Hawklan pushed the books away from him and rubbed his eyes with his forefingers. ‘Learn your lore,’ Gulda had said, in her capacity as self-appointed adviser, adding in her inimitable manner, ‘There’s no point in you asking me any questions until you know what you’re talking about.’ She had marched Hawklan straight to the Castle’s massive Library and he had looked in dismay at the endless rows and stacks of books and scrolls. It was not a room he was overly familiar with.
‘Where in pity’s name do I start?’ he had asked plaintively, forgetting the nature of his companion until too late.
‘Good grief, man!’ had come the explosion. ‘Anywhere.’ And the stick had banged on a desk prior to being waved round her head at the circular tiers of book-lined balconies looming over them. Then, uncharacteristically showing a little pity, she had gone straight to a shelf and picked out a large red-bound tome. She studied the title pensively and a small spasm of pain passed briefly across her face.
‘A fine writer,’ she said with a strained casualness. ‘This will do to start with.’ And she dropped the book on a nearby table with a dull thud. ‘Read it carefully.’
It occurred to Hawklan to ask her how she knew her way round the Castle so well, but, before he could speak, she was stumping her way out of the Library with the parting shot, ‘Very carefully now. There’ll be questions later.’
Now, a week later, Hawklan was more weary and stiff than he had ever been in his entire life. His head whirled with myths and stories, epic sagas, tales of heroism and cowardice, of loves lost and won, of terrible armies and evil warlords, and of the great heroes who conquered them, peoples enslaved and peoples freed, lands cursed and lands blessed. And then the histories, vague and uncertain, so that for most of the time he could not tell whether the myths derived from the histories or the histories from the myths, so alike were they, and so unlikely, so alien to everything he had known — or could remember. More than once, in some despair, he had pushed them all aside and sat glowering at the rows of shelves waiting so patiently. But not too long. Memsa Gulda was well acquainted with the idle and shiftless ways of men, and set him a merciless pace.
‘I’ll make that tangled piece of string you call a mind work again, young man, have no fear,’ she said repeatedly and pitilessly.
He could not help but begin to like her though. On the one occasion when his patience had reached its limit, and to his considerable surprise, he had felt sorely tempted to use his fist on the old crone, she was through his guard and into a soft spot like an assassin.
‘I know it’s hard for you, Hawklan,’ she said gently. ‘And you must get resentful at times, but these are a fine people, perhaps still the finest in the world. They wouldn’t have turned to you even though the Castle has chosen you if they hadn’t felt some deeper purpose. We must both persist. They’re worth our best efforts.’ And that was that. End of rebellion.
Gavor was an amazing help, with a tremendous fund of information drawn from his long study of the Great Gate and the many carvings and pictures that filled the Castle. He shared most of Hawklan’s long vigils in the Library, flicking over pages with his wooden leg, and occasionally asking Hawklan to lift down another volume. Never having studied before, Hawklan had found to his own surprise that he was a quick and retentive reader. Gavor, however, was even quicker.
‘How did you learn to read so quickly, Gavor?’ he asked eventually, after watching him intermittently for several days.
‘Dear boy,’ was the reply. ‘I study the Gate.’
‘Well?’
‘The well, dear boy,’ Gavor began patiently, ‘is that I’m not a humming bird. I can’t hover. I have to read things on my way past. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to sit here and read without fear of crash landing.’
Not everything was harmonious, however, a certain tension having developed between Gavor and Gulda. Somewhat injudiciously she referred to Gavor as a ‘damned crow’, to which Gavor responded by saying that if she shortened her nose by a stride or two, she’d be passing fair — for a pelican.
Fortunately, before this theme could be developed further, others valiantly intervened to patch up a makeshift peace, and now the two maintained a stony truce, generally avoiding each other and eyeing one another suspiciously when circumstances dictated that they co-operate in helping Hawklan.
‘It’s all too much, Gavor,’ said Hawklan, still rubbing his eyes. ‘I can’t make out truth from fiction, and there’s just too much of everything. I feel I’m losing knowledge not gaining it.’
No reply.
Hawklan leaned back in his chair and looked across at his friend. Gavor was sound asleep, his foot clutching the top rail of a chair he had commandeered as his perch, and his wooden leg sticking out horizontally, steadying him against an open book propped up in front of him.
Hawklan smiled. ‘Very wise,’ he yawned, pushing the books he had been reading to one side. He leaned forward and, cushioning his head on his arms, fell fast asleep without the slightest twinge of conscience.
When he opened his eyes, he found it difficult to focus. Sitting opposite him, next to the sleeping Gavor, was Andawyr, his oval punch-bag face looking gaunt and haggard and very old in the soft light of the now darkened Library.
Hawklan smiled and opened his mouth to speak. He wanted to tell Andawyr that his arm was better, but the words would not form properly.
‘Listen to me, Hawklan.’ The voice was faint and distant. ‘I can speak to you only because of my extremity. We’ve bound the birds... I’m held in Narsindal, I may be destroyed at any moment. Go to the Cadwanol... in the Caves of Cadwanen at the Pass of Elewart.’
Hawklan felt pain and fear now in the old man’s presence, but still could not speak.
‘They know of you. Tell them I reached out to you when all hope was gone. Tell them the Uhriel are indeed abroad — Oklar, Creost and Dar Hastuin.’
Darkness came into Hawklan’s mind from some unknown source. Andawyr’s voice became weaker.
‘Tell them that they’ve raised and awakened...’ The image faltered. ‘Raised and awakened their old Master. I’ve felt His presence and, I fear, He mine.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Hawklan, the Second Coming of Sumeral is upon us. Sphaeera, Theowart and Enartion must be roused.’ His hands came in front of his face as if fending off an attack.
Hawklan tried to tell him he was safe; this was only a library. Everything was safe in Anderras Darion. But still he could not speak and his eyes were becoming heavier and heavier. Fading in the distance he heard, ‘They need you and you they. Ethriss must be found and awakened or all will be lost, and Sumeral’s power will stretch across the stars. He’s wiser by far now...’
An ominous chilling blackness rolled over Hawklan as the voice dwindled into nothingness, and Hawklan felt a cold malevolent presence before drifting into forgetfulness.
Slowly, out of the infinite darkness came a tiny bright dancing spark calling his name. Calling it repeatedly, and laughing at him. As it grew, it twinkled and shifted, moving as the sound moved until finally it burst into a myriad sparks and he opened his eyes to a blaze of light and laughter.
He sat up, bleary-eyed. The Library was bright with daylight carried into the innermost reaches of the Castle by the mirror stones. Tirilen’s laughter was ringing in his ears, and the cause of it was dancing up and down frantically in front of him.
‘Ah, ah, ah. Ooh, ooh. Do something,’ cried Gavor.
‘What’s the matter?’ Hawklan asked sleepily.
‘Pins and needles,’ Tirilen announced, still laughing.
‘Where?’ said Hawklan, flexing the stiffness out of his own muscles.
Gavor proffered his wooden leg and Tirilen flopped into a chair, wiping tears from her eyes. Hawklan looked at her reproachfully.
‘Not a good attitude for a healer, my girl,’ he said, trying not to smile. Gavor, however, continued his plaint until he was suddenly and miraculously cured by the abrupt entrance of Gulda.
‘Well, I can see you’ve slept, young man,’ she said. ‘I suppose you’ll want to eat now will you?’
‘Solicitous as ever, dear lady,’ muttered Gavor loudly to no one in particular.
Gulda glowered at him. Gavor raised his beak into the air with great dignity and, walking over to a conspicuous patch of sunshine, began to preen himself vigorously, scattering dust and fragments of iridescent feathers into the broad shaft of sunlight that fell on him like a great finger.
Hawklan looked at Gulda and then at Tirilen, who was tossing her shining blonde hair to cut a golden swathe through the sunlight. Suddenly, the memory of Andawyr and the strange horror that had surrounded him, returned with an appalling vividness.
Outside, the sun disappeared behind ragged storm clouds blowing from the east, and the light in the Library took on a gloomier cast.
‘Gulda,’ he said faintly.
Gulda’s eyes narrowed slightly as she caught his tone. Indicating the door with a movement of her head she mouthed, ‘food’ to Tirilen. As the girl left, Gulda sat down by Hawklan and rested her hands on her stick.
‘Gulda,’ he said. ‘I had a dream last night. At least, I thought it was a dream at the time, but now I’m not sure.’ He shivered slightly. ‘It was very strange.’
Gulda did not speak, but she nodded her head encouragingly. Hawklan’s voice made Gavor stop his preening.
‘Andawyr was here,’ Hawklan continued, pointing to the chair where he had seen the little man.
‘Andawyr?’ Gulda inquired.
Hawklan gestured apologetically. ‘Someone I met at the Gretmearc.’ Then, in amplification, ‘Strange little man. I owe him a great deal. He and Gavor saved my life. Said he belonged to the Cadwanol, whoever they are.’
Gulda’s eyes widened and, for an instant, her fierce expression disappeared into one of profound surprise. For that same instant, Hawklan had a vision of a face that had once been strikingly beautiful.
‘The Cadwanol,’ she said softly, to herself. ‘After all this time. Still watching.’ She lifted a hand to cover her face and sat motionless with her head bowed for several minutes. When she looked up, her face was full of self-reproach.
‘I haven’t asked you what happened at the Gretmearc, Hawklan,’ she said quietly, ‘although I could see you were keeping something from the villagers. I’m sorry. I’m becoming as foolish as I’m old. Will you tell me everything now please?’ Gavor cocked his head on one side at Gulda’s subdued tone. ‘Everything,’ she repeated. Some of her old manner returned and leaning forward she prodded Hawklan’s knee with her long forefinger. ‘Everything since this... tinker Lord arrived that you haven’t told the others.’
As Hawklan recounted his tale, Gulda folded her hands on top of her stick and rested her head on them, eyes closed and downcast. When finally he finished, she did not move, but Hawklan sensed a tension in her.
‘Now tell me of this dream,’ she said. Mindful of her earlier admonition, Hawklan recounted Andawyr’s words and actions as accurately as he could. It was all still peculiarly vivid in his mind and he shivered a little again as he finished.
Though she showed no response, the tension in Gulda seemed to build then, abruptly, her pale face became even paler, the tight mouth quivered and her long powerful hands shook as they clenched the top of the stick. Hawklan became alarmed, thinking she was about to faint. He put out a hand as if to catch her, and she reached out and took hold of it. Her grip was frighteningly powerful, but the hand was cold and shaking. ‘I’ll be all right in a moment,’ she said faintly. Hawklan winced at the pain that radiated from her.
Gavor clunked across the table and looked at her strangely. Gulda caught his deep black eye, and her face softened.
‘Ah,’ she said softly, almost to herself. ‘Faithful bird. Your people did true service in their time.’ Then directly to Gavor, ‘You’ll have to forgive an impatient old woman her sharp tongue and foolishness. There’ll be no more. I doubt we’ve the time.’
Gavor had many uncomfortable qualities but pettiness was not one. ‘Dear girl,’ he said. ‘I’d rather have any amount of your abuse than see you wilt like this.’
‘What’s the matter, Gulda?’ Hawklan asked.
She did not answer, but remained with her head lowered for a little while. Then, as though she were a sapling that bowed only while the wind blew, she sat upright. Her face was still white, but it was filled with a stern resolution and dignity that stopped Hawklan speaking further.
She relinquished Hawklan’s hand and placed her own steadily back on top of her stick. ‘Tell me again what he said. Exactly, mind.’
Hawklan repeated his tale.
‘Do these names mean anything to you, Hawklan?’ she asked.
Hawklan shrugged. ‘I keep coming across them in these,’ he said, waving his hand over the books scattered across the table. ‘And in some of the tales on the Gate. Andawyr talked about Sumeral. Called him the Corruptor, the Great Enemy... the Enemy of Life.’
Gulda nodded. ‘Didn’t he explain?’
Hawklan shook his head. ‘A little, but we were attacked before he could finish.’ Gulda nodded.
The sound of a door closing quietly made Hawklan look up, and Tirilen came quietly into the room carrying food and drink. She walked over the soft carpeting as gently as if it had been a spring meadow and laid a carved tray at Hawklan’s elbow.
Gavor cast his eye approvingly over the wares offered. ‘Be enough to spare for a famished avian, won’t there?’ he whispered. Tirilen caught the look on Gulda’s face. ‘Shall I leave?’ she said. Gavor looked up in alarm.
‘No,’ said Gulda. ‘Eat. And stay. You’re his friend. He’ll need you. And to be strong you must also know the truth.’
Gavor began to eat with noisy gusto.
Hawklan picked up a piece of fruit and, toying with it absently, looked at Gulda.
She in turn looked straight into his green eyes. ‘You must trust me, Hawklan, like you trusted this... Andawyr. It was probably because of your trust that he could reach you in his hour of need and give us his message.’
Hawklan found the piercing blue eyes disconcerting. ‘I’ll trust you, Gulda. I feel no hurt in you for all your ferocity. And you’re a focus for these who’re trying to reach me.’
‘Yes,’ said Gulda. ‘Your figures in the mist. I’m afraid they’re a mystery to me. I saw nothing... but you’re a special person and, there’s a lot I don’t know, Hawklan, a lot.’ She paused uncertainly. ‘However, what I do know, you need to know. Your ignorance is pitiful and probably dangerous.’
As it had done in Andawyr’s tent, the word ignorance raked through Hawklan like an icy wind stirring long-lain leaves.
‘Tell me what you know,’ he said flatly. ‘Perhaps you can thread these happenings together.’
Gulda’s eyes narrowed at his tone, then she lowered them for a while as if she had either not decided exactly what to say or was trying to recall a tale she had not told for many years.
‘Let me speak and then ask your questions, Hawklan,’ she said, reluctantly shedding the last obstacle between her tale and its exposition. Hawklan nodded and Gulda began.
‘These people here think of me as just a cantankerous old teacher who’s come back to persecute them in their middle age like I did when they were children.’ A smile flitted across her face, like sunshine off a wave. ‘Well,’ she admitted, ‘I am cantankerous, but only because the old is truer than they can imagine. But I haven’t come back to persecute them... although I might.’ Another brief smile. ‘A little, just for old times’ sake.’ Then the smile vanished utterly. ‘No. I’ve come back because something is stirring. Something dark and evil that once spread its stain over the whole world...’
She stared straight ahead with unfocused eyes for some time before grimacing self-consciously. ‘I’m sorry,’ she went on. ‘It’s so long since I’ve spoken of these things it’s not only difficult to know where to start, I didn’t know how painful it was going to be.’
‘If it distresses you, Gulda...’ Hawklan began, but she waved him to silence.
‘No, no,’ she said quickly. And then, in an almost offhand manner, ‘Anyway, it’s of no consequence why I came here. I should be old enough by now not to put too much store in my own assessment of my motives, eh? Now I’m here I see my task is to instruct you. Then perhaps I can return to my own problem.’ Apparently satisfied with this conclusion, she sat up briskly and began like a village storyteller.