After peering intently at the picture, he began to read. “Marastrumel, the Evil Weaver. The spirit of darkness seeks for the Mynedarion, the Shapers who span the worlds, in his eternal search for possession of the Great Dream…"
Antyr felt the fear returning. ‘Stop it,’ he shouted, though his voice fell dead among the countless watching tomes.
Seeking some escape in simple acts, he bent down and picked up his chair, then he sat down and, resting his elbows on the table, sank his head into his hands.
'It's only a story, a legend,’ Tarrian said, his voice a mixture of concern and embarrassment. ‘Marastrumel's just a symbol from a primitive age, a personification of the destructive side of human nature. It's…'
Antyr looked up, his face grim, and Tarrian's voice faded.
'My head knows that, Tarrian,’ Antyr said softly. ‘Just like yours does. But something inside both of us is less certain, isn't it? Something strange is happening. Something bad. Something that's reached out to the Duke, that's reached out to me, and also to you, Earth Holder.'
A protest formed in Tarrian's mind but Antyr rejected it. ‘You followed the prompting of your instincts and they led us to this,’ he said quietly, waving a hand at the book. ‘And from out of nowhere comes a terror the like of which I've not known even on the battlefield.’ Tarrian's ears flattened along his head, and he turned his face away from Antyr sharply. ‘It's left me feeling raw and exposed as if I've been pared free of all unnecessary thoughts and habits. Seeing clearly. Seeing the charging horses and facing death and making myself not run because I saw that that would have drawn death after me as surely as water is drawn to a breach in a river bank. Stand by me, Tarrian, shield to shield, while we move forward.'
Tarrian did not reply and when Antyr continued, his voice was very steady. ‘You've seen my fear, but last night, as we marched through the fog, you let slip some fear of your own. You said it wasn't relevant to the business in hand. “Trust me, we'll talk later,” were your words if I remember correctly. I think it's later, now, and I want to know about that fear. I want to know what you know and what you've seen fit to keep to yourself.'
There was a brief silence before Tarrian replied, ‘It's not that simple.'
Antyr nodded. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But tell me what you can, while I can hear you calmly.'
Unexpectedly, Tarrian let out a high lingering whine. Antyr heard the sound and felt the distress, but he could grasp no meaning. Some part of him, however, recognized it as the depths of the wolf striving to reach out to him and knowing that it could not.
He put his arm around his Companion.
'I'm sorry,’ Tarrian said. ‘This is difficult and I'm as bewildered as you are. So many strange things happening, as you say. Coming out of the darkness unheralded, shaking the very foundations of our reason.'
'Describe your fear,’ Antyr said.
Again, Tarrian did not reply immediately, and when he did his voice was hesitant. ‘No figures appeared to me, Antyr,’ he said. ‘No malevolent presences…’ He shook his head. ‘There are no words to describe it.'
'There are no words while you choose not to seek them,’ Antyr said, unexpectedly stern.
Tarrian bridled angrily at the comment, but some deeper need set the response aside.
'It's a fear without cause,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘So strange … so complex … so primitive. It's as if there were something there. Silent and unmoving. And invisible. And yet … it's as if it's always been there, waiting, ready to emerge. And when I sense it, fear bubbles out. But no knowledge. No knowledge, Antyr, truly.’ He paused. ‘I don't know whether it's old age, my imagination, something good, something bad, or what.'
'If it frightens you then it can hardly be something for your good,’ Antyr suggested.
Tarrian disagreed. ‘No,’ he said. ‘The fear's just a flag, a signal, to tell me I don't understand something. When I have the understanding, then perhaps I can decide how good it is, and how bad. Because it will be both.'
Unexpectedly his voice brightened. ‘When I was a pup I had a fear like that. Nameless and vague. Lurking in the shadows like your figure in the picture.'
Antyr frowned at the digression, but Tarrian ignored him.
'And when the cause emerged, it was more terrifying than anything my ignorance could have conjured up,’ he said. ‘And yet, too, it wasn't.'
Antyr's scowl deepened and he made to interrupt.
'Oh yes. Far more terrifying,’ Tarrian said reflectively, as if talking to himself. ‘It's a terrifying thing when you're a pup to learn that you're not only what you are, but also partly one of them.’ A faint hint of bitterness came into his voice. Partly human. Partly one of those who slew your mother and gave you to the sing…'
He stopped abruptly as if recollecting himself. ‘No. I'm sorry. I'm rambling. That's a long time ago and a tale for another time, if ever. No gift is without burden and theirs was more blessed than it was cursed.’ Tarrian's voice had become distant again, but, briefly, it was almost ecstatic, and Antyr realized he was listening to a paean of praise to life itself.
His frown faded as he felt Tarrian's mood briefly uplifting him. We are both of us stripped raw, he thought.
Tarrian went on. ‘I'm sorry,’ he said again. ‘All manner of old memories are being shaken loose. But I'm no nearer to telling you about what's been fretting at me these … past weeks … or however long it's been. It's been like walking over a frozen pond covered in snow without knowing it. Nothing is different, but there are mysterious noises, and subtle movements under your feet that could perhaps just be your imagination. And yet you can feel the cold darkness below, but you don't know what it is. Only that it's there and it's waiting to engulf you when you suddenly tumble through.'
Tarrian paused, and when he began again, his voice was almost matter-of-fact. ‘I thought perhaps I was sick, but there was nothing else wrong with me. Then I thought, perhaps it's pain for Antyr. Destroying himself and his gift with his indifference, his indiscipline. Then I don't know what I thought and in the end I ignored it. Limped along, made the best of things. But every now and then, the fear, the unease, bubbled out-the sound of the cracking ice-and I could do nothing. Nothing but wait and hope. Hope that something, sometime, would come clear, and that I could deal with it then.'
'And has it?’ Antyr asked.
Tarrian tilted his head on one side. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘We're here, aren't we? Talking, searching. Instead of you pickling your brains in the inn and me fretting in a corner and the future looking blacker and blacker for both of us.'
Antyr let out a noisy breath. ‘I'd have appreciated something clearer,’ he said. ‘Something that might have given us a clue about what's happening before I go to sleep tonight.'
'Look at the book again then,’ Tarrian offered.
Antyr hesitated. Despite the increased light from the hissing lamp the picture still disturbed him.
'Is one man with a lamp worse than the Bethlarii cavalry?’ Tarrian asked, sensing his concern. ‘And are you going to stand in terror of a mere picture?'
Antyr looked down at the book and forced his mind to accept the logic of Tarrian's words, though it proved to be no easy task. The image in the illustration was almost identical to his vision of the previous night and he could feel a primitive terror teetering at the edges of his mind.
'A book,’ he said to himself deliberately. ‘Just a book. Paper, ink, men's words.'
Men's ancient memories, came the thought, but he brushed it aside.
Then he reached out and idly flicked over a few pages.
There were other illustrations scattered through the book, many of which had obviously been drawn by the same hand. But none of them produced any reaction and finally he returned to the figure with the lamp.
Marastrumel, the Evil Weaver, he mused as he read the text. Throughout most of the land, Marastrumel was the traditional personification of all things evil; the balancing force, some would say, of MaraVestriss the Creator of all Things, or in Dream Finding legend, the Weaver of the Great Dream.