The Heart of the mirage

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Brand and I looked upon the Mirage and did not believe what we saw.

'It is not real,' I said flatly. 'How can anything like this be real?'

'You are right,' Temellin replied. 'In one sense it is not real. Why else would it be called the Mirage? What is a mirage if not an illusion, a dream that is not there?'

'I don't understand.'

Temellin signalled Garis to ride on with Brand, leaving the two of us mounted on our shleths looking out over a landscape that could not exist. He reached across and took my hand. 'It is the creation of entities we call the Mirage Makers. They have made a land including everything that pleases them, and because they are who they are, what they create has reality. I can eat the fruit and be sustained, drink the water and have my thirst slaked. But if the Mirage Makers decide they want a change, then the lake you see here today will be gone tomorrow; the leaves that are purple now might be white in an hour's time, the road that runs across this valley may not exist two seconds hence – or it may last a thousand years. If they want music,

there will be music; if they want silence, they will have it. As a matter of courtesy, they do not usually remove the buildings from around us without warning, nor do they banish a chair that's in use, nor do they build a wall across a road just as we ride down it.'

I remembered the shapes I'd thought I had seen in the. dancing sands. 'These entities – where do they live?'

'They are the Mirage, all that you see before you now. It is impossible to think of them as being creatures like us, Derya. They have none of our limitations, none of our frailties. They do not need a form to move, nor sustenance to survive, nor a mouth to speak, nor eyes to see. They do not give birth or die, they just are. They are as much found in every grain of the soil beneath us as they are found in every leaf of that tree over there, or every stone in that wall, in every feather of that bird you see.'

He spoke almost as if I weren't there, with a lyricism that spoke of his deep love for this place, the orator coming to the fore again. He continued, 'To our Kardi forebears, the Mirage Makers were enemies to be feared because they were so far beyond ordinary Kardis, so unknowable. In those days patches of the Mirage were found throughout Kardiastan. Those places were dangerous. The Mirage could kill us, and did, without even noticing we were gone. And then the first of the Magor was born. She passed on her skills to her children and her children's children. They were also mirage makers of a kind, people with the power to make what did not exist seem to have reality. Probably you and I also have that latent ability, although we do not know how to use it.

'The illusions our forebears made had none of the – the solidness of the Mirage you see around you, but

they could create mirages on a vast scale. And did. They regarded them as an art form, and those who rendered them were revered, just as Tyrans reveres its sculptors. But for some reason, this Magor ability confused the true Mirage Makers, sending them mad with visions of a world that might or might not be. It became the weapon of the Magor, a weapon they turned against the Mirage Makers to punish them for their illusory world so treacherous to us. As more and more Magor were born, the Mirage Makers suffered immeasurable distress. And in their distress – no, in their madness – they damaged the land and its people still more. It was not a situation which benefited either side. Nor was it a conflict that could ever be won.

'It was then the first pact was made, between Mirage Makers and Magor, a pact that stands to this day. A covenant, if you like. One day soon you will be shown the Tablets of the Covenant and you will be asked to swear allegiance to the agreement. Until then, it's enough to say one result of the pact was that the true Mirage Makers withdrew behind the Shiver Barrens, and contact with them was restricted to what was necessary.'

He fell silent, his good humour in abeyance.

I prompted him to go on. 'But you came to live in the Mirage. First just you and the other children of the Ten with your teachers; now it seems every Magor who wants to come. Not to mention the Kardis you have freed from slavery. Why did these Mirage Makers allow that?'

'I wish I could tell you. None of us know what really happened, and the Mirage Makers choose not to tell us. After the invasion, Korden was the oldest of the Magoroth left alive: he was ten. I was only five. None of us knew what decisions were made by the Mirager,

my uncle Solad, or why. The Illusos, the Theuros who went with us, did not know. Why did Solad send us to the Mirage when he did? Did he sense the Magoroth were about to be betrayed, and sent us away to save us? He told those who took us how to cross the Shiver Barrens: how did he find out? No one had ever done it before. No one had ever tried; it was forbidden for us to try. What bargain did Solad make with the Mirage Makers so we can now take refuge here? No one was told directly, although I think perhaps I was given an indication, when I received my sword.'

He stopped abruptly, biting his lip, but you can't pack words away again once they are spoken.

I prompted, 'Received your sword?'

He ran his hand through his hair, chagrined. 'Sorry. I shouldn't tell you anything about that, not yet. It's just, well, something I was told then indicated that there was a price, negotiated by Solad, which has not yet been paid and one day we will have to pay it. The Mirage has saved us for now; the Mirage Makers tolerate us and adjust the Mirage so we do not suffer too much from its unpredictability, but there will come a reckoning and perhaps the discharging of our obligation will be difficult for us. For me.'

'But you will pay?' ' His face seemed grey as he replied. 'Yes. I believe we must pay, whatever the suffering it causes. If there was a bargain, made by my uncle, I must honour it. To do otherwise would be to flirt with a disaster of unimaginable proportions. The Magor must have the cooperation of the Mirage Makers, or there will be no more cabochons and therefore no Magor in the future.'

I stared at him. There was so much pain in his voice, I could only assume there was something he was

not telling me, something so terrible he could not put it into words. I remembered my vision beneath the Shiver Barrens, and wondered if we both had more than an inkling of what the bargain was.

Infanticide.

No, don't think about it. Temellin is not like that. He would never kill children, anyone's children.

And yet when his eyes met mine, I saw only despair. I wanted to take him in my arms, I wanted to ease his torment, but instinct told me that would make things worse, not better. He was too used to bearing his burdens alone; perhaps no one had ever taught him to share them. Perhaps Miasa hadn't been a particularly perceptive wife, or perhaps it was just that once she was gone, he no longer had anyone who would share his cares. He was hardly going to confide in me anyway, not when some of the Ten regarded me with such suspicion. Not when he couldn't be absolutely certain of my loyalty.

I turned back to face the land ahead. I couldn't decide whether it was beautiful or mad. Nothing was as it should be. Blue feathers grew in place of grass and they tinkled metallically in the breeze. The sky was pink and splintered with lines like cracked glass. There was a charming stone bridge crossing nothing except some rosebushes, and a crazy-paving road that changed to a waterfall at its end. Animals grazing on the feathers in a nearby field had green fur, black whiskers and no feet; a bird flew past with a furry tail, tasselled at the end. A large red statue of an upside-down dragonfly dominated a field of cabbages. The plinth was built of bubbles. Something that looked suspiciously like a cow was curled up asleep on the roof of a house. The house itself was built of glass balls filled with fish and it leant at an impossible angle in

insane, asymmetrical beauty. A sentry marched up and down outside playing a lute: he was made of wood, no more than an oversized children's toy with the ability to move.

'Nothing that leans so far off the true should be able to stand,' I murmured looking at the house. I felt I needed to say something.

'It will, unless the Mirage Makers want it otherwise. Are you ready for the rest of this land?'

'Where do we go?'

'There is a city the Mirage Makers built for us. It is just a little idiosyncratic in places, but not too traumatic. And it is bizarrely beautiful. Not more than two hours' ride from here. At least, that's what it was last time I rode this way. The time before that, a black lake blocked the route and it took me four days to ride around it. The Mirage can be tricky.'

I opened my mouth to reply, then closed it again. I couldn't think of anything sensible to say.

We rode for an hour in silence. I did not want to talk; there was too much to see, to marvel over. After we crossed a stream that flowed, impossibly, both uphill and downhill, I was prompted to comment on the one ugly thing I had seen: a patch of black and khaki green on a hillside. I wondered at first if it was some kind of bog, but the stink soon made it clear it was more than that. No swamp this, but rather a suppurating sore about the size of a town forum, an expanse of foul rottenness that looked and smelled corrupt. Black scum floated over clear greenish ooze dribbling in rivulets out from the core, as though spreading contagion. ' 'What happened there?' I asked, halting my mount.

Temellin refused to look at it. He said curtly, his voice once more edged with pain, 'We don't know.

ISBBKSt:,." ‹¦ " 1

There have always been such patches, ever since we first came here as children. They grow larger with time, and new ones appear. We have tried to clear them away, but it's impossible. They are poisonous to everything. I cannot believe they have their origin in the Mirage Makers. They are too… evil. We call them the Ravage.'

I was about to ride on when I was submerged in a suffocating emotion so thick I could barely breathe. Someone was hating me. The feeling was so real, so personal, I gagged, choking. I looked around wildly for whoever was responsible for such an outpouring of malicious loathing, but the only people in sight were Garis and Brand riding ahead of us, and – closer at hand but equally innocuous – an old Kardi woman fishing in a pond, with a couple of children playing around in a shleth cart behind her. I took a hold of myself and made an effort to pinpoint the source.

'What is it?' Temellin asked in alarm.

'It's the Ravage. It hates me!' The words sounded ridiculous as soon as I gave voice to them.

'Oh.' He sighed and nodded. 'Yes, I know. I mean, it hates everyone. We've got used to it, I suppose. Try not to let it worry you; if you don't go near it, nothing can happen to you.'

'Let's get out of here,' I said. 'I – I don't like it.' I slapped my heels into my mount, desperate to leave that corrosive loathing.

A littie later on, once we'd left the Ravage behind and had slowed to a walk once more, I asked Temellin if, when the Magor were free to live in Kardiastan again, they would leave the Mirage.

He nodded. 'Oh yes. This has never been more than a temporary haven; it does not belong to us. I am sure it was never part of my uncle's bargain with the

Mirage Makers that our stay be permanent.' He glanced at me, his look soft, and I felt an answering surge of emotion. It occurred to me I had come to know Temellin surprisingly well in a short time. I knew how much pain he concealed behind that cheerful exterior of his; I sensed how much inner uncertainty, how much anger at injustice, there was inside him. One part of me wanted to help carry that load. Appalled, I tried to remember yet again that I had a duty to destroy him.

Neither thought brought me any joy.

A moment later, Temellin said, 'Look – the Mirage City is in sight.'

He was pointing, and I saw the buildings rising out of the plain like a pile of ill-stacked bowls and mugs. They leant against one another, occasionally meeting overhead, sometimes held apart by crooked covered bridges or walkways. It was a city of narrow curved streets and winding stairs, of back alleys that dipped and humped like loop caterpillars. The stonework of the walls bulged with eccentric lumps and nodules or was pitted with niches and hollows planted with ferns and flowers. There was no symmetry, no planning. It had the unexpectedness of nature.

'However do you find your way anywhere?' I asked later, as we wended our way into this mess of streets and drunken buildings.

'With luck, more than anything,' he said with a grin. 'And don't forget, things can change overnight. A straight street can suddenly develop as many corners as joints on a shleth feeding arm, or a main road can become a stream. There was one awful week when we had to go everywhere by boat on canals; luckily the Mirage Makers tired of that change fairly quickly.'

"Where are you taking me?'

'All the Magoroth live in one building we call the Maze, for want of a better name. It contains any number of apartments, as well as servant quarters, nurseries – everything we need. We'll find a place for you for the time being. Korden and Pinar will demand both you and Brand be under supervision, I'm afraid.'

I reined in my mount. 'Will I – will I see you at all?' It was an act. A touch of pleading, to show my trustworthiness. To give him a hint that perhaps Derya was falling in love with him. And yet, it was also not entirely a deception. Even as I spoke the words, I knew I wanted to see him again. Vortex, I thought, why the Goddess is he so blamed attractive?

He stopped alongside me. 'I – cabochon help me, Derya – I don't think I can stay away. But I have promised Pinar she wouldn't have to wait much longer; she is almost thirty-five. If she is to have children, we ought to get together soon and she wants marriage.'

His face was so drawn, his voice so stressed, I couldn't bear to look at him. I knew, without him saying it, that once married he would be faithful to his wife, no matter that she was a murderous bitch. I said, 'Perhaps it would be better if you and I did not live in the same building.'

'Perhaps – later. Not now, not yet. Please, Derya, not yet.'

'It is not a weakness to feel this way,' I told him, nettled by the shame I sensed in him.

'No. No, to feel this way is wondrous. But to give into it? It will hurt Pinar, it will anger Korden and some of the others. And yet I can't help myself.'I don't even want to try.'

I heard his ache and shuddered, hurting. The huntress shouldn't love the prey.

Such a love disarms you.

We were cheered as we rode towards the Maze. People poured out of the houses, welcoming their Mirager, clapping and waving and smiling. Far from accepting the adulation as his due, Temellin appeared profoundly moved and not a little embarrassed. Yet there was a natural regality about him too. He unsheathed his sword and raised it over his head for everyone to see, and the cheering redoubled. There were tears in his eyes as we rode into the courtyard of the Maze.

He was busy then, greeting people, organising, talking. He asked Garis to look after me, and Brand as well, which the youth was happy enough to do. It was Garis who led us into the building, saying, 'You won't see much of Temellin in the next few days, Derya. Now that he has his sword back,' he glanced at Brand and lowered his voice, 'he has to attend to some babies.'

He was being indiscreet, to say the least, reminding me that he was little more than a youth, capable of a rash lack of caution when he wanted to impress. However, I was too preoccupied to think about what he said. I was trying to make sense of the building and its furnishings, a difficult task when there was so much absurdity.

'A drunken architect?' Brand suggested.

'And a blind mason as well, I think,' I said. Stairways ended in blank walls, passages led nowhere, bridges were strung across the top of tall rooms. Some rooms had no furniture, while in others even the wooden chairs were so solid it would have taken four strong men to lift just one. I saw empty bookshelves floating in the air, and fires that burned without consuming anything – in fireplaces built of anything from fish skeletons to blacksmiths' hammers.

There were plenty of people about: ordinary Kardis to undertake all the menial chores, as well as Magor of all ranks. And underfoot, everywhere, Magoroth children, laughing, playing or being marched to lessons by their Magor tutors. One passageway we passed along had an intricate game of hopsquares chalked out on the floor, although no one was using it just then.

At first the informality grated on me. This was the building that housed the man who claimed to be the rightful ruler of all Kardiastan; why then did it have more of the atmosphere of a country market fair than a monarch's residence? I thought of the Exaltarch's ' palace in Tyr, with its rich ornamentation, its uniformed guards everywhere, its rigid rules of etiquette and protocol, all more appropriate for a ruler than this cheerful informality. And then I remembered, guiltily, that I'd found those marbled rooms in Tyr stifling. In fact, I had hated the palace. I'd hated the coldness of the atmosphere, the faint touch of unease pervading it like an invisible mist – the residue left by absolute power. I'd hated bending my knees to Bator Korbus and touching the hem of his robe.

Confound it, my thoughts were as muddled as my emotions. I couldn't even be sure what I believed in any more. I was surrounded by too much that was bizarre. And I'd had insufficient time to consider all I had learned from my contact with the Mirage Makers.

After a confusing ten-minute walk, Garis found a room for Brand close to his own and another for me. 'The Mirager's apartments are just down that flight of steps,' he whispered, pointing. In ten minutes more he'd produced a maid for me, had a meal sent up, arranged for hot water for a bath and procured me some clean clothes. Then he left.

WK With infinite relief, I removed my sandals, reflecting I would never be able to accustom myself to wearing shoes inside a building. I still found the whole idea of tramping the outside dirt into one's living quarters disgusting.:::..

An hour later, having bathed and eaten and changed, I lay down to rest.

It was four hours before I woke, when someone knocked on my door. It was Garis, with Brand behind him. 'You're wanted,' he said. 'Both of you.'

I glanced out of the window; the sun was just setting in a patchwork sky. 'Who wants us?' I asked.

'Well, Temellin sent for you,' he replied as I tied on my sandals to go with them, 'but it's really a meeting of all the Magoroth.' As the three of us hurried over a rope bridge a moment or two later, he filled us in on what had been happening. 'Pinar's been earbashing everyone with her suspicions. Her party got back yesterday, you know, because our route was longer than hers, and she's had plenty of time to spread her poison. We were the last to arrive, more's the pity.'

Before I could reply, a male voice echoed up from the room below. 'Hey, Garis, Tavia says to tell you if you don't get to her pallet soon, she'll straighten out your lovely eyelashes!'

Garis was young enough to blush rather than laugh. He raised a hand in acknowledgement and gave me an embarrassed shrug. 'It might not be an easy meeting for you.'

'I'm sure I'll survive,' I said as we passed a group of small boys and girls coming the opposite way, all with that newly scrubbed look of children on their way to bed. The elderly Theura who was shepherding them along gave me a curious stare and a wide, toothless

'Here we are.' Garis opened a door and ushered us in.

There were about thirty people in the room, too many, I thought, for them all to be of the highest rank. I guessed the sprinkling of older Magor were the respected lower-ranked teachers of the original ten Magoroth children. Brand and I were introduced to everyone we had not yet met. Pinar, full of confidence, with her malice carefully concealed, inclined her head in greeting. Jahan and Jessah, the married Magoroth siblings, came across to greet me. I still hadn't managed to work out why Jahan had looked so familiar to me on the day we had met in Madrinya.

Temellin smiled at me, but I sensed his tension. Whatever had happened in the room before our arrival had not pleased him. 'Derya,' he said. 'We have decided one of the first things we must do is to find out who you are. To help us, we must know your Magor rank. We would like to cut back the skin from your cabochon; do you mind?'

I smiled in return. 'No, of course not. Who will do the deed?' I held out my hand.

'I will.' It was Korden who stepped forward, drawing his sword from its scabbard.

I eyed the sharp blade with reluctance. 'Isn't that overly large for the job, Korden?'

He gave a faint smile. 'If I use my Magor sword it won't hurt; a knife would.' He took my left hand in his right and with a swift slice of his blade he drew a line across my palm. Blood welled up, but I felt nothing. He laid the weapon aside, put both thumbs on either side of the cut and pulled the flesh so that it slipped away from the cabochon.

The flare of light took us all by surprise. It was as if it had been trapped in my hand and had ached to

escape. It shot forth, showering us with its brilliance, and then settled back into a steady glow on the palm of my hand.

The silence around the room was as profound as death. No one moved, no one spoke for so long I wondered if they had been struck dumb by the light. Then an old woman, an Illusa who had introduced herself as Zerise, stepped forward to kneel at my feet. She took up my left hand, wiped away the blood and kissed the cabochon. 'One of the blessed has been returned to us,' she said. 'Welcome home, Magoria.'

The light from my cabochon bathed the woman with a warm gold radiance.

SHlRIN

The silence splintered into babble and movement and emotional turmoil. Pinar's angry 'But that's impossible!' was lost in expressions of delight from others. The Magoroth came up to hug me, touching my cabochon to theirs, showing me the warmth of their welcome to their ranks.

Across the room, Brand's shock segued into cynicism, but I refused to return his gaze. The glow in my cabochon subsided. All I saw now was a translucent yellow gem set into my palm. A cabochon that could kill. What did that make me? More than human? Or less? I shivered.

Then, as the excitement died away a little, Korden bent to murmur in my ear. 'I am glad, for you, and for us. But – are you truly with us, Derya? Or do you think with a Tyranian heart, as Pinar would have us believe?'

I smiled ruefully to cover my anxiety. 'I can't change overnight, Korden. I will admit that. There are things which are strange, distasteful even. And things have happened too quickly for me to adjust.' I took his left hand and pressed my cabochon to his. 'Perhaps this