rugged basalt stained red by iron oxides, battlement rising within battlement, wall within wall, up to a single high watchtower. Whereas Norloch was crowned by the Machelinor, the Tower of the Living Flame whose crystal pinnacle could be seen from far out at sea, the Iron Tower was surmounted by a huge blade, which flashed a searing greenish white when it caught the diseased light.
It struck Hem that the Iron Tower and Norloch were somehow the same, and the thought bit his heart with a painful horror.
Maerad's voice shattered the vision, and suddenly he was alone with her again. They were no longer standing on the Red Tower, but in a garden he did not recognize. It is so, she said in the Speech. Dark and Light are both reflections of the human heart.
She looked on him sadly, and Hem, filled with a helpless love he had no words for, leaned forward to embrace her, not only for his comfort, but to allay the sorrow he saw in her face. But as he reached out, he saw hooded figures behind her shoulder, and cried out: three Hulls stretched forward, their white bony hands clutching for Maerad, a red light in their eyes. And where his hands should have touched Maerad, they closed on air: she had vanished, and with her the three Hulls and the garden, and Hem was alone in a dark place, sobbing on a stone floor.
He woke with a start, the tears still wet on his cheeks, and stared sightlessly ahead, sitting up in his bed. Starlight from the casement shimmered faintly in his chamber. The dream was still vivid within him, filling him with a strange despair that was almost like tenderness; it hadn't been like his usual nightmares of terror and suffocation, and he had never dreamed of his sister before. Although the dread it had inspired in him still lingered, it faded before his thoughts of Maerad. Now she stood clearly in his mind's eye – he saw her direct blue gaze, her black hair falling in stray wisps over her white face, how her expression had softened when she had looked at him – and for the first time Hem felt the full pain of his sister's absence. Missing her was an anguish he did not admit fully into his waking life; but now, in the deep of night, it broke open his heart, a raw wound beyond healing.
Ire, who was on his usual perch on Hem's chair, woke at the sound of Hem's weeping and cawed sleepily, and then flapped over to the bed. He stood on the pillow by Hem's cheek, his white feathers catching the faint starlight, and cocked his head to peer at him with one eye. Hem put out his hand and scratched Ire's neck, and gently the bird came close and crouched next to the boy's trembling body, snuggling into his chest like a cat. Hem kept stroking the bird's white feathers, feeling them crisp and cool under his fingers, and Ire's warm creaturely weight, so light but so intensely present, gradually comforted him. At last Hem drifted back to sleep, and Ire stayed with him on the bed, his head tucked under his wing.
* * * *
One morning a couple of weeks after Zelika's arrival, Saliman announced he would be going away.
"How long for?" asked Hem, with dismay. He had thought that Saliman would be in Turbansk until the attack.
"As long as need calls me," said Saliman. "I am summoned to the Wall of II Dara, where many evil things happen as we speak."
"Will you be fighting?" asked Hem, clutched by a sudden fear. What if Saliman did not come back?
"I do not go to fight, although there is a fierce battle there," said Saliman. "Do not be afraid for me. All the same, it is worth taking thought of what to do if I do not return. If I am not back in three days, you and Zelika should take ship out of the harbor while you still can. I have spoken to the harbor captain, Nerab: he will know you, and there will be ships leaving."
Hem stared miserably at Saliman, whose words did nothing to comfort him. "Can't I come with you?"
"Nay, Hem," said Saliman. "Oslar asks again for your help in the Healing Houses. Many wounded came in last night from
It struck Hem that the Iron Tower and Norloch were somehow the same, and the thought bit his heart with a painful horror.
Maerad's voice shattered the vision, and suddenly he was alone with her again. They were no longer standing on the Red Tower, but in a garden he did not recognize. It is so, she said in the Speech. Dark and Light are both reflections of the human heart.
She looked on him sadly, and Hem, filled with a helpless love he had no words for, leaned forward to embrace her, not only for his comfort, but to allay the sorrow he saw in her face. But as he reached out, he saw hooded figures behind her shoulder, and cried out: three Hulls stretched forward, their white bony hands clutching for Maerad, a red light in their eyes. And where his hands should have touched Maerad, they closed on air: she had vanished, and with her the three Hulls and the garden, and Hem was alone in a dark place, sobbing on a stone floor.
He woke with a start, the tears still wet on his cheeks, and stared sightlessly ahead, sitting up in his bed. Starlight from the casement shimmered faintly in his chamber. The dream was still vivid within him, filling him with a strange despair that was almost like tenderness; it hadn't been like his usual nightmares of terror and suffocation, and he had never dreamed of his sister before. Although the dread it had inspired in him still lingered, it faded before his thoughts of Maerad. Now she stood clearly in his mind's eye – he saw her direct blue gaze, her black hair falling in stray wisps over her white face, how her expression had softened when she had looked at him – and for the first time Hem felt the full pain of his sister's absence. Missing her was an anguish he did not admit fully into his waking life; but now, in the deep of night, it broke open his heart, a raw wound beyond healing.
Ire, who was on his usual perch on Hem's chair, woke at the sound of Hem's weeping and cawed sleepily, and then flapped over to the bed. He stood on the pillow by Hem's cheek, his white feathers catching the faint starlight, and cocked his head to peer at him with one eye. Hem put out his hand and scratched Ire's neck, and gently the bird came close and crouched next to the boy's trembling body, snuggling into his chest like a cat. Hem kept stroking the bird's white feathers, feeling them crisp and cool under his fingers, and Ire's warm creaturely weight, so light but so intensely present, gradually comforted him. At last Hem drifted back to sleep, and Ire stayed with him on the bed, his head tucked under his wing.
* * * *
One morning a couple of weeks after Zelika's arrival, Saliman announced he would be going away.
"How long for?" asked Hem, with dismay. He had thought that Saliman would be in Turbansk until the attack.
"As long as need calls me," said Saliman. "I am summoned to the Wall of II Dara, where many evil things happen as we speak."
"Will you be fighting?" asked Hem, clutched by a sudden fear. What if Saliman did not come back?
"I do not go to fight, although there is a fierce battle there," said Saliman. "Do not be afraid for me. All the same, it is worth taking thought of what to do if I do not return. If I am not back in three days, you and Zelika should take ship out of the harbor while you still can. I have spoken to the harbor captain, Nerab: he will know you, and there will be ships leaving."
Hem stared miserably at Saliman, whose words did nothing to comfort him. "Can't I come with you?"
"Nay, Hem," said Saliman. "Oslar asks again for your help in the Healing Houses. Many wounded came in last night from
Similar Books
