of exiled clay-workers from Milkwater village, under the shadow of the Canyon hills.'

This was enough for most of the refugees, who turned their attention to looking for the secret door.

But some said, 'Beware the black monks of the Bottomless Lake!' and went out into the street and tried to hide in their homes, until the Dark Ones found them, one by one.

The others inside locked and bolted the door of the inn, and searched every inch of it, in vain. Then the door rang with a hard blow.

'Come out and surrender, traitors, or we will set fire to the inn!' came a voice. It was an Aghmaath, Goldheart guessed, by the bird-like tone. The rapping on the door was repeated, louder this time, and the warning. Then there was silence.

As they searched frantically for the secret door, there came the ominous sound of crackling flames. The smoke began to billow through the upper windows and under the door, and the people began to cough and scream, 'We're lost! We're all going to burn!'

Through all this Rilke had been quietly shivering, holding Worriette for comfort, and staying close to Goldheart. But suddenly the little wurrier sprang from his arms, and Rilke let out a yell as he groped for her under a table. He got hold of her and pulled. She would not budge, but kicked against him and squealed. She was holding onto something for dear life. Coughing, his eyes streaming from the smoke, he looked under the table. 'Worriette's found something!' he gasped. She was pulling frantically at a small ring on the floor. The others crowded around, and saw that the air under the table was clearer. 'Worriette smelt the fresh air, coming up from the floor!' grinned Rilke as he, too, tugged at the ring. But it was too heavy for him. A man slid a poker from the fireplace into the ring, and with shaking hands pulled the stone trapdoor open. The air in the inn was becoming choking hot. They slid and clambered and fell into the cool dark of the tunnel, and gulped in fresh air. Last of all Goldheart jumped inside and pulled the trapdoor shut, just as the beams of the ceiling collapsed onto the floor in showers of sparks and billowing flames.

'Well, there's nothing to do now but follow the tunnel wherever it may lead,' said someone in the darkness – the man with the poker, Rilke thought – and they groped their way down the rough steps which descended into the bowels of the earth.

Meanwhile Korman was fighting for his life at the brink of the Canyon as the elite troops of the Aghmaath closed in. Even now he was faithful to his vow, and did not draw Arcratíne, but used the broken swords of other defenders to fend off the attackers. He was fearless and immune to the mindbolts, but he was tiring. The acrid smells of burning icons and dead bodies filled his nostrils. He saw the refugees enter the inn, and he despaired as the Aghmaath surrounded it, piling up wreckage, and fire and smoke engulfed it. But still he fought on, crying to the Lady, 'Forgive me, I have failed you!' He chanted the Guardian battle cry, Hethür, Krithür, Shaktha! But still he did not draw Arcratíne.

There was a change in the air around him: it seemed to clear, and the stench of the smoke was gone from his nostrils. The Aghmaath, spears lowered for the final charge, vanished. He turned, and there was Shelley, glowing with the same light that had surrounded the Lady on the bridge.

'Korman! I had to find you! I suddenly remembered, I can walk in Faery, even if there are bad things happening all around!'

'It must have been the Lady speaking to you! I only saw her; but you heard her voice, which is much better.' Korman smiled, feeling for a moment like a child again. Then he was with her in Faery, and the sounds of battle faded. Together they walked through their attackers, in the green of that other level of Life. And lying in the middle of the quiet street, glowing in the early morning light they saw a pile of fine silk cloth and coils of silken cord, discarded by some fleeing silk merchant. Shelley looked at the glistening pile. Opening her mind to the infinite continuum of possibility which lies beyond the world as it is, she now saw a way of escape. Her heart pounded at the thought, and her palms went sweaty. She told Korman, 'I think... we can jump into the lake. Goldheart said there are caves down there that lead out to the surface.'

She frowned, trying hard not to think of the huge Zaglizagonamara eel that she had hooked when she was pulling up Rilke's line.

'Dear Lady, it is many fathoms down to the lake! We would be killed for sure!' said Korman, wondering if her mind had finally cracked under the strain.

'No we won't, not if we can turn this silk into parachutes!' She showed him how to cut a stabilising vent hole in the centre of the two largest pieces, then tie the strong thin silken ropes to the corners. Now that they were in Faery, there was an eerie silence about them, and plenty of time for the task.

At last they stood on the edge, the ropes around their waists, holding the shiny bunched silk in their arms.

'When we're clear of the edge, we let the silk go and the wind will catch it, and we'll just float down,' she told him. He looked at her, wonderingly. 'Trust me, it works. At least, it did when I tried it back home. Mum was mad at me for ruining her good sheets, but it was a science experiment, wasn't it? Oh, and let's throw down our packs first. They should float.' Korman took his off, and was about to throw it over the edge, when he froze, a look of horror and guilt on his face.

'What is it?' asked Shelley, alarmed.

'Bootnip!'

He rummaged around and pulled the protesting pet from the pack. He pushed a fold of cloth into Bootnip's mouth to chew on before he could bite onto flesh, and shoved him down into his robes. The battle had put Bootnip into a very bad mood, even by anklebiter standards.

They stood a few paces apart at the cliff-edge, hearts pounding, looking down at the gulf below, where the dawn breeze along the Canyon was sweeping the mists away, leaving only faint shreds far down above the surface of the lake, like clouds seen from an aeroplane. Then Shelley counted, 'One... Two... Three... JUMP!'

Chapter Thirty

The Monks of the Zagonamara

Their robes flapped about them as they fell, faster and faster. 'Now!' yelled Shelley over the rush of cold air. They let go of the silk bundles they each cradled, and felt a stomach-flipping tug as the improvised parachutes billowed open with a satisfying 'whump'. They spiralled and sank like thistledown into the dark ravine. After the first shock, Shelley yelled 'Yahoo!' and Korman yelled jubilantly in the Tímathian tongue. Shelley grinned at him, hugely relieved that her idea had worked, and proud to see how impressed Korman was.

'Pull one side or the other to steer,' she called, as Korman veered off towards an outcrop in the cliff. Bootnip was writhing under his robes, but was in no danger of falling out, it seemed, because he had hold of Korman's stomach. Turning sharply just as he sped past, Korman's boot clipped the outcrop. A few fragments of rock hurtled down into the depths below them.

The colours of the cliff were mainly ochres and pale purple, with some startling veins of malachite green and layers of grainy white and pink, like exotic marble. Shelley saw broad bands of glittering rock, broken here and there with whitish protrusions. Before she could see what they were, they had flashed past. She thought they could have been fossils.

When she looked down again, she saw the dark surface of the lake, just seconds before so distant and remote, rushing up to meet them. Her experiment was not yet over... The water was calm but for some long oily ripples coming from the southern end, as if there had been something disturbing the water. No breeze stirred below, and all was silent but for the rush of air past their clothes and the parachutes.

Shelley was falling slower than Korman. 'Get ready to go in feet first so you don't get winded,' she called down to him.

'I hear you,' he called back. He hit the lake with a huge depth-charge of a splash. Shelley steered away slightly and splashed down close by.

She went down like a stone at first, scarily deep. She was sure her eardrums would burst and her lungs be crushed, but her downward momentum vanished as she kicked frantically upwards, impeded by her clothes and pack. Just when she was sure she must be at the surface she felt something clingy closing over her head and impeding her arms. It was her parachute, hanging like a giant jellyfish in the water. There was a nasty moment that seemed to go on forever as she struggled to pull it aside. Finally she was free, and took in great gulps of air. 'It's COLD!' she yelped, and her voice echoed back to her, 'It's COLD, it's cold it's cold' until the sound disappeared into the distance. Overhead, she heard the distant rumour of the burning and cries of fear. Glowing embers were falling over the edge in places, slowly fading as they descended.

Korman had already surfaced, and was treading water in the half-light, fending off the growling, spluttering anklebiter, shaking his long hair and blinking the water from his eyes as it dripped off his bushy eyebrows. The adrenalin and the cold of the water were electrifying. He smiled at her, a wry smile. They both began to laugh maniacally, and the walls of the Canyon took up the sound until there was a whole copycat chorus of laughter.

The cold quickly drove them to action. They were no longer in Faery, and they knew they would not last long in that icy water. They undid the ropes with shaky fingers as the parachutes slowly sank like silk jellyfish. 'The packs!' cried Korman. They swam in circles until they found them where they had drifted, just before they sank completely. The packs in tow, they swam for the shore. Bootnip swam behind Korman, nipping vengefully at his feet, getting water in his mouth and spluttering. Shelley felt a familiar tingle up her spine at the thought of all that dark water under her. She tried not to think of monsters – giant eels in particular – and failed. She swam as fast as she could, almost panicking as Korman, a more powerful swimmer, got further ahead of her. Then she felt a powerful surge in the water as she swam, as if the whole lake was alive, and it exhilarated her and at the same time terrified her. But nothing attacked, and soon they reached the shore and clambered up the slippery stones onto a rocky shelf just above the level of the lake. They made their way along it, towards the southern end and the Cave of the Voice. Bootnip kept stopping to shake himself, shivering and groaning pointedly.

'Is it true there are m...m...monks who live d...d...down here?' asked Shelley, also shivering with the cold. Bootnip had stopped again and flopped down with a decisive grunt that said, 'I am not going one step further.'

'Yes,' replied Korman, dropping the damp, grumbling Bootnip back into his pack. 'The monks of Zagonamara. But I know little about them. Except that they revere the Zagonamara, or as it is sometimes called in your world, the Wouivre, of this lake.'

'The what?'

'The subterranean snake whose track this lake is, winding through the earth's bones.'

'Oh my g...god, what? A g...giant snake in the water! As well as the z...zaghlizag-thingy eels! If you'd told me that I'd NEVER have...'

'Saved us from death. But the Zagonamara is not that kind of snake. It is subtle energy. Without that energy the world would be barren, they say. And anywhere the Zagonamara lies the land is specially blessed. It used to flow most powerfully beneath the Tree. Now it chiefly runs from Baldrock through the Bottomless Lake, beneath the high pass which we came over, and down to Lake Avalon of the Lady. There the Zagonamara is strongest of all (since the Heartstone was taken), and there is the blessed isle of Avalon, bathed in its influence.'

'Will we go there?'

'Yes, if all goes to plan.'

'I saw the Lady last night, I mean this morning. She reminded me that we can walk in Faery. She led me to you, then vanished.'

'I saw her too. She stood on the bridge and saved me from being shot by an Edarthan boy named Gareth, adopted son of Hithrax.'

'A boy from my world?' said Shelley in disgust, warming up as they strode along and leaped from rock to rock, 'On their side?'

'Yes. He is no doubt one of the captured ones who were endarkened and put to work in the Nered factories, where the Aghmaath incite them to invent engines of destruction. He was in charge of one of the great mechanical bows that shot ropes and fiery bolts across the Canyon.'

'Son of Hithrax... Ugh! Will he ever be... saved?' Korman, troubled, asked himself, 'Should I tell her now, or wait? If she learns that her brother has come to Aeden and is on their side, who knows what it will do to her! No, I must wait until she is stronger.'

Aloud, he said, 'Yes, I hope so. But only if he can be reached somehow – perhaps by someone who loves him. Without love, the darkness is almost invincible, once it takes hold of a mind. I know from experience.'

'You're not saying you were...'

'Initiated into the mysteries of the Void? Yes, when my parents were killed. But I was rescued and brought back to the light. But now, we must talk of the path ahead.'

'Do you think the others have made it?'

'I... I saw...' Korman hesitated.

'You saw what?'

'The others going into the inn of the Diamond Dog, and the building set alight.'

'Oh, that, I know. But there is a secret passage into the mines, that leads all the way down here.'

'How do you know this?'

'Goldheart told me. That's why they went in there.'

Korman sighed with relief.

'Then we must believe they will find their way down to the lake, where we will, with any luck, meet up with them.'

The refugees felt their way down the spiralling stairs into the depths. Their heavy breathing and their stumbling footsteps were the only sounds, loud in that constricted space. Rilke was holding onto the hem of Goldheart's long dress, and Worriette was clinging to Rilke's back like a baby monkey to its mother, chattering nervously to herself as they went down and down into the bowels of Aeden.

Finally there was a faint light below. 'The diamond mines!' said someone, and they all hurried and stumbled down the last steep steps into the bluish tunnels, lit dimly with small clear amber spheres that glowed with a pale light, like fireflies. The tunnels branched and converged randomly like a rabbit warren, sometimes joining to form larger galleries where the light hardly reached the ceiling. Here and there in the walls were veins that glittered with thousands of tiny diamonds. Rilke wanted to stop and scratch at them, but the party was in a hurry and he was swept on. 'This way, I think!' said the young man, and they all followed. But soon they were in a cul-de-sac, where picks and shovels still lay, and a little hole in the rockface showed sparkling gems within.

'We must feel the draught. That will lead us to the lake,' said Goldheart.

'Why not let Worriette down and see where she goes?' said Rilke. He put her down and she scampered off. They followed, Rilke at the front, with Goldheart close behind.

Soon they came to a place where the floor sloped away, then came up against a wide blank rockface that looked like the rock of the Canyon walls. Worriette sniffed along this until she came to a halt, gazed at the blank rockface as if hypnotised, then leaped forward and disappeared into it.

'Wait!' called Rilke. But she was gone.

'It's just like Shelley told me about Barachthad's place! There was a mindweb over the cave mouth!' said Rilke as the others crowded round. He closed his eyes and reached into the rock. He felt a gap. Taking one step forward he disappeared, seemingly into solid rock. The refugees stepped back in alarm. Meanwhile Rilke saw ahead of him in the dark a narrow vertical crack, just wide enough for the adults to squeeze through sideways. He popped back out, and said, 'It's all right! There's a passage here.' But the refugees hung back.

'It is the magic of the Zagonamara! The ghostly boat people will get us if we go in there!' they protested.

But Rilke said, 'I will follow Worriette. If she's not scared, then it's all right.'

He stepped into the wall again, and groped his way along until he saw a faint light ahead. 'Worriette!' he called, but there was no answer. He heard a squeal, then whimpering. Alarmed, he hurried towards the sound, until he rounded a bend and came out into a wider space. But blocking the way, towering over him, silhouetted against the dim light of the bottomless lake, was a tall hooded figure.

'Is this yours?' it asked.

Worriette was dangling by the scruff of her neck from a huge hand.

'Yes, please sir,' said Rilke, remembering his manners, his heart beating fast from the shock of meeting anyone at all in that deep deserted place, let alone a giant.

'It is a long time since I saw one of these,' said the owner of the huge hand, offering the little wurrier back to Rilke, who shrank away from him. But the man said, 'Do not be afraid. I am Rastapin, son of Rastanap and Earthmist, of the Order of the Zagonamara.' Then Rilke saw that Worriette was not afraid, but was actually purring, which wurriers rarely do.

He plucked up courage and took her, replying, 'And I'm Rilke, son of Grim and Ira of Pebblebrook.'

'My monks are expecting you. The boats are waiting. How many are you?'

'There are about twenty of us back there, maybe thirty,' replied Rilke.

The monk looked gravely at him. 'So few,' he said sadly. 'Well, Rilke my son, go and get them. Tell them not to fear the people of the Zagonamara.'

Rilke turned, holding Worriette, and went back up the narrow passage. He soon ran into Goldheart, who had led the others trembling through the gap after Rilke.

They followed Rastapin down the sloping chamber towards the dim light, and soon they came out into the Canyon, and there was the lake, lapping on smooth, many-coloured pebbles. Aquatic plants like Neptune's necklace grew about some larger rocks, which looked as if they had fallen ages before into the lake from the overhanging cliffs above. Phosphorescent fish darted out of the shallows as several graceful boats, long and narrow, appeared out of the gloom and nudged the shore, each with a monk dressed like Rastapin guiding it with a long paddle from the rear. They motioned to the refugees to climb aboard, then the procession backed off into the dark waters and, turning, paddled out along the lake.

Goldheart wept now that the immediate danger was past. She had heard of the holy monks of the Zagonamara, and though she feared them, it was not like her fear of the Aghmaath, but an awe born of reverence for the sacred deeps, above which she had lived all her life but which she had never touched. And Rastapin told her, 'Do not weep. We saw the bodies fall into the sacred lake, and in our long boats under cover of the mist we came and removed them for burial. The time of destruction of the Canyon sects was long foreseen by the Zagonamara, and much good will come of it. For those who survive, the unity of the Truth will burn brighter in their hearts as they fight a good fight against the darkness of deception.'

After a while the boats turned again, as if at an invisible signal, and they floated in the half-light at the mouth of a huge cavern. It was clearly not dug by human hands, but was covered with long hanging stalactites and curtain-like flowforms of delicate pinks and whites like bone china glistening with water that slowly ran, tinkling and plinking, into the lake.

The monks appeared to be waiting for something. Soon, around a bend in the Canyon came another boat. In it were two figures familiar to Rilke and Goldheart: Shelley, waving in the bows and Korman, sitting amidships, looking like a king of olden days, raising his good left hand in blessing.

'Shelley! Korman! How did you get here?' called Rilke, nearly tipping his boat over in his excitement.

'We jumped,' said Shelley, and Korman smiled at their astonishment.

'It is true,' he said. 'Now we are to be escorted to the monastery of the Zagonamara at the main outflow of the lake. It is a great honour.'

The boats turned into the northern shore of the cavern mouth, and the refugees saw that a path led up to a row of narrow arched entrances dug into the walls. They all disembarked and there was a joyful reunion. Shelley told the others about her adventures and how she had made the parachutes. 'Wow,' said Rilke, using the Earth term he had learned from Shelley. He looked up at her in awe.

In the middle of the line of caves was one larger opening, like a keyhole or huge fish with its tail on the ground and head in the air. It was carved with sinuous twin serpents, of beautiful rainbow hues, whose heads overhung the top of the arch and guarded the entranceway, their eyes made of glittering blue diamonds, and a third eye of ruby in the middle of their brows, glowing in the reflected light of the Canyon. Worriette shivered and tried to jump out of Shelley's arms when they approached, but Rastapin reassured them: 'These are not venomous snakes which kill, but an image of the intertwined male and female aspects of the life-giving force we call the Zagonamara. Welcome to our monastery.' At his kindly voice, Worriette calmed down and let Shelley carry her over the threshold.

Inside, the monks made them all welcome at the long tables of polished, rainbow-coloured stone. These were warmed with some energy which pulsed through Shelley's veins when she touched them. The same orbs that were in the diamond mines lit the interior of the hall. Fish was brought – 'Cooked in the hot springs of the Zagonamara,' explained Rastapin – and there were cakes of some kind of grain. 'Like the millet mum grew for the hens,' thought Shelley as she munched on one hungrily. It was now well past midday, though the light outside remained muted.

'Don't you get sick of the dim light?' Shelley asked a young monk sitting next to her and Korman.

'Not at all, young Lady,' he replied. 'My mother, the priestess Lasmarina, says that the light of day which strikes the lake only at midsummer, no matter how beautiful, is not the light we must seek. That light is only to be found in the darkness and quiet space within our hearts, with the help of the Zagonamara which energizes all life.'

'Are there women down here too, then?'

'Of course. But they are more secretive. They are very sacred, and live in the hidden priestesses' convent and palace at the inflow of the sacred lake, to the north.'

'Do you... see each other?'

'Of course. When the times are right, all the monks who wish to make the pilgrimage go to the priestesses' palace, or by secret paths to the Canyon above, or to the mystic lake of Avalon, and find a lover.'

'Have you done this yet?'

The young monk smiled shyly, 'No, not yet. I am not ready.'

'So, where do they raise the children?'

'At the palace, of course, each with his or her mother under the care and guidance of the older mothers, to learn of the great Mother until the time of the boys' initiation here, where they learn, from their fathers and all the monks, skills and rituals appropriate to a man.'

'How strange! But at least you can... you know...' She blushed.

'Can know the joy of being with a woman or a man,' said the young monk. 'Yes, that is the way of all things that live and breathe, is it not? Why do you blush? Through it we pass on our life breath – and come to know the full power of the Zagonamara, which embraces both male and female energies, and blends them.'

'Do you know who I am supposed to be?'

'The blessed Kortana, of course. We are honoured to have you here. You will soon meet the one who holds the sacred power of the Zagonamara on the surface, where the light easily distracts men and women from the inner power.'

'You mean... the Lady?'

'Of course.'

'But did you know she is caught in the...'

'...Thorns, in the Valley of Thorns. Yes. We know. We share in her burdens and suffering as we pray for the liberation of this land. The Deep feels the deepest pain when the Top is injured.'

Shelley felt a wave of intense sadness sweep over her, as she remembered the Lady in the thorns, and the fire and destruction in the Canyon above, and the people falling into the depths, and their screams.

'It's because of me the Aghmaath came,' she murmured, her voice breaking. 'And brave Mandala sacrificed his life so I could escape.'

Then she wept openly, and the monk comforted her, putting an arm around her shoulder.

'It is good to cry. The lake is full of tears, offerings to the Zagonamara, for the healing of all creatures, and the comfort of all who weep. Hear the dripping of the Tears of the World into the Bottomless Lake, and the chanting of our folk to the Zagonamara:

O Damarha Ennyasha enzür

Damariti padram enbaz!

Damarhan Namyá

Magathrha tem Pagrathvala

Pagya Baz Apédnapathya

Magné Zagonamarya.

O tears of Ainenia above

Diamond-tears in the rock below!

Tears of the World,

Ever watering the Tree of Life

In Baz Apédnapath

The Wouivre's mother'

As Shelley listened to the chanting up and down the Canyon, she was comforted, and knew in her heart that her part in these events had to be, that it was somehow all part of a great dance - the great Unfolding, as Korman called it, and yet not fixed, but responsive to individual choices and the faith and courage everyone generated. She saw a vision in her mind's eye of a great, finely-branching silver tree, of which every twig, leaf and flower was an individual choice. And in spite of all the wrong choices, the Tree was still beautiful. Korman's words came back to her: 'By our thoughts we shift the Unfolding and the Tree grows branches where it would not have otherwise.' She vowed to practise shifting the Unfolding to avoid the tragedies she had seen unfold that day in the Canyon above. Now she was swept up into the music that began to be played, magical music that reminded her of all the depths and heights she had felt since coming to Aeden, and of the ever-branching silvery Tree of Life.

After the meal there was discussion of the battle, and Rastapin led them all in a prayer for the liberation and reunification of Aeden. Then he called Shelley forward and blessed her, pouring some of the sacred waters of the lake over her head with the words, 'When you leave here, go in the power of the Zagonamara, and remember that the earth of Aeden is deep and its love is powerful and never-ending, and when it flows through you, Love will eventually prevail.'

Shelley was at first flattered, then overwhelmed with a sense of the sacred power that seemed to flow through her and through everything there.

'I feel as if I could go mad with it if I spent too long in this place,' she confided to Korman afterwards.

'You feel the power of the Zagonamara – it is close here,' replied Korman. 'One day you will feel it in union with other powers which will give you a balance. Then you will be enlightened and empowered as the Kortana, knowing Earth and Sky and everything in between. Then you will shift the Unfolding mightily, and the Heartstone will be restored, and the new Age will be born. That is why we must go to Ürak Tara.'

At the end of the day all the visitors were given more food, then there was dancing, and the priestesses came out and danced sacred dances with the monks, and Shelley and Korman and the other refugees joined in, joy and gladness filling all hearts, so that they forgot their sorrows for a while. As Rastapin said to Shelley when she questioned their lightheartedness in the face of the threat of the Aghmaath, 'Let us eat, drink, and be happy and full of love, for tomorrow we may die.'

But he took Korman aside and they talked deep into the night: of the affairs of Aeden, of the Lady, and of the Aghmaath now in control of the Canyon above; but especially of the 'Troubles,' the conflict they had with the new Keeper of Baldrock.

'He has shut out the pilgrims and prevented them from ascending to the holy Summit,' Rastapin said. 'It has brought more grief to our people, and the Zagonamara is troubled.'

'Yet you say there is a power there which is good, and you have felt it increasing,' said Korman. 'What is the answer to this riddle?'

'It is like the Canyon peoples, the Seekers of Truth. They sought first only Truth, and it divided them. We seek first only Love, and it unites us. On Baldrock is another who seeks the Higher – the head and the crown and the Heavens – while resisting the lower, the body and the Earth. He will not speak with us, but we believe he is one of the Guardian Tidak who escaped from the overthrow of the Tor Enyása.'

'There is only one who may have escaped, surely, and that is my brother,' said Korman, 'Hillgard the Lionhearted. The parents of Goldheart met him in the Canyon, and tended his wounds.'

Shelley and Rilke, and the exhausted wurrier, all slept soundly in a cosy guestroom off the main chambers, on beds of dried lake weed which was like maidenhair fern, soft and green. It was perfumed with the petals of the roses which some of the Canyon people used to throw down as offerings to the Zagonamara, but would no longer. All dreamed of the terrible day that had been – Worriette's paws twitched as if she were trying to run, and her whiskers shivered – but into all their dreams came the soothing lift of the lake. And love, as of an all-forgiving Mother, comforted their hearts.

In the morning, all the refugees were provisioned by their loving hosts, then went by boat to the caves of the Milkwater, from which they would emerge into the light of day by the hidden spring at Potterville. But Korman and Shelley, (and Rilke, after much pleading), were to go aboard another boat in the other direction, south towards Baldrock. Now it was time to say their goodbyes to Goldheart and the others.

'Where will you go when you get out, Goldheart?' asked Shelley.

'When it is safe I will go over the Canyon Hills until I come to the artists' colony. There I hope to find my husband, Azure. Or if they have fled from the Aghmaath, I will seek him wherever he may be. And, Shelley, I will always keep his icon of you safe, and pray to the Lady for your success in the mission She has foreseen for you.' The children hugged Goldheart tearfully and wished her good luck in finding her husband. She stroked Worriette one last time and got into her boat. Her golden hair and pale arms outstretched in farewell were the last things they saw as the refugee boats glided away and disappeared into the gloom.

Now Shelley, Korman and Rilke set off on their own journey. Casmarine, the young monk Shelley had talked with the night before, was their oarsman. After a dark but uneventful voyage they came to a smaller cave that ran under the hills at the south end of the Canyon. A strong draught seemed to be trying to suck them into the cave, moaning eerily as it blew past stalactites and stalagmites.

As they arrived at the cave mouth, Casmarine whispered to them, 'This is the Cave of the Voice. It is a very holy passageway. Until the Troubles it was a path of pilgrimage, called by us Rastavana, the Sacred Throat, for it leads to the Head of the Zagonamara, which is our Mount Kallazür, the abode of the Highest, known to you as Baldrock. You must not speak, but only listen, until you emerge from the Sacred Throat into the light of the sun. Then, Lord Korman, as Father Rastapin has said to you, if you dare to climb the holy mountain with his message, may the Zagonamara be with you.'

'This is the path laid before us in our quest for Ürak Tara and the restoration of Aeden. We are being sent forth on the very breath of the Zagonamara, and all will be well,' replied Korman.

There at the dark entrance of the Sacred Throat, at the southernmost shore of the lake of the Zagonamara, they put on their packs, embraced Casmarine and said goodbye. Then they walked up into the dark passageway, lit only by the crystal on Korman's staff. There were many twists and turns to the cave, and several steep climbs beside dark waterfalls, but eventually they reached the exit, pushed by the strong draught from below as they emerged, blinking in the daylight, through the huge mouth-like opening under great cliffs in a hidden valley. After their long sojourn in the Canyon the world at large seemed ten times as bright as they remembered. They had escaped at last from Baz Apédnapath – or had been, as Korman said, 'Sent forth.'

Chapter Thirty-one

The Keepers of Baldrock

They emerged into the brilliant daylight and smelt the green herbs and aromatic trees, whose leaves glistened as they rustled in the gentle breeze blowing through the valley. It seemed to them that they had found their way into paradise. The sunshine, illuminating everything, warming their bodies after the darkness and cold of the caves, felt miraculous to them. Even Bootnip came blinking out of his lair in Korman's pack where he had sulked almost the entire time they were in the caves. For the children, it was also a wonderful relief to be able to talk again after their silence in the sacred cave of Rastavana, hearing only the sighing of the divine draught. They began to run and talk loudly to each other, and listen to their echoes in the hills. But Korman warned them to keep quiet and stay hidden, pointing to the form of the mountain looming above the valley walls. 'Walls have ears, mountains have eyes,' he said grimly, nodding at the tall shape of Baldrock, its crags sharp-shadowed in the morning sun.

There he hoped to find his brother, or at least a remnant of the Keepers of the Mountain, but he was not certain of the welcome they would receive. He had heard word of the re-fortification of Baldrock, from the Traders in the Canyon as well as from Rastapin, but they knew very little about the occupants, as they were never allowed inside the gates.

'We have emerged well clear of the Southern Gate, which we must assume the Aghmaath now hold,' said Korman in a low voice. 'But there is a long climb ahead of us if we are to reach the gates of Baldrock before nightfall.'

'More climbing!' Rilke groaned, and flopped down under one of the aromatic trees. Korman looked down at Rilke in pity.

'I had forgotten!' he said suddenly. 'Perhaps this will cheer you up.' He pulled out from a deep pocket a large diamond, expertly facetted by the famous gemcutters of the Canyon so that it sparkled like pale blue fire. Handing it to Rilke, he said, 'This is from Goldheart. Her father was a gemcutter, one of the best. Keep it safe – one day you may need to trade it,' said Korman, restraining Bootnip's paws as he scrabbled greedily for the bright gem.

'Never!' exclaimed Rilke, pocketing it carefully. 'I will keep it always.' Bootnip growled at him, and sank back into Korman's pack to sulk – and bide his time. Anklebiters never forget a jewel.

'Can we follow the old Pilgrims' Path up to the gates?' asked Shelley, dubiously.

'Perhaps we could find the path, though it will be overgrown,' replied Korman, 'but it would still not be safe: it could be watched by the enemy. We must take a hidden way through the rocky wasteland.' Both the children groaned. Korman promised them that there should be a welcome for them when they got to the top, and rest in the safety of the ancient fortress. 'For this is the land which once belonged to the Order of the Keeper. The Darkened ones will not come here easily.'

'Neither will we!' grumbled Rilke. Worriette copied his grimace, exaggerating it until all three humans laughed, and she chattered happily, and the weariness lifted from their shoulders.

They began to pick their way up the broken and fissured volcanic slopes, mostly overgrown with a cover of thick scrubby bushes that lay beneath the massif of Baldrock. It loomed above them now like some weathered fortress carved at the beginning of time by a race of giants. There was enough cover to feel hidden from unfriendly eyes, but it was rough going. There was no wind under the bushes, and as the day wore on it began to get hot. The rocks which stood above the cover began to shimmer in the heat. Exotic-looking lizards basked on their surfaces, and Korman warned Rilke, 'Do not touch the lizards. Some may bite.'

One that Shelley noticed had a little ruff around its neck and an eye on the top of its head. It looked as if it was carved out of the rock it lay on. 'It looks so wise and thoughtful. I wonder what it's thinking about right now? It's just like a Tuatara, with its third eye.' A thought struck her. 'I hope it's not a relative of the Aghmaath!'

But Korman said, 'Look! An Irkkara, a sungazer lizard! There was a family of them near my cave at the Portal. They would sun themselves all day on the rock ledges.' The lizard blinked its third eye slowly as they passed.

The slope became steeper, and the bushes in the fissures of the huge rocks began to thin out, and were replaced by a tall plumed grass like pampas, dropping fluffy seeds onto the travellers as they struggled on, winding their way up the side of the mountain.

'It is good to see no sign of thorns growing here,' said Korman when they took a brief rest on a shady rock shelf below a great overhanging boulder. 'It is the power of the Keepers, perhaps.'

'Or the Zagonamara,' said Shelley.

Looking back over the boulder-strewn slope of dark green below them, they could see in the distance the whole line of Baz Apédnapath, snaking back toward the Northeast Arm, the High Pass and the artists' colony. But a dark haze of smoke lay over it, reminding them of the threat of the enemy in the wild lands about them, seemingly so empty.

Gazing west across the bright gulf of blue air, Korman squinted at the fortresses of the Tor Enyása, the five tall outcrops on the cliffs ringing the plateau, and the five inner outcrops higher up, like smaller teeth ringing a circular mouth which opened skywards where, in days long gone, the renewing lightning would strike the Tree of Life, and the Arcra would out its subtle energy beams to link the Nine Worlds. Atop each of these outcrops were hidden watchers, Korman knew, Dreamcasters who never slept. And in between were the lance-spiked thorn thickets, home to fierce Aghmaath warriors.

'How will we ever enter there to replace the Arcra-Nama, even if Shelley does find it?' he wondered, but long mental practice reasserted itself and he visualised a happy outcome, trusting that there would be a way. He looked over at Shelley, and thought, 'There is my sign of hope. She has been sent. It is she who will find the way, when the time is right.' Encouraged, and filled with love for the Lady who had brought them safely out of the Bottomless Canyon, he stood up again to lead them on.

As the day wore on, they found the going rougher. Thick wiry bracken, over the children's heads, blocked their way. Korman had to go in front, parting the bracken with his arms and trampling a path for them. The air was hot and still, flies were buzzing, and the children were grumbling, when suddenly they stumbled onto a clear path that wound across the mountainside.

'The Pilgrim Path!' said Korman.

'Let's follow it!' begged Rilke. Korman was dubious, but Shelley pointed out that whatever might be following them would see their tracks through the bracken a mile off.

Korman reluctantly agreed.

'But we must be on our guard at all times.'

They set off up the Pilgrim Path, grateful for the paving-stones under their feet and a cool breeze on their hot faces. The path snaked up the mountainside, with smooth black standing stones at intervals, carved with the serpent signs of the Zagonamara, and low stone benches at their feet, polished by countless hands and knees, where prayers used to be said and rest taken. 'See, the little piles of pebbles, offerings to the aspect of the Zagonamara each stone represented!' said Korman as they rested in the shade of one of the standing stones. 'How long have they lain here, I wonder? Since before the Tree was planted on the Tor Enyása, perhaps.'

'There's some pretty stones here, under the moss!' said Rilke, digging with Worriette looking on, curious, until Bootnip waddled over, shoved her aside and began to dig with his powerful paws next to Rilke.

'Do not take any of the pebbles!' said Korman. 'We must respect the offerings of the pilgrims.' He took Bootnip by the scruff of the neck and put him firmly back into his pack.

The children complained about their packs, which had been feeling heavier and heavier in the heat. 'Eat something out of them,' suggested Korman, smiling. 'They will grow lighter, and you will grow stronger.' They ate a little food and drank a good deal of water, then hoisted their very slightly lighter packs onto their tired backs and, following Korman with groans, set off once more.

They were approaching a sharp bend where the path went under some high overhanging rocks on either side, when Worriette began shivering and piping her warning call. 'What's the matter...' began Rilke, but before he could say 'Worriette' there were sudden sounds from the rocks behind and ahead. Shaggy, moss-camouflaged figures leapt down onto the path with drawn bows, sharp hunting arrows pointed at the travellers' hearts.

Shelley, after her initial shock, almost cried out, 'Quickblade!' The ambushers were just like Boy Raiders. Most looked to be fourteen or so. They were staring at the strangers. Rilke stared back at the boys defiantly, but edged closer to Shelley. Korman recognised them by their clothing as Tímathians, from the Guardian World, but with an unfamiliar device embroidered on the breast: a lighthouse shining in a black background studded with stars. 'The Order of the Keeper! Hillgard!' he thought, and joy filled his heart. He held out his hands to the boys and took a step forward. 'We come in peace, seeking Hillgard...'

'Halt!' cried the boy at the front, older than the others, a tall, stern young man with dark hair and dark glittering eyes deep-set in a long face. He was clearly their leader. 'You are trespassing in the realm of the Keeper. What is your business here?' he asked.

'We are glad to meet you, if you truly are what you seem, warriors of the Guardian World, folk who honour the Keeper!' said Korman, as the children held close to him and stared back at their ambushers. One of the smaller boys poked out his tongue at Shelley, and she poked hers back. But one of the other boys gave him a whack, and he went back to glaring at the trespassers.

'We are warriors of the Guardian World,' said the leader, proudly. 'But who are you?'

'I am Korman the Outcast, a Tidak Guardian, and this is Shelley of Kor-Edartha, and this is Rilke of Pebblebrook, and his pet, an orphaned gagavala from the land of Applegate. We seek refuge from the Aghmaath, and safe conduct through this land. Also, I seek my brother, one Hillgard the Lionhearted, of the Guardian World.'

'How can we know what you say is true? Do you have a token that you are truly a Guardian?

'Show him your sword, Korman!' cried Rilke, but Korman had already drawn it, the crystal blade glowing as he held it up. 'Behold Arcratíne, firesword of the last Tintazürash of the Tree of Life.'

The boys all looked at him in fear and wonder. Some began to back away into the bushes. Korman sheathed Arcratíne, and said, 'Fear not! I am true to the Concept. Hethür, Krithür, Shaktha!

'Then you are a friend and a brother!' cried the leader of the Guardian boys, laughing out loud. 'And Shelley of Edartha and Rilke – and his wurrier – are welcome too. I am Kernan the Orphan.' He bowed to Korman, then to Shelley, and now the whole band was thronging around them, jumping off the rocks and eagerly beckoning them on up the path.

'You will meet your blood brother very soon!' said the boy. 'He has been waiting for you for a very long time. We were told to watch for you, and bring you to him in safety! Come, follow us!'

They set off up the path at a fast pace, until they realized the travellers were weary, and some of the boys offered to carry their packs. Shelley and Rilke gladly accepted, but Korman kept his. Coming around the final bend, they found themselves beneath the huge monolith of Baldrock. Forty or so yards from its foot there rose a high stone wall of massive shaped stones, perfectly fitted. 'Like the Inca stones in Peru,' thought Shelley. There was a great gate of iron-bound wood, set in a heavy stone arch, with a tall keystone carved with the emblem of the lighthouse and stars.

'Behold, the fortress of Baldrock!' said Kernan proudly. 'Our home will be your refuge. No Aghmaath will come through this gate while there is breath in our bodies!'

The gates swung open, and they went up a broad path leading to an outcrop at the foot of the massif, surrounded by short grass grazed by sheep. Shelley almost laughed to see the familiar woolly animals bouncing nervously away from them as if it was the first time they had ever seen humans.

There was a stair cut into the rock, just wide enough to walk in single file. Shelley and Rilke both looked up and felt giddy. Rilke steadied himself against Shelley and gazed up in awe. The steps went up and up, crisscrossing the side of Baldrock, angling across its imposing cliffs until they disappeared over a shoulder near the summit. Not wanting to appear afraid, the two children steadied their nerves and began to climb, following Kernan, with Korman right behind. 'In case one of you stumbles,' he said. Shelley wondered what would happen if they both stumbled at once, but she said nothing.

When they finally reached the place where the stair had curved out of sight, they saw that the shoulder was quite broad. Behind it rose the final impassable peak, hundreds of feet up, where only the nimble mountain goats climbed. But in the sheer sides of the mountain were openings with wooden doors opening onto lofty balconies. It made the Shelley giddy just to think of standing on them.

All along the terraced shoulder of the mountain, there were huts and cottages of stone and gnarled mountain wood, quaint dwellings which Shelley fell in love with immediately.

'Oh, this is lovely!' she exclaimed, as she recovered her breath after the steep climb. 'Is that your village?'

'Yes, we live there now, though we did not build most of it, just rebuilt the ruins we found,' said Kernan, modestly, but Shelley saw that he was very proud of it. 'I can show you around later; but first we have been ordered to take you straight to the Top, where Lord Hillgard is waiting.'

The final ascent was through a dark stairway winding up through the living rock. It reminded Shelley of Barachthad's cave, smoothly carved, glassy, as if melted through the rock by some technique unknown to Earth. But the rock was very different here: black granite, sparkling with dark red flecks and shiny flakes of mica.

As they approached the top of the long stairway they heard the eerie sound of wind funnelling through narrow gaps. Deep blue sky showed bright beyond an arched doorway, carved on either side with serpents coiled about tree trunks. Kernan led them out into a wide circular courtyard, unroofed but walled with great close-fitting stones, Korman's height or a little more. They were very high up; the air felt colder.

'The Top of Baldrock!' said Kernan. They looked around in wonder. There was a wrought-iron railing (or copper, Shelley thought from the green tinge) on the outer edge of the wall. The uprights were tipped with ball-and-spike decorations, making the wall look like a circlet or crown. Beyond was nothing but blue sky, which felt so near they could reach up and touch it. A little stairway went up onto the perimeter wall, and Rilke wanted to climb it, to look over the edge at the whole world below.

But something else attracted him even more: in the centre of the courtyard there was a circular pool of dark water, perhaps twenty paces across, reflecting the blue of the sky, almost level with the polished black flagstones of the pavement that surrounded it. There were many white lotuses floating in it, tinged with pale yellow, and the eddying wind wafted their perfume about the courtyard.

In the middle of the pool was a pillar of black rock, carved in the likeness of a great tree-trunk wound about with two glistening dragon-snakes, whose wings bore the engraved image of the Lady. There were carved steps leading up to a higher pool in the top of the pillar, from which water spilled over four golden lily leaves.

They all stared at the fountain in wonder, not for the pond or the carved pillar, but the shining object which floated in the pool atop the pillar: a massive sphere of pure crystal, higher than a man, glistening in the late afternoon sun. There was a hint of curved lines on its surface like tightly overlapping petals, and rainbow colours gleamed from its depths.

'The Crystal Lotus of Baldrock! So it still exists!' exclaimed Korman. There was a feeling of great power in the air. The very stone under their feet seemed to pulsate with it.

'Like the Zagonamara lake, yet unlike,' thought Shelley. 'The Head of the Zagonamara, and the Eye of mystic seeing, with the crown that catches the lightning,' she murmured. 'Just as Rastapin described it!'

The old monk had told them that if they found their way to the sacred head of Baldrock they would (he hoped) find it there still, floating on the sacred waters. 'Inside the Lotus,' he had said, 'one may have visions of many things, past, present and future, if one dares to open it and sit within.'

The place was silent, except for the tinkling of the water and the faint hiss of the wind in the railings. From far below came the occasional bleating of a sheep in the lower pastures of Baldrock, and higher up the mountain goats were calling to one another across the ravines as the shadows lengthened.

Rilke ran to the edge of the lower pond, and was testing the depth of the water, when there came a sharp cracking sound. He looked up at the crystal. Something was happening to it.

Shelley grabbed Korman's arm, but Kernan said, 'Do not fear! Watch!' They stared in wonder as the crystal began to open like a giant lotus bud, its petals slowly unfolding until they lay almost level, resting on the top of the pillar. A figure rose up from the midst, tall and sombre in the dark robes of the Order of the Keeper. But his face shone with joy as he looked on Korman.

'O my brother! Is it really you? It has been a long, long time! Your beard – it is going white!'

'And yours is fuller, but not so red as it once was!' cried Korman.

The lost brother of Korman, Hillgard the Lionhearted, hurried down the steps of the pillar. Jumping into a little boat at its foot, he pushed off and glided across the pond to greet the visitors. Korman and Hillgard embraced a long time. Then Hillgard said, through tears, 'My brother, for very many years after the fall of the Tor Enyása, I thought you were dead, by the decree of the Tidak Guardians, until one day I heard a rumour, of one crazy outcast Guardian who now served the Lady of the Lake, and had disappeared into the wilderness to await the coming of the Kortan. Is this madness true? Tell me of it!'

'There is much to tell, if I am to persuade you that I am not mad, my brother. And yes, it is true that the Lady appeared to me as I lay dying, after giving up the breath of life by order of the council, having failed in my charge to protect the Arcra. She asked me to await the coming of the Kortana, and to learn from her things that would be needful in the days ahead.'

'Is she, then, above the Guardian Council?'

'No, but she does not answer to them, but to a higher – or deeper – power. And the Guardian Council is no more.'

'Well, my brother, do not think me mad if I say to you that I too answer to a Higher Power: that of the Keeper. After the downfall of our Order in the battle of Tor Enyása, I made for this mountain, having heard that it was not only an ancient fortress but also a place of power for seeing things that are afar off. I burned to gain some power, any power, to wreak vengeance upon the Aghmaath.

'And I took Baldrock single-handed, for it was said to be haunted, and the people of Baz Apédnapath feared the monks of the Zagonamara who made pilgrimage to this summit at the solstices. But none lived here except the mountain goats, which provided me with meat and wool.

'Long years I meditated here on the Summit. I dared to open the Crystal Lotus and sit in it. Also I laboured to reopen the vaults and secret passages of the mountain, interrupted only by the visits of the monks and priestesses of the outlandish Zagonamara cult, until I forbade them to come here, and locked the gates against them. They were threatening the security of my stronghold.

'Then I returned to the teachings of my first foster-father, Taniar of the Order of the Keeper, and sought to contact the Keeper for myself, through dreams and trance in the Lotus. Here it was that I at last contacted the Keeper. And he told me to seek for the lost technologies of the Makers, and to fashion weapons against the Aghmaath. He promised to send me help from the Guardian World, children whom I should train in a new Way: the Way of the Tower! And with them I would wreak vengeance on the accursed Aghmaath!'

Korman did not reply, but shook his head, dubiously.

'You were always timid!' said Hillgard, his blue eyes flashing. 'Embrace your hatred! Let it motivate you to such acts of valour and vengeance upon our enemies that the world of Aeden will never forget, though it last for a thousand ages!'

The children were getting restless by now, and asked Kernan (who had been standing to attention all this time awaiting his master's orders) if they could walk on top of the wall. Kernan motioned to them to follow him in silence. They tip-toed off while the two old Guardians, oblivious to all else, disputed and discussed the truths of the Keeper and of the Lady, and whether these new truths might be reconciled within the Concept, to which both still held above all.

Meanwhile the children inched out onto the top wall, which was only about one pace wide. They shuffled slowly around it, bracing against the wind which blew fresh from the sea, cooling their bodies and sharpening their minds. Shelley was not dizzy as long as she looked at the horizon, where the island of Aeden slipped down into the distant sea, hazy, blue and dim; but when she looked straight down and saw the little huts on the shoulder of the massif and (even further down) the winding snake-path of the Pilgrims, she felt the ground move under her, and her head spun. She held onto Rilke, and they both swayed a little and gripped the railings. The little wurrier, sensibly, had not ventured up with them, but peeped out from Rilke's pack, which he had put on the pavement at the foot of the stairs.

Kernan walked lightly without fear in front of them, holding his arms out to feel the wind. When they reached the side of the wall facing away from the sun, which was now sinking towards the western sea, he pointed out the Northeast Arm, ending at the peninsula of the Guardian World, with its own Tor Enyása like the central one, but smaller.

'That is the ruined fortress of the Guardians, now being garrisoned again by our people, at Lord Hillgard's command. All the land between here and there we have claimed for the Guardians and the Order of the Keeper. One day we will go forth and do battle with the Dark Invaders, and win back all of Aeden.'

'Where did you all come from, you boys I mean?' asked Shelley.

'We come from the Guardian World, Tímathia. This is how I came here: One day as I walked alone, meditating on the beauty that was in Aeden, where dwelt those fortunate Guardians who had been chosen to protect the blessed jeweltree grove on the magical Plateau, and the Tree of Life in the midst of it, with its golden crystal, the Arcra-Nama, a crack opened up before me in the air of the desert. I looked into the miraculous crack, convinced that through it lay the lost world of Aeden, closed off from ours for seventy-three years. I saw this peak of Baldrock shining in the distance, and heard in my mind the call of Lord Hillgard, urging me to come to him. And I took courage to step into the crack.

'At once I found myself treading the fearful vastness of the Abyss between Worlds, but only for a moment. Then I landed safely in a certain place between the Guardian mountain and here. Some of the brothers were waiting for me: the place was known to Hillgard as one of the hidden Portals between the worlds, open only to children, it seems. For the Great Paths were closed when the Arcra-Nama was stolen.'

'That's what happened to me, sort of! Except Korman was waiting for me – and of course the Aghmaath! We've been on the run from them ever since. We took Rilke with us when his parents' town was going over to the Aghmaath. It was horrible. They started eating those drugged apples and chanting to the Void.'

'I know of their ways. We have been taught about the enemy. But where are you making for, if not here to join us in the coming war?'

'I... um... we're going to a place called Ürak Tara so I can be initiated and...'

'And?'

'And then, they say, I will know how to find the Arcra-Achrha, the Lost Jewel.'

'So, are you the one they call the Kortan?' Kernan's eyes were wide, yet doubt was in them.

'The Kortana. So they tell me. I don't know what to believe. But I do want to do something for Aeden. It feels like home, somehow – the lost Paradise that Earth – I mean Kor-Edartha – once belonged to. The Heartland. So many of our legends are about this place, and we are all homesick for it, and yet we don't know where it is.'

Kernan looked at her, awestruck. 'So the legends about Kor-Edartha are true: there is such a world!'

'Of course there is!' said Shelley, but as she thought about motorways and cars and cities and TV and the whole world she grew up taking for granted, thinking it was the only world, she felt a strange change of perspective, as if things had been turned inside out, and her old life and Earth seemed alien and improbable – almost unbelievable. She felt ashamed of it, too, and wanted to forget it.

'Tell me about Edartha,' said Kernan.

But Shelley didn't hear him. She was far away, imagining a new life in Aeden, glorious and free. 'I'd be Shelley the Braveheart, Restorer of Aeden,' she thought dreamily. She looked out over the Guardian Arm, the Badlands, and beyond, to the plains of the Boy Raiders, and she felt she was looking into her future. But there was haze over the plains. 'Quickblade,' she whispered into the wind, 'where you are now? Will I see you again? I'll need your help before the end. I'm not really that brave on my own.'

Worriette, meanwhile, had climbed out of Rilke's pack and was tentatively trying the steps that led up to the top of the wall, whimpering and sniffing the air. Rilke was getting cold, so he went back down the steps and picked up the shivering wurrier. He had taken over their shared pet, but Shelley didn't mind. He was the youngest of the group, and she felt sorry for him, so far from home, not knowing if his parents were prisoners of the enemy – or dead.

Shelley was getting cold too, so she came back down with Kernan. It was much warmer in the shelter of the wall, where the long-separated brothers were still disputing.

'No, we cannot trust in any power of this world, whether it be this Lady of yours or the so-called Zagonamara,' Hillgard was saying. 'We must look beyond, to the Power that our ancestors met in the far regions of space: the Keeper. My Tímathian children have been called across the chasm between the worlds by his power. I tell you, we will overcome the Aghmaath! The future of Aeden is with the New Guardians, not some mumbling monks from the underworld!'

Korman looked at his brother with alarm. 'You would be a fool, if you keep out the pilgrims of the Zagonamara, and deny the Lady of the Lake! It is they who hold the key to the defence of the land, until the Jewel has been restored and the power of the Zagonamara flows once more beneath the Tor Enyása into the Tree. And as for the Lady, since she was taken and thrown into the thorns, she is now deep in the mindfields of the enemy, in the Dreamweb, where she can help us overcome their deceptions. For we cannot win by force of arms, no matter how powerful. It is a battle for the mind and heart, my brother.'

'The pilgrims would threaten the integrity of this fortress,' replied Hillgard. 'Call me a fool, my brother, but I will not risk having them here. Look! We are building weapons here which may be able to destroy the thorn nests, more powerful even than the old fireswords: reflectors which focus the light of the sun into lightcrystals then release it in a beam powerful enough to set fire to the thorns!' He pointed triumphantly to a kind of large optical machine on a tripod which Korman had not noticed, standing on a platform which made it level with the top of the wall. Its bright silver reflector and diamond lenses glittered in the golden-red light of the setting sun.

'So, that is what you are using the diamonds for!' said Korman. 'Did you know that the monks risked their own safety by letting the smugglers pass through their caves? They hope that in time you will come to trust them, and re-open the pilgrim path of the Zagonamara.'

'I have told them that when the enemy is banished or destroyed, then we will allow them to make pilgrimage here. Until then, let them lead their own simple life in the deeps, if that is their choice: not to join with us in the great war of liberation. But I have disputed long with them. I know that they are stubborn, and will not join us.'

They fell silent. The sun was now setting, and the air was charged with power. The sky, seen from that lofty place, was a vast hemisphere of flaming red and fiery orange clouds, slowly deepening to crimson. The children fidgeted, but Kernan motioned for them to be silent.

Korman spoke at last. 'Here Arcratíne, the Jewel-Guardian, feels the power of its ancient home, the Crystal World, and the Fire World where it was forged.'

The golden hilt-gem glowed in the last light as he drew Arcratíne and raised it aloft, and the sunset colours ran up and down the gleaming crystal blade. There was a crackling of electricity in the air about the blade. 'Hethür, Krithür, Shaktha!' Korman chanted, and Hillgard joined in, his deep voice full of passion.

But Korman re-sheathed the sword.

'Alas, I have sworn not to use it in battle until the Lady commands, for I must learn a deep wisdom, the wisdom of Faery, which she knows and you do not, and which I only glimpse – though on this sacred mountaintop, I begin to see the way that the heavenly wisdom and the earthly are reconciled. Here where the lightning leaps from sky to earth, and from earth to sky.'

'Ha! Long years in the desert waiting in vain for the Kortan have driven you mad,' said Hillgard, but he smiled inwardly to see that the passion for battle was still strong in Korman. He longed to persuade him to stay, and help train the army of New Guardians that would vanquish the Aghmaath. Secretly he began to think about holding Korman at Baldrock by force until he did change his mind.

'But I believe that I did not wait in vain,' said Korman, seeing Shelley approach (ignoring Kernan's protests). 'You have not enquired as to my fellow-traveller. Behold, Shelley of Kor-Edartha!'

'A girl?' said Hillgard. 'Meaning no offence, young lady,' he added, and bowed slightly. But Shelley looked at him defiantly and said to Korman, 'I think it's time we went back down to the village now, don't you? Some of us like to eat, you know.'

Korman and Hillgard apologised for making the children wait so long, and Shelley said it was all right. Then Hillgard told Kernan, 'Take our other guests down to the village of Hope and entertain them well. Korman and I still have much to discuss.'

So they left the two old warriors on the summit and went down the dark winding stairway to Kernan's village on the shoulder of the mountain. As they descended the seemingly endless stairs, Shelley ventured a question to their guide, who had become quite silent. 'Do you boys live alone in the village, or are there... girls?'

He seemed relieved to be asked a question. 'Yes, that is why it is called the village of Hope. When we are deemed worthy, some of us will marry, and the women will bear the new hope for Aeden's liberation. And others of us will become warrior monks, and poets and seers.'

'Which will you be?' she asked. But he would not say.

When they emerged from the tunnel the sun was gone and the first brilliant stars were out, green and red points of light in the blackening sky.

It seemed that there was good gardening on the slopes of Baldrock, and plentiful supplies were stored in the fortress. The boys were joined by girls who came out of other cottages at the far end of the village, and together they prepared a feast under the stars, with long tables placed by the boys in a circle around a big campfire, and mutton was roasted, and Tímathian dishes were prepared by the girls. When the meal was ready, they all lined up and faced towards the Enyása of the world of Tímathia, the Guardian world. Then they brought out their singing bowls – some large as soup-bowls, some small and delicate as teacups – and tapped them in unison, the high notes blending with the low, until a single harmony emerged. It reverberated about the silent company, seeming to Shelley to vibrate in the depths of her body, from low in her stomach to the top of her head, healing and unifying her mind and body. It was the Music of the Spheres, the sound of creation. Shelley remembered Korman describing it that first day when they stood before the cliffs of the Padmaddim.

The company was chanting to the music:

Hethür, Krithür, Shaktha!

'The One, the Concept, the Soul of the World!' That Guardian mantra seemed to answer for a prayer to open most occasions, Shelley reflected – from a meal to a battle.

When the mutton was passed around, Rilke asked for fish. 'I'm a vegetarian,' he explained. But there was no fish, so he munched n carrots and fruit. And there were plenty of nuts.

After the feast, songs of the Guardian World were sung, songs of dragons, great exploits and deeds of heroism and endurance. The Tímathian music, accompanied by their singing bowls and flutes, was more like chanting, like the Gregorian chants Shelley had heard her father listen to in his little dome in the back garden, in another world, far, far away.

Rilke was entertaining some of the other children, showing off the tricks he had taught Worriette. She begged, rolled over, and balanced pieces of apple on her little nose until he gave her the word to eat them. Then with one snap they were in her mouth, and she smacked her lips in triumph.

Then Kernan called, 'What about a song about Edartha, for our guest?' One of the older girls got up, smiling self-consciously. Her name was Magrethána, which means Shepherdess. She wore a long dress of white woven wool, fastened with a blue diamond that reflected the flame colours of the firelight. She stood on the rough-hewn wooden dais at one end of the rectangle of tables, under a curved rockface of the mountain which focussed the sound.

Magrethána raised her hand for silence, and her manner changed. Now she was a leader, an inspirer of men, beautiful, tall and willowy, a shepherdess and poet in training, of the Order of the Keeper. She began to speak, in soft rhythmic speech, magnified by the cliff behind, silver-voiced like a moonbird.

First she looked at Shelley and welcomed her graciously, then she told of the Tímathian legends about Kor-Edartha, the Silver World, and the Templar ancestors who came from Edartha, and how they became Guardians in the Order of the Makers.

Then she told a legend of the dolphins who swam the paths between the seas of all the Nine Worlds, by means of the undersea Trees which still survived, and brought with them the wisdom of the great whales of the Blue World, and the talking Cuttlefish and the giant Nautiluses of Aeden which came to Kor-Edartha in its hour of need.

After that Magrethána invited Shelley to tell a story from Edartha, and she got up on the dais and told them some of the Earth legends about Aeden, about the Garden of Eden (or Aeden, as it is properly spelt) and the Tower of Babel, of King Arthur and Guinevere, the Lady of the Lake, Merlin, and the Knights of the Round Table. The boys loved that story and kept interrupting and asking questions like, 'How did the knights settle a dispute?' and 'Did they have duels?' and 'How did they win the hand of a lady?' and 'Which world did Merlin come from, and what was his Training?'

But the girls asked about Guinevere and the mysterious Lady of the Lake. They had not yet heard, it seemed, about their own Lake Avalon and the Lady of Aeden. When she began to tell them, they were enthralled, but the boys were doubtful, and some said, 'We should ask Lord Hillgard about this. The Concept and the Order of the Keeper say nothing about a woman priest. Only poets. Was she a poet?'

Shelley felt very tired, and just said, 'Don't be such bigots! You obviously need to meet the Lady for yourself. If only Hillgard would let the pilgrims up onto the mountain, maybe she'd appear to you...'

Then Kernan rose up and said, 'These are deep matters. We must consult Lord Hillgard about them in the morning. It is time for sleep now.'

Shelley was annoyed, but let it pass, vowing to talk to him in private when she got a chance.

The visitors were shown to their cottage, a beautiful thatched stone dwelling with (to Shelley's surprise and delight) hot and cold running water. It seemed that the technology of Barachthad's cave was not unique on Aeden; the village of Hope even had the same glowing amber spheres for light.

So Shelley had one of the few things she had really been missing on Aeden: a hot bath. She reflected as she luxuriated in the bubbly water, 'There's so much to learn about here, so much to do! I could really be happy, somewhere here on Aeden. Somewhere romantic. I could have children... After the Aghmaath are gone, of course. I could be a queen, with Quickblade if we fell in love – and later, when we were really grown up – we could have children...'

But always her thoughts returned to her parents, and friends back on Earth, and she felt she would have to return, if only to say goodbye. But could she return? The Portal did not seem to be at all reliable: Korman had waited beside it for seventy-three years and nothing had happened.

Rilke and Worriette were very tired, and went straight to bed. They curled up together and were asleep almost before their heads touched the downy pillow.

Korman and Hillgard came out of the mountain late at night when all was quiet, and broke bread together and had a little red wine. They talked together softly by the light of the campfire as it gradually died to a few glowing coals, then by starlight, looking out north-east at the deserted mountain of the Guardian Arm, now being reclaimed by Hillgard. They spoke of their youth together – and apart – on the Red Planet, of loves and heartbreaks, of their different early trainings and later their shared training as Guardians under their adopted father, Hillcrest the Wise.

Then they crossed in memory to Aeden, and the fateful events that led to the fall of the Tor Enyása, and their different paths in the seventy-three years since. So they came back yet again to the matter of their differences. But finally, as the night grew colder and the winds began to stir, they retired for the night. Before sleeping, each in his way meditated, and each prayed for the salvation of Aeden.

In the night it clouded over, and the mountaintop was overhung with dark thunderclouds. Then the lightning leaped from cloud to cloud, and from the clouds to the spiked crown of Baldrock, and the thunderclaps boomed through the village below. Shelley woke and stared out the little window, and listened to the huge sound of the thunder, then to the gentle sound of windblown rain on the panes. 'The power of the Zagonamara!' she smiled, and went back to sleep.

Chapter Thirty-two

The Crystal Lotus

In the bright morning, the children awoke to the sound of firewood being chopped, and the cheerful chanting of Tímathian boys, and further off the sweet sound of the singing of the Tímathian maidens. But Shelley had a niggly feeling in the back of her mind; something from last night troubled her. Then she remembered. She had had a dream, in which Hillgard had come, crowned with a copper crown, brandishing a great sword. His eyes had stared darkly, and he barred their way off the mountain. The boys had come with drawn swords, and ordered them to swear allegiance to the Tower of the Keeper. And from the top of the mountain had come lightnings and then a great flash as if the lightning had been harnessed and focussed into a deadly beam. Its searing light had exploded in her eyes, and she had woken, heart pounding, her forehead prickling as if a magnetic finger had touched it. Outside the cottage, the thunderstorm was still rumbling in the distance, though the rain had stopped. 'It's just the lightning,' she had told herself, and she had gone back to sleep. But now she wondered uneasily about Hillgard.

They all ate outside, after a prayer to the Concept, standing and facing east over the bright lands of the Guardians, over which the golden sun was climbing. 'It's about eight o'clock,' thought Shelley, yawning. 'Not that it matters, when there are no watches and no buses to catch! And no school!' She felt a giddy rush of freedom at the thought. Why had she thought it was so necessary to go to school to learn anything? There on the mountain it seemed so easy to learn whatever one needed or wanted to, without all that fuss and boredom. 'Earth teachers try to force-feed you secondhand, mouldy old stuff, and then make you regurgitate it!' she thought, yawning.

Rilke and Worriette were in high spirits too. The air tingled with vitality after last night's electrical storm. Some of the children, including Kernan, had already gone down the bushclad slopes, on patrol. The rest were to go to lessons under their mentors, older students, young men and women of eighteen or so, who had come through a portal from the Guardian World years before and had already been trained by Hillgard. Now they were giving the Guardian training to the younger ones. It was very intense, nothing like school as Shelley had known it. For these children it was a matter of life and death.

She and Rilke sat in on one group and began to hear something of the teaching. But Korman came to her and said, 'We have been invited to the summit. Hillgard has agreed to test the power of the Lady. He wishes for you to sit in the seat of the Crystal Lotus, and ask for a vision or a sign.'

'What?' said Shelley. 'I've never... I mean...'

'You have felt the power of the Zagonamara. It is that same power in which the Lady lives and is one with. You have walked in Faery.'

'I guess I can try. Will you sit in the crystal sphere too?'

'Perhaps. But I feel that you are the key to this impasse. My brother is stubborn, but perhaps you have been sent at this time to enlighten him.'

'He has a lot in common with you, Korman, something noble that makes me want to follow him into battle or anywhere he leads. But there's also something weird about him, too. Dangerous – dark, even.'

'Yes, he stands upon a knife-edge. He is perilously close to the darkness which he hates. Being consumed by hatred for the dark, he is in danger of being engulfed by it. My brother... he needs the love of the Mother of all, with whom even the dark is blessed.' Shelley saw a tear in Korman's eye, the first since she had known him.

'All right, I'll go,' she said. Korman sighed with relief.

They left Rilke with the class, and were escorted by one of the older boys up the long dark stairs again.

Hillgard was waiting at the summit. He looked haggard and uneasy. He wore a burnished copper crown, just like the one in Shelley's dream. A shiver went up her back when she saw it. He was pacing the pavement by the pond in the fresh morning air, looking out over the wall at the blue sky.

'Good morning, I trust you slept well?' he said to Shelley, addressing her directly for the first time. His bright blue eyes were fixed on hers.

'Yes, thank you. They looked after me very well,' she replied, a little stiffly. Something about him put her on her guard. 'He's really a chauvinist,' she thought. 'They're always extra polite to women.'

'Well, we are here because you two believe in the old myths about the Zagonamara and the Lady of Aeden, the so-called Venus of Kor-Edartha, or Mary, or the Lady of the Lake, and I believe there is nothing down there but the clay beneath our feet, which the sun may dry up and the wind may blow away.'

'And yet out of the dust may spring a flower,' said Korman.

'And will the Lady heal your withered sword arm, Korman?' asked Hillgard, bitterly.

'Let's not argue any more,' said Shelley. 'That won't settle it, not if you can't feel the power of the Lady, her love and the power that comes from below our feet, not just from the sky above. I've been learning about it, and I love it. It's like... like coming home. Like the safety of a mother. Why are you so afraid of it, Hillgard?'

The old warrior looked troubled, and turned away. She thought she saw tears in his eyes. 'Surely not,' she thought.

'I had no mother...' he muttered fiercely, as if to himself. Then he turned and spoke to her again. 'Well, let us get this over with. Step up into the ancient crystal, the greatest piece of lightcrystal on Aeden. It was mined, they say, from the deepest depths of Baz Apédnapath, soon after the cataclysm which formed that place. It is said to be the very Eye of the Zagonamara, the place of union of the Sky Father and the Earth Mother! Though I never found it to be so.'

'That is because you never opened to it. The Mother does not impose herself upon those who think they have no need of her and look only to the sky,' she heard Korman reply as she rowed across the lotus pond and ascended the steps that wound around the pillar on the back of the dragons. The air seemed to sing with a transcendent cosmic power, while the rock beneath her feet hummed with the power of the immanent Goddess.

'Touch the crystal, and it will open,' called Hillgard. She reached out, feeling a fear as of high-voltage electricity, like when she once reached out and touched the charged sphere of a Van De Graaf generator in the physics department at school, and the sparks jumped to her hand, and her hair had all stood on end with the static electricity.

'Call to the Lady, clear your mind, and open your heart,' said Korman. 'Let her speak to you.'

The sphere glowed brightly, then opened like a flower as she touched its cool smooth surface.

'It never glowed like that for me!' exclaimed Hillgard, and Korman looked at him meaningfully.

'A cosmic egg, or is it an incubator?' thought Shelley as she stepped inside. The petals closed and she sat down in the crystal seat sculpted into the floor. She was floating in an indeterminate pearly light coming from the crystal which now enveloped her. She bathed in the light as the sphere gently turned at her slightest movement.

The energy within and around her grew until she felt weightless. She lost all sense of up or down, and the world was one unified thing, earth and sky fused in a primeval light, shot with rainbow hues. She lay back and calmed her mind. Huge visions began to unfold before her, infused with immense surges of feeling, as if she were the God and the Goddess, and all petty consciousness was swallowed up in great heroic feelings of love and joy and longing for the fulfilment and blessing of all creatures in their rightful dwellings. She wept for joy so intense she gasped for air, then wept again in sorrow equally intense, at the things that she saw.

Outside, the sky had darkened, and a thundercloud was forming over the mountain. The two Guardian brothers were dwarfed by its towering immensity. The dense white mist of it engulfed the summit. The wind whipped this way and that, restlessly. The sphere was invisible in the mist except for an eerie glow.

Without warning, a bolt of lightning split the air, searing blue-white, branching to strike the spikes of the summit crown. The brothers' robes and beards crackled with blue fire. Then a drenching rain lashed them. Then the mists parted. The sphere opened, and Shelley rose out of it. Her clothing glowed white against the dark stormclouds, and her face shone. But she was stern as she cried out over the rising wind, 'This is the message from the Lady: the sign you sought, Hillgard, it is coming! You have denied the power of the Zagonamara, and from the Darkness your enemy is coming! They are almost upon you. Look!'

She pointed in the direction of the Canyon. Hillgard and Korman sprang up the stairs onto the wall, and looked down through the stinging rain. The mist had gone. On the Pilgrim Path far below was a dark army, advancing toward the mountain like a line of black ants, dragging with them siege-engines and a deathwagon. There were many banners flying in the wind, and Hillgard cried out when he saw the device they bore. 'The spinning scythes! The Aghmaath are coming!' He turned to Shelley, who had joined them and was looking down also. 'My heart is struck with fear, though I long expected an attack, and even, in my folly, welcomed it. I now doubt all that I believed before. Tell me, what did you see in there? Did she speak to you? Did you see Her, Shelley? Did she say anything about... about me?'

'Yes,' said Shelley, her eyes shining. 'I saw the Lady, and she gave me a message for you, Hillgard. "Even now," she says, "Turn back from your hatred and let in the love, and the light you have always followed will guide you, even in your darkest hour. For he whom you saw in the high place was not the Keeper, but a deception of Rakmad, ruler of the Aghmaath on Aeden. He sends for you, to claim what is his. For it was he who incited you to build these engines of war and destruction. Then he will march to the east, where your secret silver mines are not hidden from him as you thought. He has read your innermost thoughts, and knows all your strategies." '

Hillgard turned white, and said to Shelley, 'Young lady, I fear your words more than the thorny spears of the Aghmaath! You cannot have known all these things... the Lady indeed speaks through you. Woe is me!'

He turned to look out over the Canyon and the mountains far beyond the High Pass where Lake Avalon lay like a hidden jewel.

'So, Lady of Avalon,' he cried, 'I have been deceived! How blind I have been! But you tried to speak to me. And I would not listen.' He bowed his head as if to weep. But then he set his jaw and stood upright, saying, 'I am afraid for my men, but more so for myself, I who led them to this end. Still we must defend ourselves as best we can! Tell the Lady she has my word as a Guardian: when I am able I will send word to the priestesses and the monks of the lake, that they are welcome back to this sacred place, if it is not taken by the enemy.'

But the stormcrows were circling the mountain, cawing, as if in mockery of his eleventh-hour conversion.

Before three hours had past, long before the makeshift defence was ready, the enemy arrived. Outside the gates, the tall, dark figure of Hithrax stepped forward.

'Open, in the name of the Void,' he cried in a terrible voice, 'Rakmad claims what is his.' The silver-helmeted boys guarding the gate trembled as they gripped their swords, but returned defiant words. Then the command was given, and the Edarthan boy Gareth came forward, dressed all in black, leading a band of huge men dragging a siege engine, a ram they had made from one of the black standing stones which they had uprooted from the sacred path. It swung by thick ropes from a lashed framework of oak branches running on wheels of solid oak planks cut into circles. Gareth gave the order, and the ram swung, crashing with sickening force against the gates.

Far above on the crown of the mountain, Korman was saying farewell to his brother. 'For Rakmad will have read your mind and will know through you that the Kortana, or a child who may be the Kortana, is here. Shelley will be hunted, and whether the siege lasts a day or a year, she will not escape in the end. Then our greatest hope will be gone.'

'I wanted to keep you here, Korman,' Hillgard confessed sadly. 'With or without your consent. Now I see that Rakmad was putting even that thought into my mind. For, though I wear a silver cap by day or night, I take it off to sit in the crystal sphere, since I found that the messages of the Keeper – or he whom I thought to be the Keeper – did not come clearly if I wore it.'

'Never take it off again, my brother! And seek the wisdom of the Lady, no matter what may befall you. Remember her message to you through Shelley! She will be with you always.'

'Now I must go to the defence of my fortress, though my heart warns me that I go to my death,' said Hillgard. 'Remember the secret way I told you. Go with the Mother and Father of us all! And may we meet again to sort out our theologies!'

'May we all soon meet the Lady, the divine Mother of Aeden,' said Korman. Then Hillgard entrusted to his brother a small key and a little square box, thin but heavy, carved with the sign of the Ürpax Pharoï, the Order of the Makers: the tree and rainbow (representing Aeden) inside an eight-pointed star, with the emblems of the eight other worlds inscribed in the eight points. 'These are the greatest treasures of Baldrock. Keep them safe. The key unlocks the secret topmost vault of this fortress, hidden from sight by mindwebs until the key is brought to the keyhole. In that vault I found, among other things, the box you have in your hand. Use what is within only if you have great need, for it is perilous – I know this from personal experience. Now, Korman, the children will show you the secret tunnel out of this mountain. Take those you can with you, and save them if you can.' Korman wanted to know more, and was appalled at the thought of leaving his new-found brother, but the sounds of dreadful battle grew loud. They could not delay a second longer.

So Hillgard and Korman embraced and parted, and Hillgard hastened to the defence of Baldrock. As he ran he called to Korman, 'Defend the Kortana, and bring her safely to Ürak Tara! Nothing else matters now! I'll keep these devils at bay!'

But the attack had come too soon, before Hillgard's defences were complete. He had been deceived by Rakmad (posing as the Keeper) into thinking he had many more months to prepare before any siege. The gates soon fell to the battering ram of the boy Gareth, and many Tímathian boys were captured, stripped of their silver helmets and thrown into the Death Wagon. Then Gareth laughed, and set up his crossbows in a row and torched their arrows, and they shot flaming up the mountainside and rained down onto the roofs of the village of Hope. Soon there was fire all along the mountainside as the cottages burned and even the stones cracked with the heat of the burning.

Hillgard cried out, 'Let them burn! We must hold the stairs!' He rallied the older children to him, and sent the youngest ones and the injured into the caves in the side of the mountain. The girls, deadly archers, shot a hail of arrows at the advancing enemy, while the boys, led by Kernan, took the large rocks which had been gathered in piles at the brink, and hurled them down.

For a time it seemed they would fend off the attack. But the enemy had cunning shields of leather, designed by Gareth, and they held them over their heads while they advanced up the steep stairs and the arrows stuck in them without effect. Many of the former Seekers of Truth from Baz Apédnapath were among them, now endarkened and following the voice of Hithrax which echoed in their heads, maddening them to reckless deeds, uncaring whether they lived or died. Many fell off the stairs to their deaths without a cry, as the rocks hurtled down upon them, but still the others climbed.

There came a point when the first of the attackers were almost at the top. Then they took cruel bows of thornwood and from behind their leather shields shot deadly bolts into the faces of the children who still stood at the edge. Some of them fell, pierced with arrows. The rest began to fall back in a daze of fear and horror as Hithrax's mindbolts overcame them.

Seeing his loyal followers so decimated, Hillgard wept, and sounded the retreat on his great silver horn. Soon all the surviving defenders, those who were not killed by fire or arrows, had gone into the caves, some dragged in a daze by their friends, some wounded terribly. Then Hillgard ran out alone to the edge of the cliff, swinging his broadsword, cutting down those who dared to set foot on the top. The corpses piled up around him, or fell back over the cliff. But still they came, faster and faster, or so it seemed to him as he felt his strength waning. The sweat blinded his eyes, the corpses and dying enemies encumbered his feet. At last he knew that it was hopeless: these attackers knew no fear, but attacked like soldier ants, possessed, welcoming death.

Korman, who had found the children and gathered them at the entrance to the escape tunnel, had heard his brother's silver horn blowing just as they were about to open the door and go down the tunnel. 'Hillgard!' he muttered. He looked at Shelley, and gripped the hilt of Arcratíne. He stood a moment in agony of mind. 'Go back and help him! We'll wait!' said Shelley.

Korman shook his head, but the horn blew again, and he cried, 'If I do not return in half an hour, flee down the tunnel. The Lady have mercy!'

So it was that Korman, risking all for his brother, came out onto the shoulder of the mountain again and saw Hillgard alone at the brink, fighting the never-ending line of besiegers as they came up the stairs. He rushed to his brother's side and took up a broadsword from one of the slain. 'Go back, save Shelley!' cried Hillgard, but Korman would not, and together they fought the possessed soldiers of the Void, until there was a wall of corpses about them. But Korman saw that his brother was already deadly tired, and was stumbling, and the half-hour was almost up. Then the first of the Aghmaath came up the stairs, and mindbolts came from their blazing eyes.

'Back to the caves!' Korman cried. Hillgard stood for a second, chest heaving, staring at his brother. Then he turned, and staggered towards the caves. Korman followed, defending his brother from the pursuing Thornmen, who now screeched like eagles, bloodlust in their staring eyes.

Soon the dark army was all about the shoulders of the mountain, surging through the Village of Hope, torching the remaining cottages and seeking a way into the caves. Then Hithrax himself came up the stairs, three at a time, and all his soldiers bowed before him. Even those who were wounded and dying struggled to their feet, zombie-like, to bow before him.

Seeing that all was lost, Hillgard had one more thing he planned to do before they captured him... First, he hugged Korman goodbye. 'Well fought, little brother!' he said, 'Now rescue Shelley, for the love of Aeden!'

'Come with us!' said Korman.

But Hillgard was already staggering back up the tunnel to the summit.

'I will have my revenge on Rakmad!' he cried, and disappeared into the darkness. Korman, cursing his brother's pride, ran back down the tunnel that led to the secret exit where Shelley and the children waited.

Hillgard had one last blow to strike. Reaching the summit he burst out into the daylight, strode across the glistening courtyard past the pond with its empty crystal sphere, and wheeled out the light-gun from its alcove. He flung the hood off it and trained it on the Tor Enyása. He prayed for the sun to come out. And immediately, as if in answer, the clouds were parted by a great wind from the east. The bright sun of Aeden blazed out, and its light was focussed by the mirrors, and trapped and purified by the great lightcrystal at its centre until it could be held no longer. A dazzling beam stabbed through the gulf of air between Baldrock and the five brooding peaks of the Tor Enyása. A circle of thorns on one peak flared in the fierce white light, then smoke began to pour off it and drift through the thorn thickets round about.

Hithrax and his dark warriors, for the moment ignoring the children in the caves, had found the tunnel to the summit, and were coming up the stairs, Hithrax bringing up the rear. Hillgard heard their harsh cries, but kept firing until three of the peaks were wreathed in smoke. Then the sun went behind a cloud, and at that moment Hithrax's dark warriors burst out of the tunnel into the courtyard of the summit, and fell on him from behind. Hands like pincers held him fast while they tore off his silver helmet and trampled it flat. A blackness came over him as Hithrax approached, a towering figure of doom, sending out a mindbolt of deadly anger, and the mirror of the light-gun swung up, unfocussed, its light extinguished.

Meanwhile Korman had returned to the secret exit, where Rilke and Shelley had managed to gather more of the survivors, together with all the younger children of the village, and they went down the hidden passage, cobwebbed and damp, lit only by Korman's staff. After a long stumbling descent, they emerged from a little stone doorway, well outside the walls, half a mile to the east in a little dell. The doorway was still protected by the powerful mindwebs of the ancient Tímathians who built the fortress of Baldrock, with the help of the Makers.

But as the little band of refugees came out into the open, they were seen by Hithrax's lookouts on the mountain, those with the eyes of eagles, specially bred for their task. Then the light-guns of Hillgard which he had made under the evil guidance of Rakmad were unlocked from their bunkers in the sides of the mountain, trundled out and trained on the fleeing group. Hillgard had decided not to use them unless all else failed, but by then there were no children left to man them. Now Hithrax and Gareth gloated over the find, and Gareth soon worked out how to use the optical engines.

The sun was shining brightly now, and fell on one of the light-guns. Gareth stood at its controls, winding the wheels that focussed its light gathered by the huge silver mirrors like ships' sails. The energy of pure light built up in the long crystals in front until they glowed and burst out in beams that seared the very air, sliced down into the dell and split rocks with white heat. The deadly beam swung nearer to the fleeing band of children. It was at their heels; the little boy at the rear cried out as the back of his robe burst into flames as he ran. He dropped the robe and ran like a rabbit. 'Shelley, call on the Lady, walk into Faery!' said Korman. Then Shelley called out to the children as they ran, 'Follow us, children! We're going into the realm of Faery NOW!' She felt a strange certainty that they would, as if the Lady had spoken through her.

And suddenly it seemed to their attackers on the mountainside that the whole band, starting with Shelley, with Korman at her side and Rilke hard on their heels, melted into a golden mist. They heard them laughing for joy; but they were gone. The gunners gaped, and squinted, and Gareth screamed at them, 'Shoot! Keep firing! What are you waiting for?'

But the refugees were gone. Shelley had led them all into Faery, and they walked in wonder in the spring of another age of Aeden, when the world was young, and the birds sang, and the Lady and her maidens danced with the elves in the green glades of the Valley of the Rainbow and the apple orchards of Avalon.

In spite of the beauty all around them, Shelley wept, for the destruction of the village of Hope and the death of the valiant boys and girls. In her vision she had seen them die, and now it had happened. She was especially furious at the boy Gareth, the willing traitor. And she remembered what else she had seen, but had not had the heart to tell Korman: Hillgard, taken captive and cast into the Death Wagon, bound hand and foot, his beard shorn off, his robes stripped from him.

'Is there no end to it?' she wondered as they walked through the green meadows of Faery. 'If only we could stay in this beautiful place always, and keep hidden from all the evil.'

But grace was given only for their hour of need, and soon the normal level of thought, which constructs the reality we take for granted, reasserted itself in their minds. One by one the children dropped out of Faery back into the ordinary waking world, 'Reality' as it is called.

Korman, who had walked with Shelley in wonder, grieved. 'It is as a dream taken away by waking, at the very moment when we think it is ours forever! But thanks to the Lady for you, Shelley. I thought we were all going to be roasted by that infernal device!'

'No, they would have left one person: me. They want me alive; I can feel it. They're tugging at my mind all the time, from the Tor Enyása, calling me to give in and join them.'

Korman looked at her. 'You are right. They want you alive, to lead them to the Arcra-Nama. They must never have you! Oh, where are the Tidak, who would protect you better than I, Korman of the withered arm! And if only my brother had come with us!'

Shelley knew she had to tell Korman.

'Hillgard has been taken by the enemy. He went back up to the summit to fire at the Tor Enyása to kill Rakmad, and he was taken prisoner. I saw it in my vision, and now I know it has already happened.'

Korman looked at her in shock, and his hand went to his swordhilt. The band of children stopped as he stood rooted to the spot.

'So soon? Is it possible? My brother! I must go back and rescue him! Arcratíne glowed as he began to draw it with his strong left hand, while his right hand clenched and unclenched.

Hethür, Krithür, Shaktha!

he chanted. Shelley felt a sense of doom, but just as it had happened at Thorngate, she could not bring herself to speak in time.

Then Korman re-sheathed the weapon. He was breathing hard and trembling. 'No!' he cried. 'My duty is clear: to deliver you, Shelley, to Ürak Tara, though all others I love fall around me. We must go on now: the enemy will be tracking us as we speak! Onward to Ürak Tara!'

And the children took up the words: 'Yes, onward to Ürak Tara, where we will be safe! And death to the Aghmaath!'

Shelley thought of the Earth story where the refugee children sing:

This old man, he played one

He played knick knack on my drum

With a knick-knack paddy-whack, give a dog a bone

This old man came rolling home

And she taught that song to the children as they stumbled on through the rest of that day.

But Korman knew they could not all make it to Ürak Tara, on the other side of Aeden, beyond the Valley of Thorns, with the Trackers of Hithrax after them. So he led them south, towards a land of Guardian enclosures, including Lakeview, the enclosure that Elgar and Lilly had intended to reach.

'There should be an old Guardian enclosure somewhere in this land, to the east of the Eel Hills, where the children will be safe, while we go on in haste,' he told Shelley.

'What's an enclosure, exactly?' Shelley asked, not happy to hear about 'going on' – or about the mention of Eels – but not wanting to show it.

'It was a fortified farm like the Templars' Enclosures on your world, kept by the Guardians in days long ago. Hillgard told me his people have restored several enclosures on the southern reaches of these hills. They are walled with strong stone, with a granary and tower of defence and stables.'

'And warm beds?'

'For the children, yes. Alas, not for us. We must press on. It is you and me they are most eager to catch. Wherever we linger, they will attack with all their force. We cannot withstand a siege for long, even in a Guardian enclosure, so we must not stay.'

At nightfall they came to the Guardian enclosure. It had been deserted for many years, but now a light twinkled from a narrow window inside the gate tower. Korman knocked on the rusty but still strong gate, and told the gatekeeper (a little old man with white hair, armed with a large sword) who they were. 'We come as refugees from the fall of Baldrock,' he said, and the gatekeeper let them in. His eyes were full of fear and concern at the sight of the bedraggled and exhausted children.

'How will we feed 'em all?' he muttered to himself as he led them up a flagstoned path towards a long, low stone farmhouse with gardens on either side. Shelley noticed beehives and a well with a bucket and rope on a windlass. 'Just like in a picture in a fairy tale,' she thought.

Curtains were pushed aside and warm yellow candlelight shone out. Then the door of the farmhouse opened, and to their surprise and joy, Elgar and Lilly came down the path to greet them. Korman embraced Elgar and said, 'Baldrock has fallen, and Hillgard has been taken by the enemy.' Now that the flight was over, he wept openly for his brother as Elgar comforted him.

Lilly welcomed the children in, and Elgar let her tell their story (if she promised to be brief). She told how they had led the Trackers astray for a while, before losing them in the stony hills and sand dunes of the eastern coast. Then they had met some of the boy Tímathians, and been taken to Hillgard at Baldrock.

'And he entrusted this deserted Enclosure to us, to restore and farm with the help of some lovely young Tímathians, since he told us that Lakeview was all ruined and was no task for the likes of us all on our own. We named it Seaview. Lakeview, Seaview, see?' she said in conclusion. 'There, was that brief enough for you, dear?'

Elgar paused to consider, then nodded. 'Except it wasn't "we" who named it that; it was you.'

They all laughed at the old couple. Then Korman quickly told Elgar all that had happened since they had left Pebblebrook. Elgar praised their bravery, but bowed his head when Korman described the fall of Baldrock.

'I thought it was too good to be true when we came upon the Guardian stronghold and heard Hillgard's boasts. I never trusted that mountain, what with the Monks of the Bottomless Canyon going there and all. But tell me now, Lord Korman, is there any way to strike back at the enemy, perhaps to intercept the Deathwagon as it bears Lord Hillgard away...west?' He shuddered as he said the word.

'There is no strength of arms left in his lands that could be mustered in time,' replied Korman. 'The Death Wagon will be heavily protected by Hithrax's elite warriors, and even now will be winding up the road to the Tor Enyása. From there the road descends through impenetrable thorn forests into the terrible Valley of Thorns, and thence to the Dark Labyrinth. We cannot rescue Hillgard by force.'

'So the Guardians have failed again,' said Elgar, bowing his head.

'You and I are Guardians, and while we hold true they have not failed completely,' replied Korman. 'But now I fear the Trackers will find you, if we stay here. You were our decoy once, Elgar. Now we will be yours. I will take Shelley and go with all haste, this very night. I give you Rilke, now a seasoned traveller and soon to be a stout warrior! He has learned not to draw his sword – or anybody else's – in haste. Perhaps now he is ready to learn swordplay from you!'

'I am no Guardian,' Elgar protested. 'Only an old man who is a friend of one. I cannot teach...'

'Did I not give you the Guardian talisman? You are as much a Guardian as I am, now.'

But Rilke had overheard Korman talking about going on without him, and now he too protested. 'You can't leave me here! You might need me and Worriette! We want to come! Please?'

He looked up at Korman pleadingly, and Worriette mimicked him. Korman smiled down at them, but he was adamant. He got down on one knee, and looked Rilke in the eye.

'You must be brave, and follow wisdom. Now is the hour for desperate flight, for all our sakes, and you will be much safer with your kinsfolk, Elgar and Lilly. You can help them look after these other children. Shelley and I must cross the Valley of Thorns alone.'

Rilke saw it was no use.

'If... if you come across my parents there – if they've been taken... you will rescue them, won't you?' he said in a small voice, and burst into tears.

'We will do what we can,' said Korman. The little wurrier leapt into Shelley's arms shivering, as if she knew they were parting. Then, after a quick meal, Shelley and Korman took their leave and went out into the night. Just before they stepped through the gateway, Rilke came running and pressed something into her hand.

'This is for you. It's a present for my best friend in all the world.' It sparkled like blue ice in the moonlight. It was the diamond Goldheart had given him.

'Thank you,' she managed to whisper through her tears. She rummaged in her pack and gave Rilke back the little quartz stone he had put in her birthday cake the first night they had met, so long ago it seemed. She thought of her old home on Earth, and realised that she would be rich now, with that one big diamond, if she ever went back. Mark would be so envious... But the nostalgia made her heart ache even more and she let out a sob before wrenching herself back to the present and hugging Rilke goodbye.

As they went out into the Pale Moonlit wilderness, Shelley was tired and her eyes stung from the tears, but she felt excited. This was the beginning of a whole new adventure, and she now had a confidence she had never dreamt of having. She had spoken with the Lady in the Crystal Sphere, and felt the oneness of all things, high and low, Earth and Sky. Also, she knew that they were finally going into the land where the unicorns lived, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

As they fled south, Korman deliberately took off his silver helmet, and Rakmad perceived him, and knew where he was. Then Korman put the helmet back on, and a silver mist hid him again from the Mindscouts.

On the high summit of Baldrock, Hithrax stalked about the courtyard while his lieutenants raked the lotuses from the pool for him to crush underfoot. Then he got into the sacred sphere, and Rakmad came to him in vision. He was full of wrath; behind him the thorns still writhed and smouldered from Hillgard's attack. 'Do not linger in Baldrock,' he commanded the Tracker. 'Seek now the Edarthan child and the traitor Korman. They are fleeing, making for the Land of Lakes where the Ürxura Narabádrim dwell. They must not reach it.'

'Your will in the Nothing be done, Your Emptiness,' said Hithrax, saluting. Flinging open the sacred lotus, he descended the long stair from the summit five steps at a time. He gathered his swiftest men, and the Dagraath, and set out in pursuit of the would-be Kortana.

Chapter Thirty-three

Quickblade's Request

The night air was cold and still as Korman and Shelley fled over bare hill and misty dale, hardly stopping for rest, pressing on into the wasteland southeast of Baldrock.

'We will follow the Eel Hills southwards, to make for the coast, I think,' said Korman, 'and cross the river Baldrock at the delta where it turns to salt marshes. Our tracks will hopefully be lost in the shifting sands and marshes. Then we can turn inland again and cross the Fire-rock Peninsula, where there are hot springs and sulphurous vents. Then we must ford the Fairywater and find a pass over the Southeastern Spur (near the Fire Hills), and go down to the plains of the lake country, where the Ürxura Narábadrim still run, free and wild. We must throw ourselves at their mercy, for they are fierce, and will defend their land to the death. They have sharp hooves and terrible horns of twisted ivory, and powers of enchantment against any trespasser who does not bear the tokens of the Lady or of the Old Order.'

'We've got a lot to look forward to, then,' said Shelley.

'Those are only the harder parts,' replied Korman. 'There will also be good things; very good things. I have passed this way only once, long ago, but I will never forget it. And the Ürxura keep the Aghmaath at bay – for the moment. Not only by their horns and hooves, for they walk at the same time in this world and in Faery, and there they wield the power to pierce all veils of the Dreamcasters, and to read and confuse the minds of their enemies, if they come too near. They were given their land long ago, and they defend it well. They were the original Dreamcasters, and weavers of mindwebs. We Guardians learned from them, in ages past, when the kindreds trusted one another. And so did the Aghmaath.'

'Can they talk?'

'Not as you or I. But their thoughts and feelings come into one's mind. It can be frightening. They are wild, and their thoughts are alien to us, as fire is to water. For the Fire Hills go down into their land of lakes, and there it is said they talk with the Salamanders. It is said that they cross over in Faery form, as winged Ürxura, to both worlds, the Fire and the Water, where humans now cannot go, though your world was once the portal to the Fire, the Water, and the Air Worlds.'

The miles slowly slipped by as Korman talked, and Shelley questioned him more: 'What about the unicorn that brought me across from my world? Does it live in the Land of Lakes too?'

'Probably. It was one of those tamed – or rather, befriended – as a foal by a maiden of the Lady to help her call children across the Abyss between Worlds, finding the Paths of Beauty which lead to this world.' Shelley wondered if it might be able to return her to Earth. She had mixed feelings at this thought. 'I feel as though I came here for a reason, and I don't even want to go back, not yet. Maybe I really am the Kortana!' But then she thought of her friend Anna, and the cellphone she could never call her on again, and she even began to think fondly of mum and dad and Mark, and wonder how much they were missing her. But then she thought of the day she had gone from them, the things dad had said, and she wondered if they were still together. Part of her hoped they were, and part of her hoped that mum would have gone and found her real father again – 'If he's alive, and if she can find him again' she thought gloomily, and now the universe seemed a very big, desolate place.

They were now approaching a small river, which glittered like a silver snake in the light of the Pale Moon. Away to their right, Shelley saw a round tower of shaped stone rising above broken stone walls behind the last outposts of the Eel Hills.

'What's that over there?' she asked.

'The deserted Guardian enclosure of Lakeview, in the bend of the river Baldrock where it flows into two lakes, one at either end of the enclosure. It was once very beautiful, as Elgar and Lilly will tell you.' Korman looked sad, lost in memories as they forded the little river.

'What is this river called? There aren't eels in it, are there?' asked Shelley after they had waded on in silence for a while.

'It was called Sweetwater, because its waters are fresh, whereas the Baldrock further down becomes brackish, being tidal. The eels prefer that river, I think,' said Korman. 'There used to be a small eel-fishing village on its banks. But if you fear the eels, I will carry you.' His sadness seemed to have passed. Shelley did not have the heart to ask what it had been about.

'No, it's all right, we're nearly across,' she replied.

'Eels are really harmless creatures, you know,' said Korman, 'more frightened of you than you are of them. Think yourself into their place, being one of them, and imagine yourself swimming free and rejoicing in the moonlit waters in the care of the Goddess. Then your fear will disappear.'

'I'll try.' She imagined herself an eel in the clear waters around where they waded, gliding past waterweed waving in the gentle currents.

'It's working!' she said. 'I did feel at one with the eels! I wasn't scared of them at all!

'Good, now remember for next time, have no fear; they are your little brothers and sisters.'

'Yes. My little brothers and sisters...'

They waded on in silence, and all around they saw shoals of silvery fish, and every now and then one would leap out of the water shining in the moonlight, and plop back and disappear. But, though Shelley now almost wanted to see eels, to test her new attitude, they saw none.

'We are making good time, brave Shelley!' said Korman when they reached the other side. He was only wet to his knees; she was soaked to the waist. 'From here it is less than an hour to the salt marshes of Baldrock River.'

Shelley was getting tired, but she wanted to be as brave as Korman thought she was, so she struggled on over the thick springy turf, startling the odd night-grazing rabbit, until at last they reached the dark line of tall reeds and rushes which marked the beginning of the delta. Out across the briny-smelling marshes towered a great dark outcrop of rock.

'There is the Sentinel,' said Korman. 'It is the last outpost of Baldrock far upstream. Some legends call it the Runaway Child of the Giant.'

The sighing of breakers on the beach beyond the delta came to their ears, with the lonely cries of night birds.

'Listen! The sound of the sea!' said Shelley. 'That brings back memories!' The air was fresh and bracing; a steady wind came off the sea and over the marshes, ruffling their capes, drying their clothes, tangling Shelley's hair and pressing Korman's beard to his chest. They both breathed deep and strode forward into the refreshing wind, and soon they were making camp on a hidden islet between tall rushes, spreading dry reeds over the ground and getting blankets and sleeping bags from their packs.

They made sure their helmets were in place, and Shelley's silver-webbed dreamcatcher – a present from Hillgard, Shelley remembered with grief. Her first one had been lost in the flight from the Canyon. 'Where will he be right now?' she wondered, and tried not to think about the gaping skull-shaped entrance to the Dark Labyrinth as she settled down to sleep. But fantastically grotesque faces writhed before her over-tired mind, leaping at her, and in visions she saw the captives from Baldrock being led away into the caves for endarkenment and brainwashing.

And now it seemed to her that the only cure for the restless torment of life was the simple Void that lay within the Dark Labyrinth. 'Maybe they're right, and we're the ones who are deceived,' she mused, and was immediately shocked at her own thoughts. 'What hope is there that the captives will keep believing in life, in those dungeons?' she thought. 'I'm safe and free here in this beautiful land, and even so I'm slipping towards the Void... We're all slipping away into the Void...'

The distorted images in her tired mind accelerated and merged into a vortex, sucking her down.

She gasped and sat up in her sleeping bag, gulping in air as if she had been suffocating.

'Hel...help! Korman!' she called in the dark.

'What is it?' he replied, alarmed.

'The Dark... I don't know... I was having horrible scary thoughts...' She hesitated, then went on, 'Korman, why did the Lady or the Zagonamara or... I don't know... God, stand by and let all those Truth-Seekers get taken away? And now Hillgard and all those brave Tímathian children? Maybe it's all just the Void – it'll get us all in the end, so we might as well give in to it!'

'You walk a dark path within the Labyrinth of the Concept, Shelley. These thoughts have been called by the philosophers a "problem." The Problem of Pain. But do not fear. Many have walked it before you, and found their way out, by the light of the Concept. Some may help you with their words. But we are all inside our perception of the Concept, and none may see beyond it to the ultimate Why. Or when they do, it is impossible to bring back what they see there and use it to answer the original question.'

'You mean, like, the question just disappears?'

'Yes.'

'Have you ever had that feeling, that it's all perfect and wonderful?'

'Yes.'

'So have I! Up there on the mountaintop, sitting in the sphere.'

'The Guardians seek that feeling of certainty, too. They call it "Enlightenment". It is very wonderful. But they put most store by obedience to the Concept. We do not know why we are here, but behold! We are here, and we have been given the Concept, by which to see what we ought to do.'

'And what is that?'

'To love, to serve beauty, freedom and truth. Everything flows from that.'

'You make it sound so simple and easy! But I guess it is easy for you – you're a Guardian.'

'If I am, it is only by long practice. A Guardian is made by training, not birth.'

'So, do you think those prisoners will be OK?'

'It will be a grievous trial of all that they have lived by, all they have claimed to believe. Some will go over to the enemy; some will follow the Concept and find light in the darkness, and it will shine for them all the brighter. And they may be put to death in the end, after much suffering. Or thrown into the thorns. But though we may ask why these things are, that they are remains, so we must do what we can for ourselves and our friends – and for all who suffer.'

'So why don't we try to rescue them when we get to the Valley of Thorns? And the Lady!'

She heard Korman sigh in the darkness near her. 'Alas! We have a task, and that is to come to the Faery refuge of Ürak Tara for your initiation into the full wisdom of the Order. Only then...'

'Blow Ürak Tara! I'm ready now! Anyway, they could all be dead by the time we get there! How will we rescue them then, Korman?' she asked, accusingly.

'You see evil, and you cannot bear to allow it to go on. But evil will go on, and suffering. That is not our concern...'

'Not our concern! Well, what is our concern, then?'

'To obey the Concept, and those through whom it speaks. I have been commanded to bring you safely to Ürak Tara.'

Shelley was now feeling a warring mixture of weariness, comfort from Korman's faith, and rage at his unquestioning obedience. But she gave in to the weariness and comfort, and said, 'Oh, have it your way, Korman! I'm exhausted. Good night!'

'Good night, Shelley. And do not forget that in thought you may reach out and touch the minds of those who are far away in dark dungeons, and let them feel your love, and ask that they be blessed.'

She lay back in the dark and decided to try it, if only to take her mind off her own doubts and fears. She thought herself past all the mindwebs of the enemy into the very heart of darkness, the Hill of the Skull, where she imagined she saw Hillgard lying in despair, and she asked the Lady to help him, as she had said she would, in his darkest hour. It seemed to her that he looked up and smiled. Then she thought of the boy Tímathians and the girls and all the people of the Canyon, and imagined them free. 'I will free you, I will!' her spirit whispered into their ears. Then she fell asleep to the sound of the surf and the lonely piping of the marsh birds.

Korman sat apart a little, meditating, murmuring the words of the Concept, Arcratíne upright in the soft ground in front of him, vibrating and quivering slightly as it tuned into the subtle energies of the planet, and communicated to his mind impressions of the lie of the land and what might be walking upon it or under it. But no word came from Hillgard, and the rumour of Hithrax's presence was very faint. He relaxed, prayed for his brother, and lay down to sleep.

But dark thoughts now assailed him, too. To counter them he called to mind some of the old proverbs of his world, some passed down through the Templars. One of his favourites was 'Be not anxious about the morrow, for sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.'

Then he remembered the heirloom entrusted to him by Hillgard. Carefully he opened the box, and there in the faint starlight gleamed a gold and amber Vapáglim . He recognised it from pictures he had seen in Barachthad's library. He felt the beauty of the island and the amber sea surrounding it, and his heart raced at the thought of the power contained in it. He desired greatly to keep it and to use it. 'For surely it opens the paths to all beautiful places. But I have been warned: it is perilous,' he murmured. 'I must wait to ask the Teacher at Ürak Tara. He will know what to do with it.' So he closed the lid again, and soon he too was asleep, with the little box and the key hidden in an inner pocket of his robe, close to his chest.

In the early morning, Korman woke Shelley as the seagulls cried, their white feathers shining gold in the first light of the sun, wheeling about their nests in the craggy heights of the Sentinel rock. The air was cold and still and the sound of the surf was only a rhythmic sigh on the beach beyond the marshes.

They sat down on the springy grass and had a quick breakfast of cold bread and olives with dried apples and raisins, supplies from Baldrock, grown in the garden enclosures of the east.

Then they slipped away into the pearly mist that lay over the marshes. It was a beautiful crisp morning. They picked their way from clump to clump of reeds and saltwater grass, and the marsh birds flew out of the thickets as they approached. The tide was out, and the water between the clumps was shallow and the bottom sandy rather than muddy. But they saw many eels, and little silver mullet that jumped and shot away underfoot, and once when an eel squirmed against her leg Shelley had to bite her lip not to scream. 'My little brothers and sisters,' she repeated to herself, heart pounding.

By mid-morning they were safely across the marshes and were climbing Fire Rock Peninsula. There they saw the hot springs Korman had told her about the night before. He had promised her they would stop for a while, for her sake: as a Guardian, he bathed only in cold water, between sunset and sunrise. Shelley found a secluded hollow of the tall rocks, open only to the blue sky, with a hot pool at the bottom, and she undressed to bathe. She had been looking forward to it all the way, and she sighed with delight to feel the steaming hot water, welling up through soft sand, and to wash off the grime and mud of travel. She took out the precious cake of soap from her pack and scrubbed herself well. 'Who knows when my next hot bath will be?' she thought as she floated deliciously without fear under the skies of Aeden, guarded by her own faithful bodyguard, delighting in the way the water stayed hot and the air around her stayed fresh. 'This is so much better than the bath at home!' she smiled to the sky above her.

Korman stood on the other side of the rocks, and looked back the way they had come, scanning the horizon with practiced eyes. Baldrock was now just a distant peak behind the Eel Hills, and the Guardian mountain at the end of the Northeast Arm was just a distant blue peak above the pearly mists of the coast. There lay the Portal of the Kortana, and his home, the cave of his long vigil.

He wondered what the young Tímathians were doing, now that their leader was taken by the Aghmaath. 'I would go to their aid, and rally them,' he thought, 'and we would sweep down upon our enemies like fire. This sword would cut the shackles that bind my brother, and together we would destroy the oppressors.' He gripped the hilt of Arcratíne for a second, then sighed.

'But my duty lies here. I will be content, and account this journey to be part of the Training. For there is much to learn, Lady.' He pondered the natural way that Shelley slipped in and out of Faery, and learned new things and led without effort and, more and more, was full of bright joy. 'And yet, as the light grows within her, so does the shadow grow deeper. She will face many perils from within before long,' he thought. 'And, the spell of Everchild does not seem to have taken hold yet; she may soon grow into a woman. How can I guide her? It will be hard for her, without a mother...'

Shelley finally dressed and came out, walking barefoot, holding her leather sandals. They were a gift from Goldheart, elegant but well designed for serious walking. But the tough hide soles were already looking worn.

'I needed that! I'm ready for anything now,' she said, smiling.

'Good!' replied Korman, 'But "anything" is a big word! I hope we will get to the lake country without meeting anything in the wilds ahead. But we know Hithrax will not be far behind.'

'Ugh! Anything but Hithrax! Let's get going then!'

They crossed the barren Fire Rock peninsula, taking care not to trip on the sharp volcanic rocks, where frilled lizards like those on the slopes of Baldrock lived lazy lives, sunbathing on the hot stone. The climb was long and arduous for Shelley, and the cooling effect of the bath soon disappeared under the hot sun. Korman tried to keep to the less exposed gullies and crevices in the folded rock, but the loose scoria underfoot and the lack of wind began to exhaust her.

At last they came down the other side, and looked down at a blue bay under the mountains of the Southeast Arm. Shelley felt an urge to run down to its cool pebbly shores and go for a long swim. But Korman said it was too dangerous to go down to the shore. They had come too far south, and had to go back up the peninsula for some way before they could cross over, at the head of the bay, where a small river issued from a dark tangled opening in a thick forest, at a ford which was icy cold, despite the name.

'This is the river Fairywater. That is the Great Southern Fairy Forest, where some say the Fairies of old Aeden still live, and build little ships which sometimes sail out of the forest, down the Fairywater to the sea,' said Korman. 'But others say they all sailed away long ago.'

'Where to?' asked Shelley, staring into the forest gloom where the river came out, as if to catch a glimpse of little fairy ships.

'East, to the Islands of the Rising Sun.'

They turned south, away from the forest, making for the Fire Hills. To their left the Fairywater wound down through long tussock to the narrow harbour they had looked down on from the Peninsula. 'In that bay the dolphins of Aeden came to give birth to their young,' said Korman, seeing Shelley looking at it longingly.

'So it was called Dolphin Bay. And about that island in the harbour, at the end of Fire Rock, they say the mermaids play, and sing with the fairy folk of the island. Or used to. That is why it was called Mermaid Island.'

'I do want to go boating there one day, and look for mermaids.'

'Perhaps you will, one day.'

They toiled on uphill through scrubby grasslands all the rest of that morning, without seeing more than the odd bird or loping rabbit, following a long shallow valley which led up into the Fire Hills, beyond which lay the land of the Unicorns. Behind them the Fairy Forest stretched to the foothills of the central Tor Enyása, blue in the distance, while closer and closer loomed the Fire Hills.

The wind began to sweep through the long grass and sigh through the scattered trees. Then Shelley heard a faint thunder which seemed to come from the ground under her feet. Korman had heard it too; he had stopped and was looking around. The sound grew, until Shelley recognised it and cried, 'Horses!' But Korman was already pulling her down into the shelter of a lone tree in a rocky outcrop.

'It is a large group of riders, coming this way. I think I can guess who it is. Not the Aghmaath; they do not yet have that many horses. And they would not ride so recklessly. No, it is the Boy Raiders.'

'Well, what are we waiting for?' exclaimed Shelley. 'Let's wave out to them!'

'Perhaps we should let them pass, Shelley,' said Korman.

'What?'

'I think they seek you and will try to turn you aside from your path. They will ask you to join them for the siege at Thorngate. Elgar was expecting them to come. They are recruiting for the strike against the enemy's encroachment into the northeast, where they live.'

But Shelley had heard all she needed. She leaped up, stepped away from the tree and began waving to the horsemen, now visible in the distance, though it was mainly their cantering horses that were visible; the boys were well camouflaged, and small for the size of their mounts.

Except for one figure, far out in front. He sat high in the saddle, looking this way and that as he rode swiftly on. Then he saw Shelley, and he kicked his horse into a gallop and sped towards her.

Shelley's heart was beating madly as he reined in his great horse and dismounted, but she managed what she hoped was a normal enough greeting:

'Hello. What've you been up to?' ('Too harsh,' she thought, and bit her lip.) Quickblade! It was him, just as handsome as she remembered him, though he looked thinner.

He smiled and replied, casually, 'I see you have learned to speak our language. The old man has his uses, it seems. But where is he? Surely he hasn't left you to wander out here all on your own?' His eyes twinkled mischievously.

'Of course not! Korman's – '

'Here! I am her Guardian; where else would I be?' said Korman, appearing out of nowhere, alarming some of the boys who had now come up behind their leader's horse. 'But what is your business here, Quickblade?'

'I think you know the answer, old man. We seek warriors. The war has begun. We will drive the Birdmen from Applegate and back to the accursed Plateau, where they came from. There we will slaughter them like dogs.'

'Birds? Dogs? You seem to be forgetting, Quickblade, that these "Birdmen" do not come from Aeden, but are descendants of the Keepers, founding wizards of the Old Order, having many occult powers. How do you plan to fight them in pitched battle?'

'That is why we seek the girl. I – we – want her to join us. We have heard her called 'She who walks in Faery.' We have need of such powers, if we are to pass through their magical defences. Then we will kill, kill, with our sharp diamond-edged swords and long bows of yew.' The boys behind him cheered.

'Well, will you come with us, Shelley?' said Quickblade, and Korman saw that his eyes were pleading, though his face was hard. Korman went to speak, but Quickblade held up his hand imperiously.

'Let the girl speak, old man!'

'I'm quite capable of talking for myself!' said Shelley. She stared at Quickblade defiantly. 'Where did you learn your manners? Talking to Lord Korman like that!' Quickblade looked angry for a split-second, then laughed, and the boys behind joined in.

'Sorry, Lady Shelley,' he grinned.

Korman saw Shelley take a deep breath to say something in reply. 'Now the sparks are really flying between them,' thought Korman in alarm. 'I know how quickly those sparks can light the fire of passion.' Aloud, he said, 'Quickblade! I do not mind being called an old man; I am not so young any more. And it is the wisdom of age, I hope, that speaks now: Shelley has a great destiny to follow, which will unfold in the fullness of time. First she must go to be schooled in the ancient wisdom of the Order, at the Faery refuge and college of Ürak Tara. Then she can do battle, or whatever it is her destiny to do. But she must be initiated first.'

'And what is this destiny of hers that you meddle in, Slowblade, he who will not use the mighty sword given him by his own destiny?'

'A quick and clever answer, Quickblade. But "A blow that is hasty goes often astray," as the poet says.' Korman looked Quickblade steadily in the eye.

'You would have us all wait until the sky turns dark with the seeds of the thorns, and the Dreamcasters come, and one by one we are all taken away in Deathwagons!' retorted Quickblade.

'The time for open battle will come.'

'If not now, when? The time is now!' said Quickblade.

'The time is NOW! The time is NOW!' the boys all shouted in unison, beating their hands against the necks of their horses, which reared and plunged, whinnying. Shelley thought she saw a familiar face among them: Rilke. He was brandishing a small sword, and there was a tiny monkey-like figure in front of him, clinging to his horse's mane. It was Worriette, she was sure.

She was about to call their names, but Quickblade cried, 'Well, will you join us? Time is very short!' He spoke with fierce intensity, fixing his stare on Shelley, his eyes glittering with hope – and (it seemed to her) desire. A fiery thrill went through her, and she yearned to spring up onto his horse with him and gallop away to his home, to do great deeds of battle at his side. She saw herself with a great bow of yew, shooting the enemy as she led the Boy Raiders into Faery, through the Thorngate and into the stronghold of the Aghmaath, burning the hateful thorns and killing the Aghmaath who would be wandering blindly in the mists. Her own ferocity frightened her.

She looked at Korman; he was looking at her, waiting to hear her answer. She hesitated, longing to go with Quickblade, to use her powers at his side. But something told her there was a power that rested in Korman that neither she nor Quickblade was ready to use, a deeper, wiser power, and she wanted to learn it.

'If I come with you, Quickblade,' she said slowly, making herself say what she had to say, 'I will never learn what I need to, if I'm to become...'

'Become what?' he interrupted.

'The Kortana...' she said, haltingly, and she felt foolish saying it.

'So, the wizard has filled your head with that old wives' tale about the "Chosen One", has he? Ha! Don't you realise, the only one who can ever choose you is you!'

'Aren't you trying to choose me right now?' she shot back, and he blushed.

'Go, then,' he cried, to cover up his embarrassment. 'Go with the old Guardian! But you can't be the Chosen One, you're just a girl!' The minute he said this he regretted it, and bit his lip until it bled.

Shelley was furious, and shouted back, 'Go away, do your macho thing! See if I care! And go ahead, scoff at the old Guardian! I think Korman's a wiser man than you'll ever be, but what would I know, I'm just a girl! Well, you can find someone else to walk in Faery for you!'

Quickblade looked crestfallen for a second, then spat in disgust, 'Pah! Jilter! Why don't you go and join them? They'd welcome you as a long-lost sister!' He spat again, and all the boys spat with him – all except Rilke. Then he proudly leapt back on his horse, blowing a short blast on his horn as he galloped away, and the boys all galloped after him.

'Wait!' cried Korman, but it was too late. They were gone.

'Oh, men!' exclaimed Shelley, and stamped her foot. Then she brightened. 'I think that went quite well, don't you?'

'It would have gone better if we had exchanged some information,' said Korman dryly.

'Oh, yes, sorry. I wonder where they'd come from, and where they're going?'

'I think they have been to the south-eastern lands, and picked up many recruits – I saw Rilke among them – and now they are riding to intercept the Deathwagons taking the captives from Baldrock to the Valley of Thorns. This was a detour, I think, to find you.'

'Well, he found me all right,' said Shelley.

Now Quickblade was gone she was missing him already, (and Rilke, though he hadn't even spoken to her), and tears stood in her eyes. But she turned away so Korman wouldn't see, brushed the tears away and said, 'Well, I guess we'd better keep going, then.'

'You have chosen wisely, Shelley, and many may thank you for it in the long run; even the Boy Raiders,' said Korman. He smiled. 'And, thank you for sticking up for me.'

'It wasn't hard. I was so mad at him!' said Shelley, laughing. 'But weren't you mad too?'

'Why should I be? I was young and impatient too, once. Not so long ago, either,' he added, with a wry smile. 'And besides, Quickblade reminds me of my brother, Hillgard.'

Shelley remembered the terrible fall of Baldrock and Hillgard and all the other prisoners being taken away.

'Do you think the Boy Raiders will get to the Deathwagons in time to rescue him and all those brave Tímathian children?'

'I do not know. I doubt it. And could the Boys overpower such a large convoy?' said Korman sadly.

Chapter Thirty-four

The Hermits of the Void

They carried on up the long valley. Shelley went over all that Quickblade and she had said to each other, until she came to his parting shot, when he called her a 'Jilter.'

'Korman, what did Quickblade mean when he called me a... Jilter, as if it was some kind of group you can join?' she asked, a little scared that learning the full depth of Quickblade's insult might hurt her feelings.

'The Jilters, as they so charmingly call the poor girls, are known in more polite circles, and by the tribe in question, as the Evergirls.'

'Why, and where do they live anyway? Will we meet them?'

'They are said to live not too far from here, in the marshes and remote hills of the lakes of the Ürxura. But they are fierce and wild, and even more reclusive than the Ürxura which they are said to sometimes ride.'

'Tell me all you know about them. They sound amazing.'

So Korman told her more about the legend of the Evergirls, while the miles slowly passed:

'It started with the girl the Boy Raiders never talk about: Jessie the Jilter. She had been in love with one of the first leaders, Coder the Wise. She thought he was in love with her, and they were going to change the Code so that Boy Raiders could marry and still be Raiders. But he had changed his mind, while for her the spell of Everchild was broken and she grew up. So Coder was forced by his own rules (which forbade any grownup from living as a Boy Raider) to expel her. She left, taking a good many of the girl Raiders with her, and was last seen heading for the Lake District.

'So, she was not really a jilter, but jilted, and she called her new band the Evergirls, as she wanted none of them to have the pain she bore. When many years had gone by and she lay dying, it is said that she made the new Evergirl leader swear she would never ever speak to a Boy or any Outsider, or allow any of her band to do so.

'But when she had breathed her last, some of the Evergirls were grief-stricken, and returned to the Boy Raiders. Yet most remained in the marshy uplands of the Plains of the Ürxura. So the Evergirls faded into legend. All anyone knew was that sometimes a herd of wild ponies (some said they were Ürxura) would appear out of the mists and eerie cries were heard (of the Evergirls, it was presumed) as the enemy was thrown into confusion and driven into the marshes, where they were killed one by one with poisoned darts or sickle-shaped throwing blades. But rarely would any of the Evergirls actually be seen. It is said that they wore magical tunics woven from the silvery hair of the Ürxura which they gathered from the groves where the Ürxura slept and rubbed themselves against the treetrunks.'

'Maybe I will join them. That'd show him,' Shelley thought. But she didn't say it to Korman, and the thought of never having a boyfriend began to depress her.

A long while later, as the Fire Hills rose up ahead and glowed in the afternoon sun, Shelley asked, to get her mind off Quickblade and the Evergirls, 'Is the Fire World really full of fire, or what? Does anyone live on it?'

'It is a world of volcanoes and geysers, but not full of fire,' said Korman as they trudged on up the valley (which was now finally beginning to narrow) beside a little stream that cut through layers of white pumice and red scoria. 'There are also great forests on it, and lakes and seas, and strange birds and beasts, but no creatures with speech, except the Salamanders. After the planting of the Tree of that world, with its indigo Arcra-jewel, people from the Order, Sky-Travellers and Tímathians, came (via your own world, since the three Hidden Worlds, Air, Fire, and Water, were all accessed only through Edartha) and they settled it. They set up smithies there and dug mines and smelted ores.

'There the first Fireswords were made, with the help of the Makers. The one I bear was forged in the secret smithy of Lighthelm in the Golden Age. But by then they had begun to use crystals, not just steel. And this was finally their undoing. They would not listen to the Salamanders, and made crystals that were too powerful, requiring great purity of mind. Fire leaped from crystal to crystal, and many were killed, but still they tried to build ever more powerful weapons, and eventually there was a terrible war. The Salamanders, who had remained aloof, now commanded those who remained to forsake their weapons or leave. Then, after the departure of the Makers they closed their world off from all others.'

'Was that very long ago?'

'Eight thousand six hundred years, perhaps, have passed since that day.'

'Oh, is that all? Not long at all...' Korman turned to look at her.

'No, not very long at all, in the larger scheme of things.'

'I was joking, you know!'

'I know. But I was serious. We float on a sea of time, and our little sojourn here is like a tiny fairy boat on that immense ocean. Or, it is as if we live in a great forest, and our actions plant seeds which will turn into new trees, among which others will live long after we are gone.'

'I guess so... No wonder you never seem to be in a hurry, if you see it like that! So anyway, there aren't any Salamanders on Aeden now?'

'I have not heard of any. It is not hot enough for them.'

The sides of the valley were now steep and rocky. There were cave entrances peering down on either side, which made Shelley uneasy.

'Does anyone live in those caves?' she asked Korman.

'What caves?' he replied, puzzled.

'Over there... oh, no, it's just the shadows on the rocks. Funny, it looked just like...'

'We are tired, Shelley. We may start seeing things. These are strange mountains, full of the magic of the Fire World, though not as far as I know actually linked to it by any Portal.'

'But doesn't anyone live around here?' she persisted.

'Perhaps a hermit community still survives,' he replied. 'There was one once, somewhere in the Fire Hills. They called themselves the Hermits of the Salamander. They were ascetics, not marrying or joining in the celebrations of the people, and magicians, seeking esoteric powers. I am suspicious of such ways. But they were honoured as wise men, and the people brought them food and drink. I see no sign of life; perhaps they all died out, since they had no children.'

Shelley shuddered at the thought of the mouldering skeletons of magician-hermits in caves, and forced her weary legs to hurry past, and for once Korman trailed behind her.

But she saw no more signs of any caves, and soon they came to a hollow (Korman said it was a crater) in the side of the mountain spur, very near the top of the pass. Gnarled bushes, moulded by the mountain winds, grew around its lip, but inside it was sheltered, with a grassy patch at the bottom. They rested there, thankful for the shelter, and ate as the sun went down behind the peaks of the Fire Hills which loomed above them on either side of the pass. After eating some of the precious supply of bread and olives, both lost in their own thoughts, they took out the last slices of the dried apple. Shelley was too tired to talk any more, but listened as Korman said the grace over the apple slices with their little star-shaped holes, symbol of hope, yet empty of seeds. When they had eaten them, she felt revived deep inside, though her limbs were still weary and sore.

Korman was pondering the road ahead. His hand went to his breast pocket as he began considering the nature and possible uses of Hillgard's gift. 'It is perilous, that much he made clear. And if even he is wary of it, I must be doubly careful.'

'Has the Vapáglim been found yet?' said the mind of Rakmad to the new captain of Baldrock fortress, Nathragh.

'No, Your Emptiness, it is not here. My men have searched every cave and cleft of the accursed rock.'

'What of mindwebs?'

'We have found none.'

'Keep searching. Search too for the Silver mines in the east. The Guardians who remain must not be allowed to make any more Mindshields. You are dismissed.'

'Your will be done, my Master in the Void!'

Rakmad pondered a while. Then he entered the trance state, and searched the Dreamweb until he reached the mind of Phagrapag, master Inquisitor of the Dark Labyrinth, initiate of the inner circle of warrior-monks of the Void.

'Hail, brother in the Void,' croaked Phagrapag.

'What news from the mind of the disciple of Taniar the Traitor, the prisoner Hillgard? Has he confessed that the Vapáglim was in his possession? Or that he gave it to the accursed Korman?'

'Since he learned that the "Keeper" was you, my brother, his mind has closed very strongly to us. But, behind the deceits of his mind, which still resists our despair-probes, I read that he did give it to the rebel Korman. There is some hope in his thoughts concerning the hour before he was captured.'

'Very well. When the Vapáglim is used, we will know where the accursed rebel is.'

'And the Dark Entities will too?'

'Indeed, my brother. The Vapáglim use the very power of the Void. He may meet the Dark Entities sooner than any of us! The accursed golden mist, or the silver, will not hide him then!' He made a dry rattle in his sinewy throat which could have been a laugh. 'Keep probing the prisoner. He cannot hide his mind from us forever. He will crack!'

Then Rakmad settled back in his thorn-seat with a sigh of pleasure-in-pain, and the Mother Thorn, sinking into his flesh, fed him. 'And where the traitor Korman is, the so-called Kortana will also be skulking,' he thought with satisfaction.

'We should go on now, try to find a place to camp on the other side of the pass,' said Korman, wearily.

'What's wrong with right here?' said Shelley, stretching and yawning.

'I will feel safer within the margins of the Ürxura's land, out of sight of Baldrock.'

'It feels safe enough here in this nice sleepy little hollow,' she yawned. She was already doggedly unpacking her sleeping bag and tent. Korman sighed, and gave in.

'Very well, since you are so tired – and I am weary, too. I feel a tension I have not felt since the night before the battle of the Canyon. Perhaps it is nothing; perhaps it is my old migraines returning. But we must light no fire tonight, nor leave the shelter of this crater.'

So in spite of Korman's misgivings they made camp there for the night.

'Korman, did you really get migraines?' said Shelley after they had eaten.

'Yes. It was the strain of different thoughts and commands conflicting within me, after I became an outcast and was called by the Lady. A Guardian does not easily forget his training, or recover from being cast out of the Order. But I worked out a peace between the transcendent Concept and the immanent Goddess, the Heavens and the Earth. Or so I thought; but this headache says otherwise!'

'My father had migraines. Bad ones. I wonder what inner conflicts he had? Nothing like yours, I bet!'

'No, I expect not.'

'I hope you get better.'

'Thank you. I still have some willowbark left. And I will do my meditation.

'OK, good night!' She crawled into her tent and wriggled into her sleeping bag. Listening to Korman's singing bowl, she thought about her father and his conflicts, and missed him, even though he was not her real father. She wished that she could talk to him, now she had learnt so much more of life. She knew he hated a lot about 'modern' life on Earth. 'That was why he married mum – he saw something of Faery in her. He would like it here - I think. And she would just love it – if it wasn't for the Aghmaath. And the thorns – she can't stand thorns! And yet she grows roses...' Her mind wandered into thorny thickets that bloomed with red roses, then writhed with grotesque faces as she sank exhausted into a deep sleep.

The light slowly faded from the sky and the stars came out. Though his head was clearing in the cold air, Korman was still troubled. He was not sure why. He lifted Arcratíne by its jewelled hilt and let it drop into the soft earth at the bottom of the hollow, then knelt down to listen. He heard the wind in the pines on the spur above, and a rock slithering down the gully below, but nothing to be alarmed at. He heard the rumour of Hithrax's Trackers somewhere in the wilds between the hollow and Baldrock, but they still felt distant enough. 'We will be safely within the realm of the Ürxura by the time Hithrax comes here,' he thought.

His mind reached out into the five points of Namaglimmë, the Sacred Island of Aeden, and back to the Centre, the Tor Enyása where Rakmad wove his webs of deceit, and he knew that Rakmad was waiting intently for him to show himself. 'I cannot risk using the Vapáglim, then. He may already know that I have it, now that Hillgard is taken and will be mindprobed. At least I can weave a mindweb over this hollow,' he thought. He sat and warmed the lightcrystal on his staff, wrapping his hands around the carved branches that protected it, charging it with his life-force until it glowed. Then, using the staff as focus for the mindweb-weaving he began, quietly chanting as he worked his way around the perimeter. When that was finished, he prayed for the Lady in the thorns, and for Hillgard his brother, and all those taken by the enemy. Then a darkness and drowsiness came over his aching eyes, and he fell forward and slept under the shadow of his sword in the starlight.

The night was still, and the dew lay on Korman's hair and beard as he slept. Then a strange dream came to him. He thought that he awoke with a splitting migraine, and saw that Arcratíne was glowing, and out of the hilt came the bright image of a Salamander, its piercing ruby eyes fixed on him. There were no spoken words – that is not the way of the Salamander – but into his mind burned thoughts that purged and probed like fiery fingers: 'Korman! Behold, Arcratíne your sword! Once it was crystal in the fire; then the fire and the crystal became one at its forging, and you were given it to protect the Tree and its Jewel.

'But you failed as a Guardian, and were made an Outcast. Then one more time you failed, when you sought to protect the Lady, the Rose of Aeden, with its fire, and your right arm was withered.

'Now, look! It is a new day, when you yourself will become as this sword, whole and one, and in you the Fire and the Rose will be one. Only then will you be worthy to wield the fiery sword.'

Korman awoke from his sleep, his head pounding, and he saw that his sword was indeed glowing, and flames were rising up its length. The Salamander was twisted about it, wreathed in flames, exactly as in the dream, as it is pictured in the Guardian Talisman. Its eyes glowed red, its body was fiery gold. He felt that his own body burned too, with a pure fire that did not scorch, but burned away all his lesser thoughts, his doubts and conflicts, all his weariness, and the pain from his head. He felt new life flowing through his right arm like fire. He flexed his fingers, marvelling.

Shelley woke up with a start to see Korman kneeling before Arcratíne. It was glowing, and Korman, his back to her, was illuminated by it, or perhaps he was glowing too. She did not see the tears that ran down his cheeks; but she saw that this was a sacred visitation. 'Maybe You are appearing to him?' she whispered in thought to the Lady.

She heard in reply a voice, clear and cool as moonlight: 'Korman will pass through the fire for you, the Kortana, if you hold to the path. Or, if you choose, you could go down to the protected land of the Ürxura Narábadrim, and remain there in peace.'

'Who's this?' she found herself saying. 'Why are you tempting me?'

'Here in the mountains of fire the will is purified, and fateful choices made.'

'I really don't have to go on if I don't want to?'

'No, for you cannot be the Chosen One without choosing to be.'

Korman was still kneeling by the sword. Shelley thought about making that hard choice, whether in a dream or awake she did not know. All was quiet, and she was calm as she imagined the terrible dangers she would face if she chose to go on as the Kortana. It was as if it was all happening to someone else. She saw herself go on toward the Valley of Thorns – here the vision became veiled, and she felt a piercing sadness and loneliness. She saw herself go on alone – 'No, not alone! Not without Korman! I couldn't!' she thought, and blocked the possibility from her mind.

Then she saw herself undergoing the mysterious initiation at Ürak Tara, and finally setting out on the perhaps hopeless quest for the Arcra-Achrha, the Lost Heartstone, and the seemingly impossible task of returning it to the Tree on the thorn-infested Tor Enyása, haunted by the sleepless Dreamcasters and the warriors of the Void. It was as if a different and better Shelley was doing it all, while she looked on.

'It's madness,' she said aloud, flatly. 'But I guess I'm going to do it, and that's that. Someone's got to; it might as well be me. Now I've come this far...'

Then it was as if she awoke from a dream, and her calmness and sense of the presence, and the Voice, and her braver self, all vanished, and she was just Shelley again. She felt the cold, and the pounding of her heart, and all her fears came crowding back. But they held little power over her now, somehow. The choice had been made; the higher Shelley was still there within her, and she would follow her.

Down the gully in the chill darkness, the hidden cave-mouths gaped black. Then they glowed with a red light as gaunt figures crept out, clutching firebrands in bony hands with untrimmed fingernails, long and stained. Their wild eyes gleamed blearily in the smoky light. Some had wounds all down their balding scalps and bare backs, from sleeping on beds of nails, the dried blood still clinging to their wrinkled skin. Others, flagellants, had whip-marks on their backs. All carried crooked staves or wands, tipped with black stone. They filed out of the caves in silence and shuffled along the stony path up the gully.

In the hollow, Shelley was now wide awake, staring into the darkness. She became aware of Korman. He had risen to his feet and sheathed the sword. His peaceful face was alert as he came to her side.

'Are you all right, Shelley?'

'Yes, I'm fine, I guess. Thanks for asking. What about you?'

'All is well, and will be very well – if we are true to the light and the love we are given!'

She looked at him. He was smiling, and looked so noble and true, she wanted to hug him tight, say she loved him, and tell him all about her vision. But she just returned his smile.

Then a chill crept over her, and the back of her neck prickled. There was something out there in the darkness surrounding the hollow. She heard a twig crack. She whispered, 'There's something out there, isn't there? I can feel it.' Korman nodded. The amber on his ring was glowing.

'And whatever it is, it has seen through a mindweb. That is very worrying.' From the depths of his pack, the anklebiter began growling.

Before they could think of escape, or Korman could get his staff, the hollow was surrounded. In the darkness firebrands flared, held aloft by old men with long grey hair and beards wearing nothing but loincloths, standing all around the lip of the crater. Shelley felt the intrusive power of dark and merciless minds beating down on her, searing her thoughts. Clutching Korman's arm she backed down into the bottom of the crater. She tried to think of Faery, but she could not seem to remember it.

'The Hermits of the Fire Hills!' said Korman. 'They have gone over to the enemy. Do not look into their eyes!'

But it was too late. Shelley was rooted to the spot, horrified. Now the hermits began a dreary chant to the Void,

Heth Ovo

Hetho Vo

Hethovo!

'The Void! The Void!' They raised their wands together. A blackness began to swirl around Shelley. She reeled, and Korman caught her, dragging her away from the centre of the hollow, where the darkness intensified until it was a black hole into pure nothingness. A hundred minds silently commanded: 'Go to it! Go to the Void! Go!' She began to crawl towards the blackness as it grew, a vortex of oblivion.

'No more suffering! No more pain! No more choices!' she heard herself thinking, and it seemed the best thing in the world to enter that pure nothingness.

Korman dived into his tent and came out holding up his staff. It seemed like a living thing. The triple crystal at its tip glittered like a bright eye in the glare of the hermits' firebrands, and its twisted, polished jeweltree shaft was like silver sinews. Korman strode to the bottom of the hollow, now filled with the silent, terrible Void, a hole into nothingness. He whispered, 'Run, I will blind them! Make for the pass!'

It seemed to Korman at that moment that the Lady appeared in the midst of the Void, dressed in sapphire blue, standing with arms outstretched in a wall of golden thorns which burned with fire but were not consumed, just as she did on the bridge over the Bottomless Canyon. This time she was looking straight at him, smiling and beckoning him in. With a great cry he strode forward and plunged his staff into the midst of the darkness. A searing burst of black light smote him and he covered his burning eyes, but too late. Blinded, he raised the staff with both hands, and plunged it into the earth. There was a sharp crack as the blackness vanished, and in its place a golden fire licked up the staff, lit up the crystal and arched over the hollow like a fountain of protecting light. The hermits' firebrands went out in a blast of wind, and casting them aside they covered their eyes, tottering and stumbling like blind men, groping for Shelley.

'Arxphare Orbalax! The Flame Unquenchable!' one croaked, and for a second looked at the sight in wonder. But then he too turned and ran.

Shelley had not run from the hollow, but had hidden in the tent. Now she ran to Korman's aid. He was holding his hands over his eyes.

'I cannot see!' he cried in agony. Shelley saw that his beard and hair were singed and his face and hands were blackened and peeling. The staff still stood, a flaming tree burning with miraculous fire in the centre of the hollow.

'I'll get your staff!' she cried.

'No! Leave it there! As long as it keeps burning, you may get away before the hermits return. They are powerful sorcerers. They will not stay away for long. They will come back for you. Why are you still here? I told you to fly! Go to the Ürxura. They will bear you to...'

'I can't leave you! What are you going to do? Just wait here for them?'

'Hithrax is coming; I feel him near. Do you hear the Dagraath howling? I have been burned and blinded; Lady, forgive me! Now I must draw Arcratíne. I do not need to see to wield it! At least I will take some of them with me. Now run, Shelley!' He began the Guardian war chant,

Hethür, Krithür, Shaktha!

Twice before she had heard those words as he began to draw his sword and break his vow. But this time Shelley was able to speak.

'Don't be crazy!' she yelled. 'You're coming with me! Come on!'

She took his hand and dragged him out of the hollow, leaving behind all but the clothes they stood up in. Bootnip waddled after them, hackles bristling. He knew Korman's pack was no refuge now. Still the staff of Korman flamed, and looking back Shelley saw that it seemed to bloom with fiery roses in the midst of the burning.

The hermits gathered about the hollow as close as they dared, to wait for the arrival of their great captain and his trackers. They did not have long to wait. Hithrax had seen the light and loped towards it with strides three times as long as a man's, guessing that this could only be the rebel Korman's doing. When they arrived on the scene the hermits' new masters appeared to the miserable old men as angels of light, their chameleon skin glowing gold in the golden incandescence of Korman's staff, and their Dagraath like fiery avengers about them. The oldest hermit knelt and bowed low before Hithrax, who seemed to him to tower like an archangel above him.

'They have escaped and are fleeing!' he croaked. 'Forgive us, Lord, but they temporarily blinded us with the Flame Unqu...'

At that, Hithrax flicked a thorndagger from its sheath and stabbed the hermit's heart, paralysing him. Then he motioned to the dogs, who tore out the hermit's throat, and he died, still kneeling before Hithrax, who pushed his body aside saying, 'The rest of you, follow the rebels! Do not kill them. They are wanted by His Emptiness, the Master of the Tor Enyása.'

'The Void! The Void!' they chanted, and shuffled away on bare, lacerated feet.

Hithrax opened a black tin shaped like an incense burner, and out flew his paralysing hornets. One stung a hermit, and he fell, tumbling down in mute anguish to the bottom of the gully, where the scavenger lizards were waiting; smelling death, they had come out of their holes.

Shelley, turning to look again when they reached the top of the pass, saw the pursuit by the light of the still-burning staff down in the hollow far below. She saw Hithrax halted at the rim of the crater, staggering back, seemingly blinded by the magical fire. But his Dagraath bounded heedlessly into the hollow and tore at Korman's pack, looking for the anklebiter whose scent they had followed for so long. Then they leapt upon the staff and toppled it to the earth, biting and snapping at it, though it burned them and they yelped and howled. In seconds they had reduced it to splinters. The triple crystal lay incandescent on the ground as they snapped at it in rage, burning their noses. Suddenly it exploded in a shower of white-hot fragments, and the light went out.

Shelley told Korman what she had seen.

'Alas, my staff! My crystal, Tarazüra!' he cried.

'What do we do now?' asked Shelley in dismay.

'Cover your face and body with your cloak! The hornets will be coming!' Korman groaned. His pain was increasing now that the shock was wearing off. 'And run! I will follow as best I can.'

The downhill path was faint in the starlight, and Shelley was groping along almost as blindly as Korman, when she lost the path altogether. There were thick bushes all around. Then they came out into a clear space, where the wind blew. It felt right to her, as if the Lady had guided her to it. But then she saw, dim below her feet, a deep, dark ravine. Korman was coming up behind her.

'Wait, stop!' she screamed, trying to hold onto him, but he was too heavy for her, and going too fast. He slipped, and plunged blindly over the edge.

Just then she heard a whining, buzzing sound. She knew what it was. She held herself perfectly still, though she was out of breath and bursting to gulp in the air. She heard the horrifying sound of Korman's body bouncing against the cliff face as he fell, while the black hornet circled menacingly somewhere over her head. She wrapped her cloak around herself as best she could. The buzzing had stopped. Then she felt something prickly crawl down her leg to her bare ankle. She screamed as the hornet stabbed liquid fire into her heel. She gasped with the pain, teetered on the edge of the cliff, and collapsed, her leg already numb and useless. She felt her whole body go limp, felt the cliff-edge crumble as she slid toward the depths below, and vaguely noticed the sound of the Dagraath baying as she fell.

Chapter Thirty-five

The White Ürxura

Shelley fell faster and faster until the wind was whipping at her clothing and hair. Part of her was oddly detached, and was bemoaning gravity, and wishing that the part of her which was falling to certain death could fly, as even the smallest bird could do. Now she was bumping against bushes and sliding on loose ground, and while the detached part of her was still wondering if she would die instantly when she hit the bottom, she landed in cold water with a stinging, bone-jarring impact. She felt herself going under, but the paralysing hornet venom was taking effect, and she could barely move. She began to despair of her life, and to give in to drowning. 'So this is what it's like,' she thought, almost dreamily.

Then she felt strong arms bearing her up to the surface. It was Korman. 'He's alive!' she thought. The relief at not being alone was wonderful. She still couldn't speak or even breathe, but as they bobbed in the icy turbulent water, she felt his hand pressing her chest, squeezing life back into her lungs. She spluttered, limp and cold but unable even to shiver. Now Korman was treading water, supporting her as they sped down a narrow watercourse under high cliffs. 'If we are in Firewater Springs... which I guess we are...' she heard Korman gasp, 'there is a waterfall ahead. Must get out...'

Far back at the head of the cliff a little creature launched itself out into midair and plummeted, grunting and growling, head over heels into the foaming pool below.

Shelley could hear a distant rumble in the darkness ahead, getting louder as they were swept along without hope of stopping. Then they heard baying behind them. 'The Dagraath have jumped in after us!' cried Korman as he struck out for the bank. But the rocks were smooth and gave him no handhold. They bumped along the bank, Shelley feeling helpless as a rag doll, dragged along by the torrent towards the roar of the Firewater Falls thundering louder and louder.

Now the shock of the cold water was helping Shelley; the poison was slowed enough for her to speak. 'Look, a branch! Reach up now!' she gasped. Korman blindly reached up with his powerful left arm, and the branch hit his hand as they sped past. He gripped with all his might, and they swung around and jerked to a stop, the current now pulling relentlessly at their bodies. The first wardog was swimming straight for them, jaws open. It snapped at Korman's robe and held on, lashing at him with its powerful claws. Shelley tried to scream but had no breath.

'Reach down for my belt!' cried Korman, 'My knife...' Shelley made a huge effort and found her arm could move, slowly, like in a nightmare she had often had when her legs wouldn't move fast enough to run away from some pursuer. At last she had the knife, cold in her frozen grasp. She raised it and slashed weakly at the horrible snout of the Dagraath. Enraged, it let go of Korman and snapped at her, an inch from her face, its bark deafening even over the roar of the falls. But in letting go of Korman, it was caught by the current and swept away. It yelped, gulping in water as it spun off into the torrent and disappeared over the falls, howling. Now the other Dagraath were coming down the river at them. One snapped at their heels, biting Korman as he painfully dragged himself, and Shelley, onto the overhanging branch of the gnarled tree that grew out of a ledge almost at the very brink of the waterfall, where the water began to curve downwards. He managed to kick the creature off his leg, and it fell back with a splash, growling, its jaws still clamped onto a piece of Korman's clothing. Then it was gone.

Just at that moment another jaw clamped angrily onto his ankle – a much smaller one. He realised with relief what it was: Bootnip, growling ferociously as Korman reached down and heaved the miserable little bundle off his ankle onto the branch. He felt sharp little teeth sink into his hand. 'You are not the only one with problems, Bootnip!' he growled back, loosening the jaws by squeezing them hard, then rubbing the wiry little head to placate him.

The other Dagraath, three of them, swam under the branch for a while, snapping at the air, but one by one the current took them away, and they disappeared over the smooth crest of water, hurtling to their deaths on the foam-pounded rocks far below.

High above them on the clifftop, his skin now black to blend with the darkness about him, Hithrax sniffed the air. He sensed the deaths of his dogs; his thorny heart was clutched with something like grief, a feeling which he strangled in the moment of its birth and turned into cold lightning-bolts of anger directed at the fugitives. His sharp fingernails clawed at the air, and his mindbolts rolled away down the chasm, but they were extinguished in the dark rushing waters. He knew that mindbolts would not work down there anyway, on the borders of the enchanted land of the Ürxura. He would have to send the hermits the long way round, and find them on foot, before the Ürxura got wind of it. The hermits would keep trying, until death intervened, but they were not suited for this kind of work. Tracking took stamina, not just sorcery and night ambushes. If only he had not stepped into that accursed wizard's fire, he would lead the way... He tightened his singed belt, and turned one hawk-like eye to the sky. There was no Blue Moon yet; this would help. He felt the pressure of his master's will from the Tor Enyása. And he felt the opposing force of the enchantments of the accursed Ürxura... Their impenetrable mindwebs blocked the way, fogged his thinking.

He snapped at the pale hermits as they gathered round, 'Go! Find the tracks which lead to the Vale of the Ürxura, below the waterfall! The accursed ones are there somewhere. Hunt them down, encircle them, bind them in the Void, and bring them back to me. I will await you in the crater. There is no burning staff to help them now! Death! Revenge! The Void! Go now!'

The hermits feared to go down the misty paths to the land of the Ürxura. But they feared Hithrax more, and revered him as the very Angel of the fiery Void. So they began to tread the long and winding path down the mountainside into the night-shrouded Vale of the Ürxura Narábadrim.

Shelley awoke in the tree that had saved them, in the cold light of morning. It was misty and damp, and the air vibrated with the roar of the waterfall. Memory returned, and she looked up in concern at Korman lying in the crook of the branch, cradling her. He was still blind – at least, his eyes were closed and swollen, his silver skullcap dented and blackened, his face peeling from the dark fire of the Void. He seemed deep in thought, facing towards the Vale of the Ürxura which was near, yet separated from them by the chasm of the falls. Bootnip was with them too, fast asleep between Korman's feet, a piece of leather from Korman's boot between his paws. 'So, we still haven't managed to shake you off,' Shelley thought, smiling grimly. The little anklebiter twitched and stirred in its sleep.

She tried moving her arms, and they responded, but with a tingling feeling. She knew the only way down, apart from falling to certain death, was to climb down. Her head swam at the thought. Her feet tingled with pins and needles. Her stung heel throbbed when she tried to move it. It was puffed up and the skin felt nastily tight.

'Good morning, Shelley,' said Korman, not turning his sightless head.

'How are you, Korman?'

'Well, my headache is gone!'

Shelley laughed, but she was wondering how they could go on – now that he was blind. 'And fear not,' he added. 'I know what you are thinking. Yes, we must climb the cliffs of Firewater Falls. We have escaped through fire and hornets by the grace of the Lady, and now I will walk like a mountain goat, with your eyes, and tread the ledges which only you can see.' He flexed his right hand. 'Not only my headache was healed last night. Look! The palsy has lessened. My arm is healing!'

Tears came to Shelley's eyes. 'Oh, Korman! I knew it would heal, one day. There's such magic here in Aeden! But last night, as you knelt before the sword, I had this feeling, that you'd have to go through terrible things for me, and for Aeden. I didn't know it would be so soon though. Why can't your eyes be healed too?'

'It does not always work like that.'

'Oh, it's not fair. When will things turn out right?'

'We will see, one day.'

'Is that one of your jokes, Korman?' She punched him, and he gasped. The anklebiter, now clinging to Korman's shoulder, growled at her.

'Oh, sorry! Are you hurt there too? How are we ever going to get down from here?' she cried. Korman's answer was to lift her in his arms and stand on the trunk of the tree, as Shelley gasped in fright and Bootnip squealed.

'It is all right,' he said. 'Just tell me where to place my feet. One foot after the other. Just like life.'

'A piece of cake!' said Shelley.

And so they inched along the gnarled tree, a mountain oak with scarred and twisted trunk, still sloping down over the torrent hundreds of years after being knocked over as a little sapling by a falling rock. Soon Korman's boots, wet and cold, came down firmly upon the hard rock shelf from which it grew, and so they went on, around the cliff on the south side of the falls, which ceaselessly thundered away below them. The morning sun shone on the white foam and made a rainbow halo around their combined shadow. Step by step, Shelley nervously directed him as they descended the narrow ledges and overhangs until, just as Korman's legs would take no more and began shaking and buckling under him, they were down. He let Shelley tumble to the ground, stood up and stretched his back with a great sigh of relief.

The falls thundered on as they sat on the steep pebbly beach in the wind and spray at the base of the falls. Shelley was shivering from the cold, while Korman was sweating with the exertion of carrying her down the cliff. They both laughed with relief, but Korman's breath caught in his injured ribs. 'Look well on the sight, Shelley, for both of us!' he said. 'Few mortals have seen these sacred falls.' She looked, and tried to take in the whole atmosphere of the place. 'It's awesome, Korman,' she said. 'It feels as though the air is charged with electricity, or something.'

'Yes, without sight I can see other things more clearly. I see that energy all around us. It is a healing place, and I am sorry we must leave so soon.'

They drank from the ever-foaming pool, and Korman bathed his burnt face in the soothing water. Bootnip waddled down to the water and swam in circles, lapping the water and spluttering before waddling out again. Shelley helped Korman tuck the wet anklebiter into Korman's robe, since his pack was gone. Then they were off again, to seek the plains of the Ürxura, and the apple trees, wild roots and herbs that would renew their strength. They were hungry, stiff and tired but refreshed by the waters and feeling hopeful.

After a while they left the river, since Korman said it went down into a forested lake, where the Ürxura (which they needed to find and beg for help) rarely went. So they headed south under tall trees and sparse underbrush. Shelley limped along, and Korman, blind and in pain but trusting her guidance, walked in her footsteps.

And where Shelley had trodden, small white flowers opened. They were padmaësta, hopeflowers, as the faithful called them, a sign of the Kortana and of hope, like the Edelweiss of Earth. Neither Korman nor Shelley saw them, but their perfume was in the air, reminding them of things almost forgotten – of Faery and its deep joy.

The rest of that day became a blur in Shelley's mind as the aches and pains increased. Her head, and especially her heel, began to throb. She wondered how much pain Korman was in, but she was too intent on struggling on, leading him by the hand, to even ask. She wished Quickblade would turn up, and give them horses to ride on.

'So this is what it's like to be the leader: hard work and worry and headaches!' she thought. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as they stumbled on and on. She remembered her father's migraines. 'I wonder what it's like being him? He was always worrying about the world. He looked like he was carrying it on his shoulders... I don't want to end up like him! Still, I guess he's not my real father anyway. And what did he have to worry about, compared to me, or Korman? I suppose he worried about mum, and keeping up the lie that he was my real father. He sure seemed upset when we went through Silverwood, even before the unicorn appeared. They both did. As if they knew something. I bet they didn't know all this existed, or they'd really have worried! I wonder what they'd do if they were here now? Would dad get a huge migraine and crack up, or would he become a hero? I know what mum would do: she'd find a nice little hidden valley somewhere and start a garden, and live happily ever after! It is beautiful here! Apart from the Aghmaath... And the Dagraath... And those horrible magician hermits!' She forced herself to stop thinking about the horrors she had seen, and returned to musing on her family. 'I wonder who my real dad is. Imagine meeting him one day!' That thought made her heart leap, but her head thumped even worse, and she tried not to think about that either.

As they struggled on, slowly the land grew more open and the tall trees further apart, until they were walking in the high parts of the Vale of the Ürxura, and the long blue-green grass and clover and wildflowers under their tired feet swept away down to the dark blue sea in the distance.

Their clothes were now dry and it was warm, but a cooling sea breeze fanned the grass. Around midday Shelley saw an apple grove and led them towards it. They stopped in its pleasant shade, sniffing the scented air. Then all their weariness seemed to catch up with them at once. They sat down painfully, but with great relief.

In Aeden some kind of apple was always in fruit, and in this grove it was a variety like the Pacific Rose, crisp, sweet and full of a wild aroma that reminded Shelley of her own Northland. She reached up and picked one. Its perfume and coolness were irresistible. But she hesitated, fearful of more sorcery.

'Is it safe to eat the apples?' asked Shelley.

'Yes, I am sure. This is one of the sacred groves, planted many centuries ago in the Golden Age of the Order,' said Korman. She picked one for him too, and they feasted on the crisp apples, their munching the only noise in the stillness around them.

Then Shelley chose an especially large rosy-looking apple and recited the chant:

O vapastra Pagy'avalastra

Pagya'vala elrápaön

O vapastra, vapaäm éim

En Gha v'Ürpama

O Star-key in the applestar

In the apple shining!

O Star-key, open us

To Life and Love's entwining!

Korman joined in, wearily at first, then with fervour. His voice was a rumble that seemed to reverberate in the grove and bring it to the verge of Faery. Shelley felt a thrill as she cut the apple carefully 'starwise,' that is, across the core. 'Maybe this one will have a Star-key seed,' she thought. The knife hit something hard in the core. She cut around the obstruction. The apple fell into two perfect halves, and in one half was a shiny golden seed, a little larger than a normal appleseed, fluted with five ridges that if cut across would form a perfect five-pointed star.

'Hold out your hand!' she cried excitedly, and Korman smiled as she flipped the precious seed into his gnarled palm, and he felt it lovingly, counting the ridges.

'I cannot see it, but it has the right shape, and the ridges. Golden, you say? Then it is surely a Jeweltree seed! We will plant it in the centre of this old grove. Take my sword and make a hole with it.' He offered her the hilt, and Shelley tremblingly drew the great shining blade. She dug a hole as Korman told her, by lifting the sword and dropping it into the ground. She took the seed once more from Korman and dropped it into the hole, then pushed some leafmould and topsoil over it, pressing it down with her hands, wishing it luck. Bootnip jumped out of his robe and began trying to dig it up, and nipped at Shelley when she kicked him away.

Korman held Bootnip firmly as he sheathed his sword and blessed the seed: 'May you grow tall, and see better days!' Then he told Shelley, 'Keep the other pips, and we will plant them as we go across the plain. Remember always:

Ennaya na-math, heth na magn'Edartha

Nine for mankind; one for Mother Earth.' He traced the lines of the ancient carved stone on which he sat, half-buried in the fertile earth. 'So much history, lost! But this place is not yet polluted by the seed of the thorns. The magic of this land is strong; it still withstands the enemy. The new seed will grow!'

As they rested in the cool shade he nursed Bootnip (who had eaten a whole apple and was now snoring curled up on his lap), and told Shelley more of the history of Aeden, and of many wonders now lost. 'The bubble trees, for example, which once grew here, were made by the Makers from the pomegranate tree, for sheer delight. They put forth bubbles filled with the lightest gas which floated up into the golden sunlight, sparkling until they vanished on the breeze, to land somewhere far away and be burst by children for the perfumed seeds they contained.'

The apples had refreshed them, but it was hard to get to their feet and leave that pleasant place, testing their endurance again in the hot sun, limping on into the unknown. As they walked, however, a feeling grew on them that they were entering into an enchanted past, and the cares and fears lifted from their hearts. Still, Korman knew there was still the threat of pursuit. He said, 'Tonight we may expect an attack by the hermits, I fear. Hithrax drives them on ahead to flush us out. He himself fears to come far into this land, for it will drive him mad if he does, or the Ürxura will catch his smell and come with hooves and horns to kill him.'

'And the Dagraath are dead, I suppose. What about the hornets?' Shelley asked.

'Their range is short; perhaps three miles at the most.'

'Thank goodness. But what about the hermits? Won't they be stopped by the Ürxura's enchantment too?'

'Perhaps not. They are men, or were once. It may be they will resist long enough to find us and encircle us again.'

'And your staff is gone now.'

'Yes. It will be hard to resist their enchantment this time. We must go forward with all haste, until dark.'

'And then?'

'Then we will climb a tree, and spin mindwebs about us, and hope.'

He did not mention that he had spun a mindweb about the crater the night before, in vain.

They walked wearily on into the heat of the afternoon, and then the late afternoon and sunset. Korman's eyes were still closed and even more swollen – he could no longer even open them – and Shelley's leg was puffed up and throbbing. Finally she had to lean on Korman and hobble along, guiding him on into the twilight while he supported her.

They heard a noise like distant thunder, and stopped, anxiously. 'It is a herd of wild horses, perhaps,' said Korman.

'Or unicorns!' said Shelley. The land about them was now flat and open, apart from some patches of herbs and bracken.

'We could eat the roots of the bracken, but it would take time – and a fire – to prepare,' said Korman. So they went on, hoping to find a stand of trees before nightfall. But they stopped at intervals to rest, and each time scratched a hole and planted an apple seed, and Korman wove a blessing about it.

For a long way there were no more trees, and the breeze grew cold and sighed in the grass as the sun went down. Then in the distance ahead Shelley saw a dark treetop on the far side of a slight rise. She steered Korman towards it, and for a weary long time it seemed to get no closer. But at last there came a moment when they both stopped, swaying with exhaustion, under its spreading canopy. It was a huge old hollow oak, with knotted branches trailing pale lichens.

In the remaining twilight, Shelley guided Korman up into a fork in the great trunk. Then she found herself a branch nearby, where she could lay her head back on the main trunk and stretch out on the wide, level branch. She could hear Korman muttering as he wove a mindweb around the tree.

It was bliss for a while, to be able to relax with the weight off her aching legs and throbbing foot, and to feel the living branch beneath her. But as the night breeze eerily rustled the canopy above, the roughness of the bark and knots and bumps on the branch began to dig into her. 'It's not very comfortable, is it?' she called to Korman who was half-way around the huge bole, on a slightly lower branch.

'Quiet!' he whispered back. 'There is something out there.'

With a sinking feeling she realised he was right. They were surrounded again. The mindweb had failed to keep out whatever it was. Pale shapes were closing in.

'The Void! The Void!' came the sudden chant, and the black wands were raised. It was the ghastly hermits again. This time there was no fire in their hands, just the deadly blackness growing around them, closing in on them, seeming to drop from the dark leaves above and seep like mist from the hollow trunk. Ghostly rustles came from the inside of the tree, converging on them. Below was the black vortex of the Void; above was fear and horror. She felt the insistent voices in her head, like bony fingers reaching into her mind, calling, 'Jump! Let go! Fall into the everlasting arms, the endless rest...'

She heard Korman call, as if from far away, or as if through the noise of a waterfall in her head, 'Hold on, Shelley!' She felt ill, and in the darkness she heard Bootnip being sick.

The hermits' call was growing in intensity, a siren song, offering peace and rest, while above the very mouth of hell had opened up. Writhing snakes began to materialise and swarm down the branches toward her, forked tongues slowly flicking in and out. She screamed, and began to slip off the branch. She heard Korman's muffled voice crying, 'Hold on! The Ürxura are coming!'

Her legs slipped off the branch. She looked into the bleary, earnest eyes of the hermits. They were willing her to let go. Somehow she clung on another agonising second, and another. She felt her shaking hands slip over the rough bark as she started going down. Pale withered hands reached up for her.

At that moment with a thunder of hooves, a large white shape shot into the dark space below the canopy, scattering the hermits. The Ürxura had found them in the nick of time. Korman, who had been swooning in a deadly darkness, jumped onto the mighty stallion, guided in his blindness only by the sound of its hooves and snorting breath, and its wordless command. Then the unicorn, its long spiral horn shining like polished ivory in the starlight, bore him on light feet that seemed to float over the earth, and stood under Shelley. 'Let go!' cried Korman. She closed her eyes and let go with a scream. He caught her, groaning with the effort, swaying on the broad back of the unicorn.

'I don't... know how... to ride bareback!' gasped Shelley, clutching at the mane of the Ürxura. The pale hermits were closing in again, and she heard their urgently commanding voices in her head. 'I've got you!' Korman cried, as the white stallion sprang away, scattering the hermits. Other Ürxura followed them. A hermit standing in their path, black wand upraised, was skewered through and tossed in the air. He fell to earth with a horrible thud. Then they were through the deadly ring of enchantment, galloping away into the night.

Shelley felt the magic of the Ürxura shielding them from the mindprobes of the hermits, and the sickening Void vanished into the darkness behind them as they thundered away. She remembered how she had ridden the white unicorn out of Silverwood, and began to feel more confident of her riding instincts. Besides, Korman would not let her fall. She felt her heart beating wildly and her breath catching as the power of the galloping herd swept her up into its wild ecstasy. Neighing broke out around her, and she found herself crying out like a crazed Boy Raider, 'Yippee, yahoo!' Korman, humming a Guardian war song, steadied her as they rode, but the big unicorn sped smoothly on into the night without missing a beat.

It began to feel like a dream, like when she first rode the white unicorn in Faery on the pathway through the stars from Earth to Aeden, and she wondered if they were going home. 'But what on Earth would Korman do?' she thought in her dream, and she woke again, and realised that she had been dozing. The wind of Aeden was still rushing past them, fresh and invigorating. But it was not long before she began to feel drowsy again, and her eyes closing in spite of all her efforts. She nodded off once or twice, then awoke a third time to find that they had halted. There was a salty smell in the air, and a sighing like the wind in the trees. Korman dismounted, then Shelley slipped off into his arms.

They were at the edge of a little village of thatched huts by a great sweep of the shore. The silver moon had risen over the sea, and the unicorn stamped his hoof and turned with a swish of his long mane and tail. Then he and the herd were gone.

'We heard the Ürxura... you rode on the White Ürxura! Its horn appeared to us and we were afraid. Who are you?' The voice, ringing, confident, but full of wonder, came from the direction of the village. A tall young man came out of the shadows towards them, barefoot, wearing a loose tunic and a wrap-around skirt. He was holding a many-pronged fishing-spear.

Before Korman could speak, Shelley replied, 'I'm Shelley, and this is... Nimmath. We're tired and hurt. I've been stung by a black hornet, and Nimmath has been blinded. We've been attacked by hermits. Can you help us, please?' The man ran up and supported them with strong arms, dropping his spear.

'Welcome to Sanmara! I am sorry to hear of your injuries. I'm Sandpiper. Friends call me Pipes. I'll bring you straight to the meeting hut. You can sleep there. I'll bring food and drink, and call for the medicine woman. She has good herbs. And in the morning,' he added, smiling at Shelley, his white teeth flashing in the moonlight, 'you can tell us about yourselves.'

They were laid on comfortable beds which swung by strong ropes from the roof poles along the side of the oval hut. To the seaward side the building was open, with a veranda supported on sturdy posts. To Shelley's amazement there were things that looked remarkably like surfboards, leaning against the walls under the veranda. But her head was beginning to spin with tiredness, and she asked no questions.

The medicine woman came in carrying a hurricane lamp. She gently covered Korman's burned eyes and hands with ointments of aloe vera and other healing herbs which eased the pain, and bandaged them lightly. Then she put a poultice on Shelley's swollen heel. 'Will Nimmath be all right?' Shelley whispered.

'We shall see,' the woman replied in a soft, low voice, 'Your friend appears to be hardy. I think he will recover. But he may never see again.'

Then Pipes (as he insisted on being called) brought them some dried fish and pottery bowls of some kind of root vegetables, and bottles of blue glass containing scented water. 'Eat a little, drink plenty of the healing spring water, then sleep,' said the medicine woman to Korman. 'And chew on these leaves if you are in pain.'

'Thank you. Since we are at your mercy, I must tell you: my true name is Korman. I am Guardian to this girl, though she has been guiding and protecting me since... this! Look after her well, if I should...'

'Hush! We will look after you both, and you will recover. Eat and sleep well under our roof, and have no fear now, Korman the Guardian!' She left them the lamp and went out with Pipes. Shelley noticed that she turned and looked back at Korman as she went out the door

They ate and drank thankfully. Shelley had to put the bowl and fork in Korman's hands as he lay on his bed. She adjusted his blankets and looked down at his peaceful face, which looked very different with the bandage over his eyes, and reached out, bolder than she would have been if those keen eyes were on her, and gently put her hand to his forehead. It felt hot. He smiled and murmured, 'Your hand is very cool.'

She smiled back at him. 'Sleep well, Korman. And don't bother trying to wake me in the morning. I'm so sleeping in.'

He murmured, 'I think we both can, just this once.'

She blew out the lamp and went to her bed, which swayed gently in the night breeze that came in from the veranda, and she fell asleep to the sound of the surf on the beach below.

With the help of the pain-killing leaves, Korman was asleep before her for once, snoring slightly, his singed beard rising and falling on his deep chest. And Bootnip slept curled up at his feet.

Book Three

The Valley of Thorns

Chapter Thirty-six

The Waveriders

The morning dawned with seagulls crying above the roar of the surf as they fought over scraps of fish around someone's early campfire on the beach. The air smelt of the seaweed washed up on the shore, and of smoke from the campfire.

Shelley woke thinking she must be on holiday in Northland by the sea. She stretched and looked across the room, expecting to see her brother Mark and her parents, but instead there was Korman. He was lying still and peaceful on his gently swaying hammock-bed, but his eyes were bandaged. The terrible memory of the hermits, the burning Void, the hornets, the Dagraath, the fall into the dark waters, and their painful trek over the plains, soon overwhelmed her holiday illusion.

Then she looked out the open veranda to the beach and the lines of huge slowly breaking waves of crystal clear ocean, the early sun rising above the glittering blue horizon, energising the world with sensuous heat and golden light, and the delicious holiday feeling returned. The beach was like an invitation to paradise for Shelley. She wanted to rush out and explore, feel the warm sand between her toes, go beachcombing and swimming and forget the darkness and horror of the last two nights, and the long labour of their flight. But when she swung her legs over the side of the hammock-bed, all her muscles felt stiff and sore, her head spun, and the sting-wound on her heel throbbed, so she flopped back onto the pillow and gazed up at the thatched ceiling.

In spite of her aches and pains, she felt alive and happy, safer than she had felt for a long time, and tingling with anticipation. 'I love this place already!' she thought. 'I wonder if Pipes can take me surfing? I think he likes me... While Korman's recovering, I could have a total holiday! No parents, no rules, no quest...' The peril of Aeden seemed almost unreal to her now. Looking out on a place of such overwhelming power and natural beauty, it felt absurd to worry about the state of the world.

When Shelley looked back on them later, the next few days would seem like an impossibly happy and carefree dream, even though she sometimes worried about Korman's eyes – and about Hillgard and the other captives from Baldrock. It was one of those rare times which turned out almost exactly as she imagined and hoped they would be. It was like one of her early childhood holidays, barely remembered except as nostalgic fragments.

Pipes was old enough to be a good friend to her, and young enough to be exciting to be around. And he did take her surfing, usually with the others of the village: men, women and children, even the little children of three or four on their miniature boards. But sometimes she and Pipes went out by themselves in the early morning far along the beach. They used long boards of a light wood like balsa which had been rafted down the coast by the woodcutters of the Fairy Forest. The boards were pokerworked with Salamanders or sinuous dolphins and crabs, and seahorses, and other sea creatures that Shelley had never seen before, and lovingly oiled. Pipes gave her one of her own, decorated with a sea serpent that wound all the way about the border, and in the middle of the board was a beautiful mermaid, her long hair floating around her bare body. He showed Shelley how to drip the beeswax on top and polish the whalebone fins underneath; and how to mix oil and a special ash to make a bluish sun-screen.

So Pipes shared his happy life with Shelley on the warm southern shores of Aeden. He began to teach her the Waverider ways, of love and of and harmony with the sea and the land and sky and all living things. He showed how they gardened and fished, and spoke of the mystical meaning of riding the waves. 'We learn to be perfectly in the moment – Hishma we call it, perfect timing, neither ahead of the wave nor behind it,' he explained.

He showed her how to call the dolphins and surf with them down the curling glassy slopes. Afterwards they would sit on the warm dry sand higher up the beach and look down at the other Waveriders or watch the clouds sailing overhead. Or they would wander along the beach looking at the beautiful exotic shells, giant cat's eyes and conches and cowry shells, collecting the most perfect ones for decorating the garden beds, and the flat pearly kind for polishing and diamond-point engraving with poems or stories.

At different points along the long sweep of the beach there were layers of different sands, some dark like ironsands, burning hot underfoot in the sun; some white glittering quartz, and some reddish with garnet or ruby. And every now and then she would see a gleaming rough diamond, which she would casually pocket, though none were as big as the one Rilke had given her at their parting, and which she still carried in a deep pocket. Shelley wondered what the mining companies of Edartha would do to this place – and all of Aeden – if they could get their hands on it.

It was on one of their walks along the golden beach in the morning sun that Pipes told her that he was an orphan. 'I was found wandering alone in the plains of the Ürxura, by a blacksmith, who later adopted me. He was out cutting wood for his forge,' he told her.

'Oh, you poor thing!' said Shelley. 'How old were you?'

'Only ten or twelve – I'm not sure. The life before seems like a dream.'

'Do you remember anything, how you got there?'

'I remember riding on the back of a great white Ürxura, then waking up on the plain by a clump of great oak trees, alone, holding a leaf from the other world.'

'You got a leaf too!' said Shelley.

'Yes, I still have it. There was an image...'

'Of the Lady!' Shelley exclaimed.

'Well, actually it was of a dolphin... it has faded now, and it seems like a dream, but yes, it was a dolphin. I think it drew me here, to the sea... So, when I arrived I spoke only in a foreign tongue, but by the time my father and mother had taught me their own tongue, I had forgotten most of my past life.'

'But you must remember something about it.'

'Only hard, bitter things I would rather forget. From what you tell me of the Silver World, Kor-Edartha, I begin to wonder if I came from there.' And that was about all he could – or would – say.

Pipes was so called by his friends (whom Shelley got to know also, though none were quite as friendly with her as Pipes) for two reasons: one was that he was the best rider of the small perfectly-formed 'pipeline' waves, bending low to skim just ahead of the break. The other was that he was an expert player of the pan pipes, which he made from the reeds that grew by the eastern lagoon. His long brown hair was sun-bleached to a golden blond at the ends where it curled; his body was bronzed, muscular and lean. His eyes were grey-blue, and twinkled in the friendliest way when he smiled, which was most of the time. And he was always kind to the little children, who would hang around him to be spun around or get piggyback rides into the sea. Shelley felt she was falling in love, though a part of her knew it could never be. 'He's probably twice my age, for goodness sake!' she said to herself more than once as she caught herself daydreaming. But it certainly felt very good to be his friend.

One day Pipes took her to visit his adopted father, Firebrand, who was the village blacksmith. He was very friendly, and offered to beat Korman's dented silver skullcap back into shape when Shelley brought it to him.

Meanwhile Korman was nursed back to health by the medicine woman, whose name was Dawnrose, and his singed beard began to grow back. Bootnip made a nuisance of himself by moulting, scratching off grey and black hairs all over the bed, and also by trying to defend Korman against all comers. But he eventually got used to Dawnrose and allowed her to touch him without biting her. Then he would play hide and seek with her, hiding under the bed, and nipping her ankles if she didn't pretend to look for him.

Dawnrose sat at Korman's bedside day and night, talking with him when he grew stronger, about Aeden and about their very different lives. He told her of the Guardian World where he had grown up, of the Fire World where his sword Arcratíne was forged, and (later, when he trusted her) of his mission. She in turn told him of her training to be a medicine woman, of the teachings of the Waverider sages passed down through the generations, above all of Hishma, riding the wave of the moment, not ahead or behind. She promised to take him to visit the elders and get them to show him their libraries of engraved shells, beautiful miniature books of wisdom and poetry, illuminated with tiny etchings.

She promised also to take him to the four Listening Shrines, the round chambers dug into the cliffs of the Crystal Mountain, echoing to the roar of the sea far below, and the deep calls of the Seafarers, the whales, who visited from the Blue World and the Silver World, swimming the paths of Beauty that still sometimes opened between the seas of the ancient Order. In each chamber was a great tooth of one of the Seafarers washed up on the beach long ago. On these teeth were carved poems of the Sea-wisdom, and the Fire and the Air and the Earth-wisdoms. The Waveriders would recite these poems, and also any new poems or sayings, around the fires on the beach at night or in the great cave on the festivals of the Blue Moon. If any of the new poems were approved by general agreement, they would be inscribed on one of the four whale-teeth by a chosen artist.

And she told Korman that some of the Waveriders were saying there should be five more caves dug, to honour the five other Worlds of the ancient Order, but most of the people were content with four. 'It is enough to know the four elements,' they said, 'without seeking to revive that knowledge which went with the Makers long ago. Is it not from the Seekers of Knowledge that the troubles arose?'

She walked with Korman on the beach in the pearly morning and described in loving detail great perfect waves ridden in the cold dawn and the warm happiness on the beach afterward; and pilgrimages to the Fire Mountain and how, on the peak high above, the Salamanders sometimes appeared to the pilgrims in dreams and visions; and pilgrimages to the Crystal Mountain where the waves curled around the rocks and broke in white plumes high in the air, and the Crystalline Entities sometimes spoke to them of the Cosmic wisdom and the first days of the Order of the Makers when the three Elder Kindreds met.

As they talked Korman learned that she knew the Lady and the Zagonamara too, in her own way: for her the Lady was Magnémara, Aphrodite, born of the sea foam, beloved by the Dolphins and the seafarers, keeper of the sea-magic. And the Zagonamara was the great sea serpent which coiled about the island of Aeden and kept it above the waves and made it fertile. But she also knew of the Lady who lived in the Fairy Isle of Avalon in the northern woods; the Ürxura had once shown her a vision of it.

The Aghmaath, being kept at bay by the Ürxura, were to her only a memory of a fleeting vision in a nightmare quickly banished by the white Ürxura's magic. But now, as she learned Korman's mind, she felt there the shadow of the Dark, the searing memory of the Void in the crater, and behind that, memories of his boyhood initiation into the Void; and she wondered how much of his blindness was not in his physical eyes but in his mind. So she began to reach out to him in spirit, calling him out of the darkness into the light.

One golden afternoon Dawnrose said, 'Korman, I think the time has come to remove your bandages. Your eyes are ready for the light again.'

So saying, she unwound the bandage from his eyes, and he saw her for the first time. Her hair glowed red in a halo around her wise face, and her eyes were green. He gazed into them awhile, and she gazed back at him with love. Korman looked away first, and said 'How can I thank you enough, lady? You have healed more than my eyes, these last few days.' He felt his right arm, now almost as strong as his left.

Dawnrose turned his head gently and looked into his clear grey eyes. 'Stay with us, Korman! At least for the summer. You do not need to rush to face these Aghmaath. There is so much to show you, all that I promised and more, now that you can see!'

She looked younger than her years. Her dark red hair flamed in the sunlight, and her face was joyful and eager.

Korman sighed. 'The child who is in my care would love me to say yes to your invitation, Dawnrose. She too has been healed in this place, in heart and mind and body; and she might stay forever if I let her. But we have a destiny, and it lies beyond this peaceful land. The Ürxura cannot protect the other races of Aeden, and many are already prisoners in the thorny wastelands – including the Lady of Avalon.'

She understood that his mind and heart were made up. Hiding her pain she replied, 'If you must go, Korman, at least come to our festival of the Blue Moon, tomorrow night, in the glittering seacaves of the Eastern End. There will be feasting and dancing...'

Korman hesitated, but guessing the pain in her heart he replied, 'If it would bring you joy, I will gladly stay until then. But we must leave the morning after. I fear Shelley may refuse to come at all if we delay any longer. I fear for myself, also, if I were to stay any longer. This is a blessed place, and your people are wise and loving...'

'You do know how to flatter us, Korman!' she replied.

He smiled sadly, knowing that she wished for a more personal compliment, one that his heart was not free to give.

'And you tempt me to stay longer! The road ahead leads, it seems, into the Valley of Thorns. I hope that it leads out again. I have been there once, and I fear to go back.'

'Then let us not speak of it while you remain here. Hishma. Now let me show you the beach.'

She led him by the hand down the white sandy path through flowering dune-plants. He walked in wonder at the beauty of the world, seeing it for the first time after long days and nights in darkness. The sea was calm and blue, the white clouds like flocks of slow-moving sheep high in the sky. The Crystal Mountain rose clear in the east, high above where the beach ended in glowing surf-mist, and the seacaves echoed to the piping of nesting birds in the cliffs.

Shelley looked up from the water's edge and waved. She came running excitedly up the beach to them and took his hand. 'Korman! You can see! I knew you would get better! Quick, come and see what's down there. It's dolphins! They're letting us ride on their backs. Pipes called them. Come on!'

There was a group of children around Pipes, splashing and laughing as they were carried around in circles by small dolphins that grinned and squealed as they came up for air. Every now and then they took their riders underwater. Sometimes the child would jump off and swim to the surface and be laughed at; mostly they would hold their breath and come up triumphantly clinging to their dolphin.

Shelley joined them, holding the dorsal fin of a big dolphin which towed her around at high speed before she lost her grip from giggling too much. Korman watched, smiling but heavy-hearted at the thought of taking her into the horrible valley of the Thorns.

'Do you really think she is the Kortana, the Jewel-Caller the old poems speak of?' asked Dawnrose as they watched Shelley playing happily in the sparkling water. 'I know they say he – or she – is to come from the Lost World, Kor-Edartha, whence, they say, came Athmad and Ewana, to the downfall of Aeden. But is it really possible? She seems so young.'

'We must have faith. It is very possible. Since her appearance the lightning has returned to the Tor Enyása. And already she has done great things: she walked in Faery in the midst of mindwebs, and rescued people from peril. They are drawn to her and gladly follow her.'

What he did not say was that she had drawn the Aghmaath also. He was worried that they had already stayed too long in that happy and innocent place. 'There may be some way they will get past the Ürxura's defences and attack us here,' he worried. The thought gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Because of the Lady he could never stay with this green-eyed lady who loved him deeply and who had healed him, never settle here and try to prolong the fleeting happiness of this time. But he knew he would carry it with him in his heart forever, and he could not bear the thought of the enemy sweeping its fragile beauty away.

The next day Korman and Shelley helped in the preparations for the Blue Moon festival to be held that night. In the afternoon Dawnrose came to them as they bundled firewood together.

'Can you excuse Korman for a while, Shelley?' she said. 'There is a man I think he should meet, who knows something of the road ahead of you...if you go that way,' she added, looking at Korman, and her kindly face was troubled.

'Of course,' Shelley smiled. 'Just remember to call him Nimmath. We don't trust the Traders – some are spies.' She liked Dawnrose a lot, and wondered how Korman could not have fallen head over heels in love with her. But then she remembered the Lady in the thorns, and how he spoke of her, and the light in his eyes.

'Don't worry, this Trader is a good man at heart. At least, he hates the Aghmaath and would never betray anyone to them.'

Dawnrose took him to her hut where a weatherbeaten man was sitting at her outside table of adzed driftwood. On the table the man had piled an array of leather bags, small wooden boxes and cloth-wrapped packages. His donkey stood droopy-eared in the shade of a little tree nearby.

'Lightpath, this is Nimmath, a patient of mine – and a friend,' said Dawnrose.

'I'm a Trader, Lightpath's the name, though my paths are anything but bright nowadays,' said the man, grinning as he half-rose to shake Korman's hand. Dawnrose got them beer and a herbal drink for herself. Korman looked suspiciously at the pile of merchandise as he sat down opposite. Dawnrose sat next to him and they took their drinks. After a long swig of his beer, a belch and a satisfied sigh, the Trader went on:

'I've been down into that valley, not recently, like, not since it became a full-on colony of them Travellers. Even back then it was overgrown with thorns, not the great big Mother-cussing Thorns that spread for miles, they say, and have whole fields and villages inside 'em. And thorny highways, that the Travellers use, for going up and down the land at a rate o' knots.' He took another swig of his beer and belched.

'What was your business there? Did you see the Aghmaath?' asked Korman. 'Oh yes, but not like you're thinking,' replied Lightpath, smiling reassuringly. 'Just business, you know, Traders' immunity and all that.' His smile faded and he turned his mug nervously, staring at it. 'That was before they changed the rules on us, and threw my old dad into the thorns for speaking out against... against what they'd done to that lady – a queen or something, she was – and the others.' Korman looked straight ahead, and his jaw clenched.

'I am sorry. I know the Lady you speak of. That is why I must go that way, to see her if it is possible...' The Trader looked up, incredulous.

'What? You're mad! You'll be walking into a trap! We Traders never go down the western sector now, never! We call it the Haunted Land. And we just pray we won't be around long enough to see it spread to the rest of the country. That's why I'm here, isn't it, to open up new trade routes, see if these darned self-sufficient Waveriders need anything after all. Times are a-changing, they are. Right, Dawnrose?' But she did not answer.

'Traders may adapt by avoidance, Lightpath,' replied Korman sternly. 'But I am a warrior – or used to be – and I have sworn to return for the Lady. Tell me what you know that may help!' His eyes were fixed on Lightpath's. He saw the fear there, and softened. 'Please,' he added.

'All right, then, if you must go that way, you'll be needing a surgical kit. For taking out thorns.' He looked with grim satisfaction at Korman, rummaging in the pile of goods on the table in front of him and triumphantly holding up a small grimy canvas bag with some sharp metal instruments in it.

'There's pincers, and probes for the deep-seated ones, and reverse pincers for opening the wound to let the barbed ones come back out,' he said, in mock cheerfulness. 'See, they open out when you squeeze them.' To Bootnip's annoyance, Korman bartered a small diamond for the kit.

'If we get through, we will look out for your father,' he said.

'We, you say? Who'd be mad enough to go with you?' said the Trader. Dawnrose spoke this time.

'Nimmath is not mad, and he is not reckless. But he is escorting a child to the Faery refuge of Ürak Tara on the other side of the Valley of Thorns. So, in your opinion what hope is there of their getting through safely?'

'I'd say none, I would. But maybe there's something about him I don't know.' He eyed Korman up and down with practised eye, noting the sword at his side. 'A Guardian, eh? Interested in a trade for that sword, by any chance?' he asked, staring at the jewelled hilt.

'Since you have guessed, yes he is a Guardian. But a Guardian never parts with his sword, except at death, when he entrusts it to the one who will inherit it,' put in Dawnrose. 'Especially this sword. It comes from the Fire World, and once guarded the sacred Jewel of the Tree, up on the Tor Enyása. Besides, you couldn't afford it.' She looked at Korman proudly, but he shook his head, and hoped the Trader could be trusted.

'Tell no one of the sword, or of me, or you will have my sword to fear! Swear that you will keep this to yourself!'

'I hate the Aghmaath as much as any man. If you go to strike a blow for freedom, the least I can do is keep my trap shut! I swear.' Korman nodded his thanks.

'But he who is entrusted with the Jewel-Defender, Arcratíne, and wields it, must do so only in harmony with the Zagonamara, or it will bring only more grief. I am sworn not to draw it in battle – unless the Lady commands me.'

'By the Makers! You do make it hard for yourself! Ha! Well, if you won't use your sword, you'll be needing a couple of these!' Lightpath pulled out two knives from their sheaths and showed them to Korman. 'Genuine Canyon make, diamond edged! Only thing that'll cut through the thorns. Just don't go using them on the Mother Thorns, but. They say they thrash around and stick you through quick as – that.' He stabbed a knife savagely into the table.

Korman found another two diamonds to pay for the knives.

'Not really enough for these but I'll accept 'em, since you'll be needing these tools bad, where you're going. Well, good luck,' said the Trader, rising to go, tipping his hat at Dawnrose. 'You're going to need it. Thanks for the drink. Well, you've got my calling card and the catalogue, Rosie, if I may call you that. Remember, there's no thorns here now, but what about tomorrow? You being the healer and all, you'll be wanting the supplies I can bring you.' Dawnrose did not answer, but looked troubled.

'Well, I'll be moving on now,' said the Trader. He untied his donkey and put his merchandise back in the panniers on its bony back. The donkey looked very unimpressed and reluctant to move. The Trader jerked its rope and pulled, and it slowly yielded to his will.

'Thank you, Lightpath, for the information – and the tools,' said Korman. 'May you find a new day will dawn in Aeden when all paths will be brighter, and there will be no need for such instruments.'

'Meanwhile, it's an ill wind as blows nobody any good, eh?' Lightpath replied with a grin. Korman did not smile. 'But seriously, good luck to you – and the girl,' said Lightpath.

He muttered to himself as he hoisted his pack and trudged off down the path to the Ürxura plains, 'A real Guardian, eh? Well it looks like he's the one that'll need guarding.'

'What is his name?' called Korman as the Trader receded.

'Whose?'

'Your father's. In case I find him.'

'It was Brighthope,' the Trader called back over his shoulder, and shook his head. 'Crazy idealists, these so-called Guardians!' he muttered to himself. 'Korman the Guardian... Ha!' He paused, struck by a thought, and called out, 'Korman, did you say your name was?'

Korman looked troubled, but nodded. The Trader rummaged in his panniers, and came back, leaving the donkey standing, its head drooping dejectedly. He held out a faded flaxen envelope to Korman, and pulled it back as he reached for it. 'This letter here's come a long way. From the Badlands near Applegate, no less. It's for the girl that's with one Korman the Guardian. I'd just about forgotten it. The boy said it was important. So, what's it worth to you?'

Korman's eyes twinkled as he guessed who the sender was, and what it would mean to Shelley. The Trader noticed this, and waited expectantly. But Korman was out of items to trade.

'What about this?' Dawnrose offered, holding up an embroidered silk handkerchief. 'It's from one of the Silk-folk who visited long ago.'

A red dragon coiled about a tree of several interwoven trunks, in the midst of which shone an amber gem, the rays of it gleaming in fine gold-stitched lines to the border of starry hopeflowers. Korman wondered at its beauty, and went to stop her handing it to Lightpath. But the Trader snatched it and put it in his cloak pocket before Korman could say anything.

That'll do nicely,' said Lightpath, handing over the letter, and he tipped his hat to Dawnrose and Korman, and went back to where his donkey stood listlessly nibbling the short seagrass. They heard him cursing as he pulled at its bridle to get it moving again.

When the Trader had finally gone, Dawnrose sighed with relief and moved to Korman's side. 'I do hope that man is to be trusted. I am sorry I told him your true name. It's just that I...'

'You wanted him to know and respect me. He has a long path to travel before he can do that, I am afraid, and he may do some mischief along the way. But, what's done is done, dear lady.'

She smiled gratefully, then looked troubled again. 'Do you still mean to go that way, Korman? Is there no safer way?' she asked, pleading with her eyes. But he replied, 'As long as the Lady and others are imprisoned in the Valley of Thorns, I am drawn there. I feel it will be all right, that it is the path laid before me, and also the Kortana. She must see the evil if she is to fight it. And perhaps with her at my side we may walk in Faery and go unseen.'

Dawnrose sighed and shook her head. 'I hope you are right, Korman. The mindwebs in the Valley will be strong. Even the Ürxura do not go that way any more.'

She paused, then said in a more intimate voice, full of longing, 'I want to see you again one day, when all this is over and you can return for healing and rest. There is still much hurt in you that I could help heal.'

He smiled at her. 'Then see if you can heal me a little more before we must leave.' But though part of him longed to, he did not embrace her. His heart was still drawn to another, though she was remote from him, a mortal man.

They talked a little more, of things past, things present and things that might be, of healing and joyful times to come. Then Dawnrose took a cloth package out of her shoulder bag.

'Now, Korman, look! I bought a little something for you, for your journey. To help you see clearer, things both near' – she looked into his eyes as she said this – 'and far away.' She showed him what she had bought.

'A spyglass, made by the Padmaddim! That is their mark: a crystal inside a circle!' exclaimed Korman.

Dawnrose smiled, 'Yes, they grind the best lenses, Lightpath told me. He said he has found a place where they come to trade with him. Somewhere called the Badlands.'

'Barachthad! I wonder... Has he found some of his kin at last?'

'You know some of the Padmaddim?'

'Only one. But he told me of others, who dwell deep in the hills: the Delvers.'

The lenses of the spyglass were set into a small, cleverly made oak box with nested sections which extended to form a long square tube. Korman slid it open and looked through the eyepiece.

'I see the Crystal Mountain peaks, and the down-birds nesting in the crags!' he exclaimed.

'Look at something closer to hand,' said Dawnrose, and she pulled the eyepiece from the end of the tube. Korman protested, but she took his hand and turned it over, and held the eyepiece to it. 'Look at the finger whorls, each one unique! If we kept prints of these, we could identify a man infallibly,' she murmured, studying the whorls of Korman's index finger. She looked up. 'But there is a quicker way: I see your spirit, Korman, it is unique; no one could fool me, pretending to be you. Not even the wizards of the Travellers' World.'

'Lady, this is a fine gift, though indeed we do not need a spyglass to recognise a friend. But the eye-piece will be useful if we are pierced by thorns, and the whole contraption may help us to look out for the enemy. Or for lost friends...'

Dawnrose smiled. 'May you never need the eyepiece to search for thorns in your body, and may you not meet any enemies on your way, or lose any friends. Now, let us put away all reminders of the world outside, and rejoice together on these timeless shores.'

Korman knew she was thinking of his lost friend, the Lady, and wishing that he could forget her, and the sense of destiny that bound him to her. His heart ached for Dawnrose, but he knew his path was entwined with the Lady's whether he wished it or not. And all he saw ahead was darkness, with a glimmer of hope beyond a thorny forest of suffering.

As the sun was sinking into yellow-stained cloud formations over the distant mountain of the world of the Makers, they all set off for the caves of the Eastern End. Some carried bundles of firewood on their heads; others brought woven flax baskets filled with food from the gardens, honey mead and wine from the vineyards of the Fire Hills. The tide was coming in and the sea was still calm, but Dawnrose, walking between Shelley and Korman, was looking at the sky. 'There is a change coming. There will be a storm tomorrow,' she said.

'Then let's hope it doesn't come early and spoil the party tonight,' said Shelley.

The Blue Moon began to rise out of the ocean, bathing them in its mystic, dreamy light as the last of the golden sunlight drained from the sky. Shelley thought she heard a moonbird sing, far away, and she thought of Rilke, and Worriette, and wondered how they were.

The festive crowd, singing, playing the pan pipes and beating drums, finally arrived at the seacaves at the foot of the Fire Mountain. These were older caves, now separated from the sea by the sands that piled up at the Eastern End. The largest cave, where the festival was to be held, was like a cathedral, with a level sandy floor, vaulted roof above fluted volcanic formations like great pillars along the walls, and some fallen slabs like massive natural tables. There was a shallow estuary which cut through the glittering quartz and garnet sand near the cave mouth and ran rippling down the shell-strewn beach into the surf.

Some of the villagers had gone on ahead and hung lamps in the walls and lit a great bonfire at the cave mouth. Shelley forded the estuary stream with Korman at her side, and they looked in wonder at the fairy cave before them. The orange and red firelight blended with the Blue Moon's light to colour the pillars and the supple bodies of the people as they danced. There were line dances and round dances, all holding hands around the bonfire, while their shadows flickered on the cave walls. Then there was poetry and music, eating and drinking.

Shelley had noticed how varied the people were in colour and build: some were dark, skinny and tall like some African tribesmen; others were red-headed like Dawnrose; others again were pale-skinned and black-haired like Shelley. Their dress (when the weather was cold enough for more than scanty swimwear) was almost as varied also, yet they were all bound together by their love and reverence for one another, the sea they harvested, the Fire Mountain and Crystal Mountain which held their sacred lore, the earth they tilled, and all the rhythms of life, learned from the mother's breast to adulthood.

'Where do your people actually come from, Pipes?' she asked between dances, as they drank mead and spring water and juices from the mango and apple orchards that grew behind the village. 'I mean, your adopted people?'

He smiled, half-closed his eyes and recited in his best storyteller's voice:

'The Salamanders were angry with our ancestors for fighting in their lands and laying them waste with their crystal swords. They cast us out of the World of Fire where the sand of the beaches is made of diamonds and rubies, and great crystals grow in the mountain caves, and fountains of fiery rock make new islands in the sea. They sent us through the Void to the Mountain of Fire, and closed the door to their world forever. Then we came down the mountain and sheltered in this cave and held a great council, seeking new ways for ourselves and our children. Here we swore never to fight amongst ourselves. And it is said that our ancestors had managed to keep some of their fireswords, but that they chose to bury them in hidden caves high in the Mountain, along with all the books of warcraft.

'And the Salamanders appeared here to our forefathers, and blessed them, and taught them to purify their lives, so they could live in harmony with all things, dwelling simply by the sea and surfing its waves. So it was that we found happiness. And later the Ürxura visited us, and we learned from them how to live in Faery and forget the old dreaming.'

'So, we're in Faery now?'

'We don't call it that; it's just normal life for us. But we know from the Ürxura that not all people on Aeden live in this way, but many have woven so many dark dreams for themselves and others that they do not know how to wake up, or even that they are asleep.'

'I know what you mean. I feel as if I was asleep before I came to Aeden,' she murmured. The happiness and contentment she had felt since waking that first morning in the Waveriders' village, was intensifying into a kind of bliss. 'I'm dreaming, I must be,' she thought, but the music and the dancing and all the loving people were real, and they rejoiced together as the Blue Moon rose over the ocean beyond the cave mouth. Korman and Dawnrose danced together for most of the dances, as did Shelley and Pipes, after he had played his pan pipes in the band for a while; but there was little sense of loss when they were swept apart again. They were all together as one.

But as the night wore on Shelley began to think about tomorrow. Korman had told her he was determined they should leave the day after the Blue Moon party. But it had come too soon. She was so happy now she wanted never, ever to leave. Especially because of Pipes, her special friend. The thought of leaving him filled her with dismay.

There came a time when most of the people were sitting quietly, only a few still dancing on, to the music of a lone pan pipe and drum. Then in little bands and loving couples, they began to walk back down the beach.

There had been no ceremonies that Shelley had noticed, apart from the poetry readings, but it was as if the whole evening had been one big ritual celebration of the magical Unfolding; of Life, love, the goodness of things – even the hard things like death and loss and sorrow. She looked at Pipes, and he looked at her. Shyly she came close enough for his arms to reach around her waist. She was longing to stay with him, to make him fall in love with her, for him never to let her leave their beautiful village by the sea, where time was on their side, bringing more golden days, more perfect sparkling waves to ride and balmy nights with beautiful friends like him... She wanted to give herself to him body and soul, and forget the outside world. He drew her near, and her heart beat fast, but he said, 'Shelley, you are beautiful, and I feel your love. But you are young, your body waits for the moment to mature to bear children, and I think your destiny lies somewhere else, with someone else. It shines through everything you say.'

She shuffled the cool sand at her feet.

'No it doesn't!'

He held her hands in his.

'If we kiss now, falling in love, you know that Everchild will be lifted and you will turn into a...'

'What's this "Everchild"? I don't know much about...'

'Oh, so it is different in your world! No one has told you how it is here? I thought Korman...'

'Well, he mentioned it once or twice, but only in passing. You tell me!'

'Well, here on Aeden, a boy and a girl... Are you sure Korman hasn't told you about this?'

'Of course not, he's a Guardian, a warrior monk. He'd never talk about stuff like that.'

'OK, when a boy and a girl like each other a lot... They might kiss, and something we call soulbonding happens, where they want to be together for ever.'

'I know this already! We call it falling in love.'

'That sounds dangerous! But yes, it is a bit like that. We have another name for what happens: Going up the Firemountain.' Shelley remembered the fiery feeling that went through her when she nearly went with Quickblade. Pipes continued, 'Anyway, once they reach a certain point of commitment, something is triggered in their bodies, the fire is lit, and they mature into man and woman, and can begin, you know...'

'Making babies and settling down?'

'Exactly.'

'So you mean to tell me,' said Shelley, 'that if they don't fall in love and kiss, they'll never grow up, physically? Like Peter Pan or something?'

'I don't know any Peter Pan, but yes.'

Shelley thought about the Boy Raiders, and Quickblade. 'So he could be a Peter Pan, and only when we... I mean he and some girl, fall in love and kiss, the Everchild thing will wear off and he'll start to grow a beard and everything. I wonder how it all works, this and the never getting sick? Is it magic, or some kind of advanced technology left behind by the Makers? Korman said there's something in the soil – I wonder what?'

Aloud she said, 'How weird! So it's up to you how long you stay as a child. And you don't get tempted to throw yourself at some idiot just because of your raging hormones.'

Pipes didn't follow much of this, but he went on, 'So, anyway, I think you and I are both of the marrying kind, who seek one true love for life, to raise their children and share everything. So we must wait until we find the right one. I should have told you about the training we get in the tribe...'

'You can tell me now,' she said, but she did not know if she wanted to hear any more, in case it was even weirder.

'Well, we're all given the choice, to mature early and love many loves with a part of ourselves – that's like surfing the smaller waves, close in – or wait until it's true love, and love that one love with all of ourselves, body and soul – that's like going far out into the deeper water where the big waves are. It's harder, and there's not really enough time in a lifetime to ride more than one of those. We must choose one path or the other: to try for both is to give – and get – heartbreak.'

Shelley had been listening, gazing into his eyes, the tears beginning to well up. Now she said, with mixed feelings, of regret and shame and frustration, but also, she had to admit to herself, some relief, 'Yes, I understand. I just wanted to go with this wave... it felt so right. I thought you felt it too. I didn't know about the Everchild thing, either.'

She was hurt, he could see. He let her walk away into the dark by the lagoon. Shelley sat on the crumbling sandbank of the lagoon and blinked through tears at the beautiful Blue Moon sinking towards a line of dark cloud along the horizon. She realised Pipes must have fallen in love with someone before, since he had matured already. Obviously it hadn't lasted... She could feel the sadness in him.

Pipes agonised for a while, not wanting her to feel all alone, but not wanting to intrude. Finally he went out and sat near her on the sandbank, and said gently,

'It is good, just being like this, you and I honouring each other, friends waveriding together, each wishing for the other that they'll find their perfect wave.' His face was beautiful in the moonlight, and she turned to him and smiled again. The feeling of being in Faery returned stronger than ever. Through the scary darkness of the future she saw glimmering magical paths. Somewhere out there was her perfect path. And it would lead her to her perfect love...

He seemed to read her mind, and see what she was seeing. 'There is a strange and wonderful path ahead for you, and it leads far away from here. You have been chosen for a great task, haven't you?'

'Some people... Korman... thinks I'm someone called the Kortana... out of some ancient prophecy...'

'I can believe that... How wonderful! You are so brave and strong, you frighten me sometimes.'

'Don't you believe it! Most of the time I'm just scared. Korman's the brave one. I just wanted to stay here, with you, and be happy.'

'Are you afraid to leave tomorrow?' asked Pipes, reading her mind again.

'Well, I guess I am, though it seems unreal, the thought of leaving here,' she replied.

'Some of us are thinking, perhaps the time has come for us, the happy people, to go out and help those who are stuck in the webs of the enemy. We didn't know it was so bad out there...'

'You'd actually come with us?'

'If you wanted.'

Shelley hugged him tightly. 'Thanks, it makes me feel so good to know you'd do that for me. But it's not all-out war, not yet anyway, and Korman says we must travel very secretly from now on, coming up to the Valley of Thorns. We'll be going through occupied territory. He's going to protect me and bring me to a hidden refuge called Ürak Tara so I can be initiated and learn what I must do to find the Arcra-Achrha, the Lost Heartstone.'

'That's a big wave to ride! But if anyone can do it, you can... Well, when the time comes for open war, don't forget to call on us. Some of us will come, even if most of us are almost too happy and contented to believe there's any peril out there in the wide world – or any peril we should do anything about. Most of us think it's the outsiders' own fault, for not living like us. One day I think I'll leave here anyway, on some mission. We aren't supposed to think of missions, but times are changing, whether we like it or not. The Happy People, who have foresworn the sword, may be called to take up the sword again, and leave the golden sands and perfect green waves for a while!'

'So this was just a happy dream...'

'But in that dream, we met, and now we'll always be friends.'

The swift water flowing out of the lagoon had undermined the bank as they spoke, and they felt the glittering sand suddenly slip away under them and, laughing, they landed in the cool water and felt it sucking the sand from under their feet.

Korman saw them and felt the letter in his pocket. 'Not just yet,' he murmured. 'Let her enjoy this time and not be reminded of the outside world until the morning, when we must leave.'

Shelley and Pipes joined the other young Waveriders in a swim in the blue-white foam of the beach for a while, and together they swam beyond the breakers to where the sea gently rose and fell, inky blue, gleaming with phosphorescence as little fish darted around and under them. Then the moon sank beneath a dark cloudbank on the horizon, and Shelley felt cold, so they climbed back up the sandbank and walked back to the village together, wrapped in the big warm Waverider towels, talking quietly and painting word-pictures of all their dreams.

In the dead of night when the village was sleeping, the weather changed. The wind came in gusts and the stars were blotted out by a wall of dark cloud coming in from the sea, rising to fill the sky and swallow up the Blue Moon. With the cloud came squalls of rain that drove into the veranda of the meetinghouse where Shelley and Korman slept.

Morning came all too soon, and they awoke to the rattling of shutters and the roar of the whitecaps on the sea, almost drowning out the patter of the rain on the thatched roof. Shelley was warm under the blankets, but the air blowing in restless gusts from the veranda was cold and damp about her face.

Korman was already up and about. He sniffed the air; he sensed more than just a change in the weather. Something was not right. There was a brooding threat out there somewhere, over the dark breakers. Then he saw five black specks on the whitecaps, far out on the wild sea. Not specks: sails! He thought he could make out the cruel prow of a Viking-like ship under the nearest sail. 'They're headed for the shore!' he thought. Quickly he pulled out the spyglass Dawnrose had given him and put it to his eyes. Now he could clearly make out the markings on the nearest black sail – a circle of black red-edged scythes on ghostly white.

'The spinning scythes! The Aghmaath have ships!' he cried. 'Wake up, Shelley!'

But Shelley was already sitting up in bed, looking out to sea in horror. She too had felt the growing menace of the approaching ships.

'We must leave now,' said Korman.

'But we can't just leave these people to face...'

'The Aghmaath are not coming after "these people" – not yet. They are coming after you and me!'

Shelley scrambled to get dressed, while Korman ran to get Dawnrose. She sounded the wooden Bell of Summoning, and the elders of the village hurried to the meetinghouse. They all agreed that Shelley and Korman must go at once.

'We will forget that we knew you. The Dark Ones will be confused by our ignorance, and their subtle mind-webs will not hurt us,' said one elder.

'Still, let the women and children hide in the sand dunes and caves,' said Korman. 'The enemy has been learning the art of slaughter lately. There is an Edarthan child, Gareth, who has taught them to make many devices of war, including the throwing of fire. I am sorry we came here now. I thought this land was safe from attack.'

But Dawnrose replied, 'Do not be sorry, Korman. It was safe, until now; never before have we seen these ships which come like the whales from the deep.'

'We must see Shelley and Korman safely off now!' Pipes cried. 'And then, I say let's find the hidden caves where our ancestors hid their swords and books of warcraft, and let's fight this enemy, and teach him to fear our shores.'

But the elders shook their heads sadly. Firebrand his father said, 'Long have I forged the tools of peace, and taught you the peaceful way of our people. And you would overturn our wisdom at a stroke?'

Pipes fell silent, but his eyes smouldered.

Then hasty farewells were said, and Shelley clung to Pipes for a long tearful last hug.

'We will meet again, Shelley, though all the world is darkened,' whispered Pipes. Dawnrose hugged Korman, kissed him on both cheeks, then turned away to hide her tears. Then Korman and Shelley hoisted their packs, and headed inland alone.

Soon the rising gale, whipping at their backs, had drenched them with icy rain. Already the golden days at the beach seemed like a dream. Behind them great thunderclaps rolled in from the sea as the black ships, bristling with thorn-barbed spears and battle-scythes, sped on towards the land of the Waveriders.

Chapter Thirty-seven

The Hidden Valley

Shelley and Korman stumbled on, lashed from behind by the rain and relentless wind. At first they followed the path that had brought them to Sanmara, riding the white Ürxura. Tumbleweeds from the dunes, picked up by the storm, raced past them hissing eerily, hardly touching the ground. Korman and Shelley both thought of the Aghmaath they had encountered on the Portal Plains riding in giant tumbling wheels, and hoped none were on board the ships. In this wind, they would be very fast.

As the roar of the surf faded behind them, the hissing of the gale in the long grass grew all around, and when they passed clumps of trees the wind in the treetops sounded just like the roaring of the sea.

Soon they came to a track which led off to the left, west towards the lake country, the heart of the Ürxura lands. 'This is where we turn off,' said Korman. 'I am afraid the wind will be in our left eyes now. Tie your hood down well.'

They set off along the sandy track which led down the tree-and-tussock-clad dunes of the coast and onto the open grassy plains of the interior.

'I can't see a thing in this rain,' complained Shelley miserably after they had struggled on for what seemed like hours, but it was really only minutes. 'Will the... black ships have landed by now?' She had to shout above the noise of the storm.

'No, I do not think so. The wind was speeding them on like birds of prey, but there is no place to beach a boat in this weather except up the other end, at the lagoon,' he replied, without turning. The drips from his hood were being whipped past his face, and he squinted his eyes to see ahead through the driving rain.

'Will they follow after us?'

'Yes, if they suspect we have fled this way. But we are fortunate: this storm will obscure our tracks and make our scent very hard for any tracker dogs to follow.'

'That's cold comfort, Korman, if we drown or freeze to death on this plain!'

'Fear not, Shelley! I have called for... Hush! Do you hear that?' said Korman. Carried towards them on the howling wind came sounds he had dreaded to hear: gongs, chanting, and the guttural baying of Dagraath.

'The black ships have landed. At least one captain must have braved the stormy beach, sacrificing his ship. They are indeed keen to meet us,' said Korman grimly. They turned and ran for their lives, though Shelley felt it was hopeless. It sounded as though the enemy was almost at their heels, and she felt the mindprobes reaching for her, willing her to stop. Her legs, weighed down by the wet, felt like lead, and her knees bumped into each other.

Moments later, looking back into the eye of the wind, Korman saw a line of huge tumblewheels, careering over the dune hills towards them. Already the leaders were rolling down onto the grassy plain, so fast that some of the Dagraath themselves were tumbling as they followed them down the dunes, baying ferociously, each wanting to be the first to attack.

'Quick, we must hide!' he yelled to Shelley, who tottered in the gale like a shrub being torn from the ground.

'Where?' she yelled back. There was nowhere to hide, and the dogs would sniff them out wherever they were.

'Faery, walk in Faery!' cried Korman, but his heart sank. Shelley was soaked through, and all that was real to her was the storm and the tumbling enemy approaching, and the snarling Dagraath. She sheltered behind his flapping form, waiting for the end.

'Lady, now will you speak? Let me draw my sword, I beg you!' Korman prayed, but the wind seemed to pull the words from his mouth and carry them away in tatters. He began to curse as the tumblewheels converged on them. They had been spotted.

Just then the sound of madly galloping hoofbeats made his heart leap. Three figures raced towards them from behind the approaching enemy.

'It's Quickblade!' yelled Shelley. But the enemy had seen them too, and were wheeling around to meet the Boy Raiders, ignoring the arrows they were shooting. One Dagraath rolled over, shot through the neck, but the rest were almost upon them.

'The young fools! They'll never fight that many!' cried Korman. It was soon over: the three boys had been surrounded, their horses rearing in panic at the baying Dagraath. The leading wheelrider emerged from his thorny chariot. Raising his hands, he threw something invisible at the boys. Shelley and Korman watched in horror as they all fell from their mounts and were pounced on by other Aghmaath and bound.

You have to use your sword, Korman! You have to save them!' moaned Shelley. 'You can't let them take Quickblade!'

But Korman replied sadly, 'We must use this chance to escape. I cannot use the sword. My duty is to take you to Ürak Tara. Now, try to walk with me in Faery.'

'Never! I can't leave him. I won't!'

Shelley began to walk, or stumble, towards the enemy, who were now regrouping and about to come after them.

'Wait, Shelley!' called Korman in anguish. He knew he must choose swiftly. He had to either draw the sword and break his Guardian vow, violating the sacred Concept, or walk with her into the arms of the enemy, hoping for a miracle from the Lady.

Shelley turned to face him and tearfully screamed the Guardian chant she had heard him utter three times before:

Hethür, Krithür, Shaktha!

'Do it!' she begged, weeping. Then, through her tears she saw a wonderful sight, behind Korman on the grey horizon. 'Look!' she whispered, pointing to a rise in the windswept plain. Korman turned to look, and saw a white spot on the skyline which grew bigger by the second. To either side of it was a line of grey, brown and black spots, moving rapidly their way. Korman threw his hands in the air. 'Praise the Lady! She has sent the Ürxura! Behold, their horns are clearly showing. As the saying goes, "When the unicorn's horns are seen, it is either very bad news, or very good!" I think, very good for us, and bad for the Aghmaath! But what are those cries?'

Eerie voices rang out over the thunder of the approaching hoofbeats.

'It's the Evergirls!' cried Shelley.

The enemy was terribly close now. The thorny wheels had now stopped and were opening. Out of them stepped Aghmaath warriors. The Dagraath gathered behind them, baying and howling, waiting for the signal.

The line of Ürxura drew nearer, and their hoofs shook the ground. Their long spiral horns gleamed. When they reached the top of the ridge overlooking the approaching enemy they stopped. On each one – Shelley's heart leapt at the sight – sat a wild girl, long haired, without armour or saddle, clad in a tunic of shining white Ürxura hair. They were armed with a sickle-shaped sword at their sides and either a bow or a blowpipe in their hands, and were fiercer of face than any girls Shelley had seen before on Earth or Aeden. Only the great white Ürxura in the centre had no rider.

The wind had dropped. The dogs stopped their baying. The mindbolts Shelley had been expecting did not appear. Instead, she felt a silent menace coming from the line of Ürxura that made her head spin – not directed at her, she realised with relief, but at the enemy.

Then a great wind came from the plains behind the Ürxura and swept down onto the Aghmaath. Shelley and Korman had to brace themselves to keep their feet. The Aghmaath warriors unfolded their giant tumble-wheels again and jumped in, pulling the three Boy Raiders in with them. Then they sped back the way they had come, their Dagraath yelping behind them. The Evergirls let out bloodcurdling cries and followed the enemy, shooting arrows at the Dagraath, and many stumbled to a halt, poisoned darts sticking in their tough hides, then toppled over, dead.

As Shelley and Korman watched the retreat of their enemies (Shelley was cheering, but felt sorry for the dogs), a thudding of heavy hooves approached from behind. Turning in alarm, they saw the white Ürxura, huge as a plow-horse, but graceful as a thoroughbred. Shelley thought, 'It's the same one that saved us from the hermits! We're going to get another ride!' Half joyfully, half grief-stricken at what had just happened, she wiped the rain and tears out of her eyes and gazed up at the beautiful creature as he approached, towering over her. A love and warmth radiated from him and flowed through her cold limbs, and she somehow knew that it was he who had come into her world and brought her to Aeden.

Then in her mind, with a tingling of her forehead (where Ürxura communicate with those who are open, through the hidden third eye), he told her that he had come to take them to a safe place to wait out the storm. A very special place, she felt he was saying, which only she would recognise. He told her that the captured boys would be all right, that it was all part of the Unfolding, the Great Dance.

In her mind she protested, 'But I should be worrying about them!'

'Would worry help them more than faith in the Unfolding?' he asked.

She tried to stay sad, but her heart was now full of a deep joy.

Korman greeted the Ürxura joyfully, and it whinnied and tossed its head, and the razor-sharp central horn towered over them. Shelley was very glad the Ürxura was on their side. Korman now helped her onto its strong back, which felt warm in spite of the rain. The thick silky hair was quite long, and she stroked it and warmed her hands in it. Korman jumped up after her, and they sped off into the grey expanse of wet, rain-swept grass. By now the Evergirls had broken off the pursuit, and on either side of them the other Ürxura were galloping wildly, horns tossing, the girls letting out their eerie cries. But none of them spoke to Shelley and Korman. After a short while, but many miles, the sound of hooves seemed to decrease. Looking back, Shelley noticed that most of the girls on ponies were falling behind as they thundered on into the enchanted plains. The white Ürxura slowed to a trot. Shelley could feel him and the others silently communicating. Then with neighing and rearing the other Ürxura and their girls peeled off to left and right. They were returning to patrol the borders of their land, to intercept any more Aghmaath who might dare to venture in, while the white Ürxura was taking them on alone into his enchanted heartland.

Shelley watched them galloping away over the plain towards the grey hills to the north. One of the girls raised an arm in farewell. Then they were gone. Shelley felt a tug at her heart, a yearning to follow after them and live always with the Evergirls, free and wild like them.

'Why didn't they talk to us?' she asked Korman.

'It is not their way. Their Code (as I have told you) forbids them to speak with strangers.'

What Shelley was really wondering was why they had not invited her to join them. 'Not that I would have, but I wish they had asked me,' she thought.

The white Ürxura spoke into her mind: 'They would have invited you, for they liked the look of you. But we have told them that you have a different destiny, and that all Aeden needs you.' Shelley felt warm in her heart where a moment before she had felt hurt. But the thought that she was expected to save Aeden made her shiver with apprehension.

They broke into a canter again, and soon afterwards Shelley saw a sheet of water coming up ahead. It was a lake, with tall forests looming up on either side on the near shore, but no sign of the far shore. They did not slow down. Shelley shut her eyes. There was a great splash and shock of spray on her face. She opened her eyes. They were surging on into the shallows of the lake until they were swimming, surrounded by rain-dimpled, grey water merging with the grey of the sky above. The water felt almost warm on Shelley's legs compared to the wind and rain on her upper body.

'We are in the land of lakes already!' said Korman as they moved steadily through the water, though seemingly within the same grey circle of visibility. 'He is taking us deep into Ürxura country, where no Aghmaath will dare to come.' Bootnip's head appeared at the opening of Korman's pack, looking gloomily at the water surrounding them.

'I hope we're not going in circles,' said Shelley. A dragonfly appeared out of the mist and disappeared into it again, darting off in another direction.

At last the further shore loomed up, and their tireless mount heaved up the bank and was off again, horn pointing forward to find the way through the enchantments the Ürxura had laid over the land to thwart invaders. The wind sprang up again, and with it a driving rain. They were cantering easily now, weaving between stands of cedars and tall fir trees, their tops almost invisible in the rain, their lower branches tossing in the wind. Shelley felt a wild thrill. They were riding a magical unicorn over empty grasslands, wide lakes and dark forests, speeding towards a mysterious wilderness refuge, far from the enemy.

Then she remembered the brave charge of the Boy Raiders and their capture. 'Quickblade was coming for me, and now this has happened, and Korman let it happen!' she thought bitterly. 'Maybe Quickblade was right. Maybe I should have gone with him when I had the chance.' Regret and sadness tugged at her, pulling her heart back to the fateful plain where he was captured.

She was sick at heart too, when she remembered the friends – more than friends, her tribe – that she had left behind on the beach. She wondered if they were even now being led off to the Dark Labyrinth, or thrown into the thorns. She also began to wonder, uneasily, whose minds had been probed, or who in the village could have been a collaborator with the enemy, since the Dagraath had been set on them so soon.

The land was rising and falling, and the wind and rain lessened a little after each hill. They were following a long, winding ridge when off to their right Shelley saw a vista which made her forget everything else. Golden sunlight was shafting down into a misty emerald green valley which wound away into a mountainous land. She longed to follow the winding valley into those mountains. The yearning took her breath away. She felt a sense of recognition, a flash of deja vu.

But they were passing it by while she dreamed. 'Please, stop! Can we go down there?' she called to the Ürxura.

'Why?' called Korman over his shoulder.

'I don't know, I've just got a feeling,' Shelley called back.

'You cannot follow the Evergirls! It is not your destiny.'

But the Ürxura neighed and, descending the ridge, galloped away towards the green valley. Soon they were following its winding course over springy turf by a pebbly stream overhung with willows. A vivid rainbow appeared over the heights above and followed them as they sped towards the place where the valley had disappeared into the mountains.

As they approached the last bend, the valley opened out into a fertile lowland surrounded by steep mountains with outcrops of vertical rock, dramatic, sublime, like a background in a Renaissance painting. The Ürxura stopped. They looked down into that secret land, and at the bottom they saw a beautiful lake, deep and dark, calm as it reflected the stormy sky. Again the sense of recognition overcame Shelley, and her heart leapt as her eyes fell on a tall craggy island at the far end of the lake, almost as high as the mountains around the valley, its forested top wreathed in mist and rain.

Her whole heart and soul went out to the place; she felt a sudden homesickness at the sight of it. She had often imagined somewhere just like this in her daydreams: her ideal mountain retreat, with that lake and that island, the perfect place to build her dream home. 'Or a castle like Camelot,' she smiled to herself. Her eyes shone as she gazed down. 'Or maybe this is where the Evergirls live. But then, they wouldn't have any boys here...' She felt torn, now, between the desire to grow up in order to have true love with a man, and the desire to remain always free and wild like the Evergirls.

Korman was affected too. He looked in wonder at the hidden valley, then at Shelley. 'You have led us to a place of legend, hidden for uncounted years behind a veil of mindwebs. Not even the Evergirls, I think, will have found this place. How beautiful it is! Come, let us explore, if it is permitted, and see if we may find somewhere dry by the lake to make camp for the night.'

To himself he said softly, 'It is another sign!'

The Ürxura also seemed pleased, and carried them down into the secret land, and they vanished from sight behind the ancient mindwebs. Then, to an outsider it was as if they and the valley had ceased to exist.

Soon they were dismounting by the lake. Shelley thanked the Ürxura for bringing them. It was still raining, so they began to look around for shelter.

'Over there! I think it's a cave!' Shelley pointed to a gap between steep wooded spurs that ran down towards the lake. She ran excitedly to look, and Korman hurried after her. He did not want her to surprise a big cat or brood of dragon-snakes.

But there was nothing in the cave but a sandy floor, almost dry, and a few fallen rocks which would do nicely for a fireplace. They took off their heavy packs with great relief, shook out their cloaks and spread them to dry on some rocks.

The Ürxura had followed them, and was standing patiently at the cave mouth. They both sensed his presence, and turned and saw him there. He was about to leave, and was wishing them well. They said a grateful goodbye, knowing that he would surely return for them when the time was right. He stamped a great hoof, reared and neighed so that the cave seemed to shake, and the echoes sounded in the mountains all around the lake. Then he galloped off into the rain.

Korman got out his tinderbox and lit a fire with twigs and dry leaves from under an overhang where it was still dry, feeding the little fire with fallen branches they found in a sheltered gully near the cave until they had a real blaze going. Shelley felt her spirits rise as the hot fire dried her clothes and warmed her hands. Bootnip clambered cautiously out of Korman's pack and shook himself, fluffing up his steaming fur in front of the fire. 'Not yet,' thought Korman as he remembered the letter addressed to Shelley he still had in his pack.

All that night the wind sighed in the cedars and firs of the hills and swayed the weeping willows by the lakeside to and fro. They slept well, huddled close to the embers of the fire. The Waveriders had provided them with warm clothes and equipment for camping out in the wild, including excellent sleeping bags made from silk lined with down from the nests of the seabirds that came to breed high up in the cliffs of the Crystal Mountain.

The next morning it was still wet, and they stayed in the cave and talked of many things over a leisurely breakfast. At last Korman said, 'Shelley, I have a letter for you here. It arrived just before the Blue Moon festival, and I...' He took it out of his robes.

'What? Who is it from?' asked Shelley, too shocked at getting a letter to complain about Korman's delay in handing it over.

'I don't know, I have not opened it. But by the seal I would say...'

'I should think not!' She pulled at the beeswax that held it shut, noticing the seal impressed into it: two children riding a big horse rearing up with its mouth open and its mane flying. There were eight stars – or worlds – in a semicircle above them. 'The Boy Raiders! Quickblade!' she squealed, pulling out the rough, stained piece of papyrus paper inside. 'Oh, damn! I can't read it. It's in some kind of hieroglyphics! Quick, tell me what it says!'

'Let me see... if Quickblade had any sense he would have written it in a code he knows I can read but the Aghmaath cannot,' said Korman with what seemed to Shelley deliberate slowness. 'Ah, yes, this looks like the hieroglyphs of the Stone-People. He is not just a head-strong youth after all – perhaps! I will translate it for you:

"Esteemed Lady Shelley, I apologise for our last meeting."

'I should think so!' Korman commented.

'Go on!' urged Shelley, breathlessly.

"The war goes badly. I will send three of my fastest horsemen to get you, in case you change your mind. If this arrives first, please go with them! They say you are She Who Walks in Faery. If they speak the truth, come to us! We need you, to open a way through their defences!

Until then,

Quickblade

PS. Tell Korman to come if he wants to keep on guarding you. Can you persuade him to use that old sword of his before it rusts away?"

PPS. Do not join the Jilters or I will never speak to you again.

'Hmm. That is Quickblade all right!' concluded Korman.

Shelley was looking out of the cave entrance at the mountains beyond, a dreamy look in her eyes. She was no longer thinking about the Evergirls.

'He will be grieved to hear that his messengers have been captured,' said Korman.

Still Shelley did not speak. 'Well, I will go for a little walk now,' Korman announced. He put the letter in her hands, got up and walked outside, knowing she needed to be alone.

'So Quickblade wasn't captured after all! He's still out there somewhere!' Shelley thought. She sat in a daze, going over and over the letter in her mind, wondering what to do, torn between loyalty to Korman and the Lady, and the wild desire to somehow find Quickblade and tell him sorry, sorry, for not going with him the first time, and for the messengers who were captured so that she could have another chance to come to him.

When Korman returned after what he hoped was a sufficient interval, wet from the drizzle that was still falling, she was pacing the floor.

'I need to go for a walk now,' she announced as he sat back down on the rock where he had read out the letter, rubbing his hands for warmth, watching her restless pacing. He could see the signs only too well. She was in love – or thought she was.

'Perhaps you could talk with me first?' he ventured.

'No, I need to be alone.'

'I understand. But be careful out there! If you do not return by midday I will come looking for you.'

She didn't hear him. She was already out of the cave, heading off down to the lake, making for the far end where the tall island rose sheer from the deep water.

There was something that drew her to that island, a feeling that it was the symbolic centre of her own soul, where everything would crystallise and become clear. She had to admit to herself that she felt a burning within, a fiery energy of love that both frightened and excited her. She wondered if it was already beginning, and her feelings for Quickblade were turning her into a woman, even though she had hardly got to know him, let alone kissed him. She asked herself, 'Am I just in love with love? Am I going to make a total fool of myself, turning into a woman in front of Korman, and he'll know I'm in love with Quickblade, who probably doesn't even love me, and Korman totally disapproves of him anyway?'

But then she calmed down and looked up at the soaring peak of the island, cloaked in tall trees and shrouded in mists which lay in its hollows and made its steep wooded ridges stand out sharp and clear. At the foot of the island mountain was a narrow line of white pebbly beach under sheer rock walls, mossy and green with fine lacy ferns in the crevices, little cataracts of white water from the heavy rain tumbling down them to meet the lake.

'I really want to get over there,' she thought, and she cast around for a way. The channel was at least a hundred yards across at the narrowest point. 'I wonder if there's a log or something I could float over on,' she muttered to herself, feeling vaguely guilty that she was going so far away from Korman in this unknown land. But, drawn irresistibly to the island, she walked the shore, searching for a way across, rounding point after point which opened up into little bays and inlets, scrambling over driftwood and great mossy boulders.

In one of these bays she saw, dragged up over the driftwood line, a little boat. It was narrow and pointed at both ends like a canoe. It looked very old, made of dark, moss-grown clinker planks, but seemed to her optimistic eyes to be still sound. She turned it right side up, sandhoppers jumping about in the bottom, startled by the light. She tried to brush them away. She noticed there was a paddle under the middle seat. Looking at its high prow and stern she thought, 'It's just like the boats of the Zagonamara monks in the Bottomless Canyon, only smaller. I wonder whose it was? It doesn't look like it's been used for years.'

Shelley's heart was beating fast as she dragged the little craft down the pebbly beach and into the still, crystal-clear shallows. She stepped lightly in and sat to paddle. The little boat wobbled and water trickled in between the planks, but she pulled hard with the paddle, first on the right side and then on the left, and the boat surged forwards, making a fair bow-wave that fanned out into the still lake. 'I hope I can make it across before it sinks,' she worried, feeling the cold water inching up her feet. She kept her eyes fixed on the shore as if her gaze would pull her across, and the dark water bubbled under the clinker sides. She tried not to think of eels.

Soon she knew it was all right; she would make it. The keel crunched on gravel, and she scrambled out into the shallows of the island, pulling the boat a little way up the deserted beach.

There was a calm, solemn feeling about the island, and she felt the dizzying height of the mountain above her, like a bridge into the sky. 'It's like Baldrock but white,' she thought, as she gazed up from the narrow beach to the sheer pinnacle of limestone above her, low watery clouds passing by, almost brushing it, making it seem to speed towards them, tilting slowly, dizzily. Birds wheeled above and around the high peak, and their distant cries were faint but clear.

'I wonder if there's anything up there, a hidden tunnel up to the summit, like at Baldrock, and a crystal sphere in a lotus pond?' she wondered. Then she remembered how she had felt up on that summit, locked into the Crystal Lotus, the seat of seeing, where she first knew the power of the Zagonamara which flows through the earth and joins with the sky. She sat down on the beach, running the wet marble gravel through her hands. The rain had held off, but the air was beginning to feel cold. Then a few heavy drops fell and she decided to take shelter in case it poured. She found a deep overhang in the cliff, arched over her head like a gothic doorway lined with ferns. Water trickled down the outside and fell in foamy spray over the entrance, but inside it was almost dry. There was a convenient rock to sit on, and she sat, feeling the immensity of the living rock around and over her, and looking out at the rain beginning to fall, and her thoughts returned to Quickblade.

She shut her eyes to dream, and wish, but a joy and a lightness came over her, and she felt that if she opened her eyes again she would see something wonderful, perhaps the Lady in shining white on the lakeshore, or dancing Fairies, or Quickblade coming to her across the water as a knight in shining armour, and the cave filled with light and heavenly music. The magical power of Aeden throbbed silently all around her, deeper than she had yet felt it, resonating in the cave and the depths of the lake and the sky above where the pinnacle rose, defying gravity, linking heaven and earth in one harmonious whole. Tears were in her eyes as she let herself sense it, not looking with her natural sight but with the inner eye. And she knew that while all this was immense and powerful, within her lay a growing power that was of the same kind, yet growing apart from it, then returning to act within it as in some great mystery play, the Great Dance of which Korman had spoken to her. 'And I thought it was just a metaphor!' she laughed, as the vision of the beauty of the world grew in detailed harmonies of movement, and still she kept her eyes closed, though she felt she would have to get up soon and dance for joy along the beach.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Shelley and Quickblade

Quickblade was in the hills below Moonbird Hollow overlooking the enemy lines stretching from Lake Avalon across Applegate Vale to the Enyása of the Guardian World. It was the third day after he had met the Trader and given him the letter. He felt uneasy, as if there was something more he should have said or done. But the girl was so stubborn. He had not forgotten how angry she made him.

'So, what do you say? Should I go after her and beg her to come?' he asked his faithful man-at-arms, Willhard, known to all as Willy.

'I dunno,' replied Willy, casually flicking a piece of apple from his knife into his mouth. 'But you be careful, Quicky, or you'll be going up you-know-what mountain and getting yourself growed up. Then who'd lead us to glorious victory?'

'You would, I suppose you think, you great lug. But Zarks! Who said I even liked the girl?'

'I saw the way you looked at her. You can't fool old Willy.' Willhard was one of the oldest Boy Raiders, and had shown no tendencies to fall in love.

'Lies! Well, not a word to the others, anyway! We can't have them gossiping and saying, "The Captain's going soft, he'll be off to make babies any day now," just when we need them united to hit the enemy back, hard.' He smacked his fist into his hand.

'But we've only just got here!' groaned Willhard. 'You can't be thinking of making us ride back to that 'orrible gate after what happened last night, can you? We've lost Arren's mind, wiped off the slate, phhwit, just like that, clean gone! We can't beat 'em like this! We need that girl – if Rilke's right about her walking in Faery. Right under the Birdmen's noses, he said!'

'Arren let his helmet slip! He's – he was – an idiot. Maybe he'll be smarter when he's been retaught.'

'You don't wanna go and get her in case the boys think you're on the way to la-la land, do you?' Will cradled his arms and rocked them as if he was holding a baby, and made cooing noises at it.

'You watch it!' said Quickblade, and launched himself at Willy, wrestling him to the ground and pinioning him quick as thought, before Willy had stopped cooing. 'Ouch! Look what you made me do! That thorn's still in there somewhere.' Quickblade's arm was bleeding.

'Here, I'll dig it out for ya,' offered Willy, eagerly, all mockery forgotten. But Quickblade whipped out his long dagger and brandished it.

'Keep away,' he growled, nursing the wound with his free hand. Then he sat down, braced himself and dug into his arm with the dagger, and flicked out a large thorn-tip, like a razor-sharp baby shark's tooth. He clapped his hand over the hole and hummed a war chant through gritted teeth as the pain gradually ebbed.

'Bring me Rilke,' he said when it was better.

Rilke, a little furry wurrier face peering out over his tunic, came into the tent where Quickblade sat brooding. 'What is your command, sire?' he asked bravely. 'Do you want me to lead a raiding party behind enemy lines?'

'No, cheeky boy! Tell me about this Shelley Arkle. What is she like? Is she a... you know... a Jilter type? '

'Oh no, sir, I don't think so. She'd never join the Jilters! The Evergirls, maybe...'

'They're the same thing, you... you ninny!'

'Sorry, sire. I won't mention them again, Evergirl – I mean Ever.'

Then Rilke told Quickblade all about their adventures, about the escape from Thorngate – 'That's what Lord Korman named the Wickergate, sire' – and about the battle of the Bottomless Canyon and her cunning parachute jump into the Zagonamara lake, and about Baldrock and their brave escape through Faery to the Guardian enclosure where Rilke had been made to stay and Shelley had gone on with 'mean old Korman.'

'Send me, sire, if you want to get her! I know a bit about that country, where the Ürxura are. My dad told me stories about it – including the Evergirls. He's seen them once. I think – '

'You think wrong. You're too young – you won't let go of that wurrier, you won't eat rabbit, and you still can't keep on the top side of a horse. And stop talking about the zarking Jilters!'

'But sire –'

'And stop calling me sire! No, I'll send Willy, and Rark, and Wardog. They can ride like the wind, and Wardog's a good tracker.'

'What? You're sending me where?' said Willhard, who had gone back to cutting up apples and throwing the pieces into his mouth. 'With Rark? He's crazy, and he's a girl!' (The explanation of that odd statement is this: The Boy Raiders have a charter, written up and added to over the years, which they call the Code. In the Code there is a rule which says

All shall be called boys. Any girl who joins shall be accounted a boy.

So Willhard was breaking the rules in revealing the sex of Rark.)

'I have spoken,' said Quickblade.

'I know you have, but I'm not going. I appeal to the Code:

No boy shall be ordered around if he really doesn't want to be.'

And Quickblade respected the Code, and let Willy do as he would. 'You and the Shelley are too alike anyway, stubborn as that old Trader's donkey. I don't want you getting any ideas from her,' he growled. So he picked a strong boy named Trench, who was good with a spade (as he for some reason pointed out when he volunteered). 'Also,' he boasted, 'I can ride like the wind, and strike like the Snake... or the blade of a shovel,' he added with a significant nod.

When the three messengers had ridden off, Quickblade tried to forget all about them until they returned, but he found himself looking south constantly, and more boys were getting mindbolted by the enemy. Soon he made up his mind: he would go after Shelley himself, cutting across country directly south, skirting the Tor Enyása, fearlessly climbing the haunted, fissured slopes under the high thorn fortresses, the hills the Boy Raiders called the Mountains of Terror, because of the precipices and even more because of the ravines in which lived the Rog-tanax, the dangerous kind of Dragonsnake. Then he would descend into the unicorn lands from the north, braving the northern outposts of the terrible Fire Hills.

'I go to seek the Shelley, She Who Walks in Faery, to bring her to our aid. I leave Willhard the Stubborn in charge,' he cried to the assembly of tired Boy Raiders that night. 'If he can't break the enemy, no one can.' But the boys groaned aloud. Willhard had a reputation as a stubborn and difficult man, whereas everyone loved and admired Quickblade. He made them feel ten feet tall when he led a charge.

'Except the Shelley, She Who Walks in Faery, she can break 'em,' called Rilke. 'She'll walk right through them! Find her for us, Sire!'

'Yes! Yes! Find the Shelley! Find the Shelley!' chanted the boys. 'But watch out for the Roggas in the mountains!' one of them called out. (This was the Boy Raider slang for the Rog-tannax.)

'And watch out for the Jilters!' another added.

'Here's an amber-bat to send word back when you find her,' piped a little boy with big ears and mousy hair, holding out a tiny package – a bat in a carrying-bag. He was the Bat-boy, in charge of the mobile hive of amber-bats, tiny homing bats that would also fly to a piece of glowing amber and circle it, catching the insects that came to its golden glow.

Quickblade was greatly reassured: they had no idea that he might be 'going soft,' falling for a girl. He told himself that his interest in Shelley was purely warlike. She could be, after all, the ultimate weapon against the enemy. He just hoped the Jilters wouldn't get to her first.

Shelley opened her eyes. The cave was still the same, except that the light seemed clearer and outside the rain still fell, though now there was a luminous quality to the air, and sunlight caught the drops as they fell. The lake looked to Shelley like a brimming bowl of diamond water with diamonds drifting down from heaven to make it overflow. She laughed and stretched happily.

Then, as if from another world, she heard her name being called. It was a rousing, musical voice she loved but could not quite recognise as it rolled from peak to peak, echo merging with echo. It definitely was not Korman out looking for her already; or her father, or Pipes. She sat still turning her head to catch the sound again. Then her heart gave a great leap. 'It's Quickblade!' she cried. She jumped up and ran out of the cave.

He was walking the lakeshore, calling as he went, scrambling over driftwood logs, leaping from boulder to boulder along the inlet where she had found the boat. He sounded different now, humbler, more vulnerable, even lonely. She called back to him as loudly as she could without sounding as though she was screaming at him, 'Quickblade! Over here! I'm on the island!' Her echo rolled across the hills, but immediately he turned towards the very place where she stood on the narrow shoreline.

'Stay there! I will come to you!' he yelled, and his words ran around the mountain walls of the valley as if chasing her echo: 'Come to you... come to you...' He flung aside his pack and bow and arrows and dived in like an otter. Shelley thrilled with anticipation, then, as his body disappeared under the silver haze of the surface blurred by raindrops, she shivered with alarm. 'Can you swim?' she found herself yelling in a high-pitched voice. But there was no answer. 'What a silly thing to say,' she told herself, blushing. But she kept holding her breath until she saw him come up, far out into the lake, his strong arms beating the water rhythmically, his head turning to breathe, in the proper overarm stroke, which she had never learned.

Soon he was wading up the steep beach of the island. But he stopped when he looked up and saw Shelley standing there, glowing white in the morning sun shining on the raindrops, a faint halo of rainbow colour hovering in the golden mist about her. He had heard of the Lady of the Lake, Ainenia of the Nine Lives who used to live on the sacred isle of Avalon with her maidens, forbidden to all but those who were called there. Stories were told around campfires, of those who had stumbled upon her island uninvited, landing in the mists that drifted about it, and were never heard of again, but their boats were found drifting, empty but for a single rose. It was doubly terrifying for him, the leader of the Boy Raiders, who must never succumb to the Siren call of the Woman, on pain of breaking the spell of Everchild. If he did, he could no longer be leader. He would be forever banished from the tribe.

So it was that Quickblade – who had never flinched in the face of terrible dangers in battle, in the dark mindtrap-infested forests of the Badlands or even on the Mountains of Terror where the Roggas lurked – hesitated, dazzled and abashed, before the divine vision of the Shelley.

'Are you going to come out of the water, or am I going to have to come in and get you?' asked Shelley, giggling to see the proud boy so embarrassed. He opened his mouth to speak, but she had already splashed in and held out a hand to him, palm down like a queen allowing a subject to kiss it. And she was willing him to do that, and more...

'Is it... safe? I mean, is it permitted... to set foot on this isle?' he asked, taking her hand uncertainly.

'I don't know about safe,' replied Shelley, smiling at him mysteriously, 'but it is permitted – if you are civil.'

'Of course I'll be civil...' he began in a haughty voice, then stopped himself. 'I mean, let us talk, Lady Shelley, She-who-walks-in-Faery. I have come far, through fire and wind and rain, to see you and ask for your hand... I mean for the honour of your esteemed presence alongside my Boy Raiders in the north, where the war goes badly for us on account of the magic of the Birdmen, the Aghmaath, whom they tell me only you can defeat.'

'Very eloquent! Who writes your speeches?' laughed Shelley.

Quickblade blushed, and angrily shook out the water from his hair, smoothing it back over his proud forehead. She noticed he had an old scar along the hairline, and many new scratches all over his face and hands. They were now standing on the beach and the sun had gone behind dark clouds again.

'You mock me, but my boys are being mind-wiped, and the Birdmen are using cavalry, with long cruel spears of tempered thornwood! My messengers have been gone too long, and I fear for their lives. And you stand here, in this safe hidden valley, like... like some queen, and tease and mock at me.'

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to mock! But tell me, how did you find me here?'

'In the night, as I lay on a high ledge in the mountains, unable to sleep for the cold and the strange voices on the wind that blew through the ravines, a great white unicorn appeared to me and showed me this place – in a vision – and you here, on the island. I thought you might have left Korman and be on your way to join the Jilters. So I rose up and climbed on through the night, but the next day it was misty, and I was lost, then suddenly I came upon a narrow pass where none had been a moment before, and it led down into this valley. And now, you will return with me, won't you?'

His eyes were bright and eager. Shelley hesitated, hating to hurt him.

'I... I've already told you, I've made up my mind to follow Korman to...'

'That wizard! They say he is in league with her, the one they call the Lady of the Thorns! I was talking to the hermit of the portal hills, Moonwit, and he says Korman's gone mad, following her, leading the Chosen One into the living death in the thorns, lured by the thorn witch!'

'What?' yelled Shelley. 'Korman's not mad! You are, for listening to some crazy old hermit! We were attacked and nearly killed by a bunch of mad hermits! Don't talk to me about hermits! Anyway, I didn't think you believed in the Chosen One.'

'I didn't say that,' began Quickblade, but Shelley interrupted.

'And I won't let you stay on this island a second longer if you say another word against the Lady. I've seen her, I mean in a vision, and she saved Korman on the bridge over the Bottomless Canyon, and...'

'All right, I retract my words about the Lady of the Thorns. Perhaps she is good, perhaps she is on our side. I don't know. I've never seen her – or been helped by her. And they say she's on the side of the Jilters. But you, Shelley, what about you? Will you fight for me... I mean, with me, against the Enemy?'

There was a silence as Shelley struggled, and failed, to remember all the reasons why she should stay with Korman and send Quickblade away empty-handed. The fire in her seemed to grow even as the words they exchanged were harsh and combative, as if their heads said one thing but their hearts another, equally eloquent though wordless.

Quickblade felt it too, and he seemed to grow afraid. He felt a mysterious bond between them, an energy as of fire, or the lightning-bolt which can fall from stormy skies to crack open strong oaks. In his head he heard his man-at-arms say, mockingly, 'You're 'arfway up the ol' Fire Mountain, all right.' But he just smiled at the thought; it pleased him. No one had told him it would feel like this. He cared nothing now for the rules of the Boy Raiders, or the Code. He felt a wild joy and relief. Shelley was not going to be a Jilter! He dared to hope that she loved him...

The island became an enchanted, sacred lovers' retreat as they looked into each other's eyes, and a strange attraction drew them irresistibly towards each other, like the invisible pull which draws together two copper coils when the fiery power of the lightning pulses through them. Both were resisting its pull, for different reasons; and both were succumbing to the blissful power flowing through them.

Korman had become worried. He went down to the lake, looking for Shelley and calling her name. Hearing his voice in the distance, she shook herself free from the most powerful attraction she had ever felt and managed to say, 'Quickblade, I'm being torn in two! But you know I can't come, not yet. I'll see you after Ürak Tara, I promise.'

He looked at her for a second as if struck through the heart. Then, seeing that she could not be turned from her path, he took hold of her promise, which was like a hopeflower shining small and white in the darkness of his own path, which now led back over the Mountains of Terror alone, back to a desperate siege.

'Though all the Thorns of the Birdmen stand between us?' he asked. 'Yes!'

'What token will you give me of your promised help?'

And they both knew it was no longer Shelley's help they were talking about, but her love. Shelley turned and ran lightly back to the mouth of the cave, watched longingly by Quickblade. She picked a single white hopeflower bud, and put it in Quickblade's hand.

'I'll give you this,' she said, her eyes shining. If she had known how beautiful she looked then, she would have trembled at who she was becoming, and known why Quickblade stood in a bittersweet dream, staring at her as the bud slowly opened in his hand into a perfect white flower. He bent over it and smelled the sweet, wild perfume, filling his consciousness like music, the essence of her lovely soul, driving out all bitterness and fear. He looked into her eyes and smiled, unreservedly, all his defences swept away. She smiled back. They moved towards each other. Then he swept her up in his strong arms, and they kissed. The world stood still, then began to spin slowly around them as they stood together, fused into one, body and soul, incandescent and joyful.

Korman was calling out again. They ignored him for one, two more calls. Then on the third call Quickblade let go of Shelley. 'Think of me at the next Blue Moon! I will take out this flower and gaze on it, and as it opens again in the moonlight, I will see you.' He took the waterproof tinderbox from his pocket and put the flower into it. 'And... I was going to give you this...' He unclasped a chain around his neck and held it up. On it hung a medallion of the Boy Raiders, two children with drawn swords riding a galloping horse, the eight worlds wheeling above them, the same as on the wax seal on his letter but cast in dusky bronze, its surfaces shining golden, polished by long wearing. 'Smithy made it. It's for bravery. It's my promise to you, that I'll come to find you at Ürak Tara, though all the thorns of the Birdmen stand between us – and get my medal back!'

'I'll be waiting, and keep it safe for you. Meanwhile, it will help me feel braver, every time I touch it... and think of you,' said Shelley.

Quickblade put the medallion around her neck and gently fastened the clasp. He held her hands and looked once more into her eyes. Then he turned quickly away, dived into the cold waters, and swam for the shore where Korman stood waiting.

Quickblade said few words to him when he reached the shore (as he was out of breath) but they were courteous words, and Korman looked at him in wonder. 'The boy has changed,' he thought. 'There is a new light in his eyes. He sees a new destiny before him. And he found his way into this hidden valley, just as Shelley did! Their fates seem indeed to be entwined. The soul-weaving begins... But it must not – not yet! They both have so much to learn. And, she must be able to return through the Portal...'

Then Korman spoke with Quickblade of their different paths, and blessed him. Then Quickblade, not to be delayed a moment longer, picked up his light pack and bow and arrows, and strode off into the perilous mountains again, seemingly refreshed, as if he had not travelled all night. 'Ah, love!' sighed Korman as he watched him go, into what perils he hated to think.

Quickblade toiled on for an hour or more, heedless of the steepness of the way, immersed in happy day-dreams which for once included a Girl. Finally, when he was high up in the hills he stopped for a rest under an overhanging rock, safe from prying eyes. He remembered the amber-bat, and wrote a note to attach to its tiny leg:

The Shelley is not coming. I am. Hold the fort. We must break through!

You-know-who

He rolled the message up tightly and put it in the tiny pouch under the bat's chest. Then he fed the tiny creature some honey for energy, and released it. After circling overhead for a few seconds, squeaking almost inaudibly, it flitted off towards Thorngate and the bat-hive.

But as it passed beneath the Mountains of Terror, a falcon swooped upon it, and clutching it in its talons carried it, squeaking piteously, high up into the Tor Enyása, where the dark falconer Hithemíth took delivery of the bat and read the message by the dim light of his blood-amber lamp hanging in his tightly-woven thorn-alcove. His thin, wrinkled face puckered. He contacted the Master himself through the Dreamweb; this was an urgent matter. 'I hear and obey, Your Emptiness,' croaked Hithemíth in his high-pitched, hawkish voice. Then he wrote a lying evil note to the Boy Raiders on a piece of thornbird skin in blood-amber ink:

Praise to the Void!

Your leader is lost. Surrender now, and you will have safe passage back to your own lands. Otherwise, death and torture await you.

For Rakmad, ruler of Aeden.

He placed the new message in the pouch and released the terrified bat.

The Boy Raiders were elated when Quickblade's amber-bat flew in that night, but when they read it they cursed and stamped. And many began to say, 'It's hopeless now Quickblade's dead! We should pack up while we still can, and go home.'

Willhard rebuked them, saying, 'We don't know if he's really dead yet. It could be a trick. At least wait another day!'

Shelley watched from the island in mingled joy and anguish as Quickblade disappeared. It was her first real kiss, and she did not know if she would ever be the same, or begin to turn into a woman on the spot, but she did not care. At last she rowed across and joined Korman, and they went back to the cave, where Korman had lit a fire and cooked some pan-bread. He did not try to talk to her. He saw that she was too happy for speech or questions.

Then, in between long periods of smiling and staring into space, Shelley told Korman she was now more determined than ever to go with him to Ürak Tara and be initiated. Now there was a sacred pact with Quickblade, which she would never break: to meet him at Ürak Tara. She would do it all for love, and meet up with him on the other side, somehow, though all the mindwebs and thorn thickets of the Aghmaath lay between them. 'He'll break through the thorn blockade somehow, I know, and ride to Ürak Tara in triumph,' she said.

Korman smiled, and listened, and kept his misgivings to himself.

Chapter Thirty-nine

A Fateful Pact

Now that she was sure she would go all the way to Ürak Tara with Korman before she did anything else, and no longer half-wondering if she should go to Quickblade, Shelley began to think more about the dangers ahead in the Valley of Thorns. But Korman told her there was a long way to go yet before they had to face that trial. 'Hishma,' he reminded her. 'Stay in the moment. You are growing stronger, more ready for whatever may lie ahead.'

Then he showed her a game played with sticks and stones, like noughts and crosses but more complicated. She found she was soon beating him at it. She expressed surprise, and he looked at her knowingly.

'You are growing nimble of mind, as I knew you would,' he said. 'It is the air of Aeden. You are remembering old knowledge.'

As they played, Korman seemed to be a little nervous, as if he was trying to say something. Shelley finally asked him, 'Korman you seem a bit tense. Is there anything you want to say to me?' She was sure it would be about Quickblade, but she was secure enough now not to worry whatever he said.

'Shelley, when a boy likes a girl a lot, and... well, there is a wonderful thing left in the soil of Aeden by the Makers which enables a child to choose the time of his, or her... ah...' Shelley laughed.

'I know, Korman, don't worry. Pipes told me all about it. It's called Everchild, and if two children past the age of thirteen fall in love, and soulbond, and kiss each other, it starts to lose its power, and they mature into man and woman, and can have children of their own.'

Korman was visibly relieved.

'Well, that's that, then. Good! Now, whose turn was it?' Shelley smiled inside, and wondered if he had seen her kissing Quickblade, and whether she really would suddenly start to mature. But she was already used to that idea; after all, back on Edartha nearly everyone matured at a ridiculously young age, ready or not.

So the rest of the afternoon passed in a relaxed way. They had plenty of food in their packs, and the spring water to drink, but just before the hidden sunset, when under the cloudy skies everything turned a glowing colour, Korman went down to the lake where he saw a splash and a glimpse of rainbow silver, and threw out a silken fishing-line with a pearly lure tied to it – a present from Pipes. Soon he was cooking a supper of trout by the cave mouth as the light quickly faded from the water-laden sky. After they had eaten, Korman stood and looked up at the rain pelting down outside the cave mouth. 'I sense a change in the weather,' he said. 'For the better.'

'You're joking, it's wetter than ever,' said Shelley.

'Wait and see.'

Shelley went to bed early, and lay for a long time looking at the medallion, and thinking of Quickblade. Then she fell asleep, still holding his gift, and dreamed she was riding with Quickblade at the head of the Boy Raiders, galloping joyfully across the plains.

Sure enough, the next morning dawned clear and bright, a lovely fresh rainwashed morning. Shelley woke and yawned and stretched but didn't get up. She felt relaxed and peaceful. There was no longer the question about Quickblade hanging over her, and they had nowhere to go until the Ürxura returned. It was a lovely feeling, especially because she was in that hidden valley, which now whispered to her of love from every misty mountain peak, every pebble on the beach and every ripple on the calm lake.

She saw Korman walking by the lake, the steep mountains a dramatic backdrop to his robed, wizardly figure. 'This is such a beautiful place! I want it to be mine and live here forever with Quickblade,' she thought, and snuggled into her blankets again for a long time.

Finally, after a late breakfast she went for a long ramble, gathering pine-cones for the fire, and exploring the lakeside. She noticed a lot of mushrooms and toadstools newly-sprouted after the rain, and it reminded her of happy times mushrooming in Northland with her parents. She came across Korman sitting on a rock overlooking the water, meditating, the freshly-polished glittering crystal blade of Arcratíne lying across his knees.

When Shelley greeted him, he sprang to his feet and sheathed the sword in one graceful movement, and said 'Now you are up I will teach you something of the art of fighting with staves, as I promised.'

'Oh yes, do!' she replied.

'I will cut us staves from the lakeside saplings,' he informed her as he strode to the nearest bushes. He cut one small ash sapling for Shelley and showed her how to strip the bark from it and scrape it smooth with the sheath knife Pipes's father had given her.

'The surfer people of the Salamander still know how to make a good blade,' he commented as he handed the knife back to her.

'Yes, it was made by Firebrand. I wonder if he still refuses to make weapons of war – if he's still alive, that is...' And she wondered about Pipes, whether he had taken up the sword as he had urged his people to do.

Korman looked sadly at the blade. Then he chose a larger sapling and sawed it through at ground level where it was thicker, using the serrated section of his larger knife, for which he had traded his last crystal at Sanmara.

'When we get to the Valley of Thorns, if it is permitted for me to draw Arcratíne and strike dead the Mother Thorn, I will cut a new staff from the branches that bloomed with roses about the Lady where she stands entwined in the cruel thorns,' he said, grimly. And Shelley, looking into his eyes, guessed that the hardest thing for him, in going to the Valley of Thorns, would be to see the Lady there and know that he could not rescue her – not until the Thorn could be withered and the sleeping spell broken.

'Now,' Korman began, 'first the basics. You must always watch the eyes of your adversary, if you can, so you will see which way he intends to move... If the eyes are hidden, you must sense the subtle movements of his body and his intentions. Hold the staff so...'

After some practice swinging the staff this way and that, lunging and parrying, they had a practice duel, their staves hitting together with sharp cracks which echoed off the solemn mountains about the lake.

Then Korman said, 'Now, the most likely enemy will be an Aghmaath. I will pretend to be one. See, my eyes dart to and fro, seeking your weakness. Then I fix on your brow, the third eye, ready to cast a mindbolt. I have thornpod scale armour for a tunic, so you cannot hurt me there, not with a staff. And my head is bird-like, quick as a striking snake, so I will dodge any blow to the head. It is covered in thick spines that close tight together anyway. My legs and feet are thick and leathery, with natural scales, and...'

'What are you saying, Korman? They're invincible?'

'... and my hands are gauntleted. But, I do have a habit of leaping up to come down on the heads of my victims, seizing them in the powerful talons of my feet.'

'That's handy to know! A great help!'

'Ah, but when I am up in the air, I can be spun around if caught with a jab to one side. Then, as soon as my back is exposed, you must swing the staff round and strike my back hard, near the top. There my big lungs are close to the surface, and you can wind me, or cause bleeding and unconsciousness. Then if it is necessary, you can come in and finish me off with your knife. Now try it. I leap at you thus...' Shelley saw her moment and lunged at his right side, bracing her arms, using his downward momentum to add force to the jab. He spun round and she swung her staff, hitting his upper back with a thud. She stepped lightly aside as he crashed to the ground at her feet. Quick as a flash she had her knife out and held it to his throat.

'I... I'm sorry. Are you hurt?' she stammered, getting up. Something in her had taken over, and it at once shocked her and gave her a thrill of triumph.

'You are a natural, Shelley Arkle!' said Korman, gasping for breath. 'I should have worn padding!' But he looked at her proudly.

After more sparring, during which Shelley became faster and better at a rate that scared her, and landed some very good blows, Korman cried, laughing, 'Enough, and more than enough, for today! Let us swim and cool down, and wash our clothes at the same time.' He plunged in, still wearing his tunic. Shelley wished she had swimwear and a washing machine for her clothes instead, but followed him in, and the clear waters of the lake cooled and washed them as they swam and laughed under a clear blue sky, the green hills all around, enfolding them.

'I thought Guardians don't wash except after sundown,' Shelley commented as they waded out.

'The Lady does not seem to mind,' replied Korman. 'I think she would prefer that a Guardian sets a good example of cleanliness to his young disciple.' He smiled as she laughed. It seemed to her that much of his earlier stiffness and formality was falling away. 'I like the new Korman better,' she thought.

The sun and the breeze soon dried them as they gathered firewood under the trees and then returned to the cave.

Shelley now felt it was time to do something she had been meaning to do for ages: write a diary of her time in Aeden. She had a lot of catching up to do. She found a paper-tree, a kind of bush that grew in many places in Aeden, which Korman had shown her. Its leaves were thin but tough and would take ink. Then she found a large swan feather by the lakeshore – there was a family of white swans which floated gracefully on the lake, nesting on the far side of the island – and she cut the feather obliquely and put a slit in it to make a quill pen. Next she got some soot from the fire and mixed it with starchy water from boiling a root which Korman had also shown her, and she soon had a good supply of jet-black ink.

The rest of that day was spent in the cathartic labour of writing down on the paper-leaves all her adventures since that rainy day in Silverwood when she met the white Ürxura. She wondered who would read it, and whether she should censor it, but then she thought, 'That's silly. Mark is safely on another planet, and no one here reads English handwriting, I guess. Anyway, I'm not ashamed of anything I think or do now.'

So she wrote of how close some of the people in Aeden had become to her. 'Pipes, of course, and Rilke and Goldheart and Kernan, and even Hillgard somehow, and Korman the Outcast... Especially Korman,' she wrote. 'He's always been there for me, totally. My future man will be like him in lots of ways, I hope. Just a bit more laid back. And a lot younger of course!' Naturally she was thinking of Quickblade as she wrote it, and realised she hadn't spoken of him yet. So she took a deep breath, and bared her soul to the leaves, covering many of them with her smooth, firm script, telling of her journey of love so far.

Almost a week passed – a perfect seven days, writing and swimming in the bracing waters of the lake, fishing from the little boat far out over its dark depths (Korman helped her caulk the boat with resin from a tree that grew in the forest), catching rainbow trout and golden perch, and other more exotic fish which Shelley had never seen before; thinking and dreaming on the island; and gathering mushrooms in the foothills of the mountains. Korman assured her that there was no need to go anywhere: the Ürxura would come for them when the time was right, and it could take them, far faster than they could ever walk, across the northern slopes of his country to the mountains of the Makers, the Southwest Arm, which overlooked the Valley of Thorns.

'We are favoured by the Lady and the Ürxura. While we are in their land we should rest under their protection, as we have been doing, and store up strength of body and heart for the labours ahead,' he said.

And for once, Shelley was content to wait, in fact more than content. She was blissfully happy, for only the second time in her life that she could remember. The first time was at the Waveriders when she was friends with Pipes and rode the waves with him. She felt completely at home in the hidden valley, as if she was for once right in the centre of things, where her heart was, and there was nowhere to try to get to. She knew they would soon have to leave, and that there would be many labours and dangers, but one day she would return, and build a home here, and live happily ever after with the boy she loved, who would then be a man, and she would be a woman. She remembered the night of the Blue Moon festival in the Waveriders' cave, and her glimpse of the paths ahead, and her certainty that along one of those paths she would meet the man of her dreams. She strained to see beyond that intuition to catch a glimpse of the man she would share it with, to make sure it was Quickblade, and what kind of house (or castle) they would live in, but the veil did not part. She began to doubt now whether she would ever see Quickblade again. In spite of his heroism, now that the passion of their last meeting was fading she was not totally sure they could ever get on well enough to be 'soulwoven,' as Pipes called it. Still, she felt sure she would be with someone, and the thought made her feel warm inside, and very happy.

'That's the only reason I want to leave,' she thought. 'So I can get to the day when I return with him, and we can kiss and turn into man and woman, and create our own paradise here together.' The cicadas in the tall trees above and in the willows by the shore seemed to be singing a chorus of agreement that one day the circle of her destiny would be complete, and bring her home in triumph, back to these very shores beneath these very mountains.

'Still, I suppose it could all be a lovely illusion – or a mindweb,' she thought, but that unpleasant possibility had no power over her present happiness. And Korman was with her, a great anchor for her life on Aeden, her Guardian and guarantee that all would be fine and work out just the way it should. 'He's a Tidak, my sworn Guardian, who will defend me to the death,' she murmured as she watched him do his exercises by the lakeside, swordplay and somersaults and difficult stretching and sitting positions. It was hard to know when he was meditating and when he was exercising; it was all one graceful whole.

He was cheerful during this time of waiting, but also very focused, almost fierce in his practice, as if he was preparing for some great battle. After the first few days it began to affect her with a kind of tension. She tried to ask him about it, but he only smiled and said, 'It is good to be prepared.' She thought, 'There's something really preying on his mind. It's the Lady and the Valley of Thorns, I guess.'

One day as she walked higher in the mountains, looking for mushrooms at the southern end of the lake, the late afternoon sun glancing over the green grass below, she noticed the faint outline of old walls in the contours of the turf. 'I wonder who lived there?' she wondered, and a sad but peaceful feeling stole over her.

The next day she came across a little valley in the hills to the west of the lake. Halfway up the valley she found a ruined building which looked out over the lake. There were mossy stone walls with arched openings draped in trailing jasmine, sweet-smelling in the sun, and old flagstone floors cracked and overgrown with dandelion, forget-me-not and soft chamomile like a fragrant green carpet under her bare feet. Peach tree branches and grapevines grew through the holes where a big bay window used to be. Butterflies flew lazily from flower to flower and basked in the sun.

To one side of the ruins she found an old orchard. Gnarled, lichen-covered apple trees clung to life under vines and creepers. She found several small ripe apples. It was a sad and solemn place, but romantic, as if hanging on in hope, waiting for a new couple to come and rebuild, taming and tending the garden, rebuilding the walls, and raising new beams for the roof. She spent some time there, picking flowers, eating the apples and daydreaming, watching the butterflies come and go, weaving in and out of the ruins.

When the seventh day dawned and there was still no sign of their ride, Korman said, 'It is time we talked in detail of the road ahead. I will draw a map and teach you things that will be important for you to know, if anything should happen to me.'

Shelley's heart sank at these words, and she recalled the paper-leaves she had seen him writing, addressed to the Lady, then screwing them up and throwing them in the fire, but she smiled and said, 'I'm listening, teacher.'

They took their cups of pale yellow chamomile-flower tea that Shelley had made, sat down on the fine springy turf by the lakeside, and began. Korman had lost his map in the fall into the torrent of the Firewater, but he drew another one from memory for Shelley, using five large paper-leaves which he had sewn together with flax thread, each leaf representing one of the sectors of the island realm of Namaglimmë. Shelley drew in her lake and marked it, 'Lake Shelley,' and she told him, 'That's just for now. When we come back, Quickblade and I will name it together.'

'It has been named before, you know, long ago, like all places on Aeden,' replied Korman. 'I do not know what its name was; only that it was hidden from mortal sight. Perhaps one day we will find out.'

'Well, I do want to know, but if I don't like the old name I'm going to make up a new one anyway. Now, can you show me what the land's like between here and Ürak Tara?'

Korman shook his head at her presumption, but said nothing.

'Anyway, Korman, if this valley has been hidden for so long, who did the boat I found belong to? It didn't seem all that old.'

'I do not know. I guess many things about this land and its place in the Unfolding of the ages, but the mysteries are deep, and you will learn them best from the masters of the Ancient Lore, at Ürak Tara.'

'OK, but who do you think owned the boat?'

But Korman would not be drawn, and he returned her attention to the map. First he drew on it the lands they had already passed through, right from the portal on the plains where she had first entered Aeden. He answered some of her questions about the things they had seen on their journey so far.

'Now I will show you something of the path ahead,' he said. He began to draw, and Shelley groaned.

'Oh no, it'll take ages just to get to the Valley of Thorns!'

'Of course not,' replied Korman, 'You are forgetting: the Ürxura is swift, and if I rightly understood his speech, he has promised to take us all the way to the borders of the occupied territory, on the mountains of the Makers. There, however, his protection will cease, except perhaps in dreams of guidance. Then we must trust to our wits, the Concept and the Lady, to make the long descent into the Valley of Thorns on foot. Then, by her grace we will go up the other side over the Mountains of the Travellers, across the northern wilds to the Northern Spur where Ürak Tara lies, shrouded in the mists of the Lady, high in the Mountains of Avalon, or, as they are also known, the mountains of the Silver World.'

'You mean Earth? That's what they call it, isn't it, the Silver World?'

'Yes. You will feel a familiarity in the energy of those mountains. But it will be a strange feeling, too, I think. Your world has almost forgotten its roots in the Order of the Makers; almost forgotten Avalon. It will be a shock to learn just how much you have lost.'

'Is that why I have to go to Ürak Tara for my initiation, because it's linked to Earth?'

'Perhaps, partly. For whatever reason, that is where Ürak Tara, the last remaining Labyrinth of initiation, and the Teachers in the wisdom of the Old Order, and the five Tidak, guardians of the minor crystals, are to be found, if at all.'

'If at all! Can't you be more encouraging? What if we can't find it?'

'Then we would make for Avalon, where the Maidens of the Lake – and the wise Fairies, if they live still in the woods by the lake – would be able to teach you what they know, which is a lot; but not as much or as comprehensive as the Labyrinth and the Teachers of Ürak Tara. Also, the Fairies may be able to lead us to Ürak Tara itself, since it is the Lady's enchantments that keep it hidden until the time is right for its unconcealing.'

'Is that the time when the Kortana comes?'

'If the prophetic poems are true, yes.' Korman stood and recited:

When the Tidak from Türás are taken

And the pathways of Faery forgotten

The Goddess is trampled, forsaken,

The Bindrak of Bazragh begotten

When eight Ainenias are spent

And the ninth is in darkness enshrouded

The outcast to the portal is sent

His Tímathan wisdom beclouded

As a comet will come the Kortana

Through star-ways of Beauty hurled

Upon the Ürxura padmara

From out of the Silver World.

Temnarath will come to her aid,

To lighten all her trials,

Makarya will mind the maid

From all of Aghmaath's wiles.

Estafar flowers at her feet

Glimtarak goes with the Girl;

Under Ürak many will meet,

For grief a green ensign unfurl.

When Tidak return to Türásë,

The War of the Void will begin;

When serpents encircle Marathë,

Yet hope for the Heartstone to win.

When the Arcra to Tara is taken

And the springs of the Wouivre are woken

The pillars of Aeden are shaken

And the backward words are spoken

Then shall the Loonlith be rent

Then shall the Makers return

Then shall the Iron bar be bent

Then shall the Diamond burn.

'Oh, well that's clear as mud,' said Shelley. She was looking at the rough map, and frowning. 'Why do we have to go through the Valley of Thorns, Korman? Couldn't we just go around it to the west, over there?' She pointed at the gap between the Valley, with the Deadwater Lake and the Dark Labyrinth, and the Aghmaath harbour of Phagra.

'Well,' said Korman, stroking his beard in a way she had not seen him do before, as if he was unsure of what he was saying, 'It is a narrow gap, a treacherous bog, and perilously close to Phagra... Also...there is something I wanted to try to do in the Valley. It is just possible that there will be some way to rescue the Lady. She has been imprisoned there for so long, and I could not come to her...'

'Because you were guarding the portal on the other side of Aeden, waiting for me to appear?' Shelley finished the unspoken part of the sentence.

'Yes. Only once in that time did I meet the Lady, when I left my post to the hermit of the Portal hills, and went seeking her. And we met in the valley, and it was because of me that she was taken and thrown into the thorns. Then I swore not to draw Arcratíne or to leave my post again until the Kortana appeared, or I died waiting for her. But now you are here, and we are so close to the Valley, I am tormented by the thought that she is still there. I am drawn there as a hopemoth to the candle's flame.'

'But we could get caught!'

'Yes, and we could go to the west and still be caught: that path would take us under the shadow of the Hills of the Phangür Aghinax, who never sleep, they say.' He looked hard at Shelley, then looked away. There were tears in his eyes. 'But you are right, of course. We should go west.'

'I didn't say we should go west, Korman. If you want to try and see the Lady, we can go that way. It's time we rescued somebody from the Aghmaath!'

'Shelley! You are brave and noble!' He paused, and thought. Then he looked at Shelley and said, 'Yes, I believe that if you choose this path, together we could walk in Faery, even in that terrible place, at least for long enough to reach her. Then, who knows, the Mother Thorn may be persuaded to release her, by fire – or this!' He drew his sword and plunged it into a stone, which glowed red for a moment, then cracked in half.

'Yeah, now you're talking!' said Shelley – in English, she was so excited.

'Of course I'm talking,' said Korman, laughing, puzzled.

'It's a figure of speech we have, silly,' she informed him, laughing. And in spite of all the differences between them, she felt very close to Korman, and knew that she had made him very happy. Then she remembered (not for the first time) the myterious text she had received that fateful day so long ago when she had just arrived on Aeden. 'Why haven't I ever told him?' she asked herself. 'I was scared of her words about leaving this world to come to Her. I didn't want to be left alone. Or was I jealous?'

Aloud she said, 'Korman, the reason I think you should go to the Valley of Thorns is... I think ... the Lady loves you.'

'Of course, she loves us all...' began Korman, then he stopped. His eyes misted over, and he clutched his chest as if in pain.

'When I first came here I got a text, as you know. Well, it didn't end where I said. I didn't say, but I think it ended with a message to you. It went something like:

Korman, My Moonbird

We are one

Break out from this world

To be with me where I am

-Ainenia

Korman stood for a second frozen as if he had been shot in the heart, then he beamed, and shouted a great shout of mingled anguish and joy that echoed around the ring of hills. And they laughed together as if suddenly mad with joy.

Then, swept up in the moment, heedless of all dangers and the white swans which eyed them suspiciously from a distance, they danced around the lakeside, the mountains echoing to Korman singing the Guardian war chant,

Hethür, Krithür, Shaktha!

No more was said of the matter, but from then on Korman seemed to Shelley to be a different man, more troubled and more joyful, torn with longing and with fear that he would never be able to answer her call – or that she was already dead.

As Korman practised his swordplay, Shelley worked on her moves with the staff, thinking about how good it is to fight for the Right – and for Love. But she couldn't help wondering if Korman knew what he was doing, getting ready to use Arcratíne before the Lady gave the word.

'Maybe he thinks she will tell him it's time when he comes to her,' she speculated. But she didn't like to question him on it, and spoil the moment.

That night Korman meditated upon the Lady, Avalon and the Zagonamara, and their place within the Concept of the Guardians. 'Are they not ancient wisdoms which go back to the Templar ancestors? I do not know from whom they received those teachings, but I begin to see more clearly how they fit together. And I give thanks, Lady, for Shelley through whom you have taught me so much. And brought me the message for which I hardly dared to hope.'

He resolved to try again to open the hopeflower by directing love onto it. He took the flower out of the battered little wooden box in which he still carried it, and gazed upon it. To his delight, with a faint glow of white light it slowly unfolded to the perfect star shape, white as snow. 'The little star of hope, easily overlooked by the heart – until it is lit by Love,' he murmured, 'which lights the darkest valley when sun and moon are hidden! Now I am ready.' The aroma of the hopeflower lingered in the cave as he lay down to sleep in perfect peace.

Chapter Forty

Journey to the Brink

That night the white Ürxura returned, and lay at the cave mouth until dawn, when they awoke to see him patiently waiting there, a beautiful but ominous sign of their destiny moving forward again into peril.

After a quick breakfast they took a final look at the lake. Mists hung over its silvery sky-mirror, the mountains and the sacred island wavered in its depths as the white swans glided on its surface.

Then they climbed on the Ürxura's broad back and galloped away to a narrow pass in the north which Shelley had not seen before. Following the winding valley beyond, they came out again into the wide world, or rather the uplands under the brooding southern arms of the Tor Enyása. Looking back they saw that a mist seemed to cover the entrance to their secret valley, and it was lost to sight as if it had never been.

Shelley's thoughts turned to the road ahead. 'I could get killed and never return back there, ever,' she murmured, and her stomach did a flip at the thought. She felt very young to be thinking about facing death, but also very adventurous. It was hard not to feel brave, sitting up high on a galloping Ürxura, riding in the realm of Faery.

They sped as if on a magic carpet over the hills, fording lakes and streams in the highlands of the enchanted land of the Ürxura, skirting the patches of thick fern and berry-laden bushes, but heading always uphill and west. Bright-plumed birds – parakeets, Shelley thought – like green and yellow jewels flew up as they passed, then circled round squawking and landed in the bushes again.

As they rode, Korman told Shelley all he knew of the country that flowed by. The Ürxura was taking them deep into Faery, and the whole land was pure and fresh as if newly sprung from the Womb of Worlds through the magic of the Makers.

They stopped in the golden afternoon on one of the grassy ridges which rose ever steeper to the great arm of the Makers. They found a little spring-fed pool under a mossy limestone ledge, and they washed and filled their waterbottles from its magically refreshing waters. The Ürxura drank deep, then grazed the rich clovers and flowering meadow grasses about the pool while Shelley and Korman ate some of their remaining supplies from Sanmara, then picked some apples and peaches in a deserted orchard by the stream that flowed down from the spring.

They sat and ate the fruit, making the most of what remained of their last day in friendly territory. The gloomy ridges of the Southwest Arm marked the boundary. Beyond were the thorns and the strongholds of the enemy.

'It is a pity we must pass over the southern regions of Aeden in such haste,' said Korman, digging another peach stone into the soil where they sat. 'It had been in my mind that the journey we have been making around the Starfish Isle is for a purpose – part of your training. I had thought to teach you many things through the different creatures and forms of life and their wisdoms, coming from the nine different worlds that made up the ancient Order of the Makers. There are descendants of many peoples who crossed over from other worlds and found a home in the southern lands under the protection of the Ürxura. You would have liked the Silk Folk, who dwell in the west. The patient silkworms could teach you many things, as could the patient weavers of fine fabrics fit for the Lady herself. But we are riding like the wind to some great destiny, and I cannot hold it back or turn it aside. Perhaps,' he said with a smile Shelley did not see, sitting behind Korman, but felt, knowing him as she did now, 'perhaps the long years of waiting and musing in my hermit's cave have made me a little too patient, too pedantic.'

'Oh, you don't really think so, do you Korman, you wise old Guardian?' laughed Shelley.

'No, as usual you see right through me, O Kortana. But you could learn a little more of the patience of age.'

The unicorn had finished grazing, and was looking at them. He seemed in no hurry – in fact Shelley felt he was willing them to enjoy themselves a little longer. 'He knows what is ahead of us,' thought Korman, but he carried on talking with Shelley. She was asking him all about the silk weavers and the clothes they made. He knew she was stalling for time.

Finally, when all the fruit they had gathered was eaten, and the seeds planted ('For those who may come after,' said Korman) they set off again. They were sad to leave the beautiful place, and dreaded the end of their journey. After an hour or two of climbing by winding paths the sun was hidden behind the great spur of the Southwest Arm.

They reached the top, and the Ürxura stopped, snorting from the climb. The humans sat on its broad back a little longer, and breathed in the cool, tingling air. Korman pointed out the mountain of the Travellers in the distance. Shelley was shocked to see it so soon. When they set out only that morning she had imagined they would have at least two days or so of pleasant travelling. A mist and darkness seemed to hang about it, and they could see only the higher peaks of its central Enyása, which was, like all the seaward ends of the great mountain spurs of Namaglimmë, a mirror or microcosm of the Tor Enyása in the centre of the island. Both Enyásas were covered in the thorn forests, and evil looked out from them, but it could not pierce the golden mist that was about Shelley and Korman because they were with the Ürxura.

Now they looked reluctantly down over the terrible thickets and thorn hedges of the Valley of Thorns. The golden sun of Aeden was going down in a rack of crimson and purple clouds behind the Aghmaath city and port of Phagra. Ahead and far below, at the bottom of the Valley of Thorns, they saw the line of Lake Deadwater. 'There lies the Avenue of Despair, on the far side of the accursed lake,' said Korman in a low voice. 'And to the left, at the head of the lake, beneath a great Mother Thorn, is the Hill of the Skull, beneath which is the Dark Labyrinth.'

Shelley shivered and hid her face behind Korman's broad back, as if to use him as a human shield from the inhuman minds which searched for her. But the Ürxura swished its tail and stamped and whinnied, telling them that the time had come. He was about to go back. This, they knew, was as far as he could take them. They slipped off his huge white back onto the rocky ground.

'Thank you, in the name of the Lady and all the free peoples of Aeden,' said Korman, bowing low. Shelley tried to bow too, but her legs were stiff and wobbly from the ride and her pack was heavy, nearly tipping her onto her face. She reached up and stroked the long nose of the Ürxura. It nuzzled her hand, then, reading her mind, lowered its horn until she could reach out and stroke it, as she had longed to do. It was pearly white with hints of pink and sea-green; two tapering ropes of ivory spiralling about each other and ending in a polished point, sharp as a needle. The thoughts that came from the Ürxura's mind into hers seemed to be concentrated in the horn, and Shelley guessed that this could be a terrible mind-weapon, not just a skewer for unwary hermits or Trackers. She was awed by the majesty and strength of the creature which had just taken them so far with no signs of flagging. She realised what a privilege it was to have ridden on such a creature, and wished they could ride all the way to Ürak Tara in the safety and comfort of his back.

'How would you learn what you must then, little one?' she heard, and knew that he was hearing her every thought. She hoped she wouldn't make a fool of herself, then realised he would have heard that too. Then she just smiled at him and accepted it.

She found herself asking, 'Why can't you defeat the Aghmaath and stop the thorns from growing over Aeden?'

She heard in her mind the Ürxura's reply, 'We can guard the borders of our own land, for now, but only the Kortana and her friends can go into the heart of their empire of despair and destroy it.'

Shelley wished with all her heart that it did not have to be so, but the Ürxura said, 'The greater the task, the greater the power that will be found within.'

Then, after telling them of a nearby cave – or rather, impressing on their minds an image of it – and wishing them blessings from the Lady, the Ürxura stood for a moment and they felt its love and a joy (mingled with sadness) flooding over them. They felt it was rejoicing at the thought of all the good things that were about to happen, and asking them to do the same. Shelley found herself feeling, and almost believing, that the road ahead was the most wonderful adventure she could possibly have. Then the Ürxura turned and vanished into the gathering gloom and the radiant joy of his presence faded into a memory.

They blinked and looked around as if awakening from a beautiful dream. In the half-light of dusk, little bats were flitting through the insect-laden air all around them as they went looking for the cave. It was further than Shelley had hoped it would be, and they saw it just as she felt herself getting dizzy with tiredness, doubting the Ürxura's guidance, and feeling as if she would faint. Korman, seeing her exhaustion, carried her the rest of the way, then set her down gently on the sandy floor of the cave. He prepared to make camp for the night, but lit no fire. They were on the very borders of the enemy's realm now.

Shelley was nodding off before he had prepared their supper. It was now only a few hours before they would have to face the most dangerous part of the journey. Korman stood at the cave mouth and looked out over the darkened valley, where the dull red fires of sacrifice burned in a radiating pattern, almost like city streetlights on Earth, in long lines from the three great Mother Thorns of the valley. He saw the dim lights of Phagra to the west, and thought of all the children labouring on into the night in the dark factories. Then he turned south and saw the Enyása of the Makers in the distance, and hope stirred in him as he remembered a tale of the Golden Age of the Order. In that tale the Makers themselves set in motion the vast processes which had formed this whole land, raising it from the primeval seas of Aeden.

'The darkness cannot overpower the light, for Hethür, the One, rules over all, and through the Concept, Krithür, draws all to it,' he murmured, reciting words from the lovingly illuminated wisdom text of the lost Tan Krithür, inscribed in letters of gold on the great Emerald Table.

He thought of the Round Table, carved from a single crystal gem, made in the Fire World by the Makers, which stood on the Kor-Edartha plateau, long ago when that place was called by another name, and kings and queens ruled the Silver Planet in the name of the Order, before the rebellion, before Atlantis; before the Silver planet fell into darkness and the Portal was closed; before Korman's ancestor, the Templar Knight, marched to Jerusalem with his brethren in search of certain lost treasures, and was directed to sail to Silverwood in the far south of his world.

Even as his mind pondered all these things, his grieving heart reached out over the gulf below to the place where the Lady had stood trapped in the thorns ever since that disastrous day when he was the cause of her capture by the Aghmaath. And he knew the quest was burning in him and would give him no rest and abide no turning aside until he stood before her once again, sword unsheathed, to free her from her living death in the Mother Thorn, which allowed her neither to live nor to die. He flexed his right arm, which had for so long been withered, and now it was strong, ready to strike down the enemy.

He polished Arcratíne carefully, then watched it far into the night vibrating in the earth at the cave mouth. He listened to the subtle impressions filtering through it. Most of all he strained to catch a glimpse or a sound of the voice he loved most in the world: that of Ainenia, Lady of the Nine Lives. But he heard nothing but the faint voices of memory. He wondered if this was indeed as the count of legends had it, her last life, and if they had come to the end of the Age, and the final downfall of the ancient Order.

Dawn finally came, like any other except for the dread in Shelley's heart, and the calm and implacable purpose in Korman's. A sickly light streaked the leaden thorn-lined horizon behind the Tor Enyása looming blackly above them, once a place of light and love, now a ghastly fortress, haunted by the Aghmaath, heartless crusaders from a world of despair. Their flag, the hexagon of scythe blades in ghostly white and blood-red whirling about a central tail-biting snake on a black ground, fluttered slowly in the dawn breeze over the five lower peaks and the five higher peaks where once the sacred groves shone with the light of the five world-crystals.

'But still the inner peaks hold them at bay, though the Arcra-Nama is gone,' muttered Korman as he gazed up through the spyglass, blinking in the early light as he waited for Shelley to finish her ablutions.

Shelley was washing in a rock pool fed by a little spring in the crags above the cave. The water was cold and pure – she was getting to like cold water, luckily, she thought grimly – and she cupped it in her hands and watched it trickle away over the lip of the pool and down a steep little gully towards the Valley.

The Valley. Her stomach churned as she imagined its horrors: the sharp, clinging thorns; the Aghmaath, Thornmen lying in wait at every turn of the thorn tunnels; the horrible lake where the Avenue of Despair was; and, almost more horrible than anything, the Lady impaled on the thorns of the Avenue, neither living nor dead... 'I want to go back,' she thought, suddenly resentful at what was being asked of her. 'Back to the Ürxura country where it's safe. Or back to Sanmara... or no, maybe right back home to mum and dad and the good old boring, safe city and being just a girl again.' She had the feeling this was another of those thresholds Korman kept telling her to notice, after which life would never go back to what it was. That if she followed Korman down into that valley, anything could happen – good things beyond her imagining. She was not convinced. 'I just want to go home,' she thought.

'You can never go home... any more...' the familiar words came back to answer her, from the Moody Blues song on the old record which her father often used to play when he was depressed. She clenched her teeth and sighed.

'Well, I guess good old Korman's with me. I'll have to trust he'll get us through,' she told herself. 'And I did want to grow up, one day. Just not quite this fast!' She imagined her old selves slipping away from her like ghosts, complaining, while she went on boldly without them.

She fell in behind Korman and checked that her silver helmet was well-fastened as they began the slow trek down the mountainside into the Valley of Thorns. Bootnip was buried in the bottom of Korman's pack, and there he intended to remain – he felt the menace of the Valley and did not want to see anything. And far below from every direction they heard the doleful gongs and chanting of hymns to the Void.

Chapter Forty-one

The Dead Forest

They quickly descended to a level where the grasses and dainty alpine flowers gave way to thick clumps of thorns, through which they had to carefully pick their way. Shelley was surprised to see how many types of thorn there were, sometimes all one kind together, like little armies holding a ridge or outcrop, and sometimes a confusion of many kinds, with long or short thorns, sharp bristles like cacti, and trailing, bristling tendrils. Some were flowering in shades of blue and violet, thistle-like, attracting bees and hornets. Others had seeded and handfuls of silky parachutes were starting to lift off into the wind.

'Are these all the Aghmaath's thorns?' asked Shelley.

'Yes, they are the lesser thorns, trial offspring of the Mother Thorns, mutations to test the environment. If some perish, others will flourish in the soil of this place, and prepare the way for the Mother Thorns.'

'What happens when they've spread all over? How will anyone be able to go anywhere?'

'The Aghmaath put out a scent from their feet which stops the young thorns from growing where they have recently walked. In this way paths and tracks are kept open.'

'That means, wherever there's a path, there's probably going to be Aghmaath?' asked Shelley with a shudder.

'Of course. That is why we avoid their paths, wherever possible.'

'Well, how do we get through that, down there? It looks like a whole wall of thorns, a creeping kind. It's like mum's worst nightmare for her back garden! And she thinks wandering willy is bad!'

'That is now called the Dead Forest, or (by the Boy Raiders), the fungal forest. There is a smothered wood beneath that canopy of thorns, and until the trees all rot away, it is possible to walk underneath.'

'Possible, but not pleasant, right?'

'Well, it will be dark under there, and there is gograth (fungus) of course – a lot of that – and some creatures that are not so pleasant, but...'

'What kind of creatures?'

'Land crabs, mostly, and the odd dragon-snake.'

'Land crabs?' Shelley didn't mind ordinary crabs, as long as they stayed in the water where they belonged. She had sometimes walked round the rocks fishing with her father and heard them scuttling for cover as she approached, and seen them sitting in the crevices, their big pincers open, ready to attack.

'Yes. I have heard they started to move up from the beaches where they lived on the fruit of the palm trees...'

'Coconuts, I guess,' thought Shelley.

'...and they thrive in the semi-darkness under the thorns.'

'What do they eat now?'

'Fungus and fallen seeds, perhaps, and dead creatures.'

'Would they bite people?'

'Only in self-defence. Like nearly all animals.'

They picked their way down the long thorn-infested slope in silence. The thorn wall got nearer and nearer, until finally they stood at its edge, and as far as the eye could see their way was blocked.

'Now we must find a way under the thorns,' said Korman. He pulled out his knife. 'Luckily, these are not the Mother Thorns, which move and entrap. Luckily, too, we have these knives from the Trader. Any ordinary knife would soon become useless: the thorn stems have tiny crystals of a substance like sand which blunts almost any blade.' Shelley saw that the edge of his knife was made up of a glittering material like glass, which she realised was a row of diamonds, marvellously fitted together, finely serrated like a stay-sharp knife. She unsheathed hers, and saw that it was the same. Now that they were on the way, it didn't seem nearly as bad as she had imagined, and she found all the new things she was learning helped her forget the fear.

Their knives cut easily through the outer layer of curling creepers, revealing a dark hole beneath. Korman crawled in first, and after some hesitation Shelley followed. They were able to stand up after a few feet, and as their eyes adjusted to the gloom, they saw, stretching out before them and sloping off into the darkness, a forest of decaying trees. The white lichen hung in tatters from their branches, and bark was peeling off and lay in piles at the feet of the trunks. It was a dismal sight, and smelled of fungus and decaying wood. Shelley kept looking out of the corner of her eyes for any sign of scuttling creatures.

They carefully pulled the cut thorns over the hole they had made, taking one last look at the daylight, then went on down the slope, their feet scuffling through the decaying leaves and bark. Some of it got into Shelley's shoes, which she had got at the market at Baz Apédnapath, but which already had holes in them. They went through a patch of puffballs which, when trod on, made the air white with spores. Korman put some of the smaller puffballs in his pack. 'To eat later on,' he said.

'Ugh, you can!' she replied.

The way became steeper, and they slithered down through slimy leaf mould and rotting branches covered with clammy, rubbery fungi until they came to a gully in the hillside, angling down to their right. The dead tree-boles were higher here, standing tall and fluted like cathedral pillars, pale and barkless. It took a few seconds for Korman to decide which way to take, and in the stillness their breathing sounded loud.

Then they became aware of a clicking sound all around them, and to her horror Shelley saw the outstretched pincers of the huge landcrabs, higher than any crab pincers should be. She saw for a split second their pale fat carapaces and their black eyes on stalks, then she was screaming and running for her life down the gully.

'Wait! They're not after you!' called Korman, running after her, 'They're just eating the fungi. Look!' Shelley saw she was kicking into many white and pale yellow growths on the forest floor, and then she screamed again as her shins bumped against a cluster of crabs, all busy devouring a large white fungus. Instantly their pincers went up, and she heard them snap as she leaped over them, went to run, and fell headlong into the musty-smelling mould. She shut her eyes, expecting to feel the clamp of sharp pincers on her body, but nothing happened. Korman came running and bent over to help her up.

'It never helps to panic,' he said calmly, and helped her to brush herself down.

'Sorry, Korman, I just freaked,' she replied, blushing in the semi-darkness.

'All is well,' he replied. But just then she saw the bag which had fallen from his pack.

'What's that you dropped?' she asked, picking it up. 'It looks like a torture kit!'

'I did not want to alarm you, Shelley. It is a surgical kit I bought with the knives in case...'

'In case what?'

'A Mother Thorn should become stuck in either of us.'

'I think I'd rather put up with the thorn.'

'I think not. They are very painful, and migrate inwards to the heart. But let us hope we do not need to use these.' He put the bag back in his pack. 'Now, we must go on, carefully. The trees, and the thorn covering, are beginning to thin.'

Shelley saw shafts of sunlight ahead, filtered through leathery thorn leaves which gave the light a brownish-green tinge. They were coming to more level land, sloping slowly down towards the Valley of Thorns and Lake Deadwater. The air felt thicker, somehow, stifling and still. They had left the crabs behind and there was no sign of life, except for the shrill mournful piping of the occasional unseen bird in the thorn canopy high above. The patches of light increased, and they hurt Shelley's eyes. She had not slept very well, and something in the air – the spores of the fungi, perhaps – had irritated her eyes.

All that day they travelled under the gloomy cover of the dead forest under the thorns. When the light had faded from dim to almost non-existent, Shelley finally flopped down on a drift of decaying leaves and said, 'I can't go any further! Not even if all the crabs in this horrible place are after us!' She listened, just in case, but all she heard was Korman's slow heavy breathing as he opened the packs and fumbled for the gear.

'There can be no fire – apart from the danger of discovery, this whole forest is dry as tinder,' he said as he set up their cheerless camp. They ate and drank a little – neither of them was really hungry. Korman conserved their supplies by eating some of the puffballs, but Shelley ate only fruit. The leaves, when they lay down to sleep, stank of mould, and rustled annoyingly under Shelley's head as she tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable.

'What is that smell?' Shelley asked, sitting up. She was also beginning to feel odd, and there was a taste on her tongue she could not identify.

'It is the blue fungus, Bela gograth. It glows with a blue light in the darkness, and its spores are what you can smell. Never eat it or touch it! It is a potent hallucinogen, and will open you to very dangerous places in the Dreamweb, where the Aghmaath would easily find you and take over your mind.'

'As if I would eat that stuff!' Shelley laughed at his concern. She watched the treetrunks begin to glow bluish as the light failed, before checking her helmet and lying down again to try and get some sleep. She was feeling so tired she fell asleep well before she had settled on the least uncomfortable position. Neither she nor Korman noticed Bootnip crawl out of Korman's pack, waddle over to investigate the alluring, crystal-like glow, and start nibbling at the fungus. It was not much to his liking, so he waddled back to the pack, crept inside, and fell asleep with a disappointed grunt and a sigh.

In the night there were various loud rustlings, and a wind got up, sighing in the thorns and dead branches overhead, then died away. Bootnip stirred in Korman's pack, then went back to sleep, curled up around a crystal, dreaming of bright blue female anklebiters he was wooing with Shelley's blue diamond (which he had finally managed to steal). The exhausted humans slept on, but Bootnip was feeling restless. The female anklebiters, now multicoloured and singing like moonbirds, scampered off into the darkest places of the forest. Bootnip followed them and was gone.

In the dead of night the humans were startled awake by a strange, unearthly howling, thin and shuddering, ending in a rhythmic sound like an angry wurrier, but deeper, as if it came from the throat of a much bigger creature altogether. The sound came from not far ahead in the dead forest, in the direction they were to travel the next day. 'What was that?' whispered Shelley, trying not to move and make the leaves rustle. She did not want that thing, whatever it was, to discover them.

'I do not know... I can only guess.... it sounded like... but they were all hunted down and killed long ago,' whispered Korman. Shelley thought he sounded afraid, and this worried her even more than the nasty sound itself. Korman had told her and Rilke a story about werewurriers once by the campfire, but it had scared Rilke so much that for a while he was eyeing Worriette suspiciously, as if she might turn into one at any moment. Then for a few nights, Shelley had Worriette all to herself: Rilke had been too worried to sleep with her draped over his neck (as she loved to do), in case she strangled him in his sleep...

'You don't mean... you think it's a werewurrier, do you?'

There was another shuddering cry, from further away. The first creature answered, and Shelley listened, hardly breathing, to the sound of loud scampering feet receding into the night.

'Are they gone?' she whispered at last.

'We can only hope so,' said Korman. 'They were rogavala all right, or I'm an anklebiter. Speaking of which, where's Bootnip? Surely he did not sleep through all of that?' They got up, both cursing the little nuisance, and cautiously started to look around under the trees. There came a loud rustling and heavy scampering footsteps as a small dark thing hurtled unsteadily towards them, then veered off and dived into Korman's pack. 'Well, Bootnip's back,' said Shelley.

'Bad boy!' said Korman, but the anklebiter just growled from the depths of the pack. 'He had better not have led the rogavala to us!' thought Korman, but he said nothing.

Korman did not sleep for the rest of that night, but sat with his back to a tree with his hand on the hilt of Arcratíne, watching the dark under the trees – and the branches overhead, from which the hunting rogavala could drop – while the blue gograth glowed on the decaying treetrunks and their sickly scent drifted through the darkness.

In the Dreamweb, a strange multicoloured anklebiter wandered down endless tunnels, making the plaintive mating call of his kind, holding a blue diamond in his teeth. The Aghmaath mindprobers who saw it were amused, in spite of themselves, and smiled, and had to do penance for their sin. None of them thought to probe its mind to find out what it was doing in the Dead Forest, so far from home.

Shelley woke again before sunrise, aching from the network of knobbly treeroots which she now noticed under the dead leaves they had been sleeping on. 'So that's why I couldn't get comfortable!' she groaned, rubbing her arms and shoulders. Korman had heard or seen nothing more of the Werewurriers (if that was what they had heard). Yet they both felt a cold despair seeping into them, colder and darker than the night, and they sat silently until the cheerless dawn.

In the dim morning, they set off again, bleary-eyed, brushing away the fragments of damp dead leaves from their clothes and hair. But the smell of mould stayed in their nostrils.

Then Bootnip appeared at the top of Korman's pack, vomiting. Korman examined the bluish lumps as he wiped them off the outside of his pack. 'This explains his behaviour last night. Bela gograth! He was hallucinating.' Korman gave him a little water, but he would not touch the puffballs Shelley offered him, and nipped her hand before retreating into the pack again. 'Little ingrate!' said Shelley, nursing her hand, and hoping Bootnip's saliva didn't have any of the fungus in it.

Late in the morning they came upon a darker region, which sloped more steeply down. The ground was damper, too. They saw fragments of puffballs, broken and scattered as if by some animal. 'Rogavala! Let us hope they have eaten well and are asleep,' thought Korman. But he said nothing to Shelley.

After a nerve-wracking march through the brooding silence of this darkest region of the dead forest they were relieved to see some real light ahead, though it hurt their tired eyes after the long dimness. They cut through a layer of creeping thorns and stepped out of the darkness, blinking in clear sunlight beside a narrow, branch-choked river. Shelley was surprised to see that the day was so bright and clear. Thick thorns covered the trees on the far bank, and up and down the river.

'Ah, this must be the Rogrha!' said Korman. 'If the map is right, the forest will thin a few miles further on, and we should come out somewhere along the banks of Lake Deadwater. It is a long narrow lake; hopefully we cannot miss it.'

'Hopefully's hardly the word I'd use!' said Shelley. The sunlight now seemed only to make her more fearful of returning to the darkness on the other side.

They found a place where the river was bridged with fallen trunks of once-mighty trees, and edged their way across. Shelley tried not to look into the dingy tea-coloured water below but, half-way across, she did. Swimming lazily upstream, right under the log, was a huge, fat eel. She screamed and slipped. Korman caught her in time, and she pretended not to be frightened of the eel, but Korman felt her shaking, and his heart ached with pity for her. He wished he could turn back and lead her to safety instead of deeper into places of despair and horror.

On the far bank, they cut a gap in the thorns, took a deep breath and plunged back into the dismal forest. Shelley noticed that Korman seemed wrapped in his own thoughts, and hardly paused to comfort her. She began to imagine he was annoyed at her for nearly falling into the river.

After what seemed like hours of gloomy thoughts and trudging monotony, Korman broke the silence.

'I think the trees are thinning. We must be cautious.'

They trod on tiptoes through the dead leaves and fallen branches, keeping to the cover of the tree trunks. Shelley's spirits began to lift a little. She felt that anything would be preferable to that endless dead forest. Then directly ahead where the light promised liberation, they saw a sight which they had both been dreading. Completely blocking their way was a high, grey-green thorn wall. It was very different from the thorns that were covering the dead forest; these had tendrils which moved of their own accord, the thorn-points were longer, and the wall more impenetrable and much higher. And it creaked.

'This is it. The beginning of the real thorns. The Mother thorns are already on this side of the lake,' said Korman in a flat voice.

'He looks like I feel,' Shelley thought. It frightened her to see him so unsure of himself. Usually he was hopeful, almost optimistic, in his quiet way. Something was dragging him down. She felt it too, now that she thought about it; an imprisoning thoughtform seemed to fill the air, enveloping their minds in a smothering hopelessness, herding their thoughts towards the Void, which now seemed the only way out, almost comforting compared with the effort of resisting the thorns.

Reluctant to move, battling thoughts of despair, they looked out from the relative safety of the dead forest at the thorn wall before them. They saw that it had put out branches which arched outwards onto the trees, slowly, relentlessly pulling at the branches, devouring the lesser thorns which covered them.

'Soon the Mother Thorns will have spread to the whole dead forest, and digested all before them, dead or alive,' said Korman. 'Then the only ones who will travel here will be the Thornmen, the Aghmaath themselves, by tunnels and avenues in the thorns which will lead only to their cruel habitations and encampments.'

'What will we do now, Korman?'

'Eat, while we can. And try to make plans.' Shelley hated to hear the uncertain tone in his voice. 'It's not like him,' she thought, with a churning in her stomach.

They ate a scanty lunch, augmented with the puffballs (which Shelley finally tried, just to cheer Korman up, and she found she quite liked them). They were sitting just inside the forest, on a great fallen treetrunk in the gloom in a ring of tall trees, long dead and beginning to rot, but somehow still comforting.

They tried to discuss what to do next, looking out at the thorn wall, its tendrils swaying, sinister even under the midday sun. 'It all comes down to one thing,' Shelley said with an effort. 'Thorn wall or no thorn wall, we still have to find a way down to the lakeside where the Lady is – right?'

Korman sighed. 'But if we try to cut a Mother Thorn, it will coil itself around us, and through the Dreamweb, call for the Thornmen. And if we meet a lone Thornman, and strike him down, others will sense it, and come swiftly from every quarter to avenge him...'

'What about... couldn't we try walking in Faery?' said Shelley. But her heart sank at the thought of even trying. The very air seemed to resist the thought, make it impossible, unthinkable.

Korman bowed his head for a time, then looked up, sadly. 'No, I think not, Shelley, not yet anyway. We are not so far advanced in the ways of the Lady as to be able to find a path through this oppression into the fields of beauty. I had thought we could... but now we are here... the mindwebs about this place...' He wiped the sweat from his brow.

'So, what chance do we have of getting through?' asked Shelley, fighting the sick feeling that seemed to drain all the energy from her body and mind.

'I do not know. Not good enough chance... to justify bringing you here...' His voice sounded far-away, stumbling, muffled. 'I should have listened to my brother, and tried to go around this place... It was my desire to see the Lady... that ensnared me. I think we – I – have been lured here, deceived by the cunning Dreamcasters, perhaps by Rakmad himself. I think they know we are here. They will be coming for us. Forgive me, Shelley, if you can. I have failed again.'

Shelley's insides felt strange, and the heavy, sinking feeling increased, but she made a huge effort to sound cheerful. 'Of course I forgive you. I'd want to see her again if I were you, after all those years, and try to save her.'

'But now, Korman the Outcast has failed her again, and failed you, and all Aeden.'

Shelley's nerve broke, and now she felt as hopeless as Korman sounded. The thorns seemed to emanate despair from each point, piercing her mind with a thousand pains. She heard herself saying, 'So there's no way out.' Then the ground seemed to undulate and she staggered, clutching at the air, and fell to the ground.

Chapter Forty-two

The Fellowship of the Void

In the thorn thickets around about, the Aghmaath felt the summons. 'Go to the southern border of Zaghrabinrakah, the Third Mother,' croaked the voice of Phagrapag, Master Inquisitor of the Dark Labyrinth. 'There you will find the Girl and the Guardian. They are lying in a glade at the edge of the forest. Already their spirits draw near to the gates of blessed despair. Bind them and bring them to the Labyrinth. Make sure they see the enthorned rebels along the way.' He sounded almost smug, if that were possible in one so advanced in the Way of the Void. For as Tergarax the Didact of Phagradak had written:

Account nothing a triumph; smile at nothing; for laughter is anathema to the Void, and Success is as a rotten carcass hanging upon the thorns, fit only to be picked over by the thornbirds. For only when all life, even your own, hangs upon the Thorn can the Return to the Void be achieved.

The patrols took chains and shackles, and thorn spears in case the Guardian gave any trouble, and set off along the hedge. 'Not long,' thought Phagrapag, 'and they will be ours. And all that they have.' He thought of the Vapáglim, but buried the thought deep.

As Shelley struggled against the growing darkness before her eyes and the roaring in her ears, she cried out to the Lady. She awoke from her faint. She was lying on the forest floor. Looking up she saw the circle of dead trees, Korman slumped against the log in despair. There was a rusting as Bootnip emerged groggily from his pack, threw up the last bits of the blue fungus, nosed around dolefully in the dead leaves and disappeared into the pack again.

Shelley felt a sense of approaching danger, but also of a growing magic which was deflecting it. She lay still, waiting. For a long time nothing changed. Then slowly the great boles of the dead trees began to shimmer with a light which spread life and colour until the dead circle became a fair glade in a forest, with birds singing in the green canopy and a carpet of golden leaves underfoot. The fallen tree trunk became green with moss. An exquisite golden butterfly sunned itself on it then took off to swirl in ascending flight with many others, blue and gold, bright gems of life in a cathedral of nature.

Shelley scrambled to her feet, and pulled Korman up. They looked about them in wonder. Then they both saw her: the Lady, dressed in translucent blue, wearing a garland of hopeflowers, walking joyfully into the glade, and the smell of summer flowers was in the air.

'Lady! I have failed you again!' cried Korman, kneeling in mingled grief and joy.

Shelley called out, 'Lady, please, help us!'

'All will be well, Shelley, for Korman will guide you – and you will guide him,' she whispered into their minds. Korman was overwhelmed by her love and faith in him that, beyond hope, he now saw in her eyes. He bowed his head to receive her blessing. Shelley looked at her, and they smiled at each other. She felt her heart would burst for joy. Then the Lady was gone.

Shelley knew now that together Korman and she would find, or be given, a way through. She knew she was chosen, and did not need ever again to look at the surface of things, which exists only in the mind, but could always see through to where Faery, like a shining sea of magical possibility, lay all about and within her. And the golden haze of the Lady confused the minds of the Thornmen as they converged on Shelley and Korman, and Phagrapag's mindwebs of despair which had almost ensnared them dissolved like mist and cobwebs in the sun.

'Now I will call this place blessed, which a moment ago was accursed,' said Korman as they rose to go. He seemed to be in a happy daze, but Shelley had a mounting sense of urgency – and a message of hope. 'I think there's a gap somewhere under the hedge. Come on, let's see,' she urged. Korman looked doubtful, but he followed her.

She walked in faith to the huge thorn hedge looming above them, overhanging, blocking out the sun; and after a few long moments of desperate searching she saw the small gap she had been hoping for.

'Look!' She pointed, almost touching the thorns in her excitement and relief.

'Do not touch the branches! They will hold you fast and paralyse you until the Thornmen come!' warned Korman.

'I know, you've warned me enough times! Come on, hurry!'

She looked up and down the hedge, expecting to see the Aghmaath coming any second. She was getting a sense of their movements, she was sure of it. She dived into the gap and disappeared. Korman, being bigger, hesitated. Then, just as the Aghmaath patrol rounded a bend in the thorn hedge, he threw his pack into the dark opening. Bootnip grunted in protest, but stayed hidden. Then Korman lay on the ground and wormed into the gap between two gnarled branches with suckers going down into the earth like twisted iron bars, only just far enough apart for him to squeeze through. He found himself looking into the inside of the hedge, dark and close. His cape was caught by the thorn points which protruded in cruel spirals around the thick interlaced branches. He felt one jab into his thigh, and grimaced, but said nothing. He would have to dig it out later... He pulled, ripping his cloak. Then he, too, was inside the thorn hedge. He heard Shelley ahead of him, suppressing a scream as giant cockroaches scuttled away into the litter on either side of the tunnel.

There was a tramping sound behind. He turned painfully and saw a glimpse of the long scaly feet of Aghmaath warriors stalking along the hedge. They stopped, and Korman held his breath. Then they carried on, and he sighed with relief.

'Come on,' called Shelley in a strained whisper. They crawled painfully on their stomachs through musty dry twigs and thorns until they were deep in the twilight beneath Zaghrabinrakah, the third Mother Thorn, and she began to be dimly aware of them, and the air began to feel hostile, stifling, filled with a desire for the eradication of all other life. The only sound was an occasional crackle of thorn branches as they grew, sucking the life from the earth and strengthening the binding, piercing sinews of Zaghrabinrakah, whose centre lay almost a mile away, towering over the thorn fields of slavery that were divided up by cruel hedges like the one under which they now painfully crawled. Shelley was starting to feel claustrophobic and breathe too fast, as if there was not enough oxygen, and Korman was beginning to wonder who had made the tunnel, and whether it was just a trap set by the Aghmaath, when they turned a corner to avoid a massive twisted root, and saw a greenish light ahead.

Shelley turned to say 'About time!' when something moved in her hair. She reached up and touched what felt like a large prickly thorn twig, until it started to move, pulling strongly away from her fingers. She jerked her hand away.

'Korman! Get it off me!' she whispered as calmly as she could, but it was starting to crawl down her neck, and she clenched her fists so as not to scream.

'It is harmless, just a stick insect,' said Korman, soothingly, and he picked it up carefully and placed it on a branch behind him.

'Ugh, horrible thing! It's got sharp prickles!' said Shelley.

'It has to, to blend in.'

'And what about those giant cockroaches? I suppose they have to be here too?'

'Yes, if the thorn is to have well-digested leaf-mould on which to feed – and dead cockroaches, and not rely solely on the animals it snares.'

'I hate these thorns!' whispered Shelley. A shiver passed through the hedge all around them, and the spikes of the thorn seemed to bristle even more than before.

'Do not send out thoughts like that!' warned Korman. 'Remember, make your mind a mirror as I have taught you. We must blend in!'

'All right, all right! I'm doing it. Now can we just get out of here?'

'I have been thinking. The Mother Thorn has passageways for the Aghmaath to pass unseen along the branches, these thorn hedges. We must be prepared to cross such a passageway. I will go first.'

'OK, but let's not stop until we're out! I'm suffocating in here.'

They crawled on for a few more feet, then Korman froze. Shelley followed his example, trying not to listen and look for insects among the dry branches lining the tunnel. Then she heard it: the tramp of feet getting nearer. Now it was over their very heads, and the roof sagged slightly with every footfall. There was a passageway directly over their heads, and a patrol of Thornmen was passing along it. It was just like her dream the night after the ambush at Thorngate, only this time it was real. She hardly breathed as she made her mind as calm and mirror-like as she knew how. Then it was past, and the tramp of heavy clawed feet faded into the distance. Korman motioned to her, and they hurried on towards the beckoning greenish light, which grew until it was dazzling. They had finally reached the other side of the hedge.

Crawling out carefully under the threatening branches, they found themselves in a very different space, very 'inside' feeling, a field, circular or perhaps (Shelley thought) roughly hexagonal, bounded by high thorn hedges. Their hearts sank as they looked around. They had a sense of trespass, as if they had blundered into someone's living room. It was quiet and green, a sleepy sort of place, and reminded Shelley of a walled garden or an orchard with high windbreaks. It looked peaceful and orderly after the wilderness outside. But a smoke-blackened earthbrick structure in the centre, like a tall thin beehive or garden incinerator, gave it a vaguely sinister feel.

A group of people who had been quietly hoeing the earth a little way off looked up and saw the two intruders. They put down their hoes and walked soundlessly over to Shelley and Korman, who had not noticed the gardeners until it was too late.

'Be on your guard! Do not look directly into their eyes. Follow my lead,' whispered Korman. But Shelley was reassured by the smiles on their faces as they drew near. They seemed very peaceful, all dressed alike in loose smocks so that it was hard to tell if they were men or women. They were strangely uncurious.

'Greetings in the name of the Void,' said one, smiling, extending a suntanned hand.

'The Void! Did he say the Void?' thought Shelley, a nasty shock passing through her as Korman calmly shook the hand. She looked up at Korman, horrified. It felt like a nightmare where the most innocuous things turn sinister. Korman was conversing normally with the person as if he hadn't heard what he just said.

'We are strangers here,' he was saying. 'Tell me, who is your leader? We come in peace and wish for safe passage over your fields.'

'None may travel here except the Travellers, and those whom they take when the time for their final rest is come. You must know that.' The man, if he was a man – he was smooth-faced and his voice was soft like a woman's – looked about thirty, the oldest of the group, and their spokesman.

'Where are your homes, good people?'

'In the shelter of the Mother, of course, in the bowers she provides.'

The man pointed to the perimeter hedge. Shelley could see the hollows where the thorns parted to form little alcoves lined with dry grasses and feathers, like nests.

'How long have you lived here like... this?' Shelley blurted out, horrified.

'All our lives, that is, our real lives, which only began when we were enlightened,' said the spokesman, turning to Shelley. He was still smiling, in a fixed sort of way. The others all nodded approvingly and smiled at the speaker.

'Well, we want to be going now, don't we Korman?' she said, alarmed at their bland, blank looks and vacant eyes, and Korman's apparent friendliness with them.

Korman was about to answer her, but one of the group exclaimed, 'Want? Have you not yet tasted the fruit of enlightenment and found rest from all wants?' The smiles were gone now, and they looked suspicious. Another of the gardeners said, 'Korman? We have been told to look out for one by that name, a rebel, and a girl, his dupe!' He ran to the gong that hung in the centre of the field by the black oven, and struck it three times. The spokesman said,

'You must wait here. The Masters are coming.'

They formed a circle around the strangers and linked hands. There were perhaps twenty of them. Korman cried 'Go!' and he and Shelley rushed the circle. There was a moment of horrible grappling. The circle gave, but did not break. The people were calm but surprisingly strong.

'We do not want to hurt you,' said Korman.

But they replied, 'You cannot hurt us. We belong to the Void. Pain and death are our friends.'

They stood impassive, smiling. They began to chant a hymn whose words, as far as Shelley could tell, were all about peace and rest and embracing pain and death. She felt her legs go weak. 'This is a nightmare,' she thought. 'The Aghmaath will be coming any second while we're just standing here listening to hymns!' Aloud she said, 'Korman, do something!' But he seemed mesmerized, his head bowed. 'It's his old training coming back, from when he was captured when he was a boy!' she thought, sick with fear.

Then Korman raised his head and looked at her, smiling, but his eyes were intense, urgent. 'The way is not to attack, but to love! Remember the Lady! Walk in Faery!' he whispered. The chanting droned on, the women calling on the Void, then the men calling the names of the Mother Thorns of the Valley:

The Void!

-Zaghrabnah!

-The Void!

-Zaghrabindrah!

-The Void!

-Zaghrabindrakah!

-The Void!

Shelley felt she was going mad, but she shut her eyes, trying to see the path of Faery. But all she could see was the gaping Void as she had seen it when the hermits attacked, only now it was closer, at her very feet. All she had to do was take one step and it would all be over. Peace, rest... The chanting filled her head. She began to hum along with it, still trying, weakly now, to remember what it was she didn't like about this. It felt so good, so easy. The people were one with her, welcoming her to the fellowship of the Void... Perhaps Korman had got it all wrong, and they were not the enemy after all, but friends, come to show them the way... They were so nice... She felt her being merging with the group and the chanting.

Then through the growing, peaceful haze in her mind she heard Korman whispering urgently, 'Shelley! Remember Faery! Remember the Lady! We have to walk in Faery!' She felt intensely irritated at him for a second, but knew he was right. With an effort she remembered a time before they entered the field of the Mother Thorn, so long ago it seemed, when Korman was her trusted friend, and she was Shelley, and she was free. With an effort she remembered the glade and the butterflies. She heard the beautiful voice of the Lady singing to her, then a vision of her flooded back into her mind, and a silver-golden light, free and bracing, flooded her being with a joy that was quite different from the warm, sickly, resigned happiness of the group. The chanting faded. She opened her eyes, and sighed with relief and joy: they were now in a green open field full of wild flowers and apple groves leading down to a beautiful blue lake. She took Korman's arm and together they walked calmly through the still-chanting group, through the ghostly thorn hedges and down towards the Faery lakeside.

The group looked about in alarm. The strangers were gone. And one of the group looked at the grass where they had walked, and there were star-shaped flowers where none had been before. He vaguely remembered an old poem. It said something, he thought, about a Jewel-Caller, and flowers that bloomed in her footsteps. He felt a piercing pang of longing. Then the haze closed over his mind again, and he joined the others in searching for the two fugitives who had so mysteriously disappeared.

Gradually, insidiously, as Shelley and Korman walked further into the depths of the Valley of Thorns, the mindwebs thickened. Ghostly cobwebs brushed against their faces and evil voices sounded about them, as if trying to break into their happy dream. 'This nice place is just a dream, it's not real,' thought Shelley. And as she thought it, so it was. The vision and the freedom vanished, leaving them standing exposed and desolate in boggy ground. Fortunately they were just outside the perimeter of the Mother Thorn, surrounded only by lesser thorns and rustling reeds. Gongs were sounding in the thornfields, where the whip-like tendrils in the hedges waved, as if feeling for the intruders. It began to be stifling hot. The same sun that fed the creaking thorns was making them faint with thirst.

In front of them was a long lake like the one they saw in Faery, but now it was murky and drear, with oily ripples lapping its muddy shores. To their left, at the head of the lake, was a sight Shelley remembered from her vision in the Deathwagon: a rocky hill with a gaping skull-shaped opening in its side. And up its slopes sprawled, spiny arch after spiny arch, the branches of the huge Mother Thorn which sprang from its base.

'Lake Deadwater!' said Korman in disgust, and the words came out of his parched mouth like a curse as they stumbled to a halt. Evil-smelling water, mocking their thirst, seeped into Korman's boots, spilling over the top of Shelley's. They shielded their eyes from the sweltering sun, now nearly overhead, and squinted across the lake. Something was moving along the thorn-shaded road that ran along the far shore. 'The Deathwagon!' said Shelley in a whisper. It jolted and swayed slowly towards the Hill of the Skull, drawn by two skinny black horses. They watched, mesmerized, as it slowed to a halt. Korman fumbled in his pack and got out the spyglass. Reluctantly he raised it to his eye.

The driver jumped down and opened sliding doors in the sides, revealing thick iron bars like a lion-cage. They heard the rumble of iron on iron. Shelley had the horrible feeling he was opening the doors to show something to the huddled captives inside, something she had already seen in her vision: the Lady impaled in the thorns.

Korman had no need to guess; through the spyglass he saw only too well. Another Traveller, who had been sitting next to the driver, got down and gestured with his whip at the small shape of the Lady in the thorns. He seemed to be lecturing the caged prisoners. Shelley felt sick. The swamp gases were turning her stomach as the sight was turning her mind. She retched, throwing up the puffballs she had eaten. Korman, looking pale and haggard, as if he had seen a ghost, hastily pocketed the spyglass and caught her as she fell to her knees. He had no words of comfort for her now. The sun was dark in his eyes, and the dismal landscape spun around his head. He forced himself to focus his crumbling will, and helped Shelley into the shade of a dead thorn-thicket.

'Rest here for a while. Then we must find somewhere to hide you until I visit – the Lady,' he said with an effort. To himself he said, 'The mindwebs of Rakmad, and Phagrapag his servant, emanate from that hill. We are at the very gates of darkness. I feel it tugging at me, dragging my very soul to the brink of despair of all life, and if I would resign the will-to-life all this suffering would fade into a drugged peace and the Void would open up and give us blessed oblivion. How can we resist? I should not have brought her here.'

He looked down at her, still retching, spitting, holding her stomach, eyes downcast. Pity filled his heart, and he yearned to take her up and carry her off to a place of safety, and let her forget the horror of this hopeless quest, and be a child again.

'The Vapáglim ,' he murmured, and his hand went to the deep pocket where it lay hidden. He imagined the places of safety and beauty to which it could transport them. 'It is perilous to use!' he heard his brother's voice in his head. He looked through the dead thorns at the thorn-covered slopes of the valley, and clenched his jaw.

'But what greater peril than to lie here in this accursed bog, exposed to the Mindprobers and the mindwebs of despair, ringed about with the thorn mazes of the Mother Thorns? They have grown so strong since I was here! I feel their power choking the very air from my lungs. They sense we are here – that she is here.' In the distance he heard the baying of the Dagraath. They did not have much time. He looked back at Shelley.

The Vapáglim ... He had read of them in old accounts of the ancient Order of the Makers. Though they were said to be perilous because they used the power of the Void, they were also said to open pathways between the bearer and things around him which had special beauty. That sounded good! Special beauty... His heart leaped in his breast as a wild hope occurred to him.

'Would a path not open up between the Lady and me? I could go to her, save her, then return...'

Then it was as if his tormented mind split into two. He heard his other half reply, 'But I am a Guardian, sworn to protect the girl, the Kortana.'

'Yet am I not to also be a Guardian to the one I love? Perhaps we are destined to protect the Kortana together, to be as father and mother to her and guide her safely to her destiny? I could go to her now, cut her from the thorns, and return with her to Shelley before the Aghmaath find her.'

'What if the Vapáglim does not work in reverse, and Shelley is left here to die?'

'But the Kortana, surely she would draw the Vapáglim back to her?'

He silenced his inner argument, listening to the sad rustle of dry reeds about their hiding place as a sluggish, humid breeze stirred them. In the shimmering heat of midday, he thought he could almost hear the thorns all about the lake growing, crackling as yet more cruel tendrils unfolded from their protective sheaths and hardened in the sun to deadly points.

'What is the peril Hillgard and the old writings spoke of?' he wondered. 'Do the mindwebs of the enemy make deceptive paths and divert the user of the Vapáglim into a trap? Or does the Void open up and swallow him?' Finally he said to himself, 'No, I cannot risk it.'

'You want to go across to her, don't you?' he heard a gentle voice say, and he looked up with a start. It was Shelley; so good, so full of beauty, putting him to shame with her kindness, thinking of him even in the midst of this horror. He hesitated. 'Yes...'

'Well, that's why we're here, isn't it? To see if we can rescue her? Or at least to comfort her and promise her that we'll be back when we have the power to defeat the Aghmaath. When we've restored the Arcra-Nama.'

Her faith lifted his heart, and he looked at her with affection. 'You read my mind, Shelley! But we must find a better hiding place until dark. The fear will grow as night falls, but at least by night the Aghmaath and their slaves cannot see, except with mindprobes, which we know how to deflect.'

'I know! See that little island out there? It's got thick trees growing on it still, and the smothering thorns will give us good cover anyway. And the water should put the wardogs off our scent.'

'Why, yes! That island was once very fair, and had a small temple dedicated to the Lady and the Zagonamara. It may still be wholesome enough. But how could we get across without being seen?'

'We could cut some of these reeds, and make breathing tubes, and swim underwater. I've seen it in movies.'

'What are these "movies" you speak of?'

'Never mind, let's just do it!'

Korman was dubious, but the sound of the Dagraath's baying was getting closer. Quickly he cut two large reeds, hollow apart from the joints. He picked the longest sections and cut them through again.

'There, that will do,' he said and they each took one and tried breathing through them. Shelley nearly gagged, but cleared her mind and breathed slowly as Korman had taught her to do.

She had a sudden worrying thought. 'Korman, what if we swim off-course?

'I will tie a piece of string from my waist to yours, and guide you as we swim.'

She wondered how he would keep a straight course, but she had learned to trust his abilities, and so she said nothing but 'OK,' as he rummaged in his pack and tied a thin string to his waist and gave her the other end to tie around her waist.

They knew their baggage would get soaked through, but there was no alternative. Then Korman exclaimed, 'Baggage! Of course, Bootnip is in my pack. I will let him out. He will have to swim.'

Shelley was worried at the idea of an anklebiter wanted by the Aghmaath following them, but there was nothing for it. 'Short of drowning him now,' she thought, irritably. Bootnip complained and whined when Korman set him down in the mud, and growled resentfully at Shelley as if he had read her thoughts. They slipped down through the long reeds into the brackish water and felt the mud sucking at their boots. They took them off and put them in their packs.

Then they looked at each other, and Shelley said, 'The Lady.'

'The Lady,' Korman replied, and they slid headlong into the slimy, algae-covered water. Although it was tepid, the feel of the water made Shelley gasp and she swallowed some. It was oily and tasted of decay.

They had agreed to carry on swimming until they touched land – which would hopefully be the island and not the other side, where they would be sure to be seen. The bottom went down surprisingly quickly, and they were soon floating blindly on their backs, kicking underwater, careful not to disturb the surface.

Just as their heads went under, a swarm of black hunter hornets hummed overhead and circled over the water. Finding nothing but an old anklebiter swimming across the lake (they swooped to sting it on the nose but it dived under), they flew back to the Kiraglim who had sent them. Hithrax had tracked the two fugitives in the Valley. Now he frowned; that is, his eyes hooded and the bristles about his tall, bony forehead stuck out menacingly.

'The fools have come into the trap. No matter that they have slipped the noose this time. Let them wander awhile here, and see for themselves the futility of their foolish dreams.' He spat, and turned back to meditate before the black stone and wait for the next alert. It would not be long, he was sure. His Dagraath slunk behind him, ashamed at their failure.

Shelley now had the worst experience she had yet had on Aeden. She felt she would burst trying to suck in enough air through the thin reed, and her body felt horribly exposed to whatever creatures might be in that foul water; and she was nearly gagging at the feeling of the reed in her mouth, yet she could not surface because of the danger of being seen from the shore. There was no way of telling how far they had come; she just had to keep going until she hit land again. 'Don't let it be far, please don't let us miss the island,' she repeated over and over in her mind. Her eyes were shut against the sunlight that filtered through the muddy water over her head, and to stop them from stinging, but they were stinging anyway. She could not feel the string. She hoped Korman was still there. She tried not to imagine the monsters that could be swimming under her, about to bite and drag her down. 'That's what crocodiles do, they grab on and hold you under until you drown,' she thought. 'Then they take you into their underwater tunnels where they leave you to rot, and then they eat you.' Her back and neck prickled and she twisted in fright every time a current of colder or warmer water touched her. She tried not to let her legs dangle too far down into the murky depths.

To her horror she felt something sweep past her left side, not touching her but creating a pressure wave on her skin, and at the same time the reddish light before her closed eyes turned dark as the light was cut off. She screamed under water, and swerved away. The string connecting her to Korman went tight for a second, then loose. 'Just a branch or something,' she told herself. 'Pull yourself together!' But the string was gone; her knot had slipped and she was adrift. For a moment she almost panicked, breathing in short gulps, hyperventilating, feeling for the string with her free hand while the other clutched the breathing-reed shakily. Her limbs began to feel tingly with the excess air. She noticed herself thinking, 'So all along this was how my life was going to end...' But she forced herself to keep going and focus hard on the goal: to reach the island. She tried to feel for it in her mind, her shaky legs kicking as if they had a life of their own. Now the top of her head felt tingly, as if it had antennae. An impression grew as if there was a cool peaceful light above it and she was ascending through the murk and would soon burst up into it and find herself in the shallows of the island.

The island had become in her mind a sanctuary of perfect peace. If she could only hang on, keep kicking, keep breathing, ignore the threat of things in the water, everything would be fine. All the past and the future, except for that one prospect, was blotted out.

She had just reached a state where she felt she could go on as long as she had to, when she felt her heels hitting a muddy slope, then her head. 'Please let it be the island, please,' she prayed inwardly as she struggled to turn onto her stomach and raise her head to look.

Chapter Forty-three

The Ruined Temple

She blinked her stinging eyes open, gasping and gulping in the life-giving air. Korman, dripping and bedraggled but smiling, was reaching his hand down to her and pulling her up onto a warm grassy bank. They had reached the island! Her legs felt like rubber under her, but she was elated.

'Made it!' she grinned, and stretched out full length on the grass, smiling, feeling as if she had just reached heaven. Korman praised her idea and her swimming, (though not her knot-tying) as he wound up the string and scanned the far shore. He saw the tiny black head of the anklebiter approaching, and grabbed Bootnip before he could bite. 'Sorry, old man! No more swimming for a while. Now, we must get under the cover of the trees. The Dagraath will have lost our scent, but they must not see us.'

'There's something in the lake, too!' said Shelley. 'It swam past me, quite close. And it wasn't Bootnip. It was huge!'

'There are many things in the lake: fish, otters, eels... or there certainly used to be,' said Korman. Do not worry about them.'

'It was bigger than any of them, I'm sure.'

'Maybe it was a very big eel,' said Korman.

'Ugh, don't!' shuddered Shelley as they crept into the deep shade of the trees, which were still growing and green, fighting the choking thorns which rambled and snaked up into some of their branches and the tendrils that wound their way over their leaves, one by one squeezing the life out of them. Korman bent down and looked at the base of one of the larger trees, a stately silver fir. 'Look! Something – or someone – has cut the thorn stems at ground level. They are not having it all their own way here at least, it seems.'

'Who could have done it?' asked Shelley. The thought of someone actually striking a blow against the thorns in the Traveller's heartland filled her with hope.

'I have no idea,' said Korman. 'Unless... the cut-marks are very fine, as if a very small knife or axe was used. I wonder...'

'What, what?'

'There used to be Fairies in this valley. But no, they sailed away or died out, or at least retreated to the northern forests of Avalon many years ago.'

'Fairies! How wonderful! You have still got that little tiny book that belongs to them, haven't you?'

'In a wax-sealed envelope, in a deep pocket near my heart.' He touched his chest and his hand rested on the flat box in which the Vapáglim lay. He sighed, and stood up. 'Well, we must decide what to do next. This island has a much more wholesome feel than the rest of the valley. It is cooler, too. Let us hope the Fairies really are here, and that in this place we will see the way forward clearly.' They laid out their wet things on branches, sat with their backs against the cleared fir trunk, and ate a little food.

'This island's quite big, isn't it? We could hide out here for ages and they wouldn't even know we were here,' said Shelley dreamily. She was so relieved to have got to a place of relative safety that she didn't want to think about moving on.

'Perhaps,' said Korman. He rubbed his leg and drew in his breath sharply. 'The thorn point from the hedge when we first went in – it is still in there, working its way deeper. Shelley, can you get the...'

'No way, not the pincers!'

'That is what they are for. You just find the place it went in, look through the eyepiece of the spyglass Dawnrose gave me, and use whatever instrument works best to pull it out. I will look the other way.'

'You want me to try and get it out?'

'If you would. It is near the back of my leg, where it is hard to see.'

Shelley knew it was useless to argue. She took the pincers timidly in one hand and the eyepiece of the spyglass in the other, and gritted her teeth as she peered and probed the wound while Korman restrained the growling Bootnip. She could see the end of the thorn, much bigger than a thistle or blackberry prickle; more like a rose thorn. When she had the end of it firmly, she pulled, but it would not come out. Korman, lying on the ground, winced.

'The separators, use the separators. That pulls the flesh away from the barbs. It must be a barbed thorn.' Shelley wanted to shut her eyes as she inserted the evil-looking tongs. 'Now pull with the pincers,' said Korman. She pulled again, and this time the thorn came out easily. She was shaky but proud as she showed him the bloodied, barbed point.

'I did it!' she exclaimed. Then, remembering Korman, she said, 'You were very brave. I nearly fainted, myself.'

'Guardians are trained to bear with any pain and not fuss about it,' he said, but she could tell he was relieved it was over.

'Will it heal all right?' she asked, looking at the angry colour around the wound.

'Yes, the danger was not from infection – Aeden, as you know, is almost completely free of that – but from the barbs, working inwards to cripple the limb, and from the subtle poison which some thorns release.'

They sat quietly for a while, neither wishing to be the one to bring up the question of the Lady. Shelley knew that Korman would still want to go to her, in case there was any hope of rescuing her, and she was terrified at the thought of going. But even more than the fear of capture was a sort of embarrassment at going to the scene of such shameful humiliation. 'I'd just be standing there staring at her,' she thought. 'And I'd probably start crying, too. No, I'd much rather let Korman go alone, and I'll just lie low here and wait for him to come back.' Then she thought, 'What if he gets caught? What would I do?' But the idea was so horrible she pushed it out of her mind. 'Of course Korman won't get caught. He's very careful and clever.'

Korman, meanwhile, was thinking of ways to get to the Lady without getting caught, and without risking using the Vapáglim, and then he began thinking of all the reasons why he should not go to the Lady, but should try to escape with Shelley immediately and bring her to Ürak Tara; and then he found himself thinking again about ways to get to the Lady.

'I am divided in my mind, as no Guardian should be,' he thought, bitterly. But he could not seem to help himself.

He had just made up his mind to go on with Shelley and not risk seeing the Lady, when Shelley spoke, choosing her words carefully.

'Korman, I think I know what you're agonizing about. You want to go to see the Lady, but you think you should just get me out of here. Well, it's simple: if you don't go to her, then I'll have to. Someone must try. And it ought to be you. You love her, don't you?'

'Yes.'

'Well, sometimes we've just got to follow our heart, right? So, I'll try and be brave and patient, and wait here while you go. Just don't get caught, will you?'

'Shelley, my heart wants to listen to you, while my mind says, "Take the safest way; do not risk the Chosen One and all of Aeden for your own selfish love." '

'But what is Aeden if we can't follow our hearts? What is Faery if we just do what is safest all the time instead of what is beautiful and noble and passionate? I wouldn't feel like saving that kind of Aeden anyway.'

'My heart tells me you speak with the voice of the Lady. I see her in you as you speak! I will go, and trust in our destinies. Thank you Shelley, the Chosen One.'

'Don't mention it Korman, the Romantic One.'

So they agreed that Shelley would stay hidden on the island while Korman crossed over to the Avenue of Despair under cover of night. Then they went further into the quiet forest looking for a good place for her to hide. Shelley could feel the quivering tension and anticipation in Korman as they tiptoed through the undergrowth, mainly filmy ferns and moss and hanging lichens. It was a peaceful, solemn place, as Shelley began to feel when the forest had closed in on all sides. The world outside was now veiled from their sight and soothed from their thoughts by the cool green shade.

They came to a narrow, mossy place overhung with dark branches but with no trees growing on it. 'Here are the remains of a paved way!' said Korman. 'It may lead to the temple of the Lady. Let us follow it!' They took off their muddy boots, as the moss was soft and thick, and it seemed right to approach such an ancient holy place barefooted. The noise of the wind in the reeds and thorns of the lake edge, and the creaking of grasshoppers, had given way gradually to silence, which they now noticed, their breathing and the soft swish of their clothes being the only sound.

Shelley went first, her excitement growing. The path went almost straight towards the centre of the island, as far as they could tell, sloping slightly uphill.

Bending down to avoid the overhanging branches, Korman noticed a strange and beautiful thing happening: where Shelley's bare feet had trod, fragrant white flowers were opening out in the moss.

'Shelley! Look! It is the hopeflowers, opening under your feet!' he called. Shelley turned and looked, and it seemed natural to her that it should be so.

'That's because we're getting near to the temple of the Lady!' she replied, her eyes shining. Now there were apple trees all around, covered in lichen but still hearty, and many bore fragrant fruit, some golden yellow and some glossy red.

The path ended at a flight of shallow stairs covered in deep velvety green moss. At the top of the stairs they found themselves in a circular courtyard, overgrown with ivy and ferns, sunlit but walled in by the tall trees of the forest.

There were lines of overgrown rubble within the courtyard which could have once been walls, and other shapes that looked like stone seats, now overgrown with moss and rambling roses, with some small red blooms on them. 'Look, roses!' said Shelley, and went forward to smell them. But Korman stood still, lost in thought. It was for him a place of dreams and old memories, almost forgotten until now. Shelley felt it too, and looked over at Korman. She went to him and gave him a rose. He took it from her with a bow, and closed his eyes, smelling its perfume.

In the centre of the courtyard they found steps leading down to a wide well, ruined and overgrown with vines but still full of water. They pulled away some of the vines around the steps. The well was deep: although the water was clear, they could not see the bottom. Korman bent down and scooped up some of the cool liquid in his hand. He tasted it, then drank.

'This water is still pure and good to drink,' he said. 'If you camp here while I am gone, you will have no lack of water. This was a sacred well, fed by a spring, where the women of the lake would drink and bathe. Now, we must find a place in the woods nearby for you to sleep.'

'What about over there?' said Shelley. On the far side of the courtyard, just peeking out of the forest, was a little pillared cupola among the green branches and vines. 'It looks beautiful!' she exclaimed, and ran across the courtyard and down the steps on the other side, pushing her way through waist-high ferns. Vines hung with bunches of dark grapes festooned the cupola. There were marble pillars around the front third of it, mostly covered in moss and coloured lichens, with ruined windows in arches between some of the pillars, and walls of polished marble around the back two-thirds. 'Look, there's even a bed!' she exclaimed. A wide marble bench ran around the inside of the wall, littered with fallen grape leaves from past autumns, but quite dry. There were some bunches of dark grapes hanging enticingly from the arches at the entrance. She put her pack down and waited for Korman to join her. Then she said, 'This is where I'll wait for you. I'll be fine here. Look, there are heaps of grapes to eat – as well as all the apples!'

Korman smiled. He reached up and picked a bunch and offered it to her. They ate the sweet grapes together, sitting on the curved bench. Above, the sun blazed almost directly overhead, as the hot morning slowly turned into a long sultry afternoon.

'It is almost midsummer, as it was when I first saw the Lady here, many years ago,' said Korman. 'Tonight I will cross the lake and see if I can rescue her, as I could not do then. Shelley, I have felt all along on our journey together that I was not complete, that I could not train you or help you as I should. I feel that only with the Lady at my side can we bring you safely to your sacred destiny.'

'Korman, don't be silly! You've been wonderful. I've loved every minute of it – almost. What amazing adventures you've led me through! Now you're really going out on a limb, though, aren't you? Going off to rescue damsels in distress while supposedly escorting Chosen Ones to lost castles you don't even know the way to?' Her voice was stern, but her eyes sparkled with fun.

'You mock an old Guardian!' he replied, knowing her well enough now to know she was joking. 'But this will all turn out for the best, I sense it. The air is fragrant with the magic of the Lady, and the power of the Zagonamara stirs beneath our feet.'

After their meal of grapes they organized Shelley's camp, and Korman entrusted his pack to her, saying, 'There is nothing in here I will need until my return with the Lady; or if I do not return, I will not need it at all.'

'Don't talk like that, Korman!' said Shelley as she sorted through the still-wet things and laid them on the ledge where the windows had once been. Now only parts of the leadlighting, with jewels of red and blue and turquoise, clung to the stone tracery in the tops of the arches between the pillars.

Later in the day, her sense of the impending parting – and the riskiness of Korman's mission – increased. Every moment he was still there felt precious to her, and she talked as much as she could with him, and he was kindly to her, though she knew he was distracted. 'After all,' she thought, 'he has waited years and years for the day he could finally come to the Lady.'

All too soon the time came when they sat for a last meal together. They sat in the courtyard at a small round marble table which Shelley had uncovered, in what might have been a round room off the central courtyard. She had gasped when she brushed away the leafmould and moss on top. It was intricately carved, and inlaid in silver and gold, with an image of a man and a woman, or god and goddess, so real they seemed to be stepping out of the carved frame of the table. They were coming up from a stormy beach, hand in hand, and a twin spiral of silver and gold ribbons swirled behind them. These, Korman later told her, were the intertwining symbols of their twin destinies through lifetimes. And around the edge were letters, which Korman read to her, after some thought. 'It has been a long time since I saw the ancient hieroglyphs of the sacred language of Avalon,' he said. 'They are much more subtle and poetic than the hieroglyphs of the Padmaddim. But this is what the inscription says, as well as I can render it in the common tongue of Aeden:

When the Fire and the Rose are one

In Faery we shall run.

'But that is a crude translation; the hieroglyphs have many subtle and beautiful connotations. Each one of them is like a poem in its own right. Together they are like a symphony.'

Shelley saw that there were tears in his eyes as he looked into the distance, as if seeing scenes from the olden days when the table and the whole ruined temple, where they now sat in the golden afternoon light, were newly made. She wondered if they had both lived in some past life in such a place. 'It feels like I'm almost remembering,' she mused, 'but when I try to get it clear in my mind, it vanishes.'

Korman looked at her, as if sharing her thoughts. 'Now, Shelley, we must come back to Now, for this is a sacred time also, though all the Golden Age seems to lie in ruins. All times are golden, from the viewpoint of Faery, which is timeless. Or, as the Waveriders would say, Hishma. May we be brave and wise, and open to the power of the Zagonamara which is in us all, and to the love of the Lady, and to the truth of the Concept which underlies all things. Now we must speak of what you must do if I do not return.' He raised his voice slightly to over-ride her protests.

'If I do not return in three days and three nights, you must trust in the power of the Lady, through whom the Zagonamara flows, and know your own power, which is strong, even as the Lady's, because of the Zagonamara within you, and your destiny ahead of you. So, if I do not return after that time you must cross this lake. Fear not! Formerly it was called the Lake of the Rainbow, and was sacred to the Lady, so you may find that as you swim you will be in Faery. When you reach the northern shore you must turn to the right (not left towards the accursed place where the Lady is impaled in the thorns), and then walk in Faery for a while east, towards the Tor Enyása. And remember! Do not touch the Mother Thorn's tendrils or leaves! They will whip around you quicker than eye can see, and paralyse you before you can even cry out.'

'I know, you've told me many times! I'll be careful,' she replied, smiling. It didn't seem real to her, this hypothetical journey alone, without Korman. He looked at her, concerned at her relaxed manner.

'Good. Then, when the ground begins to rise into the foothills of the Tor Enyása, head towards the Mountains of the Travellers. They will not be far away; perhaps three hours' walk to their base. And when you have climbed these, you will be looking down into another valley, deserted but for birds and wild deer, partly forested and partly grasslands (except to the north where the great Fairy Forest begins).

'And looking to the east across that valley you will see the Mountains sacred to the Silver World, which you call Earth. Somewhere in those mountains lies Ürak Tara, your destination. I believe it is now, like the isle of Avalon, largely in the Faery realm, and so hidden, unless your eyes are opened and you yourself walk in Faery. Do not forget this: you will find nothing and get nowhere without holding to the Faery path. But if you do hold to it, you will find everything and get everywhere – everywhere you are meant to get, that is.

'For I do not believe that you will fail, with me or without me, as long as you choose to go on and follow your calling.' His eyes looked into hers, keen and stern, but now softening with loving concern. 'Shelley, are you still willing to take this risk, make this sacrifice for me?'

'Are you still willing to accept it, more to the point!' smiled Shelley. She was sure this was the right thing to do, and she even felt excited by it, somehow. She thought, 'Korman's going on a mission for love. I wish I had someone I could do that for. But it's still exciting, being part of his romantic adventure. He really is a knight, just without the shining armour.'

'If the Kortana makes such a gift, I will accept it as from the Lady,' replied Korman.

'Well, that's settled. And I suppose you'll want me to babysit your charming anklebiter too?'

'If you will, I would account it a great favour.'

'OK, I'll try. He'd better be a good boy for me and not bite me because you've left him here!'

'Remind him of the times he would run off after some little female, taking my best crystals with him to woo her with! Now it is my turn.'

'Right, I'll try and get that through to him. Now, remind me, what are you going to try and do when you get to the Lady?' Korman's eyes lit up.

'First I will try to speak with her. It may be that I can rouse her from her thorn-trance with this drug, given to me by Dawnrose the healer. Then I will beg her to allow me to use Arcratíne – I pray that I am now ready, as the Salamander told me I must be, to keep the Sword in union and balance between its fire and its crystal. Then I will lay it to the roots of the Mother Thorn on the Hill of the Skull, where the thorn that holds her fast is rooted, and slay any Aghmaath who stands in my way.'

'Or enslaved human?' Shelley asked.

Korman looked troubled, but he replied, 'Or any endarkened human who will not heed my warning – yes.'

Shelley had never seen him this grim, and yet light, as if he was a clear crystal from the Fire World, charged with the energy of lightning about to strike. And his sword Arcratíne was indeed such a crystal, and it was glowing inside its scabbard, and the amber jewel was like a miniature sun of Aeden on the hilt. Sitting there at the mystical table in the ruined courtyard of the Goddess, she saw him as a knight out of a legend, glorious and noble.

And to him, Shelley was as an image of the Goddess he served, and her shining eyes were her eyes, and he rejoiced in hope unfettered, and in love unbounded by space or time.

But the evening was fast approaching, and the magic of that last meal was already becoming a bright memory, the kind that may rekindle, even years later, belief in the magic of life when all else seems emptied of meaning. They ate more of the dark, sweet grapes, and finally Korman took a great golden apple and cut it core-wise, and they said the grace:

O Vapastra Pagy'avalastra

Pagya'vala elrápaön!

O Vapastra, vapaäm éim

En Gha v'Ürpama!

O Star-key in the applestar

In the apple shining!

O Star-key, open us

To Life, and Love's entwining!

'It means a lot more to me now than it did that first time in Barachthad's cave,' Shelley murmured. 'She is thinking of Quickblade,' Korman thought. He was thinking of the Lady, and her words to him through Shelley's phone

Korman, my moonbird

We are one

Break out from this world

To be with me where I am

They ate the apple pieces in silence, and drank sparkling clear water from the well out of the two golden cups which Shelley had found in the leafmould of the cupola and washed until they shone. Now they were reflecting the bright clouds like liquid gold in the ring of sunset sky above them.

Korman said, 'Speaking of Barachthad, one final thing: if I do not return, give this book (it is encased in waterproof wax, which will come off) to the Fairies of the Northern Woods, as he asked us to. And this key from Hillgard. It unlocks an ancient chamber in the fortress of Baldrock. Also, take the spyglass from Dawnrose – it may be useful.' She took the book and the key, but hesitated to take the spyglass.

He said, 'I will not be needing it. And you must use it to see for sure, if I am captured.'

'Don't say that, Korman,' she said, and the lump in her throat grew, and the tears ran down her cheeks. 'I think... I think the Aghmaath want to enthorn you next to her. They are waiting for you, maybe hiding where she is enthorned. When they caught me and threw me in the Deathwagon, the driver read that text on my phone. He would have found out she loves you. That's why he said "and others, blinded by love – whom she will lead to their destruction, to share her fate. She will be punished by seeing you –and those others – hung next to her, soon, very soon." '

'They want to enthorn us both, Shelley. It cannot be helped. We must go on with the Unfolding in faith. But I will be very careful, for all our sakes.

'Now, just one more thing! If you are ever near my cave, and old Moonwit shows you where it is – or Quickblade for that matter – don't blush! It could happen, for I did show him in once, and gave him the password, which is elavathi...'

'Very trusting of you!'

'He is a good lad... I have a feeling about him and you... Don't blush! Now, there is a precious thing there: the Mindstone which the Lady gave me to teach the Kortana when she arrived... Ah well, limquilia Rathvalya - it all worked out in the end! The Mindstone may have a use beyond our foreseeing. It is hidden by a mindweb under Bootnip's blanket in the alcove off the bedroom. The password is Glimpit Orpadratíne, Bootnip the Mindstone-Guardian.'

Shelley laughed, in spite of the gravity of the moment, and Korman laughed too, and she heard his love for her in the unaccustomed sound, as well as his eagerness to find the Lady.

'Thanks. No one will ever guess that one!'

'I hope not! Now I really must be going,' he said softly.

The last glowing colours were fading from the clouds as they left some crystals and grapes out beside Korman's pack as a decoy to keep Bootnip from following, then walked sadly down the mossy path which ran straight from the far side of the courtyard down to the water's edge on the northern shore of the island. Korman stood in the failing light, knee-deep in the water. 'Take care until my return, dear Shelley! And if I do not return, remember, do not touch the Mother Thorns, and make directly for Ürak Tara! The Lady is with you!'

Taking in one hand the reed he had used in the crossing to the island, he raised his other hand in farewell and blessing. Shelley noticed his carved ring with its golden orb of amber gleaming faintly. Then he sank slowly backwards into the lake.

'So now I'm alone, except for Bootnip of course, and maybe the Fairies,' whispered Shelley to herself after the tiny reed Korman was breathing through had vanished into the darkness. She wiped the tears from her face and sighed a shaky sigh. She felt light and free, alone but not lonely.

'Well, I wouldn't have been able to do this a few weeks ago,' she thought.

'You have passed the first test,' came a voice in her mind, clear as a silver bell.

'Are you the Lady?' she whispered to the voice, 'or just me?' With the question came the answer:

'At this moment, there is no difference.'

Awed, tingling all over, she walked quietly back up the path through the forest, unafraid of the dark, and went to her bed in the cupola. The lichen and moss mattress, made for her by Korman, rustled under her as she settled in contentedly to watch the twinkling stars between the pillars, until the clouds hid them.

'I am the Chosen One, if such a thing exists,' she said dreamily to the darkness. 'Everything is happening just as it's meant to.' She imagined Korman cutting down the Mother Thorn and sweeping the Lady up into his arms. She imagined their passionate kiss with blissful satisfaction. She saw them returning joyously, hand in hand, to join her on the island. All the hardships and fears of that day seemed to have no hold on her heart, though they replayed themselves in front of her eyes. She thought a little more of Korman and the Lady, and allowed herself to think of her own hopes. 'After Ürak Tara, Quickblade,' she smiled to the dark. For once Bootnip allowed himself to be held, seeming almost glad of her company, and she fell asleep with him curled up in her arms.

Chapter Forty-four

The Avenue of Despair

As the murky waters of the lake closed over him, cutting off the starlight, Korman felt himself once again truly adrift, as he had been long ago when he wandered in the wilderness, after the Arcra-Nama was lost and he was expelled from the Order of the Red Dragon. But then he had felt despair – until the Lady had appeared – whereas now he felt light and joyful, though he knew he might be going to his death; or something worse than death. He felt the glow of love, which makes light of death. The only shadow on his heart was his concern for Shelley. 'Never, never would I have left her, if I had remained a true Guardian,' he thought. 'But then, was I not being a true Guardian when I tried to protect the children who appeared? It was a deception, and the Lady told me so, but I would not listen. Thus I caused her downfall. And she... she followed me, tried to save me, and so was caught in their evil net, while I escaped.'

He reined in his thoughts. He had gone over that day too many times over the years – always it ended in despair until he remembered his resolution: to ride the living moment, free from the failures of the past. 'Hishma,' he heard Dawnrose in memory, softly reminding him. He was doing it now...

Suddenly he felt a pressure-wave against his left side, as if some large creature was passing him. A ripple moved fast towards the shore. He was alarmed, but kept swimming. 'Was that what Shelley felt?' he thought. 'Who knows what foul things may now live in this lake? But I cannot fight them unless they attack; and if they creep out to hunt me on land, I cannot help that either. Lady, I trust in you and in our destiny. So I come to you; only, keep Shelley safe!'

Now he focused on his swimming and breathing through the reed, entering with practised ease the meditative state where all is clear and calm, as he kicked then glided, then kicked again, like a frog, just below the surface. He kept to a straight course heading north, using an inner compass that he had come to trust. The Pale Moon was rising, making every ripple on the glistening lake surface visible. Foul odours emanated from the shore as he drew slowly nearer, and he suppressed the urge to gag as he sucked in the putrid air through the thin reed.

All his senses as a warrior were now on full alert. He strained to catch any vibration or energy that would guide him to the right place to land. But all he felt, as he swam blindly headfirst into peril, were the mindwebs, trailing tendrils of deception, groping over the ground and through the air of the Avenue of Despair, thicker than he had ever felt them. He was entering the enemy's place of dire warning, and unless one had the mental defences of a master, the mindwebs would find a way into all one's thoughts and steer them like lemmings over a cliff into the Void below. He still had his silver skullcap on, but this was of little help so near the stronghold of death. He had to rely on the clear mind and the mirroring of all mindprobes to deflect attention away from himself. He knew that his nemesis, Hithrax, was close. He sensed his presence, felt the net closing in around him. If he did not reach the shore very soon, and find a hiding place from which to weave a counter-mindweb, Hithrax and his Kiraglim would find him. At least, he reassured himself, their mental eyes would be on him, and not suspect that Shelley was hiding elsewhere.

He felt the thick mud of the northern shore soft against his back. Relieved, he slowly turned so as not to ripple the water. 'Pah! The mud is foul-smelling!' he thought as he struggled up the slimy bank. 'The old shoreline must be far inland now, its fair beaches strangled by the thorn roots, turned into dark thickets of fear.'

He looked up and down the shore. To his left the Hill of the Skull loomed black, high into the night sky. 'Too close,' he thought. 'I have somehow come ashore further west than I planned. I am being drawn into their web!' The thorn wall loomed along the Avenue of Despair which ran along the shore, straight into the maw of the dark Labyrinth. An odour, as of the final stages of animal decay, came into his nostrils and would not go away. He could not tell where it came from; it was all-pervasive, and he felt it dragging his mind from higher thoughts to feelings of disgust at life and its inevitable decay. It was the Teaching mindweb, he knew, but he found himself thinking that they had a point. In fact, he now felt that the magical Unfolding and the precious gift of freewill, to affect the Unfolding by love and faith were mere illusions, and the only reality apart from the Void was the inexorable wheel of futile Life and suffering. He began, in spite of his resolve to serve the Lady of Life forever, to thirst for release from that service into the everlasting rest of the Void.

He stopped beneath the overhanging tangle of lesser thorns that lined the bank. He gathered his courage and resolve by thinking of the Lady, then scrambled up through a prickly gap. He lay quiet in the spiny weeds of the roadside. Before him, dominated by the dark mass of the First Mother Thorn, Zaghrabnah, and her most feared branch, the Hedge of Horror, was the accursed road that led to the Gateway of Despair, not more than a hundred yards from where he lay.

It needed no gates; fear and despair overtook all who walked beneath, and turned them into sleepwalkers, stumbling forward into the darkness until they found the Dark Labyrinth, where the final vision of the Void awaited them. The entrance was formed by the huge knobbly arches of the first branches which the sapling Zaghrabnah had put out before she had grown into the sprawling monster she was now. High above those arches were others, reaching out further into the thickets, buttressing the vegetable brain of the thorn as she grew, probing and creeping up the Hill of the Skull, putting forth near the summit a vertical trunk crowned with spiny branches like a giant, fruitless palm tree.

In the middle of this bristling crown of thorns was a platform where guards, Mindprobers and Mindscouts, ceaselessly looked out over the whole valley as from a high watchtower, serving the Mother Thorn which gave them life – and took it away, to be reborn in a new form, unless they found eternal rest in the Void.

Korman felt their menace in the heights, and made his mind clear and smooth as a mirror of polished silver. Then, without a tremor of will or fear to give him away, he crept onto the white crushed-shell road. It was muddied and rutted by the iron wheels of the Deathwagons, but still glowed eerily in the moonlight. He crossed over and disappeared into the shadows under the towering wall of thorns.

'If you would only give me the word, Lady, I would draw my sword and lay waste to the roots of this accursed Thorn,' he prayed. There was no answer, only the creaking of the thorns above him. 'But no, I must find you first, speak to you face to face, and learn your will,' he whispered into the night. He thought bitterly, and not for the first time, 'If only I had not made that vow, I could take matters into my own hand, attack now, and have the victory.' He whispered again, 'Sometimes, Lady, I curse the hour I heard of your Way, with its waiting and gentleness, its forgiveness and surrender.' He clenched his fists, and the fingers of his right hand, now fully healed and strong, itched to take hold of the swordhilt. He quoted to himself the words of the Tan Krithür, the Sayings of the Concept:

The power of a Guardian and a Tidak lies in his word, not his sword.

'My mind agrees. But ah, my heart aches to draw you now in anger, my Arcratíne, sword of destiny, bright defender of Aeden!' The words of the war chant, Hethür, Krithür, Shaktha! sounded in his mind. For a long while he stood there as if paralysed, his hand on the swordhilt, while the moon slowly rose, the clouds serenely passed overhead, and the night sounds went on, the creaking of thorn branches, the slow mournful call of the thorn-cricket, the struggles of moths in giant spiders' webs high in the thorns, the rustling of giant cockroaches and stick insects in the prickly deadwood among the snaking roots of the impenetrable thorns. Then there was a tremor in the branches, and he knew it felt his desire to kill it. He took his hand from the swordhilt and painfully willed himself to move, creeping along the Hedge of Horror away from the dreadful arches. He tried to pierce the thick darkness under the overhanging thorns, looking for the one he had known so briefly and lost for so long, except in visions and visitations which brought joy, but also anguish. All those years he had longed to see her again and to speak with her face to face, and for her to wipe all tears from his eyes. Then, he hoped, they might go on united as one, living and creating together to restore the ancient glory of Aeden. For Korman was human, though she in some sense was not, and to be human is to always seek for more.

He continued to creep along the hedge, eastwards. It was a walk he knew he would relive in nightmare – if he lived. The Hedge of Horror seemed to go on forever as recess after recess appeared in its thorny face, and hung within each recess was another victim of the law of the Aghmaath, which was without mercy: all who were brought to the Dark Labyrinth for endarkenment, but resisted, were brought forth as examples of the futility of life, to be cast into the thorns. This punishment was called Enthornment.

There they would stand, slowly pierced by the surgically probing needles of Zaghrabnah, until their minds would wander into a space that was neither life nor death, and they would collapse, hanging in their thorny coffins as a warning and a lesson in the futility of self-will until such time as the Mother and her sons, the Aghmaath, agreed that they should be digested. This some called the living Death.

And some say that Zaghrabnah, at her sons' request, could awaken the enthorned ones at will for questioning, and all they knew would be wrung out of them. But mostly she despised such information; she did not need it to cover the lands and smother all other life – except that of her sisters. These were the other Mother Thorns which she allowed to grow beyond the reach of her own six long branches.

Of course she also preserved the life of her symbiant sons, the Travellers, born of her, thorn of her thorn, will of her will. She did not know that they had grown weary of life in her, and had plans of their own, to one day snuff out all life including hers, and finally even their own; they kept this ultimate plan from her by their mindwebs.

For although they had no mercy on their 'sons and daughters', as they called all their captives, the Aghmaath did have a deep and passionate pity for souls. This pity was why they sought to enlighten all rational creatures, to open their eyes to the source of all suffering, that is Pagralax, the 'Stomach for Rebirth,' which is the Will-to-life itself, which they felt only too keenly within their own natures, a will more fierce than that of nearly every human. And it was through mercy, because of their own desire to be free of life's restless passion, that they sought to free all others from it, and thus bring them to the merciful release of the Void. As they often said to their victims:

Makzagam v'Zurglime achrag

'One must stab deep to set free from the thorns.' Or as we say, 'You have to be cruel to be kind.'

As Korman crept along the line of the hedge, he came to an earlier victim. Hanging in its thorny alcove of pain was the empty skin and on the ground at its feet, fragments of its bones, all that remained of the first to be enthorned. Now they were finally digested, picked over by the thornbirds and dried in the sun. He covered his face, suppressed the urge to retch, and passed on to the next horror.

The worst were in fact the living. Their eyes, white in the shadows cast by the towering thorn wall in the light of the Pale Moon, stared unseeing, but some slowly blinked as he passed. He saw some that he thought he recognised from the boy Tímathians of Baldrock, and he dreaded to look at them, in case he saw the face of his brother Hillgard. He thought of Brighthope, the father of the Trader Lightpath, and wondered which of these living dead or rotting corpses was him, whose name was a hollow mockery in that place of despair.

Then with a shock he saw two that he did know, and the tears burned in his weary eyes as he gazed for a long nauseous moment on the faces of Kernan and the shepherd-poetess Magrethána. They were deep in the thorn-coma, their expressions beyond horror or delight, masks behind which their souls still hid, in what state he dared not imagine. With a stab of regret he remembered the spyglass: he had left it for Shelley, and when she used it she would see these people... And as his horror and fear of the thorns grew, so an irrational urge came over him, to throw himself into their embrace and make an end of it. He knew they were calling him, tendrils reaching into his mind, trying to lure him in like glow-worms luring a fly.

So the night wore on into an endless nightmare for Korman as he stumbled from one alcove of horror to the next, and the mindwebs of the Avenue of Despair wove into his mind, and spider-like thoughtforms crawled in, poisoning his thought with the acid of doubt, eating away all thoughts of the worth of life and love, beauty and freedom, until he struggled to even recall what those words meant, or why he should have valued them so much.

It was in this state that he came upon an alcove in the thorns much larger than the rest. It went back perhaps twenty paces into the thorns, and was fifty paces or more wide – big enough to accommodate twenty or more bodies.

But there was only one. It was the Lady. She was upright, and higher up, as if on a pedestal or mound, and the thorns held her fast by wrists and ankles, waist, neck and brow.

Korman reeled in shock. What he had sought, or thought he sought, was the one thing he was not prepared to see. He bent over in agony. His will stood opposed to itself in a knot of conflicting impulses: to run away and be sick; to run forward to embrace her, to moan aloud and curse; but most of all, to draw his sword and slash and hack at the merciless thorns that held her.

He slowly raised his head again, deathly afraid to see that she was, after all, just skin and bones like the others he had seen. Or worse, to see her unhinged, insane, staring mindlessly at him, slowly blinking. But now his strained eyes managed to focus, almost against his will, and he saw that there was something different about this enthornment. He stood for a moment in awe, then knelt, still staring, mesmerised. All thought of an ambush was gone; he felt sure that no Aghmaath could linger near that presence... And indeed, though there was a hidden den nearby, such enchantments were woven about the place of her enthornment that he was – for a time – unseen and unheard by his enemies.

In the pale silver moonlight which now lit the whole alcove, Korman saw that the thorns around the Lady were blooming with dark-red roses, except that in that light they looked almost black; and her hair was not matted but seemingly combed, the curls flowing like two rivers about her shoulders, and winding into the tendrils like golden vines wrestling with the cruel thorns. Her eyes were shut and her beautiful face was peaceful, serene, as if she was only sleeping. Her hands were slightly outstretched, as if trying to welcome him, and he felt that at any moment she would wake up, stretch, and step gracefully down from the thorny dais on which she seemed almost to float. Her long dress, though torn and ragged, looked clean, and glistened pearly white in the moonlight.

He had come to a scene of shame and horror, and found it a temple of beauty, or so it seemed to him at that moment in the magical moonlight, and on the altar was the Goddess of Beauty and Love incarnate. Amazed, he forgot his thoughts of hacking and destroying, and felt only love and joy, as if he had walked through the gates of hell, and found himself in the courts of paradise.

He stood there for a long while, not wanting the spell to be broken, before he dared to softly call her name, her true name which she had told him long ago. But there was no reply, and she did not stir. He went forward and knelt before her, bowing his head. Then he rose, and stretching up, placed between her lips the reviving medicine which Dawnrose had given him to revive the Lady. He was shocked, and relieved, to feel her faint breath on his shaking hand, but her lips were cold as winter, and her skin was deathly pale. 'The living Death,' he thought bleakly, and his head bowed and his hands dropped.

He backed away from the Lady, and looking at her, tried to see into her sleeping mind. He called her name again. Still there was no reply. Nothing moved, and a great numbness and weariness of heart came over him. He felt as far away from her as ever, as if he was a ghost, unable to make himself heard or seen. He could not risk hacking at the thorns that bound her: they would sound the alarm through the Dreamweb and the Aghmaath would come; and if he cut any, the others would poison her immediately and she would not wake, but die in his arms in terrible pain.

He retreated, flung himself down on the hard ground in the shadow of the thorns in a dark corner of the alcove, and set about weaving, with his remaining strength, mindwebs of hiding and of deflection. He felt like a tired old spider in a dusty forgotten corner of some bleak house in a land of nightmares. Then he shut his eyes, horrible memories crowding into his mind and spawning even more horrible apparitions. But he resisted them with the vision of the Lady and the miraculous dark roses around her.

'The Fairies must be here, too! They have tended to her, and caused the roses to bloom,' he thought, and he remembered his staff, cut long ago from this valley, how it had bloomed again with roses and the fire imperishable to defeat the hermits in the crater, and a little warmth and hope welled up in his weary heart. 'Where there is life, there is hope,' he whispered, and then he slept.

But in his dreams horrible undead creatures came out of the Hedge of Horror and trod the Avenue of Despair, and came crowding into the alcove where he lay, and he was forced backward into the thorns, and held fast. Then the Lady turned to him and her eyes were like theirs, empty sockets. In terror he started awake, gasping for air, and saw her there still, and she was alone in the moonlight, and her eyes were still closed, and soon his heart stopped pounding and the horror receded.

He meditated, letting all sounds and sights dissolve from consciousness, and he was again at the centre of his being, and after a time he felt his oneness with all life, and with the Lady, and he knew that in the deepest level they were never apart, but were as one, together with all those who had ever loved and lived. Then he gave thanks and fell into a dreamless slumber.

Shelley awoke to the sound of birds. Or so she thought at first; the music of the dawn chorus in the forest around was loud and joyous, as if the birds knew nothing of the troubles of the world: that the thorns would soon grow over their trees and their nesting places and the fruit would die on the withering branches; that when they sought food in the thorns and were entangled in their tendrils the thornbirds would come for them and tear at them with sharp beaks...

But now she noticed other voices in the chorus of joy. It was the dawn song of the Fairies of Namaglimmë, greeting the new day. Unlike the birds, they knew only too well of the evil in the world, and the song was partly sad in its verses. But it was joyful and triumphant in the chorus. The notes were as high and pure as the birds' singing, but unlike theirs, definitely made up of words, though in no language Shelley had heard. She smiled to hear them, and knew that these singers were the Fairies who had cut the thorn branches, and probably tended the grapes as well. She wished she could meet them. 'But they are probably scared of all big people, after the terrible things the Thornmen and their slaves have done here,' she reflected sadly. 'They probably hate us all. I don't blame them.'

The morning was fine, and in the forest, with no view of the Valley and its horrors, she felt as if she was in another realm, even another time. 'Maybe this whole island is in Faery and is floating along in another timeline,' she mused. But as the sun rose higher, ominous sounds came faintly to her ears from the thorn thickets of the valley: the mournful sound of gongs, and the slow, hollow beat of a distant drum. Sacrificial smoke rose from many places. She shuddered to remember the black chimney in the slaves' field.

Shelley spent the rest of that first day in the courtyard, pulling more ivy and thick moss and ferns, and clumps of tough grass, exposing the outlines of squared and sinuously carved stone buried beneath. And in one place there were grasses with large glossy seeds just like beads, speckled grey and white and red: Job's tears, her mother called them. She gathered some to make a necklace as her mother had shown her, and remembered how they grew in her back garden, and she felt warm at heart to think of her mother again. It had been a long time.

The floor of the courtyard was paved with variously shaped and subtly coloured flagstones which formed patterns, radiating from the central well and from the alcoves and rooms around it, with golden lines between them. The overall effect, as far as she could see under grass and moss, must have been of intersecting waves in shallow water in the sunlight. She discovered there were five circles, partly walled with ruined stone, opening out into the courtyard, and each had a subtly different colour and style of carving on what remained of its ruined arches and pillars.

She loved the place more and more as she uncovered its secrets, and remembered how she had yearned to live somewhere like this, where beauty was built into everything, not just tacked on as an afterthought. She reflected that she had found such a place – Aeden – but had arrived too late. 'And now, if Korman is right I have to try and save it anyway,' she said aloud. But as she spoke, she felt an uneasy sense of someone or something listening to her, and she decided not to speak aloud any more.

Later in the day she was getting hot after clearing the vines from a very comfortable-looking stone love-seat, carved with the sensuous forms of mermaids and mermen. 'I think I'll go for a swim in the well!' she thought. 'It's big enough to be a swimming pool. Korman said the priestesses swam in it!' She hesitated, then took off her clothes, dropping them on the sun-warmed flagstones lining the well, and stepped shyly down the five shallow steps into the water. It seemed the only thing to do in the temple of the Goddess, to swim naked in the sun-sparkling well. The water was cold at first, but soon it just felt deliciously cool as she splashed and swam about. It was deep, over her head, but she felt safe, though the deep coolness below her feet was full of mystery and the hidden energies of the Zagonamara. This did not frighten her now; rather it exhilarated her, and she allowed herself to be charged and energised from head to foot in the sacred waters. She even tried diving, something she had always feared, and opened her eyes in the clear water, looking for treasures on the bottom. Silvery flashes surprised her: there were fish, descendants of the sacred fish of the temple, still living in the well. She thought she saw a glitter of gold below, but she wasn't sure, and her lungs were bursting, so she swam back up towards the golden disk of the sun which beckoned to her from high above the silvery surface. But the sight of the gold lured her down again, and this time she saw two goblets, like the ones she had found before, but finer, with rubies set in their sides. They were lying half-buried in the gravel beside a place where the clear upwelling water made the pebbles dance. She grabbed the cups and swam up, her heart beating with joy at finding such precious things.

She placed the goblets glittering in the sun at the edge of the pool, then kicked off again and floated on her back sunbathing, squinting up into the deep blue sky of Aeden, thinking about Korman and all the other wonderful people she had met. She imagined swimming with Quickblade in the sacred well, naked and unashamed, and drinking sweet wine with him from the golden goblets.

She wondered lazily if the Fairies could be watching her, but somehow it didn't seem embarrassing if the little people saw her.

When she finally got out of the well, she was totally refreshed and at peace, and taking the goblets, lay down on the warm flagstones to dry in the sun, while Bootnip eyed the goblets covetously. But there was a slight prickling in the back of her neck. She looked around. 'There it is again! It feels so like I'm being watched,' she thought. But it didn't worry her too much; it didn't feel anything like the Aghmaath, and she trusted her intuition now, more than she ever dreamed she would. She had always gone for logic and clear, scientific thinking. 'Spock would definitely not approve,' she smiled to herself. 'But I bet he'd be interested in the wonderful effect of that water. I wonder if that's what's behind that funny word, "well-being"?'

When she was dry, she put on her clothes, curled up in the newly uncovered love-seat and daydreamed. She remembered Korman occasionally, and wished him well, willing him to return safely, but feeling peaceful and confident after the swim in the sacred well. Soon she was dozing pleasantly in the golden afternoon sun.

Korman had woken at the same time as Shelley, but there was no dawn chorus for him, only the thin sad piping of a thornbird somewhere in the thickets behind the Lady where she hung still. He awoke as if into another dream, or nightmare, in which the silent form of the Lady, neither alive nor dead, was the focus.

The drug had failed. He was in despair. He had not realised how much hope he had hung on that small vial of herbal essences from Dawnrose. Now, in the light of day he saw that all was not beautiful about the Lady. There were lines of fresh blood coming from her brow and neck where the thorn tendrils held her fast, and running down her hands and feet. Her skin was pale and tinged with blue, almost corpse-like. He was heartsick and nauseous. But with long practice he found the feel of the earth beneath his feet and the breath in his lungs, and was content. This was his life, and his battle, and he had chosen it. He drank a little water from the flask at his waist, and ate some dried fruit thankfully (though there was no apple left to say a grace over) and nuts from his pocket, then meditated.

The sound of gongs in the distance made him flinch, but he sat lightly, ready to spring up if anyone discovered his hiding place and pierced the veil of his mindweb.

All that long first day Korman waited in his hidden corner of the thorny alcove for a word from the Lady. But none came. He began to debate in his mind whether to use the sword, or the Vapáglim which he still kept next to his heart ready to use if all else failed, so that he could perhaps use it, in spite of Hillgard's warnings, to return to Shelley. And the sword was before his mind whether he shut his eyes or opened them, flaming as it had done that night on the Fire Hills, and often his hand went to the hilt. He heard the words of the war chant endlessly pounding in his head, Hethür, Krithür, Shaktha! as if to taunt him as a coward.

All his training in the way of the Guardian and in the Concept and keeping one's word to the death, became as scraps of dead memory, and all his heart and mind were filled with the sight of the Lady in the thorns, and the desire to draw his sword to free her became a burning fire that consumed all other thoughts, even his hunger as he ate the last of his food, and the vigil became also a weary fast. But looking at the amber loyalty ring which he still wore, he reminded himself again and again that for her he would remain true, and not break his vow.

At last the day drew to a close. Not a sound had he heard outside the alcove; no Deathwagon passed, no Aghmaath stalked down it. But Korman heard the cockroaches scuttling through the prickly leaf-litter in the half-light of the thorn forest as it crackled and grew overhead. The air was still and humid, and large blowflies buzzed in and out of the alcove, but whether because of the thorn's protection of those it had claimed, or because of some magic, none alighted on the Lady or drank the blood that slowly oozed from her wounds; nor did the thornbirds that flitted in from time to time peck at her.

Shelley, dozing on the love-seat as the afternoon wore on, had felt the sense of being watched begin to prey on her mind, and she decided to try climbing a tree which she had noticed at the edge of the courtyard. It was tall but had strong spreading branches which grew out of the trunk almost at right angles, spiralling up into the canopy. Bootnip, and the goblets, were gone, but she didn't bother going to look for them. She climbed the tree with a blanket and her diary, and some grapes and apples she had found in the old orchard a little way down a track. She found a comfortable fork in a big branch high up with a view of the courtyard below, and a glimpse of the northern shore of the lake.

She was a little concerned at the possibility of being seen, but the shore was a long way off, and the broad green leaves were thick about her. The fork in the branch gave her something to wrap her arms and legs around as she lay back. Soon she was in a happy reverie, thinking of all the trees she had climbed at home and at her grandfather's farm. 'New Eden, he called it. I wonder why? Maybe after Mount Eden, where he used to live before he "escaped" to the country! But he did have some wonderful trees there!' Then she thought, 'This tree is so comfortable, once you settle yourself into the branches. I bet I could sleep up here quite safely. After all, the apemen did it. We've even got the toe-curling instinct left over from when our feet could grip the branches too! How strange, that we came from apes. If we really did.' The depth of cosmic time and its vicissitudes and metamorphoses was dizzying to her sometimes, just to think about; but she loved to ponder the mystery. 'To think that all the time there was the flow of life, and the universe was kind of pregnant with all this, but first there were just little critters like Trilobites, then Ammonites swimming the oceans, ruling the roost – that is, on Earth scientists say they did – I wonder what fossils there are on Aeden?' She remembered the Bottomless Canyon, and the layers and layers she had seen on her way down. 'But now is best of all,' she thought, 'because people are here, and trees like this one.'

She shut her eyes and lay back, and an awareness of the life of the tree grew in her until she felt herself one with it, and opening her eyes she felt that the bright leaves and the deep blue of the late afternoon sky beyond and the glistening of the myriad tiny spider's webs were now all part of Faery, and she imagined that she could meet some of the Fairies that she had heard singing. But there was no sign of any little tree-houses. 'Unless...' Her eyes lit upon a tall tree that had no branches on its smooth bole until it opened into an umbrella-like canopy higher than Shelley's tree. Deep in the canopy she could just make out a small clear globe, almost hidden by leaves, resting, she thought, in the fork of a branch. It gleamed as if facetted. There was something in the lower half of it, which with a little imagination could be tables and chairs and other furniture. She rubbed her eyes. 'Probably just some kind of exotic fruit,' she thought. She saw glimpses of others. 'Hey, maybe it's one of those bubble trees Korman was telling me about!' But the day was still hot, and she didn't bother climbing down to go over and see if she could make a climbing loop for her ankles and get up the other tree and investigate the globes.

So it was that she did not meet the Fairies of the sacred isle of Lake Deadwater (or the 'Rainbow Lake' as they still called it). But they saw her, and wondered.

'I think I'll try sleeping in the tree tonight,' Shelley said to herself. It was the end of the first day, but the second night of Korman's mission, and Bootnip was sulking in Korman's pack in the cupola, guarding the two jewelled goblets, refusing to come out.

She had an evening meal of grapes, apples and some nuts which she found under a tree in the orchard and managed to crack with a loose flagstone, placing them in little hollows in the paving to stop them from skidding out from under the blows. They looked, and to her delight tasted, very like macadamia nuts, her favourite on Earth. She felt sad too, remembering home, and the back garden and mum in it pottering around, and hot meals and warm beds. But she stopped herself. She knew from experience that it only made her breathless and giddy with sadness to think of her old world. It was just too different, too far away.

And besides that, she was healthier and fitter now than she had ever been on earth, with a kind of energy that glowed in her more and more, sometimes almost frightening her. One day, when the time was right, she would return. Until then, she was determined to live in the moment, as Pipes had taught her. 'Hishma,' she murmured, remembering her joy at finding she could balance with him on the crest of the waves as they swept in on his big surfboard at the Waveriders' beach, now so far away. She saved some of the nuts, and took them to Bootnip, who growled, but carried them one by one back into the safety of Korman's pack and began gnawing hungrily at them, still growling. 'I miss Worriette,' she said to him in disgust.

Up in the tree, she wriggled a little this way and that until she found a perfect way to drape her limbs and not have to hang on, and then settled down to watch the stars above – those that she could see between the leaves – and the courtyard below, where the well reflected the stars and little leaves floated lazily on its calm surface. 'Isn't it amazing,' she thought, 'how when I first came to Aeden I really thought I had to have a mattress to sleep on, and hassled poor old Korman about it, and now here I am up in the fork of a tree, as comfy as can be!' She remembered how he had taught her some of the constellations and other features of the night sky of Aeden during their time together, and she tried to find them before she slept. 'There's the one he said was especially for me – the Comet of the Kortana, in Damarha Ainenia, the Belt of Ainenia. It's pretty smudgy and faint, though,' she thought. 'Yet it's probably a whole galaxy. The real comet, when it comes, will be much brighter, I guess.

'And there's Pagzür-Estapherim, Hopeflower Valley. Now that's bright!' She traced the trail of clustered stars, dazzling white diamonds, sparkling sapphires and fiery topazes.

Above Hopeflower Valley was a big dark oval, velvety black: Ovo Valä, the Womb of the Mother. And twinkling all alone in that darkness was blue Estaraësta, the Hopestar.

She had dozed off and been pleasantly dreaming for a little while when something woke her with a start. There was a swishing sound below, and when she looked down the surface of the well was undulating. Straining her eyes she saw a glimpse of something long, black and sinuous, longer than a man, thicker than a man's thigh, thicker (she thought) than his waist, gliding off up the steps and disappearing into the shadows. If it was a snake, it was a very big one.

She gasped, her heart pounding. All her old fears of snakes and eels returned to her, and now the night was full of menace. Now nowhere would be safe, not even a tree... She felt the thrill of fear change her whole metabolism. With racing heart and animal cunning fuelled by adrenaline, she went over many ideas to get to safety, but none were convincing. Shaking, she decided to stay where she was.

The rest of that night passed in sudden alarms as she was wakened from uneasy dozing by noises in the trees, twigs cracking or a night breeze swaying the branches on which she lay, quiet as a mouse, hardly breathing. Once, as she lay awake, not moving her head but looking this way and that, trying to identify each shadowy shape and silhouette in the darkness around her, an owl hooted in the branches right above. Its cry was much deeper and throatier than the sound of owls heard in the distance.

'Could it be a giant owl?' she found herself wondering. She felt like a little monkey in some primeval forest, shivering in the dark beneath an all-seeing predator about to swoop down on it and carry it off to feed its young. But the owl stopped hooting, flew off and resumed its cry far away, off the island, somewhere in the valley, and it sounded normal again, and she sighed with relief and went back to sleep.

In her dream, the huge black snake slithered up her tree, and sick with fear she retreated up the tree from branch to branch, until she was so far out the branches began to bend and break. Waking, she gripped the branch, shaking so violently that she feared she would fall. But gradually she relaxed again, and fell into a nervously exhausted slumber.

The second day of vigil came, the day before Midsummer's Day, if they had known it. Many little things happened to Korman and Shelley as they both waited, but the main feature of the day, especially for Korman, was how terribly slowly it crawled by, and how futile and empty it felt. And the thorns in the valley kept growing. He felt them growing, and in their increase was the decrease and choking of all other life, except for the Thornmen and the insects.

Shelley woke early, in spite of her tiredness, and ventured down the tree, but did not dare to go for a swim in the well even when the heat became oppressive. She began to feel exhausted from her almost sleepless night up in the tree, and could not focus on any of the diversions she had enjoyed the day before. A sense of foreboding was replacing her confidence that Korman would return. She remembered the Lady's words in her message to him,

Break out from this world

To be with me where I am

and she began to suspect that it was to his death that she was calling him, like a banshee whose cry signalled death to the hearer. She tried to shake off the unpleasantness of this suspicion, but it grew on her until she wished she had never encouraged Korman to go.

Finally she went to the cupola and lay down to nap, keeping one eye on the courtyard and the well. Bizarre daydreams came and went as she dozed and awakened many times, dreams in which Korman had sent word that he and the Lady were now staying with the Aghmaath, and she was alone, trying to find a way out of a Labyrinth of thorns. Quickblade came to rescue her from the black snake, she thought at first, but he told her that it was his friend, and should be hers too. Then he left her with the snake, petrified, and she had to try to talk the snake into not eating her, and beg it to let her go so she could escape from the thorns, which were growing over everything, feeling for her with their spiny tendril fingers. And the snake just curled itself around her body so she couldn't move.

Chapter Forty-five

Korman and the Lady

All that day Korman was tormented by doubt, as he resisted the thought of using the sword and tried in vain to communicate with the Lady, either by word or by mind. Were the visions he had of the Lady in her astral form in the Dreamweb just figments of his imagination? Was she really no more than this beautiful but lifeless body he saw before him night and day, mocking his faith? He thought of Shelley, waiting so confidently for his return. What would she think if he came back with nothing to tell but that the Lady, the incarnation of the Goddess, was just this rag doll or wax image? The mindwebs of Phagrapag, the sorcerer and inquisitor of the Dark Labyrinth, began to seep into his unconscious, filling it with dark imaginings and fears. And, growing in persuasive power, came the image of the black, restful Void, eternal rest for the weary, final solution of all the problems of life. Still he stood, or sat, eyes downcast, waiting, thinking, trying not to think, since all thoughts led to despair.

He drank the last drops of water from his flask, and was still thirsty. He envied the Lady her peaceful sleep. Time dragged on – or had it stopped and only he went on, edging closer to death or madness?

Then the apparitions began. He heard the voices of children crying out in pain and terror, and wagon wheels rumbling along the Avenue of Despair. Time and again he tensed his muscles to run out into the road and confront the children's tormentors, and he had to tell himself, banging his forehead with his fist, that it was only an illusion from the Dreamcasters, sent to flush him out of hiding. They knew he was somewhere in the valley, and Rakmad had ordered visions of tormented children to be projected into all the avenues and byways. This Phagrapag had done, thoroughly.

He also sent out wagons with real children inside, open to view in cages, but the children were endarkened, and only pretended to be crying piteously in pain and fear, and if Korman appeared they would spring at him, bite him and scratch his eyes, helping the drivers, ruthless warrior priests of Phagrapag's garrison, to bind him fast with thorny twine and mindwebs of irresistible binding.

But Korman, seeing through their deceptions, gritted his teeth and dug up clay, spat on it and pressed it into his ears, stopping them until all he heard was his own laboured breath, the ringing in his ears and the sound of his pulse.

Then, much later, another sound came directly into his mind, starting off faint but growing urgent and loud; desperate pleading that stabbed straight to his heart. It was the voice of Shelley herself, in distress, calling out, 'Korman, save me! They've caught me! Please help me! It's me, Korman! Don't hide away! In the name of the Lady, please come! I'm in the Avenue of Despair. They're taking me to the Dark Labyrinth! I don't want to go there! Help, help!' Then, as if talking to someone else, she cried out, 'Oh no, no, no! Please don't...' and her voice trailed off into a wail of terror and agony. He heard the sound of a whip cracking. Korman pressed his hands to his ears, in vain; he believed that it was just a mindprobe, but it sounded exactly like the voice of Shelley, and his heart was wrung with pity and doubt and grief, and slowly the sick tension that led to migraine began to build.

The voice finally faded, and he was left sure that she was indeed captured, or about to be. He thought, 'I do not believe she will have left the safety of the island, not yet. But who knows, they may have the means to see into the future. What I heard could have been a premonition of her fate, passed on to my mind by their foul arts.' His past and future blurred into one disastrous tragedy, a futile melodrama in which everything he did went terribly wrong. His head began to pound with the familiar pulsing pain of his migraine, as if iron bands were clamped about his pulsing brain. Then something seemed to be tightening the band, relentlessly squeezing, telling him, 'Unless you yield to the Void, this will get worse without end, until you die.' He reached inside his clothes – the last of his willowbark was gone. There would be no relief that way, and meditation seemed impossible now.

Sitting on the prickly thorn-mould, he felt the thorns in the valley growing, creaking and crackling as their roots and tendrils lengthened and wove ever tighter and spread across the lands beyond, swallowing up all hope. Death began to seem preferable to life, and all the teachings of the Void, impressed upon him as a boy when he was in the hands of the Aghmaath, felt truer than anything he had learned since. Already half of his brain was saying, 'I come to the Void,' and he heard, drumming in his head, the hymns he had sung uncomprehending then, and now they all made horrible sense. One in particular kept sounding its seductive dirge in his half-crazed brain:

Gather, gather all to the Dark,

Through pain to the Void where all is one.

So shall it be, so shall we make it.

Only the Dark shall endure!

The light of life is a candle

To lead us to the Edge of Darkness.

Then blow it out!

Only the Dark shall endure!

Masters of the Void, may all come to you!

Tenderly, firmly, we put out the lights,

One by one, world by world!

Only the Dark shall endure!

'Gather, gather...' he began, grimly, and the wave of nausea rose in him, and he retched, again and again.

But as the day of suffering wore on into afternoon, and the sun finally left the patch of sky overhead, and the thorn alcove was mercifully shaded again, he began to feel his dark thoughts clearing, as if by sheer weight of numbers they began to fall off his shoulders and roll away like spent thunderclouds. His headache also began to release its iron grip on his skull, and he knew that it had been his own thoughts that had caused it, and he laughed grimly to himself at his folly.

'I have been trained in "being with" and "letting go", and here I am, holding on and resisting everything, as if by my worrying I can save the world or turn it from its course!' And he remembered that all a Guardian must do is his duty, and this is often simple enough, at any moment.

'So, now, my duty: what is it?' he thought. Then he saw himself as if from the outside, and he laughed again. 'I have been blinded by the sight of the very thing which I most desired to see: the Lady! It is the sight of her, and my pity for her, which has closed my inner eyes from seeing, and stopped my inner ears from hearing.'

He looked about him, and the place was transformed. He saw that life went on, with little insects scurrying and building leaf-nests and burrows, butterflies hovering over tiny flowers in the ground, and flocking to the roses which miraculously grew from the thorns themselves. He saw a tiny thorn-fox, once a native of the forests of Namaglimmë, now at home in the thorn thickets. Even the cockroaches had their place there, turning the leafmould to rich humus. And, fluttering in the shadows, he saw two hope-moths, the big silvery-grey moths emblazoned with the sign of opposites in union, spiralling around a white centre, which symbolised for him and for others of the old faith, the promise of the Goddess that life would go on, finding a balance even in the darkest times.

He closed his eyes, and saw a light which grew until he found that he was again in that sacred space where the inner eye is opened, and all places are Here and all times are Now, and there is no separation. He knew in that moment that Shelley was perfectly safe. He saw her glowing with the inner light of the Goddess, and smiled. Then he saw the blue glow of the Lady, and he was one with her love which knew no bounds, and the blissful light of her was all around him.

Then Korman spoke with the Lady, and only a part of all that passed between them in that reunion can be told in words. The Lady smiled. 'Welcome back, Korman.'

And Korman replied, 'Forgive me, Lady! I have been seduced by outward appearances. I know now we were never apart, except in my mind, which is, as you know, prone to chase illusions and doubt reality.'

'Do you remember your path now, Korman, which we chose together before we entered this life?'

'I remember. But I tremble in doubt. To my outer mind, this path seems an illusion and folly.'

'Remind yourself – try speaking the story we chose together in the Light before time.'

'You and I chose to come to Aeden one last time to restore the balance of the Zagonamara, the twin spiral of Life, which was broken when the Arcra-Nama was removed...'

'To show that the Life comes from within, not from without...'

'So that it can never really be taken away from the world.'

'And we chose together to hold that balance, come what may, and let it grow in the very midst of the thorns, so that under its protection the Kortana may be empowered and come into her own. She no longer needs you as her Guardian. Well done.' She smiled at him, and her smile was like the break of day in the mountains of the Makers, and for Korman time stood still.

At last he spoke again and his voice was clear and full of joy, 'I am now free to join you in the mystic realm, the heights from which Faery flows, and there create with you the story of the new Overcoming.'

And the Lady replied, 'Their darkness shall be embraced by the light, and so be healed.'

But now Korman hesitated. Rational doubt, his familiar friend, was speaking to his inner mind even in that exalted place, boldly going where angels fear to tread, and it said to him, 'Beware, Korman, of hasty jumps into the unknown. Who knows whether this is the real Lady, and not some final folly conjured up by your desire, to the ruin of all?'

And the Lady, whose faith was beyond his as the eagle is above the mountain, said nothing. She knew his mind was racing, like a rat seeking boltholes from the light of a opened door, but she trusted the Unfolding of their story, and waited.

Now Korman came out of his blessed trance, and stepped forward, out of the shadow and security of his mindwebbed corner. He now stood in the middle of the alcove, in the gloomy light of the fading day. He bowed before the Lady in full view, and knew that he was already perceived by the enemy. Quickly he pulled the amber ring from his finger and cast it into the thorns at her feet. Then he waited for his captors.

On the avenue outside, harsh footsteps broke the silence, tramping in unison. It was, Korman knew, the goose-stepping Aghmaath troopers, though he had never seen them. Before them in triumph stalked Hithrax, certain now that Korman was his. Never mind that all his mind-traps had failed; this final stratagem had worked. That was all that mattered. The Lady had been the bait; Korman the fly was caught in the web of his futile and rebellious love for her, and finally the wily old web-weaver had come out of hiding. The irony of it was delicious to Hithrax's embittered mind.

It had been a long time since anyone of consequence had been endarkened. He desired to be the first to cast Korman into the black fire of the Void, to see all his presumption and pride of life burned away, leaving him naked and illuminated by the black light, one with all the rest, servant to the one truth: that all is Nothing, and Nothing is All.

'My worthy adversary in the game of "Flee from the Void"!' Hithrax croaked sarcastically as he came up behind Korman, who stood still, looking up at the impassive face of the Lady serenely floating in the thorns.

Korman whispered fiercely, 'Say the word now, Lady, if what we just spoke of in vision was a lie! If I am to fight, give me the word to strike! It is now or never!' He drew Arcratíne, and the light glittered up and down its polished facets, sharper than razors. Hithrax backed off, and motioned to the police troopers behind him to hold back. If Korman struck now, Hithrax gloated to himself, he would be undone. All he had learned in hiding, the yielding to the folly of the 'Way of the Zagonamara' that the accursed witch had taught him, would be stripped from him. His arm would wither again, and this time he would not escape into the wilderness, but be brought to the Void, and finally forced to despair of all his false hopes, and yield to the truth. Hithrax's face cracked in a kind of smile, and the bristles on his head stood out.

Korman raised Arcratíne high, and all his pent-up fury was set to burst upon the enemy. But still no command came from the Lady. The air above the alcove gathered heavy stormclouds into a vortex in the sky, and Korman gave a great shout, seeing that the power he wielded was now greater than it had ever been. Sudden lightning seared down into the crystal blade and a brilliant white light shone from it. The police troopers covered their eyes, and some flung themselves to the ground. But still Hithrax waited.

Suddenly Korman laughed, as one who sees some hidden truth, or solves a riddle. He raised the sword in both hands and pointed it downwards, white-hot, crackling with blue lightnings. 'Hethür, Krithür, Shaktha!' he cried, and plunged Arcratíne deep into the ground. Molten fragments of rock sprayed out and ran in molten balls over the clearing into the thorns, igniting them. The burning branches shuddered and writhed, but lashing tendrils whipped and extinguished the flames.

Arcratíne stood pulsating, half buried in the rock at Korman's feet. Slowly its light faded and went out. Hithrax now ran forward and tried to pull it from the ground. But lightning sprang from the sword into his claw-like hands. He sprang back, nursing the burn. Enraged, he gave the signal. The police troopers stood forward and held Korman's arms in a pincer-like grip. He did not resist them, but smiled and looked up at the Lady one last time as he was spun savagely around and made to face Hithrax. There was a silence, then Hithrax lashed out and struck Korman in the mouth, and his heavy, clawed hand drew blood.

'Such insolent laughter is forbidden by law, Guardian! Only those who have yielded to the truth may laugh, if they will.'

'And what is truth, Hithrax, servant of darkness?'

'Soon you will know, rebellious one.' He paused as if thinking, then said, 'This is the truth!' He stalked around the alcove, ripping the roses from where they grew on the thorns, every last one, reaching higher than any man could have. Then he ground them one by one into the dust with his huge scaly feet. 'All life is pain, all hope is pain, all love is pain. Only despair is the doorway to relief; then death is final release!' He spat the words of the Traveller hymn with an almost insane ferocity. But then his voice, as he came back to face Korman, became almost gentle, fatherly.

'The only truth you need to know, Korman, is this: relinquishment of the wheel of life is the only way out of the hell you are in.'

Korman smiled at this, and again Hithrax struck him on the mouth. 'I begin to despair of you. Perhaps in the Labyrinth you will finally see the light, and find release. Then, enlightened or not, you will be returned here, to be enthorned beside the accursed witch, for the edification of others, if not yourself, fool!' He motioned to the police and they frogmarched Korman out of the alcove of the Lady.

Chapter Forty-six

The Dark Labyrinth

The march back along the Avenue of Despair to the Hill of the Skull was long and weary. Hithrax kept stopping to make Korman look at the corpses and the living dead, lecturing him, urging him to give in to despair. As he stumbled from horror to horror, forced to turn his head and look into the faces of the enthorned, Korman began to fear he would go mad before they reached the end. At last the dark archway of Zaghrabnah the Mother Thorn loomed overhead, and they led him inside just as the sun sank in blood-red splendour behind the Hill of the Skull. And further west, the same sun turned to crimson the Harbour of Black Ships, where the Nered factories ground on into the night.

Shelley had gone up into her tree again before dark to look out over the lake and see the sunset, and she had seen the dark clouds appear over the thorns and the lightning stab down. She felt that something terrible was happening. 'Korman!' she cried out, and hardly dared to look. She saw a group of Aghmaath marching up the avenue with a prisoner towards the gaping maw of the Hill of the Skull, but she could not bring herself to use the spyglass to see whether or not the prisoner was Korman.

She was plunged into doubt and fear as night fell: fear of the black snake creature, doubt whether she would see Korman alive again, fear at the thought of having to cross Lake Deadwater alone, where perhaps the snake hunted; and despair at the thought of the thorn wall on the other side, where people and corpses hung enthorned. Bootnip hid gloomily in Korman's pack where it lay in the cupola.

So the third night came, bringing fear more inescapable than the night before. And towards dawn, nerves in tatters, she thought she saw the black snake sliding over the courtyard in the waning moonlight. But by then she was drifting in and out of sleep, and she wondered if it was only a dream.

The third day dawned. It was midsummer's day, when in ancient Aeden joyful festivals were held. It was bright and cool, and the chorus of cicadas in the trees welcomed the sun, and so did Shelley, relieved that the darkness had fled. Then she nodded off again, exhausted. But soon the air was shimmering with the heat and, waking up again, she longed to plunge into the well to cool down. But the well now held the menace of the black snake, and she was afraid to put a foot in it, though she cautiously went down to fill her flask with its refreshing water.

Sleepless, in the dead of night, Korman had been led into the Dark Labyrinth, where once he had learned the wisdom of the Makers, before the enemy had perverted it to the service of the Void, and now he was to be taught the doctrine of utter despair. Driven by thorny spearpoints into its coils, he had at last reached the black centre. They had shut the iron-bound doors on him, leaving him there on the edge of the pit into nothingness. There in the despair-whispering depths, in the depths of a vortex of fear which killed all thoughts of hope, the black Void had opened up to mercifully engulf his tortured life and possess him forever.

But even as the Void sucked him in, out of its black depths had stepped a lovely figure clad in diaphanous blue and gold. It was the Lady as Korman remembered her from the days long ago, before the thorns. 'We can never be separated,' her eyes said. 'Our love has overcome their hatred, and turned even the Void into our meeting place. Fear not the Void; it is the Womb of Worlds. Fear not the thorns; they purify the spirit. Fear nothing any more, Korman. The story we have written together will be fulfilled, and the thorns engulfing Aeden will turn into roses.'

And a radiance enveloped them so that for Korman the dark depths of the Labyrinth shone with the joy of Creation, and he rejoiced and laughed aloud.

'But what of Shelley?' he asked at last. 'I did not know when we chose this path that it would mean that I, a Guardian, should leave my charge in the Valley of Death.'

'Is she not on my sacred island? By your enthornment she will be empowered, and passing through the valley of the shadow of death, will become the Kortana, the Jewel-Caller, if she does not turn back from the path laid before her.'

Then the vision faded. Korman, full of joy, knowing himself to be one with the Lady, did what no other living soul had ever dreamed of doing in that place since the Aghmaath had taken it: he wrote a poem to Life on the walls of the central chamber of Death, reaching up and scratching onto the pale rock in large bold letters with charcoal from past sacrificial fires. There was no light in that place, but he saw that his hand faintly lit up the wall as if by the burning glow of his own life-energy. And he wrote:

'Here was once the centre of the Labyrinth of Life. Here I, Korman, will write a poem to Life:

I have seen you, O Lady,

In the deepest Void,

When all they saw was death.

You are no stranger there,

But bring forth from empty hands

Made full by love,

All the stars of heaven

And all the springs of earth.

The rain is your tears;

The falling leaves, your body;

And where you fall, the flowers bloom.

The greatest truth is love!

And the greatest lie is this:

That the Void should be the goal of Life.

But the goal of life is Life itself

The goal of play is Play

And the goal of joy is Joy

For ever and a day!'

This poem took him the rest of the night, and all night the Void did not trouble him. When he was happy with the poem he brushed the charcoal from his hands, smiled and sat down, ready for whatever would come, and sang softly in the dark.

So in the morning when they came and opened the door of the chamber, he smiled at Phagrapag and Hithrax and told them he loved Life more than ever, and their wrath blazed forth, and they struck him and ripped his robe from him and tore his beard, and he was sent forth in an iron-barred wagon, shackled hand and foot. But they did not see the writing on the wall of the Labyrinth.

Hithrax forgot his training as Korman was driven out of the dungeons, and cursed and screamed and mocked at him in his fury that he continued to believe the Great Lie, and loved life still. 'Korman of the withered arm!' he croaked, 'Your arm may no longer be withered, but what good will that do you now, when you are to be thrown whole into the thorns? So shall all your hopes wither, you fool! She who deceived you, and lured you here, she will not save you, but will curse you for believing what she now renounces as vile illusion! She belongs to the Void, now, Korman, do you hear me? To the VOID!' His skin was dark red now, reflecting his rage, and his eyes turned the colour of blood-amber, glittering with murderous hate.

But Phagrapag rebuked him, commanding him to self-flagellate before the Void until he no longer cared about the doomed Korman, or the pitiful witch, or any of life's futile outcomes. Then Phagrapag withdrew, and watched calmly from a high vantage point as Korman was driven down the long Avenue of Despair to his place of enthornment beside the accursed one, the witch, so-called Goddess of Aeden, seducer of men to the Great Lie of life. Something did not seem quite right, but Phagrapag could not put the probing finger of his mind on it. He decided to wait a long time before Korman was released from the thorns for another opportunity to be enlightened. Perhaps, after a suitable time of waiting, he would reawaken him in the thorns for questioning. The idea attracted him, and he rebuked himself for feeling desire. He would consult with his master Rakmad on the Tor Enyása, later. This Korman was getting him ruffled, and that made him worry that he was becoming entangled again in the deceitful web of willing, which only brings suffering and bitterness.

Meanwhile, he thought, the trap was set; the greatest quarry of his career, a young girl named Shelley, set up by the deluded forces of life to be its next saviour, was even now somewhere in the Valley of Thorns. She would soon hear them proclaim Korman's sentence of enthornment, and would no doubt be grieved, and come to the bait like a hope-moth to the flame.

But if she did not, there was also the treasure he had been handed. The Vapáglim. It had been unearthed at the search of the alcove where the lovesick fool Korman had been hiding. That treasure could prove useful indeed. Travel unlimited, he mused – and not just to ordinary places, but to all the most beautiful and powerful places the worlds have to offer. Wanderlust was, he knew, the last temptation of his race. That thing had been made to gratify that lust, and was fair beyond anything he knew, and therefore perilous to his service in the Void. The beauty of old Aeden, the vision of perfection that almost was and could be, lived within its carved starfish island and its amber sea. But he was wise and old – he could resist its power; use the Vapáglim to find the girl. Even Rakmad need not know about it, not just yet...

So Phagrapag's suppressed desire ran to lust beneath the bitter surface of his asceticism, and his mind writhed in conflict with itself, and he fingered the treasure constantly.

Now he called for Hithrax, and commanded him to go secretly that night to the alcove where Korman was to be enthorned next to the Lady, and to lie in wait there in a secret cave in the thorns, and await the coming of Shelley. He now began to doubt in his heart whether she would come – he felt her power growing; her mind was growing beyond his skills to infiltrate, and he knew that this meant she would now begin to have the power to sense his intentions. So, he reasoned, he should use the Vapáglim to hunt her in person, and take her by surprise. So, when Hithrax was gone, he withdrew to a secret chamber to test the powers of the new tool, that ancient device created by his own ancestors at the height of their powers, but also of their folly, before the Makers left to make futile war against the Dark Entities.

Shelley was getting really troubled. The day was wearing on – coming up to midday, judging by the position of the hot sun almost directly overhead. Something was wrong; she felt it in the pit of her stomach. The gongs that normally only sounded at dusk were clashing and booming over the valley, in triumphant tones she had not heard before. She listened, with a sinking feeling, to the sound of an iron-wheeled Deathwagon slowly grinding along the Avenue, and she knew she had to look.

Going reluctantly to her tree, she climbed past her sleeping-branch up to the fivefold fork at the highest level, above the main canopy of leaves. From there she watched a solemn procession of Aghmaath, at the front and rear of the open Deathwagon, drawn by pale horses. In the cage stood a single prisoner. This time she took out the spyglass, and with shaking hand and pounding heart she put it to her eye. This time she recognised him. There was no doubt. It was Korman.

The world seemed to spin around Shelley's head as she struggled with the horrible fact, and she dropped the spyglass. It bounced from branch to branch and shattered on the cracked flagstones below. She lost her grip on the branches and began to slip down the tree. But blind instinct took over, and she threw out her arms, and her hands gripped a lower branch, breaking her fall. Tears welled up, and soon she was sobbing on the ground, as a chorus of Aghmaath criers, standing in the tops of the thorn-hedges, proclaimed in unison up and down the Valley of Thorns:

'Korman the Outcast stands condemned out of his own mouth, for rebellious acts against the Empire of the Void and the Travellers who are its emissaries. Therefore he is to be punished by enthornment next to the accursed witch whom he served, until such time as it pleases the Mother Thorn or her representatives to disenthorn him for merciful death in the Dark Labyrinth.'

The eerie voices droned on, declaring that his punishment was just, and in accordance with the duty of the enlightened to teach and edify all those in their care, but Shelley heard little of their speech. She did hear the final terrible words, though:

'Therefore, Korman, we pronounce you Rakaralakké: you are an incarnation of the Accursed One whose will made life and with it suffering. You are Anathema to us. Now you will stand motionless in the thorns, while the sun and stars wheel in their futile courses and the rats gnaw at your feet, until all Aeden is turned to wisdom by the example of your suffering.'

Then the criers chanted with deep guttural voices, 'The Void! The Void!' and the onlookers took up the chant, and it went on and on, slow and rhythmic, booming and echoing, until it sounded like the very heartbeat of the Valley of Thorns.

Finally the chanting died down, and then in the silence Korman was led down from the wagon and into an alcove in the thorns. The whole valley had fallen silent. She waited with a sick feeling to hear his screams. Or – hoping against hope – the sound of his war chant, Hethür, Krithür, Shaktha! as his great sword, Arcratíne the Jewel-Defender, hacked the thorns and slaughtered the enemy. But all she heard, clear in that silence, was a laugh, echoing across the water. It was Korman, but not as she had ever heard him before.

'Has he been released?' was her first, irrational thought. Then, more rationally, she thought 'He's gone mad.' This thought turned her mind inside out, and she began to feel sick. Dizzily she turned away from the hated sight of the Avenue, now clearing of onlookers – cheering fanatics from the thorn fields – as the criers and the grim soldiers marched back to the Hill of the Skull, the empty Deathwagon bringing up the rear. Then the midsummer rain began, pattering then roaring on the treetops of the island as Shelley ran for shelter.

'It's the tears of the Lady, weeping for Korman – my friend!' she murmured, and her throat constricted and her own tears came with sobs that would not stop.

The rest of that day was a grief-stricken blur. Huddled in the cupola as the rain fell outside she imagined what Korman was going through, and burned with indignant shame at his unjust humiliation at their hands in the name of their so-called 'Truth'. Over and over she wondered how she could possibly hope to rescue him. He had failed to rescue the Lady and was now being terribly punished; how could she escape the same fate if she tried to rescue him? The wind began to sigh through the thorns, and thunderclaps rolled down the valley. 'Why?' she cried to the Lady, and angry tears took the place of grieving ones. But her eyes stung more and more until she finally stopped crying. Feeling hollow and empty of feeling, she moved to the least wet and windy side of the cupola and tried to sleep, knowing she could not sleep that night, with the black serpent out hunting – hunting for her, she was sure.

Finally, in the late afternoon, the thunder died away. Soon afterwards, as if to take its place, came the rumble of a Deathwagon coming down the rocky road into the Avenue of Despair from the east. Shelley braved the rain and dragged herself up the tree again to look. The wagon was ironclad with small barred windows; but she could just make out the little faces of children peering out in fear. Then another Deathwagon came; and another. 'Maybe Aeden has already fallen, and I'm the only one left,' she thought, and loneliness engulfed her.

Then thoughts of despair frayed away the defences of her mind like thornbirds picking at the bodies in the thorns, and sucked at her strength like the Mother Thorn digesting them. And through the opening in her mind which the despair created came thought-forms of horror, images of Korman's pain, sent out by the Dreamcasters on the Hill of the Skull. She heard a hollow voice in her head: 'Now the tendrils of the Mother Thorn entwine about the fool's head, his arms and legs; the probing needle points puncture his soft skin, finding the lifeblood, feeding burning sap into his veins, joining him forever to the Mother, opening his mind to wisdom, and to the Void as it approaches, nearer, nearer! Soon all is darkness before his glazed eyes, pain and horror without relief until he yields to the Void. So, too, will you yield, unless you choose to come to us now.'

She felt the familiar tug, the drugged allure of the Void, forgetfulness of all pain, all of life's weary struggles. She heard herself thinking, dully, 'What's the use? It's all an illusion, one big nightmare. All that stuff I was starting to believe! The Chosen One! Huh! Faery! Ha ha! Just dreams, wishful thinking, stupid coincidences. What's real is this grit in my eyes and the stink of dead things getting up my nose, and my poor body that will probably end up hanging in those thorns in the pouring rain!'

She could not remember any of the good feelings she had, only the bad. She found she could not even remember her home on Edartha, or the refuges she had found in their journeys through Aeden; only the hardship of the wilderness. And the thorns in the valley kept crackling as they grew.

But in the midst of her despair a bright gleam of colour caught her eye. Looking up she saw that the raindrops hanging from the glistening leaves and branches were sparkling like diamonds in the late afternoon sun, and some shot out tiny bright points of light, yellow and red, blue, green and violet, depending which way she moved her head. 'I don't remember ever noticing that,' she thought, in sudden delight at the flashing colours which broke through her dark thoughts.

Then a few brave birds began to sing, blackbirds farewelling the light, as the golden sunset of the third day came, deepening to solemn shades of crimson and purple under the rainclouds clearing from the West.

Chapter Forty-seven

Shelley and the Serpent

There was nothing for it, she thought bitterly. She had to accept the ghastly reality of what had happened, take her life in her own hands, and leave the safety of the sacred island. The three days were up, and they had brought disaster for Korman. Now it was all up to her.

But the thought of crossing the lake, with that black thing lurking in the water, was more than she could face. She decided to wait another night and see what the morning might bring. A part of her still hoped, child-like, that Korman would just turn up again and everything would be back to normal.

In the swiftly failing light of midsummer's day she settled in for another night in her tree. The tree was beginning to feel like an old friend, or like her bedroom back on Earth, at the top of the steep green stairway above the kitchen. Its knobbly branches were like an old man's arms with tennis elbow, and the growing tips of its broad glossy leaves were velvety like deer-antlers.

Somehow she managed to get to sleep quite quickly, in spite of the doleful sound of the endarkened ones chanting endless hymns to the Void, coming faint but clear over the still water. There was nothing more to be done or hoped for, and she had given up looking ahead – it was all black.

But in the deep of the night, she had a dream about Korman, which made her feel that this disaster was somehow a wonderful mystery, part of a sublime plan.

She saw Korman enthorned in the alcove next to the Lady in the Blue Moon's light, with the shimmering light she had seen that night in the crater, coming from his sword, only now it was coming through him out of the night sky, down into the thorns and the earth, and at the same time the mysterious power of the Zagonamara was shifting from the Bottomless Canyon and Baldrock, now in the power of the enemy, and flowing up from the earth under Lake Deadwater, through the Lady and back up into the sky, making a great circuit from sky to Korman, to earth to the Lady, and back into the sky, and this mysterious flowing energy was turning the thorns into crimson-blooming roses which rippled out from Korman and the Lady and filled all the valley with their sensuous perfume.

She woke up, feeling a great joy. It was Midsummer's Night, and the Blue Moon had just risen. The chanting of hymns to the Void had stopped. All was silent. She remembered Quickblade's words to her: 'Think of me at the next Blue Moon! I will take out this flower and gaze on it, and as it opens in the moonlight, I will see you.' Tears came into her eyes as she imagined him doing it that very moment, and she thought, 'We'll probably never meet again, now.' But looking out over the mirror of the lake, stars reflected in its surface like hopeflowers in full bloom, she imagined the Zagonamara now flowing beneath it, and the thorns as they were in her dream, a beautiful sea of roses, and she heard the moonbirds singing songs to break the heart for joy, swooping and hovering like skylarks over the alcove where Korman and the Lady were enthorned.

Then, from across the lake the sound of Fairies singing wafted on fragrant breezes; high-pitched, haunting tunes, played with tiny flutes and violins that passed through notes too high for human ears, interweaving with each other and the moonbirds in a sad symphony. And the song was taken up by other Fairies in the trees all around her on the sacred island. Shelley imagined them, tiny hidden orchestras among the leaves, beyond the reach of the endarkened ones below. She smiled, full of mingled joy and sorrow. At that moment, life seemed mysteriously perfect.

It was then that, if she had been watching, she would have seen a little head bobbing across the lake towards the northern shore. Bootnip had given up waiting on the island and was looking for his master.

When Shelley awoke again, she looked blearily at the sad morning light. It was now the fourth day since Korman had left her on the island. She wondered how she could possibly have felt that all was well, when the two she loved most, besides Quickblade, and had had the most faith in, were now prisoners in the hated thorns. Yet her courage had returned in spite of her gloomy thoughts, and a happy lightness stayed with her as she pondered the road ahead, thinking over everything she could remember that Korman had told her.

'So let's see, I have to go up towards the Tor Enyása and then veer off to the north, and look for Ürak Tara in the Mountains of the Silver World. That's Earth,' she thought, and it felt strange that she would soon, if all went well, be on the mountains named after her own home world. But Aeden now felt much more real to her than Earth – or at least, she felt herself to be somehow more real, more alive there.

When evening came she gathered her things, along with everything that she could take of Korman's – it felt sad and strange to touch his things – picked up the staff she had cut from her tree, put on the necklace of Job's tears which she had made during the long wait, and the medallion of the Boy Raiders that Quickblade had given her. Then she said a last goodbye to the courtyard, the tree, and the sacred well. She felt a shiver of fear as she looked down at the dark water, dead leaves on its surface turning slowly with upwellings from the bottom. But apart from the lingering sense that she was being watched, all seemed peaceful, and she wondered if she had only imagined the black snake. She wished she could have had more swims in the well. Then she remembered the golden goblets (she had recovered them from Bootnip, to his indignation). She ran back to get them from the little round table where Korman and she had shared their last meal together, and hid them in the dead leaves under the grapevine.

But as she walked staff in hand down the darkened track to the lake's edge, Phagrapag, inquisitor of the Dark Labyrinth, appeared out of nowhere to claim her. He towered up in the darkness, holding a silver medallion (Shelley had no idea what it was, as Korman had kept it hidden). It was glowing with a golden radiance like a ship's compass, and the air around it seemed to crackle, not with light but with darkness as if the very fabric of space had been cracked like an egg, and the Void was showing through, a threat and a horror even greater than the apparition of Phagrapag himself. Putting the Vapáglim away carefully into a deep pocket in his black robe, Phagrapag held out his withered arms.

'Come, child. We have been waiting for you for a long time.' In his huge dark forehead, his third eye flicked open, a hard, pitiless eye. The mindbolt that came from it flashed towards her before she could move, and she screamed as it hit. Then all she could think of was surrender, giving up, falling into the peaceful Void, joining all the others, Korman and the Lady and Hillgard, Rilke, Quickblade, Pipes. They were all there before her in the darkness of the Void, darker than night. They were beckoning to her. 'Jump in, Shelley, the water's fine,' called Pipes, and she felt him pulling her in. Then another mindbolt hit, and fresh visions poured into her head, along with feelings of desire for the Void almost too strong to bear, as if in it were all possible objects of desire rolled into one. All she had to do was reach out and step in...

'No, this isn't real! Go away!' she yelled. With a terrible wrench, she pulled herself away from the mindtrap and faced Phagrapag, who was so surprised to see such resistance in one so young, that he did not immediately grab her with his long birdlike arms. Never in all his long years of mastery of the Void had he failed to subdue a young subject with the first mindbolt. Shelley backed away from him. He stood open-mouthed for a second, gathering himself to spring. Shelley took her chance and, hoping it would really work on a live Aghmaath, she braced herself to hit him when he sprang, as she knew he would. The bristles on his neck stood out, and his eyes fixed on her forehead. She felt giddy and sick, but stood her ground.

Suddenly he launched into the air as if his feet had been coiled springs, and came down on her like a fighting-cock, arms and legs outstretched to slash her. She jabbed her staff into his side, dodging the flailing spurs and claws, and watched him spin in mid-air, just as Korman had said. She raised the staff again and swung it as hard as she could, cracking down on the vulnerable back. She heard the hiss of escaping breath as he thudded to the ground. She dropped the staff, pulled out her knife and jumped onto his knobbly body. He was wearing thornpod armour, under the black cloak. But quick as thought she found the vulnerable point in the neck, and held the knife to it. Phagrapag tensed as if to fight, then went suddenly limp, gasping for breath. But he sniggered grimly.

'Kill me, and my brethren will bury me, and then I will rise again as a Mother Thorn, more powerful than ever, and one day you will hang in torment in my branches!' he wheezed. 'There is no escape for you this way! You, the so-called Chosen One, are only marked out for suffering, until you at last come to know, in the bitterness of utter defeat, the futility of life and the false hopes you were fed. Yield to your true destiny, give in to the Void now and show your people the way!'

Shelley growled at him, anger swelling in place of fear. He continued talking, head turned to one side, body facing down, polluting the sacred ground of the island. He was eloquent and almost triumphant in the face of his own death:

'But, kill me or not, I do not care! Either way, your destiny will find you, O "Chosen One," and then you will surely yield to the Void!'

In her fierce rage, Shelley was not susceptible to his mindtraps, and now, overcome with loathing, she felt her arm tighten to slice the blade into the hated neck. She gritted her teeth, and began to move the knife. But something, deeper than her hatred, stopped her. She jumped up and stood over him. 'My destiny is not what you think,' she panted. 'Haven't you ever heard of "Live and let live?" I won't kill you, even though you deserve it.'

But Phagrapag's hand was already at his dagger, and half-turning, he slashed at her ankle, seeking to hamstring her. She felt the slicing of the blade, but she jumped high and brought her heels down onto his back again, as hard as she could. He fell face-forward, gasping. She pelted down the path, stumbled and got up, and now she heard the harsh hissing breath of Phagrapag close behind. Her only thought now was to hide in the water. 'Aghmaath hate the water, Aghmaath hate the water...' the words she had heard Korman say long ago repeated in her mind as she prayed it was true. She was just wondering how on earth this old Aghmaath had appeared out of nowhere, when she burst out of the forest and fell headlong into the lake.

Shelley has always hated diving, and now she remembered why. The cold water shot up her nostrils, and she opened her mouth to breath, and choked in more water. She struggled to get her head above the surface, coughed out water and gasped for breath. Phagrapag was already standing at the shore, and his third eye flicked open again, glowing with a cold wrath in the middle of his bony forehead. More deadly mindbolts came spewing out at her. With a sickening effort of will she wrenched her gaze from the hypnotic eye and ducked under the water. The mindbolts bounced over the surface and vanished. She put her head up to breathe again, but as she turned to swim away, she gaped in dismay as a new horror reared up out of the lake, inches away from her face. She screamed.

A huge black snake-like face with a thick, curving neck that continued down into the water, was staring at her. As if mesmerised, she looked helplessly into the deep amber-bright eyes like the xanagath of Korman's ring. They were somehow reassuring, even soulful, eyes, and they flicked from her face to her pursuer and back again. Without warning, the creature hissed – or was it a sigh? – and opened its scaly mouth, showing sharp teeth. She cowered back, but to her amazement, words came out, thin and hissing, but clear.

'I'm Thornfoot, that wasss, in the lassst homunculusss. I'm accursssed, of courssse, but if you don't mind my sssaying, according to him, ssso are you!' It made a sound like an hysterical, hissing laugh. Gill flaps opened to either side of the big, glistening face, and long sharp spines stood out, but intuitively Shelley understood that this desperate, crazed creature was a friend. But now Phagrapag, cursing the taralak who had dared to come between him and his rightful subject, was sending out more mindbolts. She screamed, 'Let me past! I'm being attacked!'

'I know, yesss, yesss, aren't we all, tonight?' said the snake. Then came the hissing laugh again. Shelley now noticed that the mindbolts were bouncing off them. The snake, or Thornfoot, was indifferent to them. 'Oh, those?' he said casually, seeing her panic. 'I used to do those tricksss onccce. In a passst incarnation, you sssseee,' he said, smiling. 'But enough, let'sss go. I've watched you, I have, and I like what I sssee. You're like the lady they call the "accursssed witch". That putsss you on the side of my angelssss.'

Again he laughed. Then he was suddenly serious again: 'Now, little Goddessss, will you get on my back or not?' He turned away from her, and a scaly back appeared in the water behind his head. Shelley took a deep breath, and before she had a chance to think twice, she was astride the creature and being towed out into the lake at a rate of knots.

'Greetings to Rakmad, "brother" Phhhagrapag!' called the snake behind him as they sped away, laughing hysterically.

But Phagrapag's harsh cry, full of rage, came after them, 'Worm, thrice-accursed taralak! How dare you help her? But she cannot escape. Look for my appearing on every dark night! Not even her world is safe from me now!' Then he laughed too, a harsh cackle coming over the water from the fast-receding shadow of the sacred island.

Shelley felt herself slipping as she was pushed backwards by the water racing past, and she desperately grabbed the base of the two long flippers (or wings) that projected behind the neck of the monster, and let her legs trail behind. 'That'sss better,' came the voice from the front end of the alien creature she was now trusting with her life. And it sped up, lashing the water to foam as it went. She felt dizzy and exhilarated by the mad power of the creature's motion as she was swung from side to side, and she felt all her worries recede behind the sheer thrill of the moment.

Soon they were recklessly approaching the northern shore, and Shelley realised she did not know where they were going. She had been so glad to escape the terrible Phagrapag, and so delighted with her new friend, that she hadn't thought any further ahead. The Blue Moon was gone, and the darkness was relieved only by the stars of Aeden shining through the humid haze of the valley, glinting on the waves of their passage through the lake. Shelley felt the power in the sinuous creature. Somehow she could no longer think of it as a snake; it was more like a mutation of an Aghmaath, a reversion to some aquatic form. She remembered Korman's words, that although he had not yet met one, there would be good Travellers. 'But perhaps it's just pretending to be good, and it's really going to take me to the Avenue of Despair and throw me into the thorns,' she thought. 'Or maybe it's not on anyone's side, and just likes getting people to laugh at its jokes and trust it – before it eats them.'

Now they had almost reached the northern shore and were slowing down. 'Isss thisss where you want to go, my Goddessss of the well? To the thornsss where the other Goddessss is held?' he asked, and she saw the forked tongue as he spoke.

'Yes, yes, of course,' said Shelley, still staring at the creature's tongue. But now she felt sick with a horror of the thorn alcove, and added, 'But I can't stay. I mustn't get caught too, or I'll let everyone down.'

'Then we will look, and sssay goodbye, and then I will take you home. But where isss that, now? Not the Valley anywhere, isss it? Perhapsss you could live on the sssacred island, and eat applessss, and I could be your friend and protect you?'

'No, I can't go back there... I have to... to get to a place called Ürak Tara. It's over there somewhere.' She waved towards the northern slopes, to the left of the Tor Enyása which was just visible from water level, towering menacingly over the head of the valley.

'Thornfoot is fassst. He will take you through and under and around all the thorn thicketsss.'

Shelley was shivering now that they had stopped, and the breeze was playing over her wet clothes. Her sodden pack felt like lead on her shoulders and they floated low in the water. But she had to know, before she went on, who or what this creature was.

'First, um... what are you, I mean who are you, if you don't mind me asking?' she stammered.

The serpent blinked until she thought it was having a seizure, but then it said, 'I am a creature, like you. I "inherited" thisss body that you sssee before you, and everybody huntsss me like a...like a... '

'Dog?' ventured Shelley.

'No, more like a sssnake, actually. There isss a great prejudice among the legged against the unlegged, you sssee.' He laughed a bitter little laugh. 'No really, it'sss my fault. I am older than I look, in a sssort of way. I'm a taralak, asss they call usss – one of the Travellers that passsed the age of the Final Gathering – after the second regeneration, you sssee – and didn't want to be gathered, ssso I broke the Great Taboo, and grew myssself another homunculusss. But thisss isss what came out.' He laughed until his body shook and made little waves in the water.

'Some of usss were ssseriously crazy people, we third-lifersss. Rakmad the Thirteenth, for example... But we don't usssually lassst long enough to do much damage to the 'sssane' ones... I lasssted longer than mossst, essscaped the hunting by going aquatic, and that'sss when I got to thinking. Or, ssshould I sssay, I went mad for a while. About ssseven yearsss, I think. Forgot nearly all my ssseriouss Traveller knowledge. Laughed a lot, I remember that. Nearly died, didn't care, got wassshed up on the shore. When I woke up, like a new-born homunculusss, I wasss being looked after by the Lady, the one that'sss in the thornsss now. At leassst, I think it wasss her. Sshe fed me apples, and I got better – nearly sssane! But that wasss yearsss ago. Now, she'sss been hunted, and only I wasss left, alone in the lake. I hated them for that. I hunted sssome of them. But it didn't feel any good. Ssso I usssed to go to the island a lot and hide from my brothersss that were, eat the applesss and look into the well, and weep or laugh by turnssss, and wonder about life.

'Then one day I was fissshing, and I sssaw the Lady again, but it wasss you, ssswimming there, and I sssaid, 'The Lady'ssss back!' and I watched you.'

'You did!' said Shelley, blushing.

'But I was ssshy. And then I sssaw you being hunted, and I sssaved you. Life is ssstrange, but sssometimes I like it, don't you? Don't want to go ssstraight to the Void, not yet, do we, not while there's friendsss to talk to in lakessss?'

'No, I'd rather not anyway,' said Shelley, laughing. Now this half-mad creature was like a friend.

She brought herself back to the thing she feared but knew she had to do. She asked in a small shaky voice, 'OK, now we understand each other – sort of – can you take me to the Lady?'

The serpent replied, 'Yesss, I've been before, onccce, it's not niccce, but if you come with me I will go there onccce more, jussst for you. Hold on!' He flicked his tail – or whole body – and surged on towards the shore, and before she had time to change her mind they had slithered up the bank, crossed the Avenue of Despair, and glided to a halt in the alcove where the Lady still stood enthorned.

And there, in the rising moonlight, she saw Korman also, pressed cruelly into the thorns, standing or hanging at the Lady's side, his undertunic torn and stained, and blood coming from the fresh puncture wounds in brow, neck, wrists and ankles, through which the Mother Thorn now controlled his life, feeding into his veins what was necessary, keeping him awake or in a coma as it wished. And strangely, his sword stood embedded in the ground before him. Both captives had closed eyes, but they seemed to stare at the world and look down on her, by some sense other than sight.

She slipped off the back of the serpent and cried with great choking sobs. Thornfoot glided round and round the alcove, snapping at nothing, in some altered state of his own, as if he had slipped back into madness to hide from the pain. And, lurking just behind Korman's feet in the dry thornlitter was a little creature no one had remembered, and it shivered in the dark, and snapped at any insects that came near him.

Hidden in the dark secret passage in the thorns, Hithrax waited, but a silver mist covered Shelley and Thornfoot from his sight, just as it had Korman – at first. They were walking in Faery, though they did not know it, yet Korman and the Lady were still prisoners there, in the thorns, as if their plight was somehow part of both worlds.

'Goodbye for now, Korman! I'm going to look for Ürak Tara. I'll try not to let you down. Sorry, I lost Bootnip. But I will be back!' she whispered. 'And goodbye, Lady! You are the most beautiful being in this whole world. One day, you'll be able to talk to me and hold me in your arms, and make everything all right again.'

Then she had a clear flash of Goddess-insight, as when she saw all those things in the mindstone in Barachthad's cave, or when she was in the Crystal Lotus on the summit of Baldrock. She said, 'Now the Fire and the Rose are one – Korman of the fiery sword, and the Lady who is the Rose of Aeden. Though they stand in the darkness, the power of their union will light the way for the Kortana.' And she was glad, knowing that she was speaking of herself.

Before she left the alcove of suffering, Shelley went to the sword, wondering why the Aghmaath had not taken it, and tried to pull it out of the ground. A jolt of power went through her body, but it did not burn her as it had Hithrax; instead, she was energised from head to foot. In that moment she understood: the sword Arcratíne was a living crystal, related to the Arcra, and there in the heart of darkness it stood for the lost Arcra, linking Heaven and the Zagonamara through Korman and the Lady in a circuit of power, keeping the life of Aeden from dying as the darkness grew. But it could not take the place of the Arcra forever; it was not built for it, and sooner or later the Aghmaath would find a way to take or destroy it.

'The Arcra must be found and returned to the Tree,' she said, and a wave of power surged through her as she saw herself becoming the One who would, somehow, do this thing.

Then the vision was gone, and she was Shelley again. Shaking, she took one last look at Korman, her true friend, and the Lady, whose presence she had felt so often in the darkest times. Behind them the thorns creaked as they grew, even by night. The roses had all been plucked out by Hithrax, but new buds were already appearing. She turned to go, and if she had looked down, she would have seen a constellation of tiny white flowers opening out of the stony ground where she had been standing, and in their midst the pale blue diamond Rilke had given her. It had fallen out of the hole Bootnip had chewed in her pack.

Thornfoot glided up and she sat astride his lithe black body, letting him take her whichever way he would. It seemed to her, in that mad world where the best people were hung in thorn thickets or locked in Labyrinths, the only comfort was to be found in a madness like his, the kind that can laugh at any horror that proclaims itself solemnly as truth, and by laughing, overcome it. She shook her fist at the whole pack of them and all their warped teachings as she slipped out onto the Avenue astride the serpent, nestled behind the short wings which sheltered her on either side. And on the wings, she now noticed, was the same pattern as on the wings of the dragon-snake: the mark of the Lady.

Then Hithrax awoke as if from a trance, and raised the alarm in great wrath. His hunting troops emerged from the secret thorn-cave, and the Dagraath bayed for blood as they sniffed the ground to pick up the scent of the intruders.

But Shelley was already speeding away on Thornfoot's back, up the Avenue of Despair, out of the Valley of Thorns toward the foothills of the Tor Enyása. Now she was seeking her destiny with a fierce passion. Now she was truly a rebel, like Quickblade and the Boy Raiders, and the Evergirls. For love, for vengeance, she would become the Kortana and find the lost Heartsone.

Volume Two at Amazon:  The Rebels of Aeden

Chapter Forty-eight

The Narrator's Postscript

There was a handwritten note from the Narrator at the end of the manuscript:

Currently in hiding. If anything should happen to me, please try to publish this first part which I have managed to get written down. As you can see, there is much more to tell, but as usual, I am a little behind. But the present account will at least give an idea of the nature of the enemy we are up against, and reveal the hope of a new dawn for all the Nine Worlds, if Shelley succeeds in becoming the Kortana and finding the Heartstone of Aeden.

Beware of Phagrapag; he may already have used the Ouvron to cross over to Earth. And beware the Athmadites; we now know they are here among us, and have been this past age.

Salutations,

Christopher.

We apologise for the uncertainty. We anxiously await further word from the narrator.

-Editor

Appendices

Appendix 1

English Glossary.

Use in conjunction with the Aedenese lexicon which follows.

Aeden the isle/world of Aeden. C.f. Kor Aedenya, the world of Aeden.

Aedenese The language of Aeden.

Aedenites Inhabitants of Aeden, humans, Travellers, and others.

Aedenyan The language of Aeden. A mixture of dialects, with influences via the Templars and other Crossers from Edartha.

Ainenia – She of the Nine Lives. Name for the Lady of Aeden.

amber (As it is not fossilised, it is really gum or copal). Agathra, the golden or silvery clear solidified resin of the Jeweltree. Highest grade is the bright-amber, xanagathra, mostly found at Lake Avalon, where it floats from the island and is washed up on the shores. Used for lamps, as it glows when light is called forth from it by a ratan. This light comes in a mysterious way from the lightning which enters the trees of the Tor Enyása. C.f. Blood-amber.

anklebiter Small burrowing creature. Nips at ankles, hoards crystals. Domesticated by the Boy Raiders.

Antipodes Opposite side of the world.

Apples of Aeden. Related to the common Earth apple but of many more nutritious (some say magically life-renewing)varieties than on present-day Earth, and containing sometimes the seed of the Jeweltree. (C.f. Star-key). Like Earth apples, if cut crosswise they reveal a 'star' of five seeds. If you look closely at the cross-section you will see five clear spots in between the five seeds. These are said to represent the Ten Worlds – hence the notion of the Tenth World, not officially part of the ancient nine-world Order of the Makers. C.f. Apples of Peace.

Apples of Peace or of Forgetfulness. The poisoned apples of the Aghmaath, from trees injected with the drug of the thornsap by means of a Rakhir, or thorndagger.

Arcratíne Firesword of Korman, Defender of the Arcra. Made in the Fire World. When struck into the ground, able to amplify the cyclic flow of the Wouivre or Zagonamara energies between heaven and earth.

Arms of the Starfish Isle, Aeden. Five, called (going clockwise from the top of the map)the Northern, the Northeast, the Southeast, the Southwest, and the Northwest arms. Each has a high rocky ridge leading down from the High Plateau, the Tor Enyása, to the seaward end where it ends in a smaller echo of the whole – a five-armed mountain.

ascetics Religious zealots, often recluses or hermits, who seek enlightenment and holiness by denying (even being revolted by) the body's natural desires, and trying to only desire the unseen and spiritual. Leads to a death-wish. The Aghmaath are the extreme of this tendency, and seek to force it on all creatures.

Athmad Adam, said to be the First Man in Genesis. Ewana, or Eve, was his wife.

Athmaddites, Athmadites Secret society on Earth dedicated to getting the Heartstone of Aeden and completing the work of Athmad (Adam, who sought to make Earth the Hub).

Avalon Island of Apples. Known in Celtic times as the western isle where all ills would be healed. Located on Aeden, on a lake, but said to appear in other worlds off the coast. Some have been known to cross over to it – e.g., Calibur of Cornwall.

Balance, The. Happy and powerful state in which opposite dynamics are in harmony and one does not dominate the other – e.g., male and female, intuitive and rational, love and truth, freedom and order.

Birdmen Boy Raider slang for the Aghmaath, who do have some bird-like features – including some feathers, which the boys prize as trophies.

black fire connected with the worship of the Void, unknown mechanism but highly dangerous, consuming the mind.

black hornet large (inch-long or more) shiny black swarming hornets which hunt. Used by the Trackers like sniffer dogs, using scents shown them by their keepers. Usually kept in a basket. Flesh-eating. The sting causes temporary paralysis.

blood-amber Agragathra. Amber from jeweltrees that were bled for their sap in the time of the Tenth-Worlders and the Bleeders, and later died. The Blood-amber diggers came and retrieved lost hoards of it where the bleeders had buried it for maturing and safe-keeping. Glows with a reddish light. Much used by the Aghmaath for lamps, as it encourages thoughts of relinquishment and death.

Blue Moon Aeden's second moon, of uncertain period of appearance, bluish tinted light, about as strong as our full moonlight. Aeden also has a 'normal' moon, silvery as ours.

Boy Raiders, the Band of rebel boys and girls who have crossed over from Earth through portals. Like all Aedenites, they do not grow into adults unless they fall in love and kiss. If they do this, however, they are banished.

Chosen One the hoped-for deliverer of Aeden, foretold by the prophetic poets. Known as the Kortana, the one who calls the Heartstone.

cicadas some are like Earth's, winged insects about an inch long, feeding on the sap of trees and singing through the summer. Others are very different; see Makers.

Code, the Boy Raiders' rulebook, started by Coder the Wise.

Concept, the Guardian term for the Truth by which all things operate; Logic, Underlying Order; the Logos.

continuum of possibility Infinite, possibly absolutely infinite, set of all possible patterns, worlds and entities.

Crossers, the Young children (usually around 12-13) whose desire for a better world led them to portals to Aeden, where they crossed over from Earth or other worlds. Sometimes they would go back; usually not.

Crystal World one of the Nine. One of the three elder worlds with the Makers and Travellers

Crystalline Entities inhabitants of the Crystal World, intelligent crystals that receive signals from all places. Some were taken by the Makers and fused with the Green World trees to make the Jeweltrees.

cupola a domed roof

Dark Entities Inhabitants of deep space, unknown form of life or energy, apparently hostile to life. The Aghmaath were influenced by them, and became endarkened

Dark Labyrinth of Chartres-like layout, unicursal, formerly used by the Order for initiation into wisdom and knowledge, now used for endarkenment by the Aghmaath

Dark Travellers The Aghmaath.

Dreamweb, Dream Network, Astral Network The 'collective unconscious' of Jung, accessed through dreams, and forming a link potentially between all minds. The Aghmaath are especially adept at using it for communication between distant places – even between worlds.

With practice humans, especially on Aeden, may contact one another and pass on information in their sleep. Shelley even contacted Worriette that way and comforted her.

Dreamcasters Aghmaath deceivers, sending false dreams

Edartha the world of Earth

Elder Worlds the three first worlds of the Order – Travellers, Makers, and Crystals.

Emerglim A great pioneer of the ancient Good Travellers, he who brought the first Crystal to the Green World, and the Tree to Aeden.

endarkenment Aghmaath term for the realization that all life is hateful, and that the Void as Nothingness and no return to the Wheel of existence, is the only Good.

enlightenment Some say, the joyful realization that all things are already in Faery, and that they are unfolding perfectly into it despite appearances to the contrary; and that therefore Life and the life principle (Goddess, now often called on Edartha Gaia) is to be embraced and trusted as good.

Ennead (of Aeden) literally, Book of Nine – nine works of history and lore going back thousands of years to the beginning of the Order.

everchild the property of not automatically growing into an adult but remaining physically as a child. Some say the cause of this is in the soil of Aeden – it happens to all children who visit.

Evergirls, the Breakaway group from the Boy Raiders, started by Jessie the Jilter. They live in the marshes beyond the Lakelands. Use poisoned blowpipes, bow and arrow, and sickle-like throwing swords; often they ride the Ürxura, as well as horses.

Faery the level or mode of the world, from the actual past or part of the Continuum of Possibility, beyond present sight. A parallel, more beautiful reality which weaves in and out of this visible unfolding we call The World. Some can see it and even walk in it, disappearing from mortal sight. Others can walk in both at once, like the Lady.

Fairies, the Makers who decided to stay in Aeden and live in the forest as tiny people.

Fire World one of the three hidden worlds, said to be accessed from Earth. The Air and Water Worlds are the others.

fireswords weapons as well as tools for invigorating the lands, made from crystals which focus subtle and light energies like lasers. C.f. Arcratíne.

Garden of Eden (properly, Aeden, usually pronounced ee-den, but in learned circles like the ae in aeroplane) A mythic place of innocence – a paradise – in the book of Genesis in the Edarthan Hebrew sacred scripture, where Adam and Eve were put to tend it and live in bliss. In fact (if the Narrator is right), it was the island of Aeden in the Golden Age of the Order of the Makers, and Athmad and Ewana were the rebels who sought to set up Edartha as the Hub World.

Golden World the world on which the isle of Aeden is located. So called for the golden Arcra, the Heartstone.

Great Sphere/Bubble, Magisphere the magical realm of Faery-woven beauty that once was much stronger and enveloped all the nine worlds of the ancient Order, magnifying the effect of thoughts and beliefs on the 'Unfolding' (q.v.). Its effect now waning on Edartha, still strong on Aeden, making it easier to 'walk in Faery' (q.v.) there. A cosmic womb for the growth of all beautiful forms of life within the borders of the Nine Worlds; or a great Tree (the Tree of Life writ large in the galaxy) whose branches were the paths of Beauty and whose flowering, leafy crowns the Worlds. Also like a great River of the Unfolding whose tributaries were the Paths and whose confluences the Worlds.

Great Dance the magical beautiful Unfolding (q.v.) of the web of Life, and all process, as seen from the perspective of Faery. In Aeden this is more rapidly affected by thoughts and beliefs than is now the case on Edartha.

Great Paths the links between the worlds made by the Jeweltrees

Great Vigil of Korman his seventy-three year wait for the Kortana in the Portal Hills

Green World The world where the Cicada-like ancestors of the Makers lived, in great forests

Guardian a human, usually male, from the Guardian World, who lives to protect the Order and the Tree of Life. Some say all are descended from the Templars who crossed over, but there were others there before that.

Heartstone of Aeden the golden crystal Jewel of the Tree of Life. Stolen from it and lost to Aeden.

High Plateau the Tor Enyása

hishma Waverider saying, meaning to ride the crest, balanced in the moment, Ride the living Moment!

hopeflower A small waxy flower that opens in the Blue Moon's light, or when the Kortana or the Lady pass over them.

icon an image, usually painted in exquisite detail on smooth wood, of a saint or holy person – often the Mother and Child. Said to have powers to heal and bless, and protect.

inquisitor one who seeks to probe the minds of others and turn them to his own beliefs, by terror, torture, hope, reason, or whatever means he can, thinking that the 'end justifies the means'

Jewel of Knowledge said to have been taken by Athmad and Ewana for the setting up of Earth as the rival Hub. The Emerald Grail of legend.

Jewel of Life the Heartstone

It had great powers to open up paths between the worlds, and to heal and bless Aeden and all the Order – but only in union with its Tree.

jeweltree originally from the Green World of the Makers, a kind of tall, five-trunked tree which was fused with a Crystal in the centre of its five main branches, to open paths through the void between worlds. The Tazürasha, the Tree of Life, was the greatest of these. Also sometimes called Stardoor, or Lightningate trees, as they draw down the energy of the lightning through their twigs filled with silver sap.

Jilters the Girls led by Jessie the Jilter, who left the Boy Raiders to set up as the Evergirls.

Job's tears the seeds of a grass which look like grey and brown beads, almost round, very shiny and hard, about a third of an inch long. Good for stringing into necklaces. Also found on Earth.

Keeper, Glimtrak, Thornfoot The Third-lifer who befriended Shelley.

Keeper, The an entity of unknown powers living in deep space, an enemy of the Dark Entities and friend to the first Wizards.

Kortana (she who calls the Heartstone), c.f. Chosen one

Labyrinth of Initiation see Dark Labyrinth

lightningtree see Jeweltree

Limnakorites see Tenth-Worlders

Magisphere cf Great Sphere.

Makers Original founders of the ancient Order. Cicada-like but with hands, about six inches long and highly intelligent as well as having powers of manipulation of matter down to molecules, and 'shapeshifting' their own or others' bodily form. Said to have departed the Nine Worlds to fight the Dark Entities.See Cicada

mindbolt a form of psychic attack of unknown mechanism, wielded by the Aghmaath emanating from their Third Eyes.

mindfields mindtraps set by the Dreamcasters.

Mindprober Aghmaath specialising in mindreading and control from afar. See Dreamcaster

Mindscouts a variety of Mindprober, specialising in finding new subjects

mindshields objects of silver normally, which screen the user from mindprobes. Often in form of a helmet.

mindstone intelligent object in form like a stone, made by the Makers to interpret languages between receptive minds, and for other uses

Mindweavers variety of Dreamcaster who remoulds the thoughts of subjects to his own will. See Dreamcasters, Mindprobers

mindweb Spell which weaves a mindfield of invisibility about a place. Guardians like Korman have learnt this art; the Aghmaath know it also.

missionary one sent forth to convert people to another belief, by example, persuasion, or fear.

Mother Thorn a great thorn with six great branches spreading an hexagonal network of thorn hedges for miles around it.

Nered factories places of manufacture of new weapons for the Aghmaath. Said to be staffed by boys from Edartha (nered = nerd?) who loved to learn of weapons and devices of power when on Earth.

Nine Worlds the worlds of the Order of the Makers

Old Man of Avalon the ancient guardian of the isle of Avalon, some say one man who forever renews himself at the springs of the Wouivre; others say he is many, a succession of wise men born of Avalon and schooled in its mysteries.

Old Order the way it was in the Golden Age of the Order of the Makers.

One, the Term used by the Neoplatonist philosopher Plotinus to refer to God as the real but non-actual Source of all things, the sum of all platonic Forms; the form of the Good; the uncreated Reality before all actualities, in which they live and move and have being. That than which nothing greater can be conceived, as Anselm of Canterbury defined it.

Order of the Keeper A Wizard order of the good Travellers. Some Guardians are said to belong to it also. See The Keeper

Order of the Makers a utopian alliance of Nine worlds linked by World Trees, Jeweltrees which hold open the Great Paths between them. A republic of love, beauty, truth and freedom, where all were trained in wisdom through the Labyrinths of Initiation, and the Balance was honoured, and war was unknown. The Makers were the chief movers in this great alliance, and so it was named after them, though the Travellers and Crystals were partners.

Order of the Red Dragon Guardian order to from which Korman was expelled.

Ouvron (French) Templar name; called the Vapáglim in Aedenese.

Pale Moon the other moon of Aeden, similar to the Edarthan

Paths of Beauty the Great Paths between worlds

Rakmad Present ruler of the Aghmaath on Aeden. Also, title for a series of important Aghmaath, often followed by a number, e.g. Rakmad the Thirteenth who led Athmad and Ewana to rebel.

singing bowl Small bowl-shaped bell of bronze or silver which Guardians carry as an aid to meditation. When struck it is said to echo the tone of the Music of the spheres, the tone of Creation.

silver helmet see mindshield

Silver World Edartha

skybeams the faint beams of energy seen emanating from the Tree of Life and leading to the five arms and thence to the five other worlds linked to Aeden

spinning scythes spidery hexagon made up of six white scythes, red-edged, on a black background, spinning around a black centre in which a white snake made a circle by biting its own tail, as if to devour itself.

Star-key Vapastra the golden or silver 'tenth seed' occasionally found in apples of Aeden. It is the seed of the Jeweltree, the 'key' to opening pathways to the other worlds.

teaching mindweb an Aghmaath 'mindfield' which enables them to indoctrinate more easily, as it provides grooves for the mind the mind to run in, and makes it hard to think any other way.

Templar enclosures, farming and defence in one, villages and gardens walled against tyrants and bandits, both on Edartha and Aeden.

Templar Knights (Knights Templar) Medieval order of warrior monks whose mission was said to be the protection of pilgrims to the Holy Land, but whose brief was far wider and deeper. Said to be heretics, they came to wield great power, and had perhaps secret servants of the Divine Feminine – Sophia, or the Goddess. Some crossed over to Aeden.

tendrils thorn feelers and growing tips, armed with tiny points which inject paralysing sap.

Tenth World Said to exist as the esoteric source of the Nine Worlds, of unknown significance to the Order, but said to be home of the ultimate source of its power and knowledge, in the form of a great world-sized core of diamond or other crystal.

Tenth-Worlders (Limnakorites) those who seek the heaven of the Tenth World for its eternal life, purity from the biological, and transcendence of all lower worlds and power over all worlds.

third homunculus the final possible regeneration of the Traveller body, which is forbidden because usually the result is madness and a snake-like form – the so-called 'Third-lifers' – the Taralak. Thornfoot is one of these.

Third-lifer see third homunculus

thorndens another term for the regions occupied by the Mother Thorns and the Aghmaath.

thorn-fields. Hexagonal fields between the Mother Thorn branches which form high impenetrable hedges

Thornfoot see Keeper

Thornmen Boy Raider term for the Aghmaath

Tidak, Tidak Nama Guardians of the Starfish, i.e. isle of Aeden

Tímathian Native of the Guardian World, Kor-Tinnama. Note: while Tímathians may often be referred to as 'Guardians,' strictly speaking a Guardian is one of the elite Order of the Red Dragon, protectors, in particular, of the Tor Enyása.

Tracker kiraglim, Aghmaath hunters, who use Dagraath (wardogs) and their own sharp eyes to track down fugitives.

Traders a scattered clan of gypsy-like folk who travel between the villages of Aeden, buying and selling goods, information and gossip.

Tree of Life the central Jeweltree of Aeden.

up Fire Mountain Boy Raider slang: in love

Unfolding, the (Rathvala) The Unfolding – lit., the 'Tree of Five', which grows in five aspects, Opening (Love), Crystalizing (Beauty), Reacting (Truth), Acting (Freedom), and consolidation (Life; The Tree of Life as it presently is, ring upon ring of growth that has been). The Pagrathvala is the mystical Tree of the Unfolding within a person (c.f. the Tree of Life in the Cabala) Some see it in vision as silver, with five great main branches but endless interconnecting twigs woven like a tapestry. And by conscious and unconscious thought feeling and actions, we affect the way it branches and grows.

Vapáglim Medallion of Opening. see Ouvron

Void, the This is the central concept of the Aghmaath. Manifesting as a kind of dark vortex, it seems to suck all life out of the mind and leave an emptiness which its worshippers say is the true peace which passes all understanding. Yet it is not life, or joy, only an absence of suffering. Whether it is to be identified with the Nirvana of the Edarthan eastern mystics, is unclear. There is some similarity on the surface, but underneath there is a difference between the Void of the Aghmaath and the Void, the OVO or cosmic Egg or Womb from which all life came, according to the ancient teachings of Aeden. That Void is obviously fertile and life-giving, not life-denying. And Korman saw the Lady in the Void where the Aghmaath see only death and cessation.

walking in Faery see Faery

wardog fierce fighting dog of the Aghmaath. Unknown provenance; but probably a descendant of pets brought from Edartha, and bred for extreme ferocity.

werewurrier See Wurrier, Rogavala

world-tree the main Jeweltrees that linked each world. See Edarthan legends, e.g. Yggdrasil of the Norsemen, the Tree of Life of the Hebrews and others, the Apple of the Celts,

Wouivre winding paths of subtle energy, interweaving masculine and feminine, which flow through earth and sky, on Aeden and also on Edartha. Some places are strong in its energy and are often sacred places, such as Chartres on Edartha, and Baldrock on Aeden. Related to 'ley lines' and may be doused for with forked sticks or bent-over wires. Connected with underground streams. C.f. Zagonamara

wurrier (official Aedenyan name: gagavala, apple-eater). Small, tameable but very timid monkey-like creature. Descendants of the ill-fated genetic experiment which gave rise to the rogue wurriers, rogavala or Werewurriers, which were finally hunted and destroyed – or so it was thought.

Appendix 2

Aedenyan to English lexicon

(Revised by the editor 080908, 15 05 09 Still a work in progress in consultation with Narrator.)

– e 1: -er, with lengthening of last vowel in word it is added to, and/or doubling of last consonant, e.g., tin: defend; tine: defender. 2: causer; e.g. zurglim, flight; zurglime/zurglimmé one who causes to fly.)

\- i suffix of abstraction (a contraction of plural of abstraction)

– male

\- O Thing, entity, possession oi: things, possessions, entities

A O, vocative prefix, as in O God.

Achrha (lit.: outflow). Stolen, dissipated, lost

Aeden short form of Kor-Aedenya, the World of Aeden, the hub of the Nine Worlds which were linked in the time of the Order of the Makers

Aedenyan the language of Aeden

ag(o), ak, agh, ax Big, large (C.f. ax, from)

Agathi, Ajathi, Urathi Gold = Rajathi

Agathra, argathra, argathagra (palindrome form) Amber or golden gum or resin of the Jeweltree. Has the property of emitting light when awakened by a Ratan, or light-caller. Many Aedenese knew this art, and so could use the agathra-lamps. But the light dimmed after the theft of the Heartstone and the passing of the lightning from the Tor Enyása. Some miners and Traders chewed it in gum form as a stimulant. Or-agathra – the lamplight or glow of the amber.

Agh, Gha, Gh' alt form: Sha, Sh' n. fem. Goddess of life; Life-force (parallel to edarthan 'Shakti' = Aedenite Shaktha from sha – ka – ta, child of the life-goddess) etymology uncertain;

Aghinax Empty, from ajinag = emptyhanded Phangür Aghinax: Brotherhood of emptiness/the Void

Aghitti n. Thorn spore (lit, small bits of life-force).

Aghmaath, Aagmaath, Ágmaath (lit, life-smotherers) – shortened from Aghmagath; the Dark Travellers.

Aghmaath; life smotherers

Aghrak, agrak, agrach, agrax, grax Blood ie, life of the thorn/living. C.f. rharagh, flow/water of the thorn, ie sap or blood

Aghrake pl. aghrakeim the Bleeders, those who bled the Jeweltrees for their amber, and afterwards when the tree had died, claimed the wood as well.

Agolav, aglav, aglab, aklav, axlab distant (lit, big leap) opp.: ovlav, close lit, not a leap.

Agragathra, Agrak-agathra Blood Amber, so called because it came from trees that were bled for their sap, and later died.

Agzaghon Hall, lit., big house

–ah suffix: female

Ah, Oa – Oh that! If only! Let it be!

Ainênía or Ainë Ennia,

a palindrome, meaning Lady of the Nine (Worlds; or some say, nine lives). Representative of the Life of the world of Aeden, and of the Goddess, (q.v.) In the earliest days, some say, Ainênía was given (by the Makers) the power to regenerate for nine lives, each longer than the lives of mortals, and corresponding to epochs in the history of Aeden. And for each life she chose a mortal consort, who shared her life until his end. C.f. also Enneasha

Ak, Ax, ach From

Akpaglab n. Explosion (of the homunculus from the body of a traveller)

-am imperative

Aman Knowledge, knowhow, wisdom, as in Aman-arcra

Apad, apith, apid on, upon, by means of (C.f. also pagyoka)

Arc, Ach, Arx n. Lightning

ArcRa, n. The lightning of Ra, the Uncreated. The Heartstone of the Tree of Life. Written as a Palindrome, showing its balance & power.

Synonyms: Züratikor, Kor, Padrakor, Arcranama. (The Diamond World is also called a Heartstone – the Cosmic Heartstone, Arcrazaglonë.)

Arcra-Achrha The Lost Heartstone

Arcra-Namaglimmé, or Arcranama n. Alternative name for the Heartstone of Aeden.

Arcratana n. She who speaks for the Heartstone; alt form of Kortana

Arcratíne Firesword of Korman, Defender of the Arcra. Made in the Fireworld. When struck into the ground, able to amplify the cyclic flow of the Wouivre energies between heaven and earth

Arcrazaglonë the cosmic Arcra or Heartstone of the Rathzaglonë; i.e., the Diamond World.

Arovora, Arovóra (Palindrome: ),

The Divine 'hermaphrodite' – the union of OVO the divine feminine and RA the divine masculine. C.f. Ürpama, the marriage of Opposites

Arxpharé Orbalax lightning/fire unquenchable (old forms: orba -not, lax, death). Wielded by those of the old order who knew how to divert the flow of the Wouivre. Some say also, to tap into the very power of the Void.

Astara, astra star. C.f. also estara

Astr'ëlavathi-agolavya, shortened to Astr'ëlavathi Star-like love-from-afar. From the poetess Monë Amanya of Kor-Aedenya.

Avala apple. Ancient word, from the Makers' first creation of the appletree from the thorn. Poss etymology: the exclamation or prayer O Valä! C.f. Valä, Valë The apple was implanted with the recessive seed of the Jeweltree, so that the seed of the jeweltrees would spread with the apple and never die out completely. The appletree was a sacred tree of life to the Celts of Earth, and to the ancient Order of the Makers before that.

Avalastra apple-star; the star seen in the apple cut across the kore. Also C.f. Korastra, Korestra Core-star,

Avalazüra the Blue Apples, blue diamonds of Aeden, found only in Baz Apédnapath. Also known as Avlastrabel, blue applestar, because of the five-facetted cut often used.

Avalestare = Valestra = vestra star-maker, epithet for Avalon as the enchanted apple which (when cut) produces the fivepointed star; ie, causes utopias such as Camelot which when they pass from the earth are translated into the heavens to form new stars

Avalon island of the lake of Namaglimmë, the starfish isle of the World of Aeden

Avalonë or long form Avalalonë Archaic for Avalon, from avala-lonë, that which enchants apples. Nara Avalonë: isle of Avalon. Ancient form: Ngarha Avala-lonë

Avlastrabel see Avalazüra

Axpag from out of

Azüra (sea)blue, C.f. Bel also

Ba, ban 1 to go; general term for any movement. 2 as prefix, a going. Cf bath

Badra, badara drum. C.f. rabadra, lightning, ie Drum of Ra

Bath – a going, path, travel. Prefix bat-, ba- Cf Galem

baz adj. deep; sometimes also high eg Bazelra (qv)

bazrak, bazragh, bazrax 1 Deep, high thorn thicket or hill 2 City of the Aghmaath, capital of Phangkor

bazelra deep/high/clear blue sky

Baz Apédnapath the Bottomless Canyon

Bel blue

Bela gograth Hallucinogenic blue fungus, which grows on dead branches and glows in the dark

Belerion Ancient name for a land roughly corresponding to present-day Cornwall. Poss. Etymology: Belerayon from belelenon, beleleon = place of the blue moon, said to be seen when Avalon approaches from the West

Belra, elra day, daylit dome of the sky cf bazelra, deep/high/clear blue sky

Bind, Bindrak/-rax n. pattern of the thorn(fields)

Bindagh, bindach extended Aghmaath village; city

Dagraatha (war)dog/s. sing.: Dagra.

Dagraath-Gaghmad; killerdogs, lit. eat-man; wardogs

Dagraath-nazglim: sniffer dogs

dak, dach, dax n. thorn-nest, village, garrison; any village; sacred grove settlement.

dakmad n. villager, warrior

Dama six

Damarath, Damrath willow tree or wood. Lit., Weeping-tree, from Damariti and rath. Said to weep because of its hanging branch form. Its bitter bark is a cure for the bitterness of pain. Cf Pagrath

Damarha, Damara-Kirith, Tamara-kirith flow/diamonds of the eye, i.e. tear/s, weeping.

Damariti, or Tamaritti, tamarith diamond, lit., child of the drop of water, from the belief that raindrops in sunshowers falling to earth make diamonds

Damaritti-pagma stars, ie diamonds of the night, C.f. also Astra

Damarivelrha, damarivelya rainbow, lit., rain-diamonds

Ea I, me, myself

Eaím, éim we, us

Ealav, ëlav you (singular) C.f. Elavi you (plural)

Ëalaváman love of wisdom (aman) philosophy. Short form Evathaman

Eaya mine

Edartha 1 Earth, the soil of any world as a whole 2 the World of Earth.

Edartha n. Short form of Kor-Edartha, the World of Earth

Edarthan adj, of Earth

Éimya our

El he

Elaväi, ëlavathi, evathi, Ëalaväi, ëalavathi; (from Ealavva, ealava and –i of abstraction) as prefix evath- 'Openness to You' ie what is called in the philosophy of the Rathvala, Love.

Ëlavathi-agolavya Love-from-afar

Elavi you (plural)

élén moon in general; satellite

élénas silver moon

Elenázüra Blue moon

Elra day. C.f. also Belra

Elrápa causing day, ie, shining

Elrapagra night and day; ie continuously

Elrapath, from elra-padra, sky-stone C.f. Padraphar fiery rock, meteor

emer, plural emim, as prep.: en- or em- n. 1 wing, winged, transcendent 2 protection

emerenkirith 1 sacred icon, lit., transcendent face 2 image, tapestry 3 destiny (woven like a tapestry)

Emimta, Emíta child of wings, ie Bird

Émragir short for Emer-ragir, Winged Dagger. Quickblade in Aedenese

en, na- 1 To, towards 2 For (usually the 'na' form)

enbaz below, in the depths

enkirith face

ennaya nine

Enneasha, Ennyasha, Enyashka, Enneashka alt name of the Lady, Ainenia: ennaya nine; sha, life. short for Enneashaka, nine lifespans

enpag, napag into

Enrath one hundred corit, about one US dollar. (From ennya-rath, nine Trees)

Entanifer short for emertannipher, Dragonwing. Father of Korman

Enyása mountain of the nine worlds. Tor Enyása or Tar Enyása: the high (central) mountain of Nine Worlds, even though it has only five peaks. Alt. Tor Valáza, high mountain of five peaks

Enzür above; in the heavens

Eras desire

Est fragment containing the essence; atom, particle, nanite unit

Esta hope, from eras-ta, child of desire, sometimes corrupted to eraspa, espa

Esta Padma, (estafer, estafar estarpha estapha) or padmaësta (qv) hopeflower

Estamonë, estamon 'Love's hope'; a bird of Aeden which sings during the Blue Moon. Also called a lovebird

Estanam Soul-hope, name of the shepherd who helped Calibur

Estaraesta hopestar, star that gives hope

Estra star. C.f. also Namastra, astra, Damaritti-pagma

Evath- (prefix form of Elavathi) love-of

Evathamanya love of wisdom

Evathovë love of the Void

Gag or gog n. eating, swallowing.

Gag- or gog- v. to eat, swallow C.f. limmtan

Gagavala Wurrier. Lit., Apple-eater c.f. Rogavala, werewurrier.

Gagglim, gaggla alt term for limtanglim, anklebiter.

Galagog common term for limtanglim, anklebiter. Cf also Gathragog

Galaman Rathvalya the science or philosophy of the Unfolding

Galaman, Galemman short for galem-aman the Way of Wisdom – philosophy, science. C.f. ëalavaman. Compare Galëalavya, the Way of Love

Galëalavya, gallevya, allevya the Way of Love Allevya v'alevalya The Way of love and of Faery

Galem = glim sometimes shortened as prefix to Gal, gael, gul, or even al-, ul- n. 1 foot 2 travel, path = that which allows travel

Galmaath, galemaath, galemagath War, deliberate devastation. lit., the Path of causing a Ghath, or devastation.

Galemovë, galovë the Way of the Void

Galparithia, (usually more literal than Galtevalya) fairy-path, path made by fairies

Galevalya, alevalya, Galtevalya, Galterath, Gaeltemrath, Galtemnarath, Galem temna-rathvala The Faery Path or Way; walking in Faery. Cf Galparithia, alparithia usually more literal fairy-path the cry, 'Galevalya, Galparithiaor' or ' alevalya, alparithia, ' meant 'walk in faery, on the Fairy path!' cf Galëalavya.

Gathragog, gathrag (amber-eater) Traders' and diggers' term for Anklebiter (they not only sniff it out and dig for it, but also eat it, which makes them hyperactive, and in the case of the blood-amber, depressive and moody – and fearsome fighters. Feeding the fighting anklebiters amber is against the rules).

gereth, greth 1 tail, tendril; related to Rakget, thorn finger, ie tendril 2 rope

get n. finger

geth headland

Gethastra comet – tailed star. Gethasra Kortana Comet of the Kortana

Gha, Gh' = Agh = Sha, Sh' n. life-force (parallel to Shakti) C.f. main article under agh

Ghath, gath, gat twilight under the thorn-thickets where nothing grows. C.f. Magath, to birth, ie cause, a gath

Ghathdak – village in the twilight under the thorns

Ghrax 1 (blood-) red 2 alt form of Aghrak, blood

Glim, ghalem, galem n. 1 foot 2 travel, walking, path = that which allows travel

Glimtarak, glimtar Tree-staff, lit., walking-tree; ancient Tidak staff eg Korman's staff with five branches and a crystal between them.

Gograth fungus, lit., tree-eater

Greth wool

Grethélénias (thread of the silver moon) silk

Grethitti thread, of silk or spiderweb

He/th, fem. Hea/th the definite article, the

Heth Krithür Guardian term for the Nous, mind, Concept. Lit, eye of the One

Heth Shaktha Guardian term. sha – ka – ta, very child of the life-goddess; ie The Psyche, the World-soul of the neoplatonists

Heth Ür, Het Ür, Hethür Guardian term: the One; always with the def art.

Hethür Krithür Shaktha! Guardian chant: the One, the Concept and the Soul. This leaves the lower emanations of body and matter unnamed.

Hir Fruit

Hirath fruit of the tree

Hite, hitte to bite (deeply, with fangs)

Hith(rax), Histrax n. 1 thorn point, large, cutting; thorndagger - barbed, shaped like an awl, and pumps poisoned sap into the wound. 2 name of head tracker

Hith, hit fang, large sharp tooth; segment of the aghmaath's third eye cover. C.f. hite, hitte, to bite

Hithvala alt. term for wurrier, gagavala. Lit, applebiter

-I, -im, or aath reg. Plural suffix – note aath form = softening of last consonant and often lengthening last vowel e.g. phagmad became Phagmaath. Note also that poss etymology of Phagmaath has the Maath from Magath, to smother

Ir, irr 1 to know 2 to see, look

Iri 1 =oera, Or – third eye, higher mind = Kiragh, kirak 2 later, normal eyes, as of humans and animals.

Irkastara stargazer

Irkkara 'sungazer' basking lizard, with third eye.

Irrka, irka to gaze, look intently

Iti, -itti, -ati (pl. atim) small

Jinax, jinag empty, from paja-nagget, air-handed. Also syn = Aghinax

–ka, cha intensive; or extensive, as in sha-ka, life span.

–ka, cha, ha intensive when prefixed; comparative when prefixed, as in kara, 'like Ra' (hence kara=Four, ie complete, four-square), or extensive, as in sha-ka, life span.

Kaglim, Okaglem, oka galem (archaic) thus, so; lit., in this way/path

Kar, karr to guide, steer, propel. Unknown etymology, possible connection with Kore, Kor. See also Kyb

Kara four

Karaglim four-footed (grazing) animal; cattle or sheep; herds

Karapama eight

Karapamaglim, karapam spider – lit., eight feet.

Karathvala, karavala by conscious and unconscious thought feeling and action, we affect the way the Tree of Five branches and grows. This influence is called the the Steering of the Unfolding, the Karathvala. Some say the Edarthan Kabbala comes from this word.

Karst A landscape shaped by the dissolving action of water on limestone or marble bedrock.

Kindrak n. branching-point of thorns; node

Kiragh, Kirak, chirah, choera, oera n. single (third) eye, higher mind = iri

Kiraglim n. lit, eye-foot. Tracker

Kirapagh, Kirapax, chirahpag n. mind

Kirith, Chirith, krith from kiritti, little eye = normal eye as opposed to the traveller's great Third eye.

Kiroyim, chiroyim n.pl, pair of eyes

Kor n. 1. homunculus-containing pod, 2. egg, seed (see Koriti), fruit 3. World 4. Heart, Heartstone 5. Gold, golden

Kor-Achmaddi pn. lit, world of the son of lightning, i.e. fire. Fireworld - of burning and purification. The Indigo jewel

Kor-Aedenya, Kor-Nama, Kor-Ránama Kor-Hédana, Koraedenya, Corethana pn. World of Aeden -of Joyful Creating at the Sacred Centre of life. World of the The Gold jewel, or Heartstone.

Korastra, Korestra Core-star, the avalastra seen in the apple cut across the core

Kor-Edartha, Edartha the World of Earth. (C.f. Edartha as = soil, earth)

Kor-estarye, Korestare star-world

Koriti, korith Seed, small. Also Kor sometimes = seed, but larger, ie a pod.

Korman n. Name among Travellers: one who has reached adulthood and has a fully developed Kor inside.

Kor-Marrépag or Manérha pn. World of the womb of the Sea; Waterworld -of descent into the waters beneath the mind. The Blue jewel.

Kor-Ovotannama pn. Airworld -of blissful flight of the spirit, of selfless love. The Violet jewel

Korpa v. to make a seed, body; to incorporate, sow, beget

Kor-Palabrim or Kor-Palabim pn. World that causes leaps, growth. Greenworld- of metamorphosis. The Green jewel. Makers = Paoi, those who create, cause things

Kor-Ramanithi, (Kor-Madditti Kor-Manithi?) pn. Lit, world of the Re-/Ra-born Child. Earth -of Rebirth as the Child. The Silver jewel.

Kor-Tamaríthé, Kor-Tamarith diamond World. Also called the Arcrazaglonë, the cosmic Arcra or Heartstone of the Rathzaglonë.

Kortána she who speaks for/calls to the Kor, the heartstone

Kor-Tinnama pn. lit, world of the defence of the Starfish (Aeden). Guardianworld - of Death, War, Endurance and Protection. The Red jewel.

Kor-Züratimaddi (/Züritirim/züritim) n. lit., world of little crystal mountain men; World of crystal entities Crystalworld -of contemplation. The Yellow jewel

Kor-Zürglim pn. Traveller world-of exploration. The Orange jewel. the Travellers = Zürglimmati, Ovoglimmé; Dark Travellers = aghmaath

Krithür usually Heth Krithür qv, Guardian term for the Nous, mind, the Concept. Lit, eye of the One

Kyb- (pronounced 'Kyib' or 'Kibe') To steer, use a steering oar. Kybe Avalonyë, the Boatman of Avalon.

Lab- v. to leap

Lab, lav n. leaping, jumping, growth, motion away from, differentiation. pl, labrim

Lablak an ambush, lit., leaping-killing

lag-, lax- v. to speak (more recent form of Tan-)

lak n. death

lak- v. to kill

lake, lakké n. killer

lakethka dead

Lakpach Leather ('dead skin')

lekhir n. thorn-sap, blood. poss from sense 'coma-cutting' C.f. aghrax, blood

li to weave (etymology uncertain)

lim – root, limb, feeler.

Limna ten

Limnakoriti Limnakorites; Tenth-Worlders; those who seek its esoteric transcendence of the nine 'lower' Worlds – a kind of exclusive heaven of the 'wise.'

Limnath tenth

Limnath tenth

Limnathkor, Limnakor Tenth World

Limnathkor, Limnakor The Tenth (the diamond) World, legendary additional hidden World of the Ancient Order of the Makers.

limrak, limrax, limragh n. 1 thorn-root 2 chewing tooth, teeth (C.f. hith = fang)

Limrath (name) lit., tree-limb

Limrod (name) Limrod the Old: Boatman of Avalon. lit., branch-mast.

limtan, Limmtan (sometimes shortened to lim) To eat, feed, browse, graze. (lit, cause mouth to be like a (feeding) root). C.f. gag, to eat/swallow, wolf down.

Limtanglim, lintanglim, tanglim anklebiter (lit, foot-chewer) alt: gaghlim. Cf galagog, gathragog

Limtantíra leaf-eater; Caterpillar, silkworm

lith loom (from li, to weave)

lon, loon enchanted, sacred, of Faery, poss linked to Elen, moon

lone to enchant

Loonlith, Lonlith 1 the Faery Loom, the Loom of Destiny 2 largest coin of Aeden = $1000

Ma 1 v. to conceive, bear, create in womb 2 n. female energy 3 mother

Madah; madach, Madahim n. Female Aghmaath

Madavalone man of Avalon; Merlin. C.f. Maralonë

maddati, maddat, maddath n. female child (contraction of maddah-itti)

madditi, maddit, maddi n. male child. pl –im

magath to grow over like the mother thorns; smother and kill; deprive of life. To birth, ie cause, a Gath, Ghath, the twilight under/in the thorn-thickets where nothing grows. Shortened to Maath in some compound words Eg Aghmagath became Aghmaath

Magathrha watering; to water

Maghe, magné, mané n. Mother – female cause of life

maglim n. (from mak(smooth) glim) path, in the open country, track (as opposed to thorn-tunnel) C.f. glim

Magné Manama n. the Lady; lit, mother Aeden-Soul-birther

Magnémara Alt name for the Lady (title) lit, mother of the sea.

Magréth, Sheep. fem. Magrétha, ewe

Magrethána, Magretána Keeper of sheep; shepherd. Also a fem. name

mak low, smooth, flat

mak- v. 1 to stab, 2 flatten

mak; n. 1: low, smooth, flat. 2: stabbing, laying low;

make, makke n. assassin

Makers, the See Pharoi

Makorya, makor, makarya She who gives birth to the World, Mother of Worlds; the Goddess. The Divine Feminine which some say is the primeval Matrix of all things, containing within Herself the Divine Masculine; and others say she is equal and complementary to the God; while others again say that both the Divine masculine and the Divine Feminine are but two aspects of the One (q.v.) At least Goddess refers to the nurturing unconditional mother-love of God for all things, a concept which is often buried beneath the concept of 'His' justice

Man; Mad, Maddim n. Male Traveller, from arch. Mang, Ma conceive and Ng soil ref to early creation myth where man was soil-born – and later patriarchal belief that first traveller was incarnation of Ra, and formed the race by burying himself alive and becoming the Maraghe, first father of the first Mother thorn

Mana, manga maddah woman pl. mani

Mantir, manti n. feather

Maraghe/Marake n. A Male 'Mother' of Mother-thorn (by death & planting, so homunculus becomes thorn sapling)

Maralonë, Marlonë, Maralon, known as Merlin on Edartha; lit.: enchanter of the sea, from the magical power he is said to possess of opening a path for the enchanted isle to move between the sundered seas of different worlds.

Marathë the Lake of the Tree (cf Marith Enyásë)

Marith Damarivelya the lake of the rainbow

Marith Enyásë the Lake of the Tor Enyása; also known as Marenyasë, or Marith türásë, or Martürásë from mar and Türása, Tree of Life

Marithi lake. As prefix: marith- also cf Marré

Marré, Mara n. water, sea (from Magnérha, Manérha mother of flux. Prefix Mar- or mer- as in Marelrapath, sea/lake of the meteor

Meraj fish, from mar sea and arj- silver

Meralav Salmon or trout – lit., leaping fish

Monëlavamanya Wise love – erotic but loving wisdom too. Lit., desire-with-love-of-wisdom, or, 'philosophical love'

Monë, mon (romantic) Love C.f. more general Ëlaväi

Monëluna enchanted-love; also author of 'poems of the Kortana'

Na For, for the benefit of; to. Also more rarely en

Naj, maj moonlight

Najithi Arjinithi Arginti, arj- (as descriptive affix) Silver. Dax –Argintya: Silvertown. Gagavalaj: silver-wurrier, a village

Nagog worm, also Ngagog

Nabdaïm, naddaïm, sing. Nabda, nadda Boy Raiders, cf Taddaïm

nam n. arm, strength, power (hence Nama, soul, Nam-ma, that which gives birth to the power of life

Nama 1 n. Soul (related to Name), 2 starfish, mother of arms i.e., many-armed; or alt., a symbol of the Soul as a star in the heavens. 3 Island of Aeden (starfish shaped) 4 essence therefore Power as in Namovyo 5 eight = karapama

Namaglim n. Aeden: starfish-isle of travel, shortened form of Namaglimmé

Namaglimmë, Namaglimmé n. a name for Aeden; starfish/Soul that makes easy flight. OR, from the old Order, Nama (starfish), or Nama Zürglim, then Namasaglimmé, Namasglimmé, Namaglimmé starfish of easy travel, i.e. transportation by Paths of Beauty

Namanara Starfish-island – isle of Aeden.

Namastra, namasthra star, from nama-est-Ra, soul-fragment of Ra. C.f. Estra, astra

namget n. hand

namglim n. leg

namovyo, namovya, namoyo the power of the Void. An energy greater than that of the nucleus of the atom. It is said the Makers knew how to harness it, and that it powers the Vapaglím and some of the fireswords

nara alt form of Ngarha, island

Narab, narabim, Nab horse. Boy Raider variant of narabadra.Cf Nabdaïm, Boy Raiders

narabadra, narabdra, pl Narabádrim horse, from nga-rabadra, earth-thunderer. cf Narab

Naradenya Isle of Aeden

narlav, naralav ship, from nara-lab, leaping island

Naz nose, esp Traveller nose.

Nazglim, naglim sniffer wardogs, lit, nose-foot short for Dagraath-Nazglim

Nga n. soil, land

Ngagog worm, lit, earth-eater

Ngarha, ngar- nara- 1 island, ie land of the water. 2 Spring of water 3 underground stream. But see more common Rhana, rana, ie water of the earth; spring.

Ngatíra, ngatirim, natira Earth-leaf, ie grass.

Nim, alt. Min New.

Nimmath New man, one who has been reborn, literally or spiritually; initiate, disciple. Also name Korman gave himself.

Nimta newborn baby

O Thing, entity, possession oi: things, possessions, entities

Oblach Avalonyë The Old Man of Avalon. C.f. Maralonë

Oblach, obla Old (person or thing)

Oera, Or Third eye, higher mind = Kirgh, kirak, iri. In the Aghmaath, this eye is visible and highly developed, and its lids are like the segments of a seedpod. In humans it is said it is located in the forehead and associated with the pineal gland in the brain, and gives 'second sight' - of things normally unseen.

Oicor, Oikor from oika-kor, seed of all things. Money (see coins of Aeden)

Oika all things; everything (from oi, things, and ka of extension)

Oikorpaggith money-pouch; also name of famous Trader also nicknamed oinkapag, pigsgut

Oinkath pig

Oka this

Okalav There

-on '-ing'

Ora light, esp. spiritual or gentle light as from jeweltree amber

Oragáthra, Or-agathra – Amberlight; lamplight. Also fem. name

Orbalax old form of oblach, obla; Old, undying, unquenchable, as in Arxphare Orbalax, undying flame.

Orbel, orvel daytime sky, from ovo-bel, blue expanse or from or-bel, blue eye

Orpadra mind/seeing stone from or, +pad. A device made by the Makers long ago in the First Age

Ortan C.f. Ratan. Light-caller

Orvelrha, Velrha, velya rain, lit. sky-flow/water

Ov, o' negative; Not

ovka no

Ovkor the Non-World, the World of the Concept, of Truth. See Ovokor

ovlav, olav close lit, not a leap.

ovlek, ovlex n. coma (of enthornment) lit, not speaking

Ovo n. 1 Darkness, absence of all, even light. 2 The void, from Ov, not, and o, thing; lit., not a thing; or, not a possession, i.e., ungraspable. C.f. negative theology. Often with def. art: Heth-Ovo 3 an infinite expanse or gulf, eg the heavens

Ovoglimme, pl. ovoglimmim (rare – normal form is Zürglimmati) Travellers, before the 'dark' epithet was added. Lit, Void-traveller, ovopax Matsim, ovopagmaddim, ovomaddim

Ovokor = ovka, ovgha 1 world, ie seedpod of the Void 2 also = Ovkor the Non-World, the World of the Concept, of Truth.

ovopag pitch dark, empty nothingness-dark

ovotan wind

ovotankor windwheel, like a giant tumbleweed

ovozürglim, ovolab spaceflight,

ovvapa shut, lit, not open

Ovzur flatlands, desert

ovzürglim foot-travel, hard slog

Pa, paka, pax v. to cause, make to be – with yang, male energy

pach, ach, agh as prefix pak- 1 out, outside 2 skin (leather: lakpach, lit., dead skin)

Padma mother of stone, i.e. flower; from belief that flowers when they die give birth to gemstones

Padmaddim the Stone People

Padmaësta, or Esta Padma, estafar estarpha estapha?) also Esta Padma, padmë (qv) The hopeflower. Starshaped like the applestar. Sensitive to the flow of subtle energies (of the Wouivre); its waxy white petals open in the blue moonlight, and also at the touch of the Kortana or

others such as the Lady through whom the Wouivre flows.

Padmagrax lit., blood-red flower, ie, the Rose.

Padma-nama starfish-flower/soulflower. The Lady of the Starfish ie the Lady of Aeden

Padmarha, padmara 1 Snow(flake) lit., flower of Water 2 (snow-)white

Padra, pad- stone

Padraglim, padglim rock-walker, ie Mountain goat

Padrakor Heartstone, Worldstone, of Edana or the other eight worlds = Züratikor, heartcrystal

Padraphar fiery rock, meteor. Also Firerock (peninsula) C.f. elrapath, from elra-padra, sky-stone

Padra-raya, padraya the spiritstone of Ürak Tara

pag n. 1 intestines, insides, from pa, to make, and gh life; in confusion of gut with womb, or with ref. to homunculus; 2 Darkness 3 bag, (usually flexible) vessel.

Paggit, pagíth, paggitha 1 small bag, pouch (cf pag) 2 cup

Paghe, pagne, pané n. Father – male cause of life

Paghma, pagma womb

Paghzaghir, Phaghzaghira womb-cutter lit., womb-executioner Woman dedicated to the Void whose task is to remove the wombs of those called to the final initiation, either to leave this life, or if they survive the operation, to serve the Void until death

Paghzaghira, phaghzaghira f., womb-cutter lit., womb-executioner

pagkor - pankor n. homunculus pod when still inside travellers

paglek Food

pagra night, from pag-ra, insides of Ra or darkness of Ra

Pagralak/x, pa'ralagh (= stomach for rebirth; or pa-ralagh = causing of rebirth ) will-to-life

Pagrath 1 wooden or wickerwork container, basket, vessel. 2 a hollow in a tree; hollow tree, hence, 3 alt name for Damarath, Willow (both for its basket-wands and the frequent hollowness of older willows) 4 hence, sad 'hollow' old man; fem. pagratha 5 witch; someone who weaves willow wands and casts spells in hollow willows. 6 the Pagrathim, qv.

Pagrathim the Willow People of the marshy valleys of Aeden. They wove and sold baskets, paddled in willow-wicker boats stopped with resin, and prepared from willow bark a herbal remedy for headaches and other pain, similar to aspirin.

Pagrathvala the mystical Tree of the Unfolding within a person (C.f. the Tree of Life in the Cabala) Some see it in vision as silver, with five great main branches but endless interconnecting twigs woven like a tapestry. By conscious and unconscious thought and feeling, we can affect the way it branches and grows. C.f. Rathvala

pagya in, inside

pagyoka in this, herein, by means of this, therefore

pagzürim Valley, lit, inside-of-mountains

Paja air, breath of life, spirit, from pa-gha

paklab Bat. Lit., 'leatherleaper'

Pama – n. 1 Two, lit. fathering-mothering 2 kinship, brotherhood, order. 3 marriage, cohabitation Pamya - second

Pamäith kinship

pankiti n. (from pag-kor + itti diminutive) baby homunculus, hatchling after emerging from the Kor

Paoi, Phaoi n. the Makers (the pa- o- I) C.f. also pharoi

Phagmaath, Phagaath alt. form of Aghmaath, Agmaath sing./pl. Dark Travellers (poss. etymology: Pagmaddim, (Dark men) pagmad, Phaghmath, Phagmat, Phagaath

Phagra n. Blackwater, or Gutwater, harbour of night, Harbour of the Black ships

Phangkor, Pangkor- Dark World – world of the Aghmaath

Phangür Aghinax Order of the Renunciators, who set up convents and monasteries in Aeden

Phangür brotherhood = one stomach/one darkness

Phar fire

Phare, Pharé igniting

Pharha, Phara, Firewater – 1 water which contains the essence of Fire, so representing the union of opposites 2 a river of Aeden

Pharíthí, Perríti, Féyarithi, Phariith, Phariti, Fariti, or Feyetti etc. n. the fairies, lit, the Little Makers, who stayed behind on Aeden when the Makers departed, and chose to forget much of what they had known, and live simply in the trees, taking on the form of little people. C.f. Pharoi

Pharoi, Faroi The Makers, the first race of creatures who formed the Order of the Makers. They were tree-dwellers, shaped like large cicadas, living on the Jewel-trees in the Green World, adept at all crafts, able to see to the tiniest parts of all matter and manipulate it. They were able to shapeshift by changing their own genes, and bred many different creatures, including the Wurriers. It is said that early in the Second Age they departed to do battle with the Dark Entities from beyond the Galaxy, and never returned. Some of the Makers, however chose to stay behind and becoming like tiny people, became the Pharíthí (q.v.) or fairies, living in the forests of Aeden

pi good

Ra n. Sun, light; magical Source within the dark void; parallel to the Jewel in the Lotus; or (in later theology) mystic source of all, parallel to the Concept; Shiva, or (in Dark theology) the unspeakable name for the will-to-life, which came from the Void as its greatest folly, which it is now repenting of, with the Aghmaath as its instrument

rab strong

rabadra lightning (drum of Ra)

rach, rah powerful

Rageth-astra ?

Raj sunlight. C.f. Ra

Rajathi Gold C.f. = Agathi, Ajathi, Urathi

Rak, Ragh, rax (alt Rasha, rash) n. Mother thorn, thorn-kind, life, kin; from Ra- gh, mystic Source of life. The Aghmaath (Travellers) evolved on the Traveller World in symbiosis with the Rak, feeding from its sap, and even their fields were created by the hexagonal growth pattern of their main branches, which created fertile sheltered areas in which all good things grew, and the Rak flowered like the rose. So originally the Rak was good. But in later years, its growth mirrored the darkened minds of the Aghmaath, and the thornfields became evil prisons, and many were enthorned in the living death in the thorns, held fast, drugged and fed by the tendrils wound about their limbs.

Rakaralakka Aghmaath term for the Lady, Ainenia. They may not utter it even backwards, as it is a palindrome.

Rakaralakké (Abusive; exclamation of condemnation in sentencing to death or enthornment) one who is Anathema by being very (ka) like Ra, the incarnation of the will-to-life, who causes endless rebirth and suffering

Rakbindim n. thornfields

Rakget, Raghet n. tendril

Rakhir, raxir n. thorn-fruit

Rakmadah, Rakah; n. Mother Thorn, lit., thorn-woman alt: Paghmad, womb of man

Rakmadah-makorya; Rakah-makorya the great primeval Mother Thorn, Mother of the World

Raknam, raghnam n. thorn-branch

Rakpag, Raghpach n. thorn-tunnel

Rakpin, Rachpin n. thorn-point, small

Raktan, Raghstan n. thorn-gate

ralak rebirth

ralake, ralakké; also pa'ralake (abusive) One who causes/encourages rebirth

Ratan, Ortan lamplighter, one who calls to the light (in the amber of the Jeweltrees)

rath, tree, from Tarath, Tarak, Tarax, tara, Tree

ratharxé, pl ratharxím Lightning tree, ie jeweltree.

Rathtan (-im) Makers (Lit., speaking for the Tree) See paroi

Rathvala, Rathvaya, sometimes, esp. as affix, shortened to Vala, vaya (which is also Five) The Unfolding – lit., the 'Tree of Five', which grows in five aspects: Ëlaväi,

Ëlavathi Opening (Love); Züratathi Crystallizing (Beauty); Hithkrithüri, Zakkrithüri also Hithelrapagrathi discriminating, Reacting (Truth); ëaglimmithi Acting, self-expressing (Freedom); and Rathvalathi consolidation (Life; The Tree of Life as it presently is, ring upon ring of growth that has been). Usual listing is ur(1): Ëlavathi, Pama (2): Züratathi, Tara (3): Hithkrithüri, Kara (4): ëaglimmithi, Vaya (5): Rathvalathi. The Pagrathvala is the mystical Tree of the Unfolding within a person (C.f. the Tree of Life in the Cabala) Some see it in vision as silver, with five great main branches but endless interconnecting twigs woven like a tapestry. And by conscious and unconscious thought feeling and action, we affect the way it branches and grows. This influence is called the Karathvala, the Steering of the Unfolding.

Rathzaglonë the Tree of the Magicsphere, the Cosmic Tree (whether galactic or Universal – it is fractal) whose branches are the Paths of Beauty and whose (9 or multiple) Crowns are the Worlds linked by those Paths. The Diamond World is said to be its Heartstone: the Arcrazaglonë.

Rax zür = Raxür Mother Thorn dominating a hill

Rha n. Flux, flow, water; = the Flow, the Unfolding

Rhagha, Raga, Rhaga- rhatha – the flow of life; the life-giving unfolding; ritual goodness (interesting parallels with Indo-european root rta) C.f. Agharh - the opposite flow, the Ebb-tide, the retraction of Life into the Void.

Rhana, rana, spring; lit., water of the earth. Cf Ngarha, island or spring

Rharragh, rharrak, ahgrrax flow/water of the thorn, ie sap or blood. C.f. lekhir, thornsap; aghrak, blood

Rod, roth beam, mast, pillar, staff

rog, rogge, 1 cowardly, retrograde; 2 bad, unfriendly, evil. Lit., causing to return, ie to earlier, worse behaviour.

rogavala, werewurrier, the dangerous (throwback to the hybrid) wurrier.

Rognarak, Raghnarok – 1 the return of a thornman to his first Mother thorn, to die or breed. lit., 'return for the sake of the Thorn (mother)'. 2 the cosmic Return to the Mother Void. The Day of the Void. C.f. Rogrha.

Rogrha, Rogrhagha the Cosmic Return to the Void; Day of the Void. Lit, Return-Flow of Life C.f. Rognarak. A flow of nihilism and pessimism – and evil - which once it reaches a certain critical point, according to the Aghmaath is irreversible and ends the entire universe as the last consciousness ends. And indeed, when the void is established, it may be irreversible within a world, like a black hole, drawing all things into it, feeding the Dark Entities. Some say this is what happened on Phangkor, world of the Agmaath. They seek always some culminating sacrifice that will tip life into this catastrophic termination; a mass immolation, always involving sacred Wood in some form, on some holy site which focuses the Wouvre of the entire planet. Eg, the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross in Jerusalem, Edartha; or the plan to sacrifice all the enthorned prisoners about (and on) the Tree of Life on Aeden. Cf. Rognarak

Rog-tanax 'big-bad-mouth' the dangerous type of dragon-snake. C.f. tanaxphare, dragon

Rok, rogh, rog a return, going back.

Sha, Sh' = Gha, Gh' = Agh n. life-force (parallel to Shakti) C.f. main article under Agh

Shaktha, Aghta, Ghata Guardian term. sha – ka – ta, very child of the life-goddess; ie Psyche, the World-soul of the neoplatonists. C.f. also Heth Shaktha

Shatan, Sháthan life gate, portal. lit., life-mouth

Ta, da child or 'kid' (informal form of madditi)

Tagréth, rare, usually magreth (cf) child of wool, ie, Sheep

Takra seven

Tama, dama inheritance, lineage (lit., child-mother)

Tamaritti, tamarith or Damarítí diamond, lit, child of the drop of water, from belief that raindrops in the sun falling into earth make diamonds

Tan Krithür the book of the Sayings of the Concept, the ancient text which the Guardians remember even though it is now lost in its entirety, only fragments remaining

tan n. 1 mouth 2 speech 3 gate

Tanatira ta-natira child of grass, ie grazing animal

tann- tongue-of

tannaxphare, also tannaxpher, tannipher dragon, lit., big igniting mouth

tanné tongue, language

tannedanya the main tongue of Aeden. Of the three original peoples of the Order of the Makers, only the Travellers had a 'normal' spoken language; the Makers sang together in woven song, while the Crystal Entities used telepathy. So the first language of the Order for all humanoid peoples was the Traveller's. But it soon diverged under the influences of humans and Tímathians – and, it is said, even the salamanders and the birds of the airworld. Many of the inflections disappeared. So the tongue of the present-day Aghmaath sounds complex and archaic to the Aedenese. In Apples of Aeden this is hinted at in the English translation of their speech.

Tannipher short form of tannaxphare, dragon

Tara lit, child of Ra. 1adj. High, stately 2.n. Mountain, steep hill (other than a Zür) pl tarim = range of hills, mountain range 3 Three. Tarya third

Tarak, tarax, tarash, tara, rath (lit. Tall Thorn) tree

Taralak, from Tararalakke, tararalake, Third-lifer – lit., one who causes a third birth. Traveller who has defied the prohibition to regrow their homunculus more than twice.

Tarasur, tasura Jeweltree, mother of Korman

Taratin Defender of the Trees/hills ie a Tidak, Guardian in general. For Guardians as a people, see Tímaddim

Tarzüra unicorn, lit tall-horn; or possibly Three-horn. C.f. Ürxura

Tazüra, tasüra; from Tarazüra, tarasüra, taraxüra, also Tarazür, tarasür, taraxür; n. fem., jeweltree, originally from the Green World, a kind of tree which was fused with a Crystal to open paths through the void between Worlds. The Tazürasha, the Tree of Life, was the greatest of these. Their silver seed was hidden in the humble apple, growing in a very small minority of cores, the tenth seed in the core, in addition to the usual nine. Jeweltrees are said to be conscious, but not as we are, able to talk. When fused with a living crystal jewel, they are awakened to a higher level of consciousness in union with the crystal. But, deprived of their jewel, they pine and eventually die. Also called Ratharxé, (q.v.) the Lightning Tree, as they have gold and silver in their sap and bring down the lightning into their branches to energize themselves and power their Jewel. The amber, Agathra (qv), from the sap is precious, having all manner of curative powers, and above all, the light-bearing quality, shining with light from the energy of the lightning which strikes the trees it came from. This light appears only when a human (Ratan or Ortan, Light-caller as they are known) calls it forth.

Tazürasha, Tazürasa Tasürasa, Tazüraja, or Türása (poetic) the Tree of Life, from Tazüra Jeweltree, and sha, life

Tem, temna, shortened to -Te- in compounds such as terath adj. permanent, forever

Teddaïm the everboys, ie the Boy Raiders (also called Nabdaïm, horse-boys)

Teddith, temnadith, temmaddith the state or spell of Everchild, ie, not growing up. Also Temnada, Temnata, teda, tedda

Tedda, Temnada, Temnata Boy Raider variant of temnadith the state or spell of Everchild, ie, not growing up.

Teddathi, Temmaddathi Evergirls, members of the girls-only tribe of the Triangle Marshes and Plateau.

Temnagha, tegha eternal life cf Tertemnagha, land of eternal life; Faery or Limnakor

Terath, Terat, Temnarath, Temnarathvala, Temrath, Faery, lit., Eternal-tree; place where all the stages of the Rathvala, Tree of the Unfolding, are preserved undying. Cf Galterath, galtevalya The path of Faery; walking in Faery

Terga, Tergha, as prefix terg- 1 land of Life; place of life; Faery (cf Temnarath) 2 synonym for Gha (qv), life.

Tergarax = Life-thorn, 'The Didact of Phagradak' one of the earliest teachers of the Galemovo, the Way of the Void

terra, torrha, tora n. territory, landmass, poss from Tor-rha, the tallness of Rha, ie land as seen rising tall from the water

Tertemnagha, Tertegha, land of eternal life, or where time is not; ie Faery or sometimes Avalon.

Tidak, Tidak Nama, alt Tindak Grove-Guardians (tin- defend and dak - grove or village)of the Starfish, i.e. isle of Aeden.

Tímathia The Guardian World.

Tímathim, Tímad, Tímaddim, Tímath (from tin, guard and mad, man) the Guardians as a race; inhabitants of Tímathia, the Guardian World

tin n. defence

Tin- v. to defend

tine defender

Tintazürash Guardian of the Tree of Life

Tintazürim, Tintarakim the Tree-Guardians, ie the Tidak.

Tira leaf

tira-rak, tirax n. (thorn-)leaf

Tor Enyása the High Plateau where the Tree of Life grew

Tor, tar adj. Tall

Türása (poetic) Tree of Life. Contraction of Tazürasha (qv)

Ür adj One, single C.f. Heth Ür, the One, ie the Unmanifest God.

ür the number one; ürya first

Ürak Tara Thornhill, lit., one-thorn hill

Ürpama Marriage of Opposites. 'One-man-woman'. State or process when two lovers of opposite polarities have crossed over to 'become' each other, and taken on each others' polarity, while keeping their own; thereby becoming a unified third being, the divine hermaphrodite (C.f. Arovóra, arovora – the union of RA and OVO)

Ürpax order, brotherhood = to make one. Ürpax pharoi, the order of the makers

Ürpax Pharoï Order of the Makers

ürxura, ürxure, ürxra-narabadra pl. –im unicorn, from ür zür, one horn

Va adj, open

Vala, Vaya 1 five 2 shortened form of Rathvala (qv).

Valä, Valë She who makes (her womb) open, ie gives birth to the universes. Epithet of the Great Goddess OVO, the cosmic womb in pre-Aghmaath cosmology.

Valestra star-maker, epithet for Avalon. C.f. avalestare

Vapa v. to open

Vapáë, vapae opener; ie Key. Also wedge, crowbar etc

Vapáglim Ouivron, medallions of Opening (at least three were made), forged by the renegade Travellers to visit the Forbidden Worlds. They use the Power of the Void, and are perilous.

Vapastra Star-key, Starkey; the fluted golden or silver 'tenth seed' occasionally found in apples of Aeden (which normally have only nine seeds each). It is the seed of the Jeweltree, the 'key' to opening pathways to the other Worlds.

Vaya five = vala

w, v and, but

Wen, wend crooked, winding.

Wentan portal, wormhole between worlds– lit., winding gate/mouth

Wouivre, the The subtle energy of life in a World, flowing in streams below the earth and through the air C.f. Zagonamara

Xan 1 bright, yellow 2 Beautiful (cf Zürka, xanagath)

Xanagath (bright-amber); golden yellow.

Xanagathra the brightest golden yellow amber

-ya possessive; of. But also, simple association of two words with or without hyphen

Z'Züra? = Shazüra High Plateau

Za a point, location, or centre; hub of wheel, metaphorical hub. C.f. Zakor

Zagh circular, curving, serpentine

Zaghlim Serpent, snake

Zaghon, zagon circle, hut, house. 2 Sphere, as in the Great Sphere.

Zagonxan, Zagonyxan, Zaghonkazan The Great (lit., beautiful) Sphere, the Magisphere

Zaghon-tazüra (circular) sacred grove C.f. also Dak.

Zaghon-Tazürasha Grove of the Tree of Life, the most important of all the sacred groves on Aeden

Zaglizagonamara the (giant) eels of Baz Apédnapath, sacred to the zagonamara.

Zagonamara, Zaghonamarha, the Wouivre, lit, the World- circle flow.

Zaglonë, Zaghonlonë, Zaghonloon the Magicsphere, Great sphere. Lit., the sphere which enchants. Cf Rathzaglonë

Zak- v. to cut

zak, hir, zakim, hirim cutting

Zakehire, Zaghir combination of two synonyms: assassin, executioner

Zakor, Zaakor Centre World – Aeden.

Zark (poss. = short form of Za-rakman, centre of the thornman, ie his seedpod) A ball or projectile, eg, the seedpod of the aghmaath, or a ballista-stone, etc

Zarkor-Zürkabaz Aghmaath curse-word. Meaning dubious; poss. 'spitting wholeheartedly upon the famous (crystal) mountain' others sugg. 'dying and ejecting the seedpod on the famous (crystal) mountain' C.f. Zürkabaz

Zarks Boy Raider exclamation - 'projectiles' – i.e., Spittings. One Boy Raider leader added to the Code his strict prohibition of the habit, though this was reversed by later leaders, allowing for judicious spitting away from the Camp Mother and food.

Zür 1 (Crystal) mountain; peak or massif. Zürak is a very high mountain; C.f. also Tara 2 horn, as in ürzür, ürsür, unicorn 3 Crystal, eg the padrakor. Sometimes the diminutive is used: züritti, zürati (q.v.)

zür zürax, zzürak ?? rare - high plateaü, lit., mount of high mount i.e. second plateau. C.f. Tor Enyása

zürak a very high moüntain

zürati, züritti, or zürata crystal, lit., small crystal moüntain

züratikor, züratakor heartstone, C.f. padrakor

zürbaz rough, mountainous

zürglim, s'glim flight, easy, fast

Zürglimmati the Travellers before their fall, lit, men of crystal-mountain flight. On the Traveller world were great pillar mountains of gravity-altering crystal, from which they could jump into orbit or even into outer space. So they developed extremely tough seedpods (which gestated inside their chests) containing their duplicate 'homunculus' which could travel across their world or even through space, and colonise new worlds. Always the homunculus would have with it the memories of its 'parent', the ability to contact the race through the Dream Network, and not least, the seed of the Rak, the Mother Thorn, so they would grow up in its shelter. But in the early days the Mother thorn would not overgrow its bounds, and the colonies were not a threat to all other life. C.f. Rak

zürim moüntain range

zürka bright/famous/glorious (cf Xan)

Zürkabaz Aghmaath exclamation. 'The famous height', i.e., sacred (crystal) mountain of their home World.

COINS OF AEDEN

The invention of the Traders (in particular of Oikorpaggith (Money-pouch), the famous Trader also nicknamed oinkapag, (Pigsgut), who got the idea from stories of the Knights Templar. They were not universally used or approved; but as trust broke down they began to replace barter.

The word for money is oicor which means everything-seed, i.e. a seed for whatever you want. The smaller units of currency are the corit (equivalent to about one US cent); and enrath, one hundred oicor = one dollar. Both these are silver. For larger transactions, the gold coins are most often used: the Pharit and the Tazrashti. For the largest purchases, there are the Loonlith.

Coins are:

Corit (little seed) one oikor = one cent. Silver, with appleseed-shaped hole

avapad (short for avalapadma, appleblossom) Five oicor = 5 cents. Silver, with five petals on face

avlit (from avalitti, little apple) crabapple Ten oicor = ten cents. Silver with apple cross-section on face, length-wise to core.

avlast (short for avalastra, applestar) fifty oicor = fifty cents. Silver, with apple cross-section on face, core-wise.

enrath (from enyarath, nine trees) one hundred oicor = one dollar. Silver, with eight trees on face surrounding a central ninth.

pharit (from pharoiitti, little Maker) ten enrath = ten dollars. Small, gold, with image of a Maker on face.

tazrashti or abbrev. Tazzer(from tazürashitti, little Tree of Life) one hundred enrath = one hundred dollars. Large, with Tree of Life on face, in centre with Heartstone shining in the crown, and eight worlds represented as stars about the tree.

All coins originally had the head of the Lady on the reverse, but later coins were minted with a Trader's head – Oikorpaggith, the inventor of the coin and the first banker of Aeden.

Loonlith (=Loom of Destiny) largest coin, gold, worth one thousand enrath = $1000 face has image of the Loom on the isle of Avalon under the stars, with a flowing bolt of silk coming out of it.

Appendix Three

Extracts from the Enneads of Aeden loosely relating to the Chapters listed

(Narrator's disclaimer: these are difficult writings to translate, having being written in many periods and locations in many different dialects and styles, some of which this poor linguist found quite opaque.)

CHAPTER 5: Each of the nine Trees had within it a jewel of a different light: Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo and Violet, all the colours of the visible rainbow, and gold and silver. The last of the planets to receive a Tree was Kor-Edartha, which revolves around a young star they call the Sun, and there was planted the Silver tree, in their Aeden before it fell. Just before the destruction of Atlantis, a silver seed of the apple trees of Aeden was borne over the seas to a far southern land, where it was planted in a forest still called Silverwood though the Trees, and the true memory of them, have long since perished from the Earth. He who planted it died there, or so it is thought.

And the places where these Trees were planted were called the Gardens of the Makers, Sacred Groves, or World Woods. There were nine of these groves, each on a different planet in a different solar system, linked by the precious Jewels of the Makers, set in the hollow of the Trees, and they sang each in a different tone which together made a music that linked the Nine planets in a beautiful symphony, and grew the Great Sphere or Bubble of space-time, in which 'magic,' as it is now called, was commonplace, including the crossing from world to world.

Ennead of Aeden, 'Of the creation of the Nine Trees and the Great Sphere.'

CHAPTER 8 When the days of preparation were complete in the Old Order of the Makers, the great Genesis Experiment began: to put forth all their powers to form out of a barren planet a world to be the hub of the Order, a new world containing all the best of all the other worlds, mingled in a creative harmony beyond anything yet seen. It was to be a place of joyful pilgrimage, of inspiration, and a powerhouse of the natural energy of beauty.

And from this energy the Makers would create the Great Bubble, or Magisphere, which would be as a cosmic Womb for the growth of all beautiful forms of life within the borders of the Nine Worlds; or a great Tree whose branches were the paths of Beauty and whose flowering, leafy crowns the Worlds; or a great River whose tributaries were the Paths and whose confluences the Worlds.

.So Emerglim brought the Tree to Aeden, and it was planted in the centre of the sacred Island, and also the Tree of Knowledge. Then air and fire, sweet water and good soil, were brought forth over the long centuries, and the World-tree of Aeden slowly grew, and the whole globe of that once-barren world was full of the power of beauty, and green things prospered over all its lands, and fish and birds and all kinds of beautiful creatures lived in peace upon its many islands. And the energy of beauty grew and spread through the regions of space where the other worlds turned about their own suns.

So Aeden was formed, or gently guided into its evolution, by the Makers, as a twin Edartha, Gold to Edartha's Silver, a place of culmination; and not only for Edartha but for the entire Order of Nine Worlds. And the Island realm of Aeden rose out of the deep seas in due course over the millennia, bearing shells and fossils innumerable, a sea-realm with white coral and quartz beaches, clear springs and streams flowing through limestone valleys and glittering caves to deep lakes. And springs began to flow out of the forested hills and mountains of red ochre and honey-coloured sandstones. – Of the origins of Aeden.

THE THEFT OF THE JEWEL OF KNOWLEDGE AND THE FALL AND CLOSING OF KOR-EDARTHA. Also before the closing of Kor-Zürglim, the World of the Travellers, Rakmad was in Aeden and made alliance there with two of the Edarthan race, Athmad and Ewana, whose minds he darkened. They also were banished at this time back to Edartha and the Edarthan portal was closed, and a Guard of mighty warriors of the World of the Guardians, posted at the eastern portals with a flaming sword from the Fire World (now known as Arcratíne, Jewel Defender, the Sword of Korman, the Last Guardian of Aeden) which flew spinning through the Void to cut off and bar the way to Kor-Aedenya from Kor-Edartha and from Kor-Zürglim, which is now called Phangkor.

As it is written in one of the earth legends of the Fall, 'So he drove out the man; and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life.' (Genesis 3:24) But Athmad had also stolen the Jewel of Knowledge from its tree, though he failed to remove also the Jewel of the tree of Life, the Central Arcra which held all the others in harmony. And unknown to him, certain seeds of the thorn and thistle, and a clone spore of Rakmad himself, were hidden in the wrapping of the Jewel. These thorns and thistles became a scourge of much of the earth. Hence in one of the legends of Adam and Eve, Adam is cursed thus:

'...cursed is the ground for thy sake;

in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of your life;

Thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee...' (Genesis 3:17).

And the spore of Rakmad grew awry in the earth's sunlight and divided into a multitude of snakes that infested the earth, but one became a man-like creature, more like the original Travellers, and lived and bred among the peoples of earth. These became the evil counsellors of Atlantis and the other empires that were to come after, and Rakmad and his descendants were called Satan and his evil angels.

OF THE SECRET HISTORY OF EDARTHA, THE SILVER WORLD -THE RISE AND FALL OF ATLANTIS. When Athmad and Ewana arrived back on Edartha, cut off from Aeden they began to use the jewel of knowledge to learn many secrets of the natural order, and of the Order of the Makers, but the secret of life itself they could not discover, as this was hidden in the apples of Aeden, and so they eventually died. But they prospered in every other art and so was built the great civilisation known in myth as Atlantis.

OF THE TOWER OF BABEL Also in those days a Dark Traveller arose on Edartha to lead many humans astray in the false hope of building a tower like the Pillars of Crystal from his old world, whereby he might depart the Earth to seize the Jewel of Life from Aeden, promising them eternal life if they would but follow him.

As it says in the ancient writings:

'And they said, go to, let us build us a city and a tower, whose top may reach unto heaven.' (Genesis 11:4)

After many centuries Atlantis was overthrown and covered by the sea, by the aid of the whales who swim the hidden Paths of the Sea between Edartha and the Water World. Yet the survivors of Atlantis's downfall carried some of the knowledge with them, though the Jewel of Knowledge was lost. Thence arose the western civilisation of Edartha.

THE QUEST OF THE ATHMADITES FOR THE LOST PATHS TO AEDEN. Some of the survivors of the fall of Atlantis brought with them the secret knowledge of the ancient order and of Aeden and its Tree of life. They also knew something of the nature of the Great Paths between the worlds, and constantly strove to find them so as to reach the Garden of Aeden and take the Arcra of Life for themselves from the Tree, so they might live forever and rule the Nine planets and perhaps beyond. For they knew that the other planets, though wise and advanced in healing powers and organic skills, were not a technological civilisation as Edartha is, that is they did not smelt iron and make engines of destruction. Even the Travellers had not yet dared to take this path to power, and so, these descendants of Adam reasoned, were vulnerable to attack once the Arcra of Life was taken. But they were unable to find the way across, being not innocent and good but darkened in their hearts and minds.
CHAPTER 9.

THE SECRET PATHS AND THE CHILDREN OF EDARTHA

Although the portal to earth was closed, the natural tendency of the paths remained, and from time to time a bridge opened at the end of one or other of the forgotten Earth trails, but was only visible to a child mature enough to look in the right way but still pure and innocent enough to see. These children sometimes crossed over and were seen no more on Earth- or returned changed and wise, but never spoke of what they had seen. And so the Athmadites never learned that there were some -children- that had crossed over. But these children were warned of the Athmadites and of the dark Travellers trapped on our world – if they returned. For few wanted to, when they had tasted the freedom and joy of Aeden.

OF THE PASSPORTAL LEAVES

It is said that some children of Edartha are especially called by the Lady or the Fairies of Aeden, and then the manner of the opening of the lost Paths or Portals is this: a leaf, blown as if by chance from a tree, is noticed by the child, as having a peculiar marking upon it, as of a unicorn or the Tree of Life, or even the face of the Lady herself. This is a Passportal leaf, and it is magic. And for one reason or another the child keeps the leaf, and afterwards, perhaps a year or perhaps a day, when the child is of just the right age, the leaf leads them, and the child finds the Portal as if by accident, taking a turn into Faery that no adult can take, and the two ends of the Portal Path are aligned. Then, holding the leaf, they finds that it draws them in, and they walk the Paths of Beauty to Aeden, and depending on which path they took - to the Northern Fairy Forest, or Avalon, or the Portal Hills - the Lady or the Fairies, or a Portal Guardian is waiting there to greet them.

For leaves call one to another, and all are called by the Tree of Life. For all have its imprint on them, in the veins which sustain them, as the Rathvala, the Tree Within, sustains the soul. And in the Autumn, as a reminder that the elixir of Life flows always, the leaves that fall to the ground are tinged with the colours of Agathra, the healing sap of the Tree, gold and red and yellow. So is it any wonder that the Tree of Life on Aeden still sometimes calls to the children of our lonely World by means of the leaf, even across the Void?

– Ennead of Aeden, 'A short history of the Order of the Makers'

CHAPTER 10. In the Southern plains of Aeden by the lake country there is a noble line of horses that every so often produces a white foal which the Guardians raise especially to be their companions in vigil and in peril, for they understand speech and have the power to give guidance and protection to children of Earth who wander in Aeden, even in cases of great need allowing them to ride upon their backs. For the power of Aeden is still such that in the Dream Network the pure of heart are sometimes drawn there, at their peril because of the Watchers and Kiraglim of the Aghmaath, beauty calling them as to a lost home of the spirit, remembered still in the Dreamspace [or Collective Unconscious, as one of Earth's seekers of the old myths, Carl Jung, has called it. Earth is indeed still haunted by the beauty that was Aeden. – narrator].

And once in a Blue Moon there is born a white horse which grows to become that noble creature, said to be lost from the Earth in a Great Flood: Ürxura, the unicorn. And none may tame him, but he runs wild and free, until such time as a young girl shall call him, and he will run to her and rest his head on her lap, to be blessed and to go forth from that day as her loving servant, on any errand she may wish. And he has magical powers beyond any of the white horses, even to the Crossing over into other worlds, where he may call those whom the Lady wills to come to Aeden. And ever he seeks the child that is called the Chosen, to protect her from harm and bring her safely to the Secret Hill of the Lost Labyrinth. – Ennead of Aeden, 'Of the White Horses and the Ürxura.'

CHAPTER 12. These are those who have been caught by the Kiraglim and put into the Death Wagon. They are taken to the Dark Labyrinth of the Travellers, and fed the Apples of Peace, then those with potential to be servants of the Dark, with the Second Sight, are taken on as apprentices of deception, being offered positions of power and authority, though with painful disciplines. The others are taken to be slaves in the apple orchards and the crystal mines and the dark weapon factories and the Cloning fields.

Some of the cleverest children, who were most advanced in the sciences of Edartha, were put to work by the Travellers to build for them the devices of war and destruction we know so well. But the children often misled them by their half-knowledge and so far little had come of it but the smelting of iron and some swords of steel, some suits of armour, bows and arrows – and the Deathwagon, a steel-plated dungeon on wheels, drawn by horses, and having on it an arm with pincers for grabbing its victims. But these were bad enough. Fearsome was the sight of a Dark Knight, in full body armour upon one of the dark steeds, or the Deathwagon as it made its rounds of the land of Aeden. And the clever children were kept imprisoned in the Nered factories, as they were called. -Ennead of Aeden, 'Of the Enslaved Children,' and 'Of the Trial Technologies of the Travellers'

OF THE LAWS OF THE AGHMAATH REGIME. None shall smile or be heard to laugh, on pain of being enthorned in the Avenue of Despair. No trees shall be planted or tended save those which the Lords of the Aghmaath shall decree. No wells or ditches shall be dug for water. Diamonds and diamond knives are forbidden. The accursed witch, the so-called Lady of the Lake, shall not be invoked or named, on pain of instant death. The black stones shall be your only objects of worship, and you shall bow down to them every evening, at the sound of the black gong, on pain of death. Every Person of Aeden shall report to their nearest worship centre every full moon for the Thorn worship ceremony, on pain of death. All strangers coming into the land shall be handed over to the Authorities immediately, on pain of the living death in the thorns. OF THE DARK LABYRINTH OF THE TRAVELLERS In imitation of the Labyrinth of the Makers (or so some say; others say it was originally one of the Labyrinths of the Makers), the Aghmaath built a Labyrinth under a hill (called the Hill of the Skull) for the indoctrination and conversion of captives. It is a place feared by all, and it was said that a Dark entity dwelt there. Its entrance was in the shape of a skull, and it was lit only by the phosphorescence from rotting fish hung on the walls. -Ennead of Aeden.

CHAPTER 13. OF THE BOY RAIDERS. There are many forms of Resistance on Aeden under the Thornmen, but none more gallant than the bands of Raiders, Edarthan boys who have grown bold together, keeping the spell of Everchild, but who have gone forth in the daring of their youthful vigour to more openly wage war upon the enemy, on the dusty plains and canyons of the wilderness, coming out of the sun and galloping like the wind, covered in clouds of dust and dreamcast mists of invisibility. For they are said to have powers as do the travellers' Dreamcasters, and moreover they have great hearts of reckless daring. Their main leader is a boy of eighteen (though still in the state of Everchild, never having fallen in love), veteran of many a battle, and who bears scars to prove it. He has been in the Dark Labyrinth and escaped, branded by the travellers with their hated symbol, but cut it out from his skin with his dagger.

Those boys (and only boys may join, as a rule, but there are exceptions made for particularly brave and warlike girls) who wish to be Raiders must first prove their worth and powers. And such is the vehemence of their passion to fight that they have become alienated somewhat from the Teachers, who grieve that they go forth in part driven by hate which serves the dark, and so it is that the Teachers try to prevent them from recruiting the children in their care. Yet they give them what help and advice they may accept.

These Raiders ride two to a horse, bareback and often barefoot, and they sing fierce chants as they ride.

CHAPTER 14. OF KORMAN AND HILLGARD. When Korman was three, he was taken on a journey with his mother and father and younger brother Hillgard to the city of Dragonflight. On the way, Korman and his brother strayed from the camp, following some little creature which had run across their path. When their parents left the camp to seek them, the Aghmaath came out of the thorns and wounded Korman's father Entanifer. Korman helped his parents escape into a cave, but there Entanifer died. For a time Tarasura stayed in the cave, grieving, while Korman brought her berries and water to drink. Then the Trackers found him, and took Korman and Tarasura to their thorn stockade to be endarkened.

But his brother had hidden in the wilderness, until he was found by an Aghmaath who was of the Order of the Keeper – wizards who fought for the redemption of his brethren and their return to the old ways. This wizard was called Raktaniar, (Taniar for short )and he raised the boy to become an adept in the ways of the Order.

Meanwhile Korman was held in the thorn village of Rakmad the Thirteenth, and was separated from his mother, and Rakmad himself adopted him. He was converted, and became initiated into the power of the Void at the age of twelve. But one night he entered the Dreamweb of the Aghmaath and his brother appeared to him, and he persuaded Korman to forsake the Void. The next morning there was a raid by the men of Dragonflight, and Korman escaped from the thorn stockade and gave himself up to the Guardian warriors. But his mother had already passed over into the Void, and was lost to this world, and all worlds. So it was that the wise warrior Hillcrest the Farseeing, of the city of Dragonflight, adopted Korman.

And in dreams his brother came to him again. Then Hillcrest and Korman went forth and met with Raktaniar, who agreed to return Hillgard to his brother. Then Hillcrest raised the two boys to be mighty warriors, and wise. And Korman learned from Hillgard of the ways of the Order of the Keeper, and later he went and learned also from Raktaniar.

When Korman was called to serve in Aeden, guarding the Tree of Life, after some years he sent for Hillgard also to join the garrison. And when the Jewel was stolen, and the Aghmaath came to the sacred grove and the Guardians were routed, Korman was already in exile and did not know if his brother was alive or dead.

But Hillgard, wounded with many wounds, escaped through many perils, and came at last to Baz Apédnapath, where he was nurtured back to health by the parents of Goldheart. Then he passed east toward Baldrock and was forgotten by friend and foe alike.

But Korman never forgot his brother, during the long years of his vigil, and sometimes he dreamed of him, and believed that he still lived.

OF KORMAN. Korman, the Last Guardian, was reared in the High Cliff City of Dragonflight on Kor-Tinnama, by the wisest warrior of that city, Hillcrest the Farseeing. Early in his life he learned the Way of the Great Labyrinth, and after passing all the tests he was initiated into the Order of the Red Dragon. After fighting many bold campaigns in his native world against the Aghmaath to avenge the slaying of his mother and father, he was given the post of Guardian of the Tree of Life in Aeden. His great sword, forged in the secret smithies of the World of Fire, infused with Arxphare Orbalax, the Flame Unquenchable, hung from his waist, and no enemy dared pass him to do harm to the Tree of Life, until one day he looked upon a son of Athmad, and let him pass, thinking the boy could do no evil. Then was the Arcra-Nama stolen, and so it was that Aeden fell to the Aghmaath. For these were already abroad in the land in secret, in ones and twos, disguised. And when the Tree's power faded they set to work quickly, poisoning the land and stopping up the fountains of water and sowing their thorn vines and brambles throughout the land.

Korman was then cast out from the Order of the Red Dragon, and he tore his robe and drew his sword to seek the lost Arcra, but the boy had returned through the portal to Edartha by the power of the Stone, and Korman could not follow. Long years he kept vigil there in the place where the boy had disappeared, waiting for the portal to open, and doing battle as he could with the Aghmaath. There he was met one day by a Seer, a hermit of the hills, who told him to watch the place well, for one day here would cross over a child, the Chosen One, who would find the Stone and return it. Meanwhile the Tree withered and a forest of thorns grew up around it. And the waterfall was silenced and the Lake dried up and the birds departed and the land was silent but for the creaking of the thorns and the crack of drying mud.

But at times he took it upon himself to leave the place of watch, giving it into the hands of Moonwit, the hermit-outcast who lived in the hills, though with trepidation lest he should miss the coming of the Chosen One And when Korman worried, the hermit would laugh, and say, 'As it is written, so will it come to pass- the Chosen One will come to you – where is your faith?'

When Korman went abroad, he disguised himself as a beggar, one of the many farmers displaced by the Thornmen, and he showed not his weapons. And sometimes he would sit in the local tavern and listen to the gossip, and talk with those who did not shun him (of whom there were few) and so would learn some of the happenings in the land -most of them evil, a new thorn thicket established here, an Aghmaath abduction there, and always rumours of people turning to the Dark and of betrayals and deceptions. Grim tales were being told of the stronghold in the valley of the Skull, somewhere west of the Valley of Thorns, in the desolation of thorns, where prisoners were brought into the Dark Labyrinth for questioning, brainwashing and endarkening. -Ennead of Aeden, 'Of Korman, the Last Guardian of Aeden.'

CHAPTER 15. The wisdom of the Crystalline Entities was at the core of the Makers' Order, like a diamond, priceless, containing all other jewels, flashing forth in lightnings and thunderings as of the Uncreated and Uncaused, harbouring within the chord of the knowledge of the Absolute Infinite, fenced off from the sight of weaker minds, which, if they glimpsed it, would perish instantly. On this foundation of adamantine thought was built the doctrine of life for softer things, creatures of fur and feather and flesh and blood that walk upon the lesser worlds beneath the softer radiances of the smaller stars. For surely there is an hierarchy of being, of which that which is greater sees more, and the lesser see less, even denying that there is anything beyond themselves in the cosmos, but only lesser things. Great was the sacrifice, but also the vision of beauty that might be, when one of the crystals was taken to the Green planet to merge its life with the trees of that place, to form a link between the Nine Worlds.

When the Order was threatened, the crystals closed off their world lest it be pillaged for the beauty and power of their crystal bodies – though indeed they were not defenceless, being able to disrupt at will the minds of any who approached with evil intent, sending them witless back. But this was not their way, so the door to that world remains closed but for the dreamwalkers of good will. For some of the Dark travellers dared to invade in dreams the crystal minds. But they were undone, though not before relaying some of that which they learned there to their dark brethren. -Ennead of Aeden, Of the Crystal World

The way that the paths of beauty came to be was this: some Travellers saw a gleam from afar as of the crystal spires of their own world, and so landed upon the Crystal planet, where they found the Crystalline Entities. (Aeons before, diamond-like minerals had formed the basis of a life-form of harmonies within crystals, whose great ability and delight was in the linking of things that had likenesses, no matter what distances separated them. Through this the Crystalline Entities had knowledge of many things, existing and being delighted with knowledge purely for its own sake).

The good Travellers that came there dwelt among the crystals and, gazing into them, learnt many things, of the Green planet and the Makers, and finally one of their number, Emerglim, attained to such a harmony with the Makers that he was able to tread the path over the void, bearing one of the crystals, named Greenlight, to the Green planet.

This first meeting of three kindreds: the Makers, the Travellers, and the Crystalline Entities, led to the First Age of Aeden, the Golden age. – Ibid.

CHAPTER 16. The Apple Orchards of Aeden, notably at Applegate, were of old places of delight, but have been corrupted by thorndaggers to grow for the Travellers the Apples of Peace, fruit which gives powers to them but is forgetfulness and enchantment to the people of Aeden. The rebels must never eat of this fruit, however they are tempted by the smell of it and their hunger. When any of them are captured they are forced to eat of it and are thus enslaved. Afterward they may also be seduced into the willing service of Rakmad and the Dark Entities, adding to the deceptive coils and betrayals of fallen Aeden.

For the whole planet may be likened to a vast maze of deceptive appearances and paths which lead only to snares. The Dreamcasters, as their grip on the land tightened, began to project whole landscapes of deception, luring all who passed into snares and enchantments. Thus Korman warns, 'Trust no appearances – listen to your heart, and see not only with your eyes.' Ennead, Short Account of Aeden.

CHAPTER 17. It is said that the Makers, before they departed, made several devices of great power. One was the Mindstones, another the Vapáglim. (Others say that the Vapáglim were not made by them at all, but forged in secret by a faction of the Rakmaddites, for the exclusive, secret use of the Travellers.)

Knowing that times might come when peoples were sundered by difference of language and culture, the Makers sought to create a stone of interpretation, which would open the patterns of one mind to another, or cause the original intent behind written words to come clearly into the mind of a reader who may come long afterward. Long they studied this challenge, and eventually one of their greatest minds, Treesinger the Third, who had wandered long in the mind-caves of the Crystal entities and thereby came to an understanding of how such a thing could be made. Then they joined in labour to create the Nanites that would weave it. When it was built it was in the shape of a stone not bigger than a man's hand, oval and flattened like a rounded stone of the river, heavy as a dense stone, opaque and dark. Many were then made by the Nanites, but in the course of the ages all but a few were lost or broken. Perhaps they sit in some riverbed, or under the soil.

For power they needed only the warmth of a hand or the light of the sun to fall upon them, and they would magnify the patterns of thought in the hand of those who touched them. Memories they did not have the power to store; only to transmit the memories and thoughts of the ones who touched them. -Ennead of Aeden, Of the Mindstones.

CHAPTER 18. When the Arcra of Aeden was lost by Korman, the Order of the Red Dragon declared his life to be forfeit, and he must himself end it by walking out into the wilderness, where he must find – or plant -an apple tree and lie down beneath it and give up the breath of life, and surrender his body back to the soil where it would feed the tree, symbol of that which he was sworn to protect at all costs. For the Guardian masters all had this power, to relinquish the breath and the spirit at will.

And it came to pass that as he lay dying, a vision came before him, as it were out of the midst of the apple tree, and it was the Lady. She bade him arise and live, for there was a work for Korman to do for Aeden, far greater than his mere death would accomplish for one tree. And this work was also a penance, and a blessing: he was to keep vigil at the place she would show him, on the plain of the portal, until he receive a Sign, whether this be in a day or a hundred years. And she forbade him to relinquish the breath of life until he had done whatever deeds it fell to him to do when he had received the sign.

So Korman chose to disobey his Order, and he arose from death, and ate of the apple tree, and drank of the little spring that he found by the tree. Then he swore an oath of obedience to the Call. So that spring was later named the Spring of Hope. And Korman travelled to the plains of the Portal, place of his penance and also his hope.

And his vigil there was called the Great Vigil of Korman. This was the beginning of the new calling of Korman, to be a knight of the Lady, assigned to be the chief Guardian of the Chosen One when she finally arrived in Aeden. But at first Korman knew nothing of this hope, only that he had been promised a Sign. -Ennead, Of Korman

CHAPTER 20. Korman, it is told, sworn as were his forefathers to protect that sacred tree and jewel of Aeden against the Aghmaath and the darkened ones from Edartha, met her in the flesh (having already seen her in a vision as he lay dying after the theft of the Jewel) as he returned from a perilous errand for her in the Valley of Thorns.

His eyes were opened to see her, because of the love that was in him and his passion for the protection of the children of Edartha. He loved her even from the first moment that their eyes met. Time, as it is taught by the masters of the Labyrinth, may stand still for such lovers as these, and they walked a while in the valley in another level of the world where the good that was still remains, and the valley was for Korman filled again with beauty and the rainbow of the waterfall shone again, and the Lake was full of living waters, and the birds were singing. But just as the Lady was teaching him to walk always in that world, so as to elude even the Trackers, his greatest virtue became their undoing – he could not listen because of the duty that gripped him, to protect, and taking up his sword he strode out from the mist into this plane of being, for he had seen a shape of children walking in the valley, and the Kiraglim coming to seize them.

She called to him, but he forgot all else and strode into the trap, for it was only a projection by a Dreamcaster, sent to trap him. And the Aghmaath came upon them in great numbers, for they had long sought both Korman and the Lady. But because of the power of his wrath and the flaming sword, he escaped into the hills. Turning back, he saw that the Lady had followed him into the light of this level of the world, and had been seized. He saw her thrown into the thorns that paralyse, and he cried out in an agony of grief. And as he wept his right arm was withered, and the sword, flaming no more, fell from his hand. With his left hand he sheathed it, and swearing a great oath he vowed never to draw it again until she awake and bid him to strike. 'For it is perilous for one who has walked in Faery to draw a sword in anger, and I have been punished for it,' he cried.

'I, Korman the Outcast, the Ill-starred,

will never again draw this Sword

until I have found again the hidden way of the Lady,

and know how to walk with her in the realm of Faery,

and have released her from the Thorns.

Then if she bids me,

I will surely draw the sword again, and strike down her enemies.'

And picking up the dust at his feet, he sprinkled it over his head and it soaked up his tears.

Ever after Korman was grim, speaking little and smiling never, seeking always in his heart the memory of her wisdom which he had not heeded, and for a sign that he had learned it. And the sign would be this: that from a handful of dust would spring -a flower.

And he came to be known as Korman the Outcast, and Korman of the Withered Arm. -Ennead, Of Korman and the Lady of the Lake.

CHAPTER 21. The manner of feeding the Mother Thorn was this: the travellers would go out and find any dead animals, and later, growing more cunning, also live animals, and they would bear them back to the Mother Thorn, and impale them on her thorn-points. She would then suck the juices from them, and the remains would fertilise the ground below, where her roots would use up the remainder. And in later times, the thorns came to have the power to drug and preserve alive their victims, and this is the origin of the Avenue of Despair: The Thornmen arranged with the Mother Thorn to not devour some they wanted to be displayed as a warning, but preserve them indefinitely in a living death.

In return the Mother Thorn would keep an open space within her branches where the Thornmen rested, protected from their enemies; and she would feed them from her sap.

All of the sons of one thorn had the power of communication in dreams with one another, and they would come to each other's aid if in need, or return to the Mother Thorn if she was threatened. Some say they also heard the voice of their mother, speaking in the depths of their being. -Ennead, of the Thornmen.

CHAPTER 26. Yet other Travellers had gone very far in another direction and met the Keeper, an entity of mysterious origins. Some say he was from beyond the Galaxy. He possessed deep knowledge and wisdom, and dwelt in a Lighthouse in deep space. The Keeper initiated them into the wisdom of our Galaxy, which he called Exmer Palavron. He spoke of the Light that banishes the Dark and of the Music of the spheres, and taught them many other things, and then sent them back across the vastness of space to help the Order of the Makers, warning them that the evil they found on the Travellers' World upon their return would be a threat to the whole Galaxy and must be stopped by them, since the Makers were departed and in mortal combat with the Dark Entities far away, and may never return.

These Travellers finally arrived back on their home world, and founded the Order of the Keeper, consisting of three divisions: the Wizards, the Seers, and the Poets. They fashioned staffs of the wood of the jeweltrees of Aeden, topped with crystals from the Crystal World. With these they had many powers.

Their descendants, foreseeing the fall of their world, also initiated some of the Guardian race into the Order of the Keeper. These would be the Guardian Wizards, helpers in the long struggle of the Second Age, when the Travellers themselves had fallen into Darkness. -Ennead of Aeden: A Short History: Of the Good Travellers.

CHAPTER 27. Rakmad was once a great Wizard of the Order of the Keeper, one of those Travellers sworn to uphold the truth of the Old Order of the Makers and resist the teachings of the Void. But he himself fell into the snares of the Dark Masters when he sought to understand them in order to defeat them. And he became their terrible ally, and soon rose to rule all the Aghmaath on Aeden, from his throne of thorns deep in the thorn nests of the Tor Enyása. And there he wove great deceptions in the mindfields of the inhabitants of Aeden, and brought many to ruin. -Ennead of Aeden, Of the Travellers.

Maps of Aeden

The high resolution maps are available as PDFs free of charge, here:

www.applesofaeden.wordpress.com

The following is a reduced map of the whole Isle of Aeden, from which were taken sections of themap relevant to Shelley and Korman's journey.

This map (from the second volume, which you will have to read to find out about 'Biteback') covers chapters 31 to 40 (approximately) - Baldrock to the borders of the Aghmaath territory.

About us:

John Harris, founder of Greenstone Pictures, (see www.greenstonepictures.com), brings a love of the dramatic to our work. He is the knight-errant of the writing partnership.

Peter Harris is the wizard, and spends as much time as he can exploring the World of Aeden and writing it all down – in between printing books, carving, painting, and building Eutopia, a sculptural walled garden and inspiration centre including the organic Café Eutopia (see www.eutopia.co.nz). Eutopia is a celebration of the idealistic yearnings that create fantasies – and civilisations.

About Eutopia Press

Eutopia Press is now dedicated mainly to publishing Peter's work and one or two others. Contact: peter@eutopia.co.nz

Now the ebook rush is upon us and we see the great advantages in it, as in all the brave new world on the web, with its random access to everything ever written or pictured.

However, I believe in the book as sacred object, and in the physical, concrete manifestation of our main ideas and values – especially in books.

So the limited edition book is a work of art and an anchor for our ideas and values not to be replaced by digital editions, no matter how colourful they may be. See the blog for much more on this: www.carvedbooks.com

The Girl and the Guardian, 'carved book' limited edition.

And in this spirit, I have started New Leaf Network

www.newleafnetwork.org to help other writers and idealists get their ideas manifested not only as ebooks but as solid artefacts.

Orders and Feedback

If you want to ask any questions or give us any kind of feedback about the Apples of Aeden pentalogy, Eutopia, New Leaf, writing, publishing, sculpture, philosophy or any other subject, we would love to hear from you. Also for news on progress on the later volumes and to meet the Narrator, and see what others are saying, go to:

www.applesofaeden.com

Or email peter@eutopia.co.nz

Phone 09 4312 178 cell 022 332 6568

P.O. Box 37 Kaiwaka,

Northland, New Zealand

There is a related story called The Sword of the Fifth element (formerly The Icon of Ainenia),

set in ancient Britain and Aeden.

On the Café Eutopia website there are also medallions of the Boy Raiders, Apple blossoms, Nine Trees, the ring of Korman, etc, which can be viewed and bought there.

I believe in the Dreamweb, where ideas and visions from many minds come together, so any suggestions for the ongoing story gratefully received – there is still time for us to weave in new thoughts, or more about favourite characters or topics!

Thank you for sharing the adventure so far. Looking forward to hearing from you one day soon.

Meanwhile the ebook Volume Two of the Apples of Aeden is available here:  Rebels of Aeden.

See you there!

