Heritage Of The Xandim

5

TAKU

What have I become? What is to become of me?

In the pastures on the outskirts of the city, Corisand looked out of the window of her stable at the snow falling thickly in the night and wished, for once, that she had some of the other horses there to keep her company. Following the ambush in the forest, the stables had been in a state of chaos, with many horses injured, some of them very badly. As she had been unscathed, they had put her here in the far paddock, which boasted its own little stable, and had left her alone. Just now she presented a problem that Aelwen did not need, for she could only be ridden by Hellorin, and it would be a long time indeed before he was in any state to ride her - if, indeed, he survived at all.

Corisand listened to the gossip of the grooms and riders whenever she could, with her new understanding, and gathered that the Forest Lord was still locked in a timeless state by the healers. By rights he should have been dead. Only Tiolani’s intervention had held him to life for long enough to take him out of time and bring him home, and everyone was remarking, with a mixture of surprise and admiration, that Hellorin’s new heir had inherited a will every bit as strong as that of her father.

With her only rider close to death, Corisand had been turned out into the wintry pasture during the day, and only brought in at night. And already, during these last three dark days, she had discovered what it meant to be truly forsaken and alone. Now she could think in the same way as the two-legged ones: the Phaerie, Wizards and mortals. For the first time, she could feel as they felt: loneliness, worry, frustration and grief.

Several horses had been lost during the slaves’ attack. One of them had been Valir; lordly, magnificent - and her sire. Maiglan, her dam, had raced across the clearing and into the forest in her panic, and there she had caught her foot on a root and fallen, breaking her leg. When the Phaerie found her, there had been no option but to destroy her. Their deaths, and those of the others, filled Corisand with renewed anger against the Phaerie. The Xandim were her people, her responsibility. How dare that accursed Hellorin and his subjects use them as simple animals? How dare they ride them into risk and danger? She rejoiced that Hellorin, the oppressor of her people, had fallen. She hoped he had suffered. She wished fervently that he would die. If she was ever to free the Xandim, Corisand reckoned that Tiolani would prove much less of an obstacle to her plans.

If she ever came up with any plans. First of all, she had to acquaint herself with her new role, its advantages, its burdens and its limitations. Little by little, during the lonely hours in her isolated pasture, Corisand had begun to make sense of it all. She had found a way to shield herself from the thoughts and emotions of others by taking her mind to a place she’d loved ever since she was a foal: a secluded valley in the mountains, with a waterfall and a crystal-clear lake, where groups of the Phaerie horses were pastured in turn for a good long rest in the summer. Having discovered this mental refuge into which the emanations of others could not intrude, she found that she could begin to organise her own thoughts. Gradually she sifted through her new legacy of knowledge, until a complete history of her people emerged.

The Xandim were not the same as other horses. Their physical make-up was slightly different, in that they could run faster and jump higher than their ordinary equine brethren, and they had more stamina. They could also see clearly in colour, as the Phaerie, Wizards and humans could, and could utilise the magic of the flying spell, whereas the average horse could not.

They were an ancient race, though not as old as the Magefolk or the Phaerie. The mechanism by which they changed shape drew upon the Old Magic, but the Windeye was the only one with the ability to access and use its powers for other reasons. To her surprise, Corisand discovered that, in ages long past, all the Xandim had been adept in the use of magic, but a religious movement had sprung up which denounced its use as evil and unnatural. The cult had swept like wildfire though the Horsefolk, creating a schism between those in favour of using the abilities with which they had been born, and those who rejected the arcane force of the Old Magic. After a long struggle, the cultists had triumphed, and the last of their opponents were hunted down and slain, or forced into a life of subterfuge and concealment. The use of magic had dwindled from generation to generation, and much valuable knowledge of their civilisation was lost to the Xandim. Only the line of the Shamans had kept the flame alive, persisting through all the years of danger and doubt, and finding ways to pass information, memories and powers from one Windeye to the next - until eventually, everything had come to Corisand.

Had the Xandim only been aware of what they had lost, they would have regretted throwing their powers away as they had done, for when their race had been attacked by the Phaerie, they had been easily overcome and enslaved, trapped in their horse forms by Hellorin because they no longer had any magical gifts through which they could change back. And what was worse, the race had stagnated in this shape for so long that even Corisand, the new Windeye, was unable to access the magic - not until she changed back into human form. And how could she do that? All too soon she had discovered the bitter dilemma that had tormented her predecessors, and it seemed that she was no closer to reaching a solution than they had been.

Corisand stirred restlessly, desperately seeking a way to distract herself from her gloomy thoughts. A change of light in the stable window drew her attention, and she saw that the night had taken on a peculiar, luminous glow that turned the falling snowflakes into a glittering veil. How very odd, she thought. And, since anything was better than staying where she was, bored out of her mind and sinking deeper into despondency, she decided to go out and discover the source of the weird glow.

Now that she was the Windeye of the Xandim, bolted doors were the least of her problems, and the door of her box soon swung open as she carefully worked the bolt loose with her lips and teeth and slid it back. Now, if only they hadn’t actually locked the outside door of the stable . . . Manipulating the catch turned out to be a little more tricky, but after a while she worked it out and pushed the door open. A blast of chilly air came whistling in, but Corisand ignored it and stepped out into the snow.

The night was filled with magic. The snow fell thickly from the low clouds overhead, but far away over the treetops a break had appeared in the cloud cover and the moon, just past full, was shining through the gap, illuminating the millions of tumbling snowflakes as they fell, and filling the night with that mysterious, pearly glow. Utterly entranced, Corisand forgot her problems. Tentatively at first, but with increasing skill and confidence, she began to prance and whirl, dancing with her shadow in the moonlight and weaving hoofprint patterns on the soft white ground, while the falling snow turned her dappled coat to glimmering silver and decked her dark mane and tail with sparkling diamonds. Tomorrow, she told herself, she would once again take up the burdens of the Windeye and, as winter turned to spring and then summer, she would get used to her new role, and begin to learn the things she needed to know. But that was for the future. Tonight, there was only the moonlight, the snow and the dance.

Entranced and transported by the moonlight and the whirling snow, Corisand circled and pirouetted, carving her complex patterns in the thick white covering on the ground, until she was too weary to dance any more. Weary, but for once relaxed and at peace, she returned to the stable, carefully closing the doors behind her, so that the Phaerie would not know she had been out. The snow showed no sign of stopping. By morning, it would have filled in the tracks she had made and obliterated all signs of her presence outside, and none of her captors would be any the wiser. Feeling ready to sleep at last, she lay down on her thick, soft bed of straw, closed her eyes and was lost to the world.

Lost to one world, at least. As she drifted away into slumber, Corisand felt an odd little sideways jolt, and a peculiar, twisting sensation deep within her that had her opening her eyes in surprise.

And the stable had vanished.

The snow and the moonlight had vanished, leaving her standing in a soft, all-encompassing mist that glowed from within with a dim amber light.

Her body had vanished - as she discovered when she tried to take a step forward, and fell flat on her face. It was only then that she saw the arms that she had automatically thrown out in front of her to save herself from the worst of the impact. Smooth-skinned arms, and strong, sturdy hands. Like the Phaerie. Like the humans. Corisand let out a low, strangled cry compounded of astonishment, shock and joy. How could this be? Somehow, she had managed to release herself from her equine form at last, and take on her alternative shape.

For a moment, Corisand stayed where she was on the ground, resting on soft, black moss, her mind awhirl with possibilities and questions. She looked at her hands, outstretched in front of her, and realised that her vision had altered radically. Instead of the all-round viewpoint of a horse, she could only see in front of her, but the vision of each eye overlapped, giving her an unprecedented perception of depth and distance. Slightly unfocused at the inner corner of each eye was a triangular, flesh-coloured object which she realised must be her nose. Marvelling, she lifted her hand and touched the contours of her face and, lifting a strand of long, glossy, dark-brown hair, felt the silken texture, giving it a slight, experimental tug. ‘Ouch!’ She decided not to do that again, but the sharp little pain was lost in wonder. Why, she had a voice; a mouth that could form words, could articulate her thoughts. This was incredible.

She ran her hand down the soft, velvety skin of her arm, and turning her left hand over, examined it closely: the delicate whorls of skin on her fingertips; the fingernails, translucent as a shell; the mysterious map of crossing and interconnecting lines on her palm; the graceful wrist with its network of blue veining on the inner side. And most important of all, the thumb, opposed for grasping. Joy surged through her. This was where the true control and power lay. This was what had given the two-legged ones such mastery over the other inhabitants of the world. The ability to use tools, build cities, wield weapons. To forge slave-chains for their fellow creatures.

Well, now she could compete with them on their own terms. But where was she? How had she come here? Corisand remembered falling asleep, and considered the possibility that she might be dreaming, but the reality of becoming a biped was far beyond anything she had ever imagined. These new sights and sensations simply could not be originating in her own mind. True, since she’d become Windeye she’d had visions of the Xandim in their alternative form, but never from the viewpoint of inhabiting such a body.

What was this mysterious, miraculous place that had allowed her to shed her equine shape at last? She could see nothing all around but the weird, glowing mist, and a shiver ran through her as she wondered what it might conceal. Were the dangers commensurate with the wonders? She was willing to wager that they were, and she had a feeling that by lying on the ground she was putting herself at risk. Better to discover how to use this body while she had the chance, then go and confront whatever might be lurking in the mist.

But first, she’d have to get to her feet, and that turned out to be enough of a challenge to be going on with. Corisand scrambled onto all fours, then considered her next move. Rising up as high as she could on her knees, she put her right leg out in front of her. Now what? If she put her weight on the right leg, maybe the left would help to push her up . . .

Good thing this moss stuff is soft, she thought a moment later, as she pulled herself out of the sprawl into which she had fallen. Still, I think I was working along the right lines. Let’s try it again. Another three attempts found her standing, precariously balanced on two feet instead of four, and she was sure that if only there had been something in that infernal mist to hold on to, she would have done it in less. It took a while longer and a few additional tumbles before she mastered the art of walking and, until she got used to the unfamiliar form of locomotion, she would just have to hope she didn’t meet anything that she needed to run away from.

Although Corisand had been preoccupied with discovering the advantages and limitations of this new and unfamiliar body, she had not lost sight of her main objective: to find out where she was, and what had finally freed her from the prison of her equine form. She wished that she had a weapon of some kind, but that could not be helped. Naked and alone, she set off bravely into the enclosing mist.

Corisand walked for a time in an unchanging landscape, in the strange, glowing amber light, with misty vapour still blocking her vision, and the thick, black moss soft beneath her bare feet. There were no sounds or scents to give her any clue as to her whereabouts, and she had no idea of the direction in which she was moving. She had no sense of time passing in that changeless place - she could have been there for hours or minutes.

At length, however, the surface beneath her changed from moss to grass, and the mist began to swirl away in one direction, leaving an aperture through which she could see a strip of green turf with the inviting glint of water beyond. Quickly, Corisand stepped through the hole before it began to close again, and immediately swung around in a circle, to make sure there were no enemies nearby. She could not see another living creature, but to her surprise the uncanny mist had vanished without trace. Behind her was a forest of pine, spruce and hemlock trees that towered to an incredible height. The little grassy swathe on which she stood thrust back in a tongue-shape, bounded by the dark wall of the magnificent forest, beyond which she could glimpse the snowy peaks of mountains. As she whirled, completing the circle, she discovered that she was standing on the shore of a lake.

The temptation was overwhelming. Hurrying to the lakeside, she bent down on one knee and looked into the mirror of still water. Then Corisand saw the new form that she’d assumed for the first time. A cloud of tangled dark-brown hair, framing a rather rounded face with dark eyes and a small, straight nose. A mouth that dimpled on either side as she broke into a sudden smile at the delight and wonder of it all. A strong, sturdy, compact body, with full, rounded breasts that made her eyes open wide in surprise. As she had never seen the Phaerie or their human slaves unclothed, she found one or two more surprises on the way down to her feet, but all in all, she decided she liked what she saw.

Now that her curiosity had been satisfied, she scrambled to her feet again - she found it easier this time, now that she was getting the measure of her new body - and took a proper look at her surroundings. The calm waters of the lake were the extraordinary, clouded blue of moonstones, and wound away into snow-streaked mountains on her right, so that she could not see where it ended in that direction. On her left, seemingly not more than a mile or two away, was . . .

The Windeye’s jaw dropped in amazement. At that end of the lake, descending into the water like a towering white wall, was a glacier. The river of ice, its upper surface ridged and jagged, went curving away as it sloped upwards out of sight, to be lost among the peaks beyond. She knew exactly what it was, though she had never seen one before. She could feel a new force tingling through her mind and body, thrilling her with an energy that was as potent, formidable and uncanny as the glacier itself. Corisand laughed aloud. In this otherworldly place, in this unfamiliar two-legged body, her Windeye’s powers had come blindingly alive, filling her mind with new and complex thoughts and providing her with all the knowledge and insights she needed to survive here. She did not know how to wield the magic yet, but that would come. She had a feeling that she was here to learn. But where was this place? Why, despite all this new knowledge in her head, did she not recognise it?

Corisand felt as if she could not take in enough of the glacier. She had never seen anything so awe-inspiring. This titanic flow of ice took her breath away. Its sheer immensity was difficult to encompass, for there was no way in which to gauge perspective. The whiteness of its rough, ridged surface was streaked and stained with grey, consisting of rock that had once been huge boulders before being pulverised into the finest of powders by the mighty forces within the ice. In its heart, however, the glacier held a magical surprise - drifts and patches of pure and stunning turquoise blue; clear and radiant as a jewel and heartbreaking in their intensity and perfection. Here, so close to the vast work of nature, she could feel the chill from it on her hands and face. The air was utterly still; filled with a silence so vast and profound that it could be felt like a pressure on the skin.

Shock ran through the Windeye as she realised that the landscape was alive. The glacier was a sentient being with a vast, overwhelming aura of power and presence. And then it spoke. Shattering the silence, sounds came from the ice: creaking and grinding and a peculiar popping noise, with every now and then a loud, explosive crack. Corisand could not understand the language, but she had a feeling that she’d be able to learn. Above all things, she wanted to communicate with this entity.

Determinedly, she set off around the lakeside towards the towering frozen wall - and then suddenly, it came to her that she was wasting time. With the burgeoning powers of a Windeye, she should be able to do much better than this, and her instincts told her that the best way to impress this formidable being would be through magic. But how? Looking out across the lake, Corisand relaxed her mind and let the answers come to her. She knew that the knowledge lay within her: concealed, instinctive, waiting to be unearthed and unleashed. Closing her eyes, she let herself sink down through her consciousness, emptying her mind to allow the wisdom that lay buried beneath the surface come rising up and flooding in. Around her, the landscape held its breath. Even the mighty glacier fell silent, as if waiting to see what she might accomplish. She reached down into the very core of her being to the star of shining light that was the dormant seed of her power. And as she touched it, the magic flared up in an incandescent burst of radiance that flooded her heart and mind, tingling through her hands and blazing out through her eyes. The reflection in the lake of her astonished face showed that her pupils had turned a bright, reflective silver. Seen through those silver eyes, the world had changed.

Othersight. The word leapt into her mind. The magical vision of a Windeye that showed her the world in an entirely different way. The waters of the lake gleamed with a crystalline light, and the mountains beyond had become prisms, brilliant with iridescent hues. The trees and grass around her were glittering like jewels. On the glacier itself, the dingy grey streaks of pulverised rock had become drifts of sparkling diamonds, and the patches of that thrilling, incandescent blue had spread to encompass the entire entity, and had taken on a new, almost unbearable intensity.

Most incredible of all, Corisand could see the wind: all the eddies and currents of moving air that swooped and swirled above the surface of the lake and the glacier like glowing rivers. In a flash of revelation, she comprehended at last why the Windeye was so named. But the new understanding went much further than that. All at once, she realised that the winds were her weapons and her tools, a link from the heartspring of her magic to the outer world. In conjunction with her Othersight, she could shape miracles - she was sure of it. Now was the time to put that certainty to the test.

She snatched at the long strands of air as they swirled past, grabbing a handful and twisting them round her fingers. They were fluid to her touch, with a cool, silken feel. Concentrating hard, she poured her Othersight into them, igniting them into streams of blazing silver radiance. These she spun out to form a bridge, which she cast towards the glacier, creating a glowing arc through the air that reached from her feet to the intense blue entity of ice.

A grin spread across the Windeye’s face and a warm glow of pride ignited within her. Not bad for a first attempt, she told herself, although she knew that the true test of her magic was still to come. The graceful arch of her gleaming silver bridge was beautiful indeed, but could she trust it with her life? It was time to find out.

In her heart, Corisand was certain that confidence would count for everything in achieving her objective. Firmly closing her mind to any doubts, she lifted her chin and stepped firmly onto her first creation. The bridge remained firm and steady beneath her feet. The structure she had spun out of nothing more than empty air and a Windeye’s magic looked as fragile and ethereal as moonbeams, but was as firm beneath her feet as any ancient bridge of stone. She took another step forward, noticing as she did so that her feet almost adhered to the surface. This was her own magic, and it seemed that her creation was determined to keep her safe. As the gleaming span took her far out above the cold lake water, she was more than grateful for that.

As the Windeye drew gradually closer to the glacier, the mysterious noises within the ice became louder. Strange as it might seem, she was certain that they held a great deal more meaning than mere random bursts of sound, and as she continued to listen with all her concentration, they began to reverberate through her head and resolve themselves into words whose meaning she could almost grasp, and which became increasingly clear as she drew near to the far side of the lake. She was wondering what she should do when she reached it when the matter was taken out of her hands.

From the top of the glacier where the wall of ice met the lake, the head of a gigantic serpent reared slowly into the sky. Its colossal form, white as the glacier ice, towered high above the stunned Windeye, and it looked down at her through eyes of the same vibrant, translucent blue as the glacier’s heart. ‘I am Taku, Serpent of Ice, Spirit of the Glacier and Master of the Cold Magic.’