The Hand of Chaos

37

Haplo closed the circle of his being, gathered his remaining strength, healed himself. This time would be the last, though. He couldn’t fight any longer, didn’t want to fight any longer. He hurt, he was tired. The battle was futile. No matter what he did, they would defeat him at last. He lay in the darkness, waiting for them to come.

They didn’t.

And then the darkness changed to light.

Haplo opened his eyes, remembered he didn’t have any eyes. He put his hands to the bleeding sockets, saw his hands, and realized he had eyes to see. He sat up, stared at his body. He was whole, unharmed, except for a throbbing pain at the base of his skull and a dizzy sensation brought on by his too-swift movement.

“Are you all right?” came a voice.

Haplo tensed, blinked rapidly to clear his vision.

“Don’t be afraid. We are not those who harmed you. They have gone.” Haplo had only to look down at his arm to know the voice spoke the truth. The sigla were dark. He was in no immediate danger. He lay back, closed his eyes. Iridal walked in a terrible world, a world distorted, where every object was just a little beyond her reach, a world where people talked a language whose words she understood, yet they made no sense. She watched the world happen around her without being able to affect it, control it. The feeling was horrifying, that of existing in a waking dream.

And then all was darkness—that and the knowledge that she was imprisoned and they’d taken her child away from her. She tried to use her magic to free herself, but the words to the spell were hidden by the darkness. She couldn’t see them, and she couldn’t remember them.

And then the darkness grew light. Strong hands took hold of hers and guided her to stability, to reality. She heard voices and understood the words. She reached out, hesitantly, to touch the person who leaned over her and her hand closed over thin, fragile-feeling bone. Iridal gasped in relief, could have wept.

“Be at peace, Lady,” said the Kenkari, “all is well. Rest. Relax. Let the antidote take effect.”

Iridal did as she was told, too weak and stilt too disoriented to do anything else, for the moment, though her first and foremost thought was rescuing Bane. That much had been real, she knew. They had stolen him away from her. But with the Kenkari’s help, she would get him back.

Struggling to clear the burning mists from her mind, she heard voices close by—one voice that sounded familiar. Chillingly familiar. Iridal leaned forward to hear better, putting aside irritably the restraining hand of the Kenkari.

“Who are you?” the voice was asking.

“I am the Keeper of the Soul, a Kenkari. This is my assistant, the Keeper of the Door. Though I fear these titles mean nothing to you.”

“What happened to the ser—I mean the ... uh ... elves who took me prisoner?”

“They are gone. What did they do to you? We thought you were dead. Should you be moving around like this?”

Iridal sucked in a breath. Haplo! The Patryn! The man who had taken her son from her the first time.

“Help me get away!” Iridal said to the Kenkari. “I must ... He mustn’t find me...” She tried to stand, but her legs were weak and she fell back. The Kenkari was perplexed, anxious. “No, Lady, you are not fully recovered ...”

“Never mind what they did to me,” Haplo was saying harshly. “What did you do to them? How did you fight them?”

“We confronted them,” replied the Soul gravely. “We faced them without fear. Our weapons are courage, honor, the determination to defend what is right. Discovered late, perhaps,” he added with a sigh, “but true to us when we needed them.”

Iridal flung the Kenkari aside. She could stand now, weak, but she wouldn’t fall. Whatever drug the elves had given her was wearing off rapidly, burned out of her blood by her fear of Haplo’s finding her... and finding Bane. She reached the cell door and looked out. Almost immediately, she moved back, keeping herself hidden in the shadows.

Haplo was on his feet, leaning against a wall, not four paces from where she stood. He looked haggard, pale, as if he had endured some terrible torment. But Iridal remembered his magical power, knew it was far stronger than her own. She dared not let him find her.

“Thanks for ... whatever,” he was saying to the elves grudgingly. “How long have I been unconscious?”

“It is morning,” answered Door.

The Patryn cursed. “You didn’t by any chance see an elf and a dwarf, did you? An elf soldier, a captain. And he’d have with him a dwarf, a female.”

“We know of whom you speak, but we did not see them. Count Tretar’s weesham has informed us. They have taken a dragonship to Drevlin. They left at dawn.” Haplo cursed again. Muttering some excuse, he started to walk around the mensch. He was leaving, chasing after some dwarf and an elf captain. He hadn’t said a word about Bane. Iridal held her breath, almost limp with relief. Go! she urged him silently. Let him go, she urged the elves silently. But, to her dismay, one of the elves put a slender hand on Haplo’s shoulder. The other Kenkari blocked Haplo’s path.

“How will you go after them?” the Soul said.

“That’s my concern,” the Patryn returned impatiently. “Look, you elves may not care, but they’re going to murder that dwarf, unless I—”

“You reproach us,” said the Soul, closing his eyes, bowing his head. “We accept your rebuke. We know the wrong we have done and we seek only to make amends, if that is possible. But relax. You have time, time to heal your injury, for I believe such things are possible for you. Rest now. We must free the mysteriarch.”

“Mysteriarch?” Haplo had been going to shove his way past. He stopped. “What mysteriarch?”

Iridal began to call upon the magic, to crumble the stone down around them. She did not want to hurt the Kenkari, after all they had done for her, but they were going to reveal her presence to Haplo and that was something she could not allow...

A hand closed over hers. “No, Lady,” said the Book, her voice gentle and sad.

“We cannot permit it. Wait.”

“The Lady Iridal,” said Soul, and looked directly at her.

“Bane... Bane’s mother. She’s here?” Haplo followed the Kenkari’s gaze.

“Book,” called Soul. “Is the Lady Iridal well enough to travel?” Iridal cast a furious glance at the Kenkari, jerked her hand from the woman’s grasp. “What is this—a trap? You Kenkari said you would help me rescue my son! And I find you with this man—a Patryn—one who carried Bane off! I will not—”

“Yes, you will.” Haplo came up to her, stood in front of her. “You’re right, this is a trap, but you’re the one who fell into it. And that son of yours set it.”

“I don’t believe you!” Iridal clasped her hand over the feather amulet. The Kenkari stood by, exchanging eloquent glances among themselves, but doing nothing, saying nothing.

“Of course, the amulet,” said Haplo grimly. “Just like the one he used to wear when he communicated with Sinistrad. That’s how Bane found out you were coming. You told him. You told him you were bringing Hugh the Hand. Bane arranged the capture, set the trap. Right now, he and the assassin are on their way to murder King Stephen and his queen. Hugh’s been coerced into going along with the plot because he thinks they’ll kill you if he doesn’t.” Iridal held onto the feather amulet tightly.

“Bane, my child,” she called. She would prove Haplo lied. “Can you hear me? Are you safe? Have they hurt you?”

“Mother? No, I’m fine, Mother. Truly.”

“Are they holding you prisoner? I’ll free you. How can I find you?”

“I’m not a prisoner. Don’t worry about me, Mother. I’m with Hugh the Hand. We’re riding on a dragon. The dog, too! Though I had quite a bit of trouble getting the dog to jump on. I don’t think he likes dragons. But I love them. I’m going to have one of my very own someday.” A moment’s pause, then the childish voice, slightly altered. “What did you mean about finding me, Mother? Where are you?”

Haplo was watching her. He couldn’t possibly hear what Bane was saying; her child’s words came to her mind magically through the amulet. But the Patryn knew.

“Don’t tell him you’re coming!” Haplo said to her softly. If Haplo is right, then this is all my fault, Iridal realized. Again, my fault. She shut her eyes, blotting out Haplo, blotting out the sympathetic faces of the Kenkari. But she took Haplo’s advice, though she loathed herself for doing so.

“I’m... I’m in a prison cell, Bane. The elves have locked me in here and... they’re... giving me a drug...”

“Don’t worry, Mother.” Bane sounded cheerful again. “They won’t hurt you. No one will. We’ll be together soon. It’s all right if I keep the dog, isn’t it, Mother?”

Iridal removed her hand from the feather amulet, smoothed it out with her fingers. Then she glanced around, took in her surroundings, saw herself, standing in a prison cell.

Her hand began to tremble; tears shimmered, dimmed the defiance in her eyes. Slowly, her fingers released the feather.

“What is it you want me to do?” she said in a low voice, not looking at Haplo, staring at her cell door.

“Go after them. Stop Hugh. If he knows you’re free, knows you’re safe, he won’t murder the king.”

“I’ll find Hugh and my son,” she said, her voice shaking, “but only to prove you wrong! Bane has been deceived. Evil men, men like you—”

“I don’t care why you go, Lady,” Haplo interrupted, exasperated. “Just go. Maybe these elves”—he glanced at the Kenkari—“can help you.” Iridal glared at him, hating him. She turned to the Kenkari, regarded them with equal bitterness. “You’ll help me. Of course you’ll help me. You want Hugh’s soul. If I save him, he’ll come back to you!”

“That will be his decision,” said the Keeper. “Yes, we can help you. We can help both of you.”

Haplo shook his head. “I don’t need help from—” He paused.

“Mensch?” finished the Soul, smiling. “You will need a means of reaching the dragonship that is carrying the dwarf to her death. Can your magic provide it?”

Haplo looked grim. “Can yours?” he countered.

“I believe so. But first, we must return to the cathedral. Door, you will lead.”

Haplo hesitated. “What about the guards?”

“They will not trouble us. We hold their souls in thrall, you see. Come with us. Listen to our plan. You must at least take time to heal yourself completely. Then, if you choose to go on your own, you will be strong enough to face your enemies.”

“All right, all right!” snapped Haplo. “I’ll go. Stop wasting time.” They entered a dark tunnel, lit only by the iridescent glow of the strange robes worn by the Kenkari. Iridal paid little attention to her surroundings, allowed herself to be led along, neither seeing nor caring. She didn’t want to believe Haplo, couldn’t believe him. There must be some other explanation. There had to be.

Haplo kept close watch on Iridal. She did not speak a word to him when they arrived at the cathedral. She did not look at him or acknowledge his presence. She was cold, withdrawn into herself. She answered the Kenkari when they spoke to her, but only in polite monosyllables, saying as little as possible. Has she learned the truth? Was Bane smug enough to tell her or is the child continuing the deception? Is Iridal continuing to deceive herself? Haplo eyed her, couldn’t guess the answers.

She hated him, that much was obvious. Hated him for taking her child from her, hated him for making her doubt her son.

And she’ll hate me far more if I’m right, Haplo thought. Not that I blame her. Who knows how Bane would have turned out, if I’d left him with her? Who knows what he would have been like without the influence of his “Grandfather”? But then, we would have never found out about the Kicksey-winsey, discovered the automaton. Funny how things work out.

And it might not have mattered anyway. Bane will always be Sinistrad’s son. And Iridal’s son, too. Yes, you had a hand in his upbringing, Lady, if only by withholding your hand. You could have stopped your husband. You could have taken the baby back. But you know that now, don’t you. And, maybe, after all, there wasn’t anything you could have done. Maybe you were too scared. Scared like I’m scared, scared of going back into the Labyrinth, too frightened to help my own child...

“I guess we’re not much different, you and I, Lady Iridal,” he told her silently. “Go ahead and hate me, if it makes you feel better. Hating me is a hell of a lot easier than hating yourself.”

“What is this place?” he asked aloud. “Where are we?”

“We are in the Cathedral of the Albedo,” answered the Keeper. They had emerged from the tunnel, entered what looked to be a library. Haplo cast a curious glance at several volumes bearing what he recognized as Sartan runes. That made him think of Alfred and he recalled another question he wanted to ask Lady Iridal. But it would have to wait until later, if and when they were ever alone. If and when she would speak to him.

“The Cathedral of the Albedo,” Haplo repeated, musing, trying to recall where he’d heard that before. Then he remembered. The taking of the elven ship on Drevlin; the dying captain; a wizard holding a box to the captain’s lips. The trapping of a soul. Now more of what the Kenkari had said was making sense. Or maybe it was the fact that the pain in his head was subsiding.

“This is where you elves keep the souls of your dead,” Haplo said. “You believe it strengthens your magic.”

“Yes, that is what we believe.”

They had passed through the lower parts of the cathedral, come to the crystal walls that faced out over the sunlit courtyard. All was peaceful, serene, quiet. Other Kenkari padded by on slippered feet, making graceful reverences to the three Keepers as they passed.

“Speaking of souls,” said the Keeper. “Where is yours?”

“Where’s my what?” Haplo couldn’t believe he’d heard right.

“Your soul. We know you have one,” the Keeper added, mistaking Haplo’s incredulous look for one of indignation. “But it is not with you.”

“Yeah? Well, you know more than I do,” Haplo muttered. He massaged his aching head. Nothing at all was making sense. The strange mensch—and these were undoubtedly the strangest mensch he’d ever come across—were right. He was definitely going to have to take time to heal himself.

Then, somehow or other, he’d steal a ship...

“Here, you may rest.”

The Kenkari led the way into a quiet room that appeared to be a small chapel. A window opened onto a beautiful, lush garden. Haplo glanced at it without interest, impatient to complete his healing and be gone.

The Kenkari indicated chairs with a polite and graceful gesture. “Is there anything we can bring you? Food? Drink?”

“Yeah. A dragonship,” muttered Haplo.

Iridal slumped into a chair, closed her eyes, shook her head.

“We must leave you now. We have preparations to make,” said the Kenkari. “We will return. If you need anything, ring the tongueless bell.” How can I save Jarre? There has to be a way. Stealing a ship will take too long. She’ll be dead by the time I reach her. Haplo began to pace the small room. Absorbed in his thoughts, he forgot Iridal’s presence, was startled when she spoke. He was even more startled when he realized she was answering his thoughts.

“You have remarkable magical powers, as I recall,” she said. “You carried my son by magic from the ruined castle. You could do the same here, I suppose. Why don’t you just leave on your own, let your magic take you where you want?”

“I could,” said Haplo, turning to face her. “If I had a fixed location in my mind—somewhere I knew, somewhere I’d been before. It’s hard to explain, but I could conjure up the possibility that I’m there—not here. I could travel to Drevlin, because I’ve been to Drevlin. I could take us both back to the Imperanon. But I can’t take myself to a strange dragonship flying somewhere between here and Drevlin. And I can’t take you to your son, if that’s what you’re hoping for, Lady.”

Iridal regarded him coldly. “Then it appears we must rely on these elves. Your head wound has reopened. It has started to bleed again. If you can truly heal yourself, Patryn, I suggest it might be wise to do so.” Haplo had to admit she was right. He was wearing himself out, accomplishing nothing. Sitting down in a chair, he laid his hand upon the injured part of his skull, established the circle of his being, let the warmth of his magic close the crack in the bone, banish the memory of the ripping talons, the tearing beaks...

He had drifted into a healing sleep when he was jolted awake by a voice. Iridal had risen to her feet, was staring at him in awe and fear. Haplo, confused, couldn’t think what he’d done to upset her. Then he looked at his skin, saw the blue glow of the runes just starting to fade. He’d forgotten. The mensch on this world weren’t used to such sights.

“You are a god!” Iridal whispered, awed.

“I used to think so,” Haplo said dryly, experimentally rubbing his skull, feeling it whole and undamaged beneath his fingers. “But not anymore. Forces stronger than mine and those of my people exist in this universe.”

“I don’t understand...” Iridal murmured.

Haplo shrugged. “That’s the point.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “You’ve changed from what you were. When you first came, you were confident, in control.”

“I thought I was in control. I’ve learned a lot, since then.”

“Now, you are more like us—‘mensch,’ I believe Alfred said is the term you use. You seem ...” She hesitated.

“Frightened?” Haplo offered grimly.

“Yes,” she said. “Frightened.”

A small door opened. One of the Kenkari entered, bowed. “All is ready. You may enter the Aviary.”

His hand indicated the garden. Haplo was about to protest irritably that this was no time for tea and cookies on the lawn when he caught a glimpse of Iridal. She was staring at the lush green foliage with a kind of horror, shrinking away from it.

“We must go in there?” she asked.

“All is well,” said the Kenkari. “They understand. They want to help. You are welcome.”

“Who?” Haplo asked the Kenkari. “Who understands? Who’s going to help?”

“The dead,” answered the Keeper.

Haplo was reminded of the second world he’d visited—Pryan. Its lush jungles might have been uprooted and dropped into this crystal dome. Then he saw that this foliage was arranged to look wild. In reality, it was carefully tended, lovingly nurtured.

He was amazed at the vastness of the dome. The Aviary had not looked this big seen through the chapel window. A dragonship—two dragonships—could have flown side by side in the widest part. But what amazed him more, when he stopped to think about it, was the greenery. Trees and ferns and plants such as these did not grow in the arid Mid Realm.

“Why,” said Iridal, staring around her, “these trees are like those in the High Realms. Or rather, those that used to be in the High Realms.” She reached out to touch a soft and feathery fern. “Nothing like this grows there now. All died, long ago.”

“Not all. These are from the High Realms,” said the Keeper of the Soul. “Our people brought them to this Realm when they left, long ago. Some of these trees are so old, I feel young around them. And the ferns—”

“Forget the damn ferns! Let’s get on with this, whatever it is,” said Haplo impatiently. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable. When they had first entered, the Aviary had seemed a haven of peace and tranquillity. Now he sensed anger and turmoil and fear. Hot winds touched his cheek, stirred his clothing. His skin crawled and itched, as if soft wings were brushing against him.

Souls of the dead, kept in here like caged birds.

Well, I’ve seen stranger things, Haplo reminded himself. I’ve seen the dead walk. He’d give these mensch one chance to prove their usefulness, then he’d take matters into his own hands.

The Kenkari lifted their eyes to the heavens, began to pray.

“Krenka-Anris, we call to you,” said the Keeper of the Soul. “Holy Priestess, who first knew the wonder of this magic, hear our prayer and give us counsel. Thus we pray:

The hot winds began to blow harder, fiercer, strengthening to an angry gale. The trees swayed and moaned, as if lamenting, branches snapped, leaves rustled in agitation. Haplo imagined he could hear voices, thousands of silent voices, adding their prayers to those spoken aloud by the Kenkari. The voices rose to the top of the Aviary, rose above the trees and greenery.

Iridal gasped and clutched at his arm. Her head was raised, her gaze fixed on the top of the Aviary dome.

“Look!” she breathed.

Strange clouds began to form, to coalesce, clouds woven from the whispering cacophony.

They began to take the form and shape of a dragon.

A nice bit of magic. Haplo was moderately impressed, though he wondered irritably just how the mensch thought a cloud shaped like a dragon was going to help anybody. He was again about to ask, about to interrupt, when the sigla on his skin burned in warning.

“The dragon Krishach,” said Soul.

“Come to save us,” said Book.

“Blessed Krenka-Anris,” said Door.

“But it’s not real!” Haplo protested, admonishing his own instincts as much as anything else. The sigla on his skin glowed blue, prepared to defend him. And then he saw that it was real.

The dragon was a creature of cloud and of shadow; insubstantial, yet granted a terrible substance. Its flesh was a pale, translucent white, the white of a long-dead corpse. The dragon’s skeleton was visible through the flaccid skin, which hung loosely over the bones. The eye sockets were empty, dark, except for a smoldering flame that gleamed bright one instant, then faded, then shone again, like dying embers being blown to life.

The phantom dragon soared in circles, floating on the breath of the dead souls. Then, suddenly, it swooped down.

Haplo crouched, instinctively, put his hands together to activate the rune-magic.

The Keeper of the Soul turned, regarded him with the large, dark eyes.

“Krishach will not harm you. Only your enemies need fear him.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Krenka-Anris has heard your plea, offers her help in your need.” The phantom dragon landed on the ground near them. It was not still, but remained in constant, restless motion—wings lifting, tail thrashing. The skeletal head wrapped in its cold, dead flesh turned constantly, keeping all in view of its empty, hollow eyes.

“I’m supposed to ride... that,” said Haplo.

“This could be a trick, to lure me to my death.” Iridal’s lips were ashen, trembling. “You elves are my enemies!”

The Kenkari nodded. “Yes, you are right, Magicka. But somewhere, sometime, someone must trust enough to reach out his hand to an enemy, though he knows it means that hand could be cut off at the wrist.”

The Keeper reached into the voluminous sleeves of his robes, withdrew from them a small, thin, nondescript-looking book. “When you reach Drevlin,” he said, offering the book to Haplo, “give this to our brothers, the dwarves. Ask them to forgive us, if they can. We know it will not be easy. We will not be able to easily forgive ourselves.”

Haplo took the book, opened it, flipped through it impatiently. It appeared to be of Sartan make, but it was written in the mensch languages. He pretended to study it. In reality, he was plotting his next move. He—

He stared at the book, looked up at the Kenkari.

“Do you know what this is?”

“Yes,” the Keeper admitted. “I believe it is what the Evil Ones were searching for when they entered our library. They were looking in the wrong place, however. They assumed it must be among the works of the Sartan, guarded and protected by Sartan runes. But the Sartan wrote it for us, you see. They left it for us.”

“How long have you known about it?”

“A long time,” said the Keeper sadly. “To our shame, a long time.”

“It could give the dwarves, the humans—anyone—tremendous power over you and your people.”

“We know that, too,” said the Keeper.

Haplo thrust the book into his belt. “It’s not a trap, Lady Iridal. I’ll explain on the way, if you’ll explain a few things to me, such as how Hugh the Hand managed to get himself resurrected.”

Iridal looked from the elves to the terrifying phantom to the Patryn who had taken away her son. Haplo’s magical defenses had begun to fade as he fought down his own fear and repugnance. The blue glow that illuminated the sigla dimmed and died.

Smiling his quiet smile, he held out his hand to Iridal.

Slowly, hesitantly, she took it.