Sky Trillium
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‘Does the Star Guild abide here?’ she asked.
No, the Three-Winged Circle said. Well, that was a relief.
She studied the scene more carefully. This was a region she did not know, for no human beings had settled here – nor, so far as she knew, had any even visited the Hollow Isles. Those of her own race who had chosen not to Vanish, who had remained on the World of the Three Moons and defied the Conquering Ice, inhabited more hospitable parts of the land to the south and east. If any brave souls had ever ventured into the alien purlieus ruled by the Archimage of the Sea, they had not returned to civilized lands to tell the tale. Haramis herself had been too busy with the affairs of her own domain to explore that of Iriane.
‘How far are these islands from my Tower?’ Haramis asked the talisman.
Over seven thousand leagues, as the voor flies. By sea, as humans would make the journey, it is nearly eight thousand leagues.
‘Sacred Flower!’ the Archimage murmured. ‘What a blessing it is that I do not have to rely upon a ship or a bird to carry me there.’ She abolished the vision and returned to familiar surroundings.
Her talisman would transport her bodily to the place in a trice, as easily as a Sending. And for this exceedingly useful mode of transport she could thank dear Iriane. By teaching Haramis how to use personal magic expertly, the Blue Lady had enabled her young colleague to command the wider powers of the Three-Winged Circle in ways that Kadiya and Anigel had never been able to achieve with their talismans. Haramis knew that she owed Iriane more than she could ever repay.
‘I only hope I can find her quickly.’ She stared into the now empty Circle.
Haramis’ talisman was not a large thing. The silvery wand had a ring at one end for the chain that suspended it about her neck, and at the other end a hoop slightly more than a handspan wide, topped by a trio of tiny wings. These enfolded a drop of glowing amber with a fossil Black Trillium in its heart, identical to the amber amulets of her two sisters. At their birth, the triplet Princesses of Ruwenda had been gifted with the magical amulets by the late Archimage Binah, who had named them Petals of the Living Trillium and prophesied for them a fearsome destiny and terrible tasks.
Living that destiny, Haramis, Kadiya, and Anigel had faced and overcome many of their own personal weaknesses. All three sisters had taken on responsibilities both awful and magnificent. Were the events now taking place leading them to a challenge greater than any they had yet faced? Like the Holy Flower, they were Three and also one. The futures of Archimage, Lady of the Eyes, and Queen were entwined inexorably whether they willed it or not …
Countering the Star Guild threat must then involve Kadiya and Anigel as well as herself – of that Haramis was more than certain. She decided that she would transport herself to Kadi’s home immediately after speaking to the Blue Lady. The Three-Winged Circle would then carry her and her sister to Queen Anigel, who was in residence at Ruwenda Citadel. The Queen was four months pregnant, but that would not stop her from working with her husband Antar and the heads of other nations to counter the Star Guild’s armed threat to the already faltering balance of the world. Kadiya would have to rally the Folk. With their ability to speak without words to each other across great distances and their intimate knowledge of the land and sea, the aborigines would be invaluable in any quest against the Star Guild.
I will also insist, Haramis decided, that Kadi now give up her impotent talisman to me for safekeeping, as she should have done long ago. Unbonded, it could be stolen by any sneakthief – or even by the Star Men!
It was bad enough that Queen Anigel’s talisman, the coronet called the Three-Headed Monster, should have gone missing during the late war with Orogastus. Losing a second piece of the Sceptre of Power would be insupportable.
Orogastus … She had hardly dared speak his name since his death four years ago. What was the connection between the Star Master she had loved so helplessly and this resurgence of the Guild?
Haramis rose from her seat and began to pace before the window. It was a wild night in the high mountains where her Tower stood. Snow fell thickly and a bitter wind from the icecap to the northwest howled round the casements like a chorus of demons from the ten hells. She toyed with her talisman as she brooded over events of the past.
When Orogastus began his last assault on Derorguila, the northern capital of the Two Thrones, he had in his possession not only the Three-Headed Monster and the Three-Lobed Burning Eye, but also a certain glassy container with the Star Guild emblem on its lid that could bind or unbind the talismans. He had used this crucially important star-box to transfer ownership of the Monster and the Eye from Anigel and Kadiya to himself.
The box, like the Queen’s magical coronet, had disappeared in the tumult of battle.
For some time, Haramis had been certain that an unknown person had found both of these missing magical items and was now the true-bonded owner of the Three-Headed Monster. Her own empowered talisman, which would readily pinpoint the location of Kadiya’s dead Eye (and which had led her without demur to the young Star Man), had steadfastly refused to reveal anything whatsoever about the missing coronet or the box that controlled its bonding.
Iriane had agreed with Haramis that this could only mean that the Three-Headed Monster’s magic was fully potentiated. It had cleaved to a new owner.
And yet no great upstart sorcerer had appeared in the World of the Three Moons. The coronet’s master was keeping it hidden and unused. Haramis could not imagine why – unless this person was waiting until he could also get his hands upon Kadiya’s talisman and bond to it also with the star-box. Owning two parts of the Sceptre of Power, the unknown sorcerer would command magic almost surpassing that of Haramis. If this person should ally with a reborn Star Guild, equipped with the marvellous devices of the Vanished Ones, the world would certainly be lost.
‘Lords of the Air,’ Haramis prayed, ‘we have had peace for these four years, and yet it is clear that the world never truly regained the balance that Orogastus upset. Is this my own fault? Is it my love for that dead sorcerer – which I confess has endured undiminished – that has left us vulnerable?’
Or might the unthinkable have happened, as it had once before?
No, thanks be to the Triune! That was impossible.
Haramis would remember forever the day she and her valiant sisters had turned back upon the sorcerer the destruction he would have wreaked upon them. The Flower had overcome the Star. There had been unexpected victory for the Living Trillium – and annihilation for Orogastus, even though Haramis had hoped to spare him.
The moment she had inquired of her lover’s fate, and the talisman’s pitiless reply, were still branded upon her heart. Standing at the embrasured window beside the Black Trillium plant she began to weep. There was a small clear area in the frosted pane. Windborne snowflakes rushed at her, seeming to be fatally drawn to the light within the room, smashing themselves into oblivion as they struck the thick leaded glass casement.
He had also been fatally drawn.
Haramis had wanted to spare Orogastus the ultimate punishment. Before their final encounter, she had placed the black hexagon called the Cynosure of the Star Guild within an ancient prison of the Vanished Ones. This place, a chasm hewn from living rock and lying deep underground, would have held the sorcerer securely no matter what magic he called upon. The Cynosure was to have drawn Orogastus to it like a magnet at the moment he exerted his ultimate powers on behalf of evil. Once in captivity, perhaps reformed by gentle persuasion and their mutual love, she hoped he might undergo a change of heart that would eventually allow her to free him.
But a tremendous earthquake had shaken that part of the world, collapsing the chasm where the Cynosure lay. The device still performed its intended magic, however, drawing Orogastus into airless, rocky chaos at the instant of his defeat.
She had asked her talisman what had become of him, and it had said: He has gone the way of the Vanished Ones. He is no longer in this world.
‘Dead.’ Haramis drew back from the window and wiped a cold hand across her streaming eyes. ‘You are dead, my poor flawed sweetheart. And I am left with nothing but my sombre duty, which obliged me to destroy the only man I ever loved.’
And now the duties of that office must no longer be postponed. It was time for her to go in search of Iriane, then meet with her sisters. But first …
She lifted her talisman and looked into it. ‘Three-Winged Circle, show me that which I have been afraid to conjure heretofore: a true vision of my dead love’s face. I am sorely in need of comfort, and the refreshment of my memory of him is the only boon that will suffice.’
The talisman came alive, its Circle filled with pale-glowing colours. It said: The request is impertinent.
‘What?’ she cried in shock. ‘You deny me this simple thing, you cruel, capricious talisman?’
The request is impertinent.
‘Will you drive me mad as well as break my heart? Show him to me!’
No, the talisman replied, calmly. I cannot show you the dead face of Orogastus because it does not exist.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked sharply. ‘I know he is ashes, scattered amongst red-hot subterranean rocks. I ask only to renew my memory of his features. If the world is indeed out of balance, then I must embark upon new and parlous adventures. I – I would fashion for myself a portrait of him as a consolation. And perhaps as a warning to myself as well. Surely there can be no harm in that. I command that you depict for me his face as it was during his last days in this world.’
Now your request is one I can fulfil.
The restless eddies of pearly light brightened, became solid. For a moment she saw a head encased within a dramatic silvery headdress, haloed by pointed rays, with two fearsome white stars for eyes.
‘No! That is not the way I wish to remember him. Reproduce the face of the one I loved.’
The vision faded, then reformed. The countenance of a white-haired man, haggard and lined and yet strangely beautiful, seemed to gaze directly at her from within the Circle. His jaw was strong, his mouth wryly smiling. His eyes were the colour of her own – the lightest possible shade of blue, with great black pupils holding secret glints of gold.
As she drank in his image, Haramis called upon her personal powers. In her right hand she held the talisman. In her left, something ghostly and crystalline suddenly appeared, flat and slightly smaller than the Circle, glittering like an insubstantial gem.
‘A portrait,’ she commanded.
The lens of crystal fog darkened and became a likeness identical to that produced by the talisman, delicately painted on horik-ivory and framed in gold. The vision within the Three-Winged Circle vanished, but the sorcerer’s picture was real. Haramis put it into one of the pockets of her gown, then left the study to make preparations for her magical journeying.
CHAPTER 4
After giving instructions to her Vispi chatelaine, Magira, and her steward, Shiki the Dorok, the Archimage changed into warmer clothing and put on the long cloak of her office. Its fabric was white, seeming to change with movement into that delicate blue seen in shadowed snow. The cloak was bordered with platinum bands and had on the back the emblem of the Black Trillium. She pulled its hood over her long black hair, then donned gloves.
In the silence of her private apartment she prayed for strength and success. Then, standing on the fur rug at the foot of her bed, she took up her talisman again.
‘Transport me bodily to that place in the Hollow Isles where the Archimage of the Sea is.’
Her bedroom dissolved and she seemed to be within some fantastic theatrical set – a cave made of insubstantial diamonds, glittering in a hundred rainbow hues.
An eyeblink later the illusion vanished. She stood inside a genuine cavern, dank and extremely cold. Dripping stalactites hung from the ceiling like the tusks of a gigantic, slavering beast. Beneath them were inky pools into which falling water tinkled and plopped. Rock pillars, water-sculptured shapes like half-dissolved statues, and other strange formations loomed up on every side. Blobs of glowing matter that might have been fungus or even slime-dawdler colonies were scattered about the irregular surface of the cave ceiling, shedding light on the eerie scene.
‘Iriane!’ she cried. But no one answered and she demanded of her talisman, ‘Where is the Archimage of the Sea?’
As if in answer, there came a sudden splashing from one of the larger pools. Three aborigines of a form unfamiliar to Haramis climbed out, shook themselves, and stood in a row, regarding her with luminous golden eyes.
They were of small stature, like the Nyssomu and Uisgu, but had the scaled skin of the taller forest races. Their faces were slightly muzzled like the Wyvilo and Glismak, but were otherwise human in aspect. They had webbed hands and feet with stout talons upon the three digits, and about their upper arms were rows of golden bracelets inset with coloured disks made from fish-scale. Instead of having hair, their round heads were adorned with many parallel crests tending from the brow to the nape. These and their large ears were ribbed, like the fins of fishes, with a translucent membrane connection. They wore no clothing, but the scales of their bodies seemed almost like flexible armour of green and dark blue, giving them a neat and attractive appearance.
‘I offer you greetings,’ Haramis said. ‘I am the Archimage of the Land, and I seek my friend the Blue Lady of the Sea.’
‘We will take you to her,’ the Mere Folk replied in unison. Their language was unfamiliar; but, as always, her talisman let her understand the sense of it.
‘May I ask your names, and to what race of Folk you belong?’
The central aborigine, who wore a necklace of the coloured disks, pointed to his heart and said, ‘This one is Ansebado, First of the Lercomi, and these are the Second and Third, Milimi and Terano, also faithful subjects of the Blue Lady. If you would look upon her, follow us.’
Look upon her?
Haramis felt a tingle of apprehension. Could Iriane be ill – or had something even worse happened?
The three Lercomi set off at a rapid pace in single file, the talons of their toes clicking on the wet stone. The cave air became colder the farther they progressed, and as the temperature fell, the numbers of luminescent creatures decreased drastically. After stumbling several times in the growing darkness, Haramis held her talisman high, bidding the trillium-amber within its wings to shine more brightly and light her way.
What a dreadful place, she thought. Except for the glowing lumps, this particular Hollow Isle seemed sterile and lifeless, with no sign that thinking beings had ever made their mark upon it. There was no sign of mineral ore or anything else of value, and the aborigines did not investigate such places for amusement, as humans did. What in the world was Iriane doing here?
Haramis had not seen her friend in some time and realized now that she had greatly missed the Blue Lady’s tart good humour and common sense. The Archimage of the Sea was no otherworldly mystic. She loved good food and beautiful clothing (teasing Haramis for her disinterest in either), and she had been the only one to sympathize truly with her young colleague’s doomed love for Orogastus.
Haramis thought: Iriane will understand my carrying his portrait, too, while my sisters never would.
Because of her vast age and experience, the Blue Lady would almost surely know whether there was any possibility that the Vanished Ones might return – as the young Star Man had told the Skritek – and what the so-called Sky Trillium portended. Iriane might even be able to obtain the counsel of the mysterious Archimage of the Firmament concerning the rebirth of the Star Guild. The enigmatic Dark Man in the Moon had only grudgingly lent assistance during the late war, and he had ignored every attempt of Haramis to communicate with him since then.
The underground journey beneath the Hollow Isle seemed to be taking hours, leading from cavern to cavern, moving ever deeper into regions of frigid darkness. At last, after they had traversed a cramped, stalactite-fanged tunnel, the Lercomi led the Archimage into a chamber very different from the others. It was full of icy mist that was suffused with a rich blue glow, swirling and billowing like phantom draperies and concealing details of the cave’s interior.
‘There,’ said the aboriginal spokesman, pointing toward the indistinct source of the illumination. ‘The Lady is there.’
‘Iriane?’ Haramis’ call was hesitant. She went toward the hazy light, stepping gingerly on the frost-cracked rock floor. All at once the mist thinned, and she saw ahead of her a sight that brought her up short, exclaiming with amazement.
Row upon row of the Lercomi stood in silence, with bowed heads, before what Haramis at first thought was a colossal glowing sapphire. The object was twice her height, with a darker heart. Coming closer, she found she had been mistaken in thinking it a gem.
Within the blue transparency was the ample form of a woman, standing upright. She wore an indigo gown spangled with tiny jewels that pricked out graceful designs of marine growth. A filmy cape of midnight blue fell from two pearl brooches at her shoulder. Her dark hair was elaborately dressed in coils and rolls, held in place by ornate shell combs and hairpins with pearls at the ends.
The plump arms of the Archimage of the Sea were extended in motionless, futile appeal. Her open mouth seemed to have been frozen in mid-scream and her eyes glittered with terror.
’O Triune God, no,’ Haramis whispered.
‘Yes. Ah, yes!’ the Lercomi Folk wailed in heartbroken response.
Haramis ran forward to what she thought was a glass case imprisoning her friend. As she touched it she discovered the truth.
The Blue Lady’s eyes moved, ever so slightly.
She was entombed within a great chunk of blue ice. And she was alive.
‘Who has done this?’ Haramis asked Ansebado, after some time had passed, during which she tried without success to free Iriane.
‘Four humans,’ the First of the Lercomi declared, ‘came in a small sailboat to our village on Sundown Isle, which is half a day from here by water. Three were men and one was a woman, and they demanded that we summon the Blue Lady.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘Nearly twelve moons ago. We were most astonished, for the only people of your kind that we ever see are the Feathered Barbarians – and they come very seldom to trade for fireshell, gold, and precious fish-scale, and never during the stormy time of year.
‘These human persons were lofty in demeanour and atrociously rude. Each one wore a Star hanging on a chain. When we asked their reasons for wanting audience with the Lady they did not answer, but instead killed several of our old people by means of awesome magic. They repeated their demand, threatening to destroy our children next, and then all of our tribe if we did not hasten to do their bidding. We had no choice but to give in. No choice! Do you understand, White Lady?’
Haramis said nothing. The Mereman continued:
‘We explained that our Blue Lady’s magical portal is here, in Flyaway Isle. The strangers compelled the three of us to bring them here to the cave. Then … this one made the perfidious Call. As First of the Lercomi, it was my melancholy duty. But if I had known what would happen, I would have begged those brutes to slay us all instead.’
He began to weep, and the Second and Third also, and in another minute the entire crowd of little people in the blue misty cavern howled and sobbed in contrition, striking their crested heads on the ground. Haramis calmed them and commanded that the rest of the story be told.
Ansebado said, ‘No sooner had the Archimage of the Sea stepped from her enchanted door (which lies right behind her, even now) than the awful deed was done. The female stranger, one having flame-coloured hair, used a magical device that sprinkled the poor Lady with some gelid astral liquid. She froze instantly. Further sprinkling produced the blue ice-block that you see. No fire can melt it. No prayer can banish it. Not even your own magic can overcome it! The name of the Lercomi Mere Folk will stink throughout the Sea Realm forever, for we have condemned our dear Blue Lady to living death.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Haramis said none too kindly, lifting her talisman to forestall another mournful hubbub. ‘This ice is not true magic, but something else appertaining to the Vanished Ones and their science. I cannot free the Blue Lady now, but perhaps a way might be found.’
Ansebado and his people fell on their faces to thank her, but she ordered them to arise, pull themselves together, and answer more questions.
Haramis learned that the human villains were all dressed in the silver-and-black robes of the Star Guild. They were none of them above thirty years in age, were of differing stature, and all save the redheaded woman had hair of grizzled grey or dull white. Each Star Guildsman carried a dissimilar ancient weapon: one killed by boiling the blood, another threw forth a deadly small thunderbolt, the third provoked fatal convulsions, and the fourth, much larger than the others and more complex in aspect, had ensorcelled the Blue Lady.
‘The malefactors stayed with us for several days,’ Ansebado said, ‘questioning us about the underwater regions hereabouts where the Vanished Ones once flourished. Then another sailboat came with two more Star Men. One of them was young, of no special distinction save for his loud and bullying speech. But the other human was different from all the rest. He was much older, and he wore a many-rayed starburst headpiece of silvered leather that concealed his upper face while leaving the back of his head uncovered. His long hair was as pale as the platinum of his Star.’
Haramis gave a low cry. Ice seemed to have congealed in her own vitals. This could not be. Must not be …
She found herself asking, ‘Was – was he tall?’
‘Taller than the others, who gave him great reverence and called him Master. He came into this cavern, stepped into the portal of the Blue Lady, and disappeared. The others waited for some hours, whereupon he reappeared. Then the lot of them got into the boats and went away.’
‘Oh, Lords of the Air,’ Haramis whispered. With her gloved fingers stiff and clumsy, she drew the gold-framed small picture out of her robe and was barely able to ask her last question. ‘And was this the Star Master?’
The little aborigine frowned at the portrait, then replied. ‘His face was partly masked by the starry headgear. But, yes. It was he. He had eyes like that. Eyes like yours, White Lady.’
Pain, born in her swelling heart, was spreading like molten metal through the entire body of the Archimage of the Land. It was a jubilant hurting, mingled with stark fear. She spoke in a voice made unsteady by emotion.
‘Since the Blue Lady’s imprisonment, have the Lercomi Folk visited underwater ruins of the Vanished Ones at the Star Men’s behest?’
‘Nay,’ said Ansebado, ‘but we have heard that other Mere tribes have been compelled to do so. They have gathered certain ancient artifacts coveted by the Star Men, but none of them knows what these things might be, nor do we.’
But Haramis knew. ‘I will come to you again, Ansebado. Command your Folk to watch by the imprisoned Blue Lady until then. Should any person emerge from her magical portal, bespeak me at once, even if you must lay down your lives to do so. Now farewell.’