Segnbora's heart better than she did.
The Maiden spoke from within that heart now, with Segn-bora's own thoughts, her own voice, as the Goddess often speaks. … I'm tired, my mum and da are dead; there are months,
maybe years of travel and fighting ahead of us — and even if I bring Lorn out of here, he'll probably just be killed. Isn't this better for him than
painful death? And isn't it better for me, toof No death in ice and darkness, just peace for all eternity. Peace in the twilight, with Her. .
The song of the mdeihei seemed very far away. She couldn't hear what Hasai was saying to her, and somehow it didn't matter. The cool of
the surrounding twilight curled into her like rising water. Soon it would rise high enough to drown her life, abolish both pain and desire.
The Maiden was seated no longer. Calm as a moonrise, She stood before Segnbora, reaching out to her. "There's nothing to fear/' She
said. "Nothing fails here, nothing is lost, no hearts break or are broken. I have wrought a place outside of time and ruin—"
The gentle hands touched Segnbora's face. All through her, muscles went lax as her body yielded itself to its Creator. Her mind swelled
with a desire to be still; to forget the world and its concerns and rest in Her touch forever.
"Then it's true," she whispered as if in a dream. "There's no death here …"
"There is no death anywhere," the Maiden said, serene, utterly certain.
The relief that washed through Segnbora was indescriba-ble. The one thing that had been wrong with the world was vanquished at last. Impenmanence, loss, bereavement. . the Universe was perfect, as it should have been from the begin-ning. There was nothing to fear anymore. .
.. though it was curious that one dim image surfaced, and would not go away. In languid curiosity she regarded it, though her indifference kept her from truly seeing it for a long time, It was a tree, and a dark field, and brightness in the field. Night smells— —smells?
There were smells that had little to do with night. Ground-damp. Mold. Wetness, where her hands turned over dirt, and jerked back in shock. Wetness, and the liqyid gleam of dulled eyes in Flameligtit. And 'the carrion smell of death— In a wash of horror, the dream broke. Segnbora knew who
she was again, and Who held her. The Maiden had made the worlds, true enough, and in the ecstasy of creation had forgot-ten about Death and let It in. But She had never denied Death's existence, or Her mistake, in any of Her aspects. Segnbora tried to move away from the hands that held her, and couldn't. Her body felt half-dead.
She settled for moving just one hand: the right one, the swordhand that had saved her so many times before. Her own horror helped her, for she realized now that she was in the presence of a legend: the One with Still Hands, that Maiden Who has stopped creating and holds all who fall into Her power in a terrible thrall. This was a dark aspect of the true Maiden, one Who had embraced forgetfulness, and Who had taken Glasscastle as Her demesne, Her prison. (Hasai!)
Struggling to raise her hand, she called him, and to her shock got no answer. Twilight had fallen in the back of her mind, and she could feel no Dragonfire there. She would have to raise her swordhand alone, even though the Maiden's cool hands on her face made it almost impossible to concen-trate.
Sweat sprang out with the effort. The hand moved an inch. She would not be left here! She would not leave her mdaha stuck in an eternity of not— doing! She would not walk past Lang and Freelorn and Herewiss a thousand times without seeing them. .! Another inch. Another. The hand felt
THE DOOR INTO SHADOW
as if it were made of lead, but she moved further into herself, finding strength.
In the twilight, something else moved. Down inside her memory, in the cavern — not her own secret place, but the cave at the Morrowfane — stones grated beneath Hasai's plating, scoring the dulled gems of his flanks as he rolled over to be still from the convulsions at last. Horrified, Segnbora discov-ered that the One with Still Hands was there as well. Dark as a moonless night, she was soothing Hasai's worst pain, offer-ing him a mdahaih state that would never diminish him to a faint voice in the background, but would leave him one strong voice among many. But her promise was a lie.
(Mdaha! Move! She can't do it. She'll trap you in here, and we'll both be alive and rdahaih forever!)
He could not move. Desperately, Segnbora reached all the way back inside, climbed into his body and took over — wore his wings, lashed his tail, lifted his head, forced one immense taloned foot to move forward, then another, then another. Together they crawled to the mouth of the cave, Hasai gasp-ing without fire as they went.
(Sdaha, have mercy! Let me go!) he begged, agonized. She ignored him, pushing his head out the cave entrance into the clear night. The entrance was too small for his shoul-ders and barrel. She pushed, ramming muscles with thought and cave wall with gemmed hide, steel bones. (Now!) she cried, and they crashed into the rock together. It trembled, but held. (Now!) Stones rattled and fell about them. The mountain shook and threatened to come down — but stone was their element, they were unafraid.
Hasai began to assist her, living in his own body again, remembering life, refinding his strength. (Now!) They jammed shoulders through the stone; wings smote the rock like lightning, burst free into the night. Segnbora's arm knocked away with one sweeping gesture the hands that held her. In rage and pity, and a desire to see something other than slack peace in those beautiful eyes, her hand swept back again. She struck the Maiden backhanded across the face.
Shocked, sickened by the violence she had done, Segnbora waited for the lightning … or at least for her own handprint to appear on Her face. Nothing came, though. No flicker of the eyes, no change in the mouth. Slowly the Maiden turned Her back on Segnbora, went back to Her throne, seated Her-self. She said nothing. Segnbora found herself free. (Sdaha—)
(I know, mdaha, time!)
Segnbora shook Freelorn by the shoulder. There was no answering movement — he seemed asleep, or tranced. Well, dammit, if I have to carry him— She reached down and took him under the shoulders, heaving hard. Freelorn made a sound, then. It was a bitter moan; a sound of pain and mourning as if some sweet dream had broken.
"Come on, Lorn," she said, wanting more to swear than to coax. Moonset couldn't be more than a quarter-hour away. "Come on, you Lioncub, you idiot, come on—!"
Turning, she got him up — then blinked in shock. They were all there, drifting in. Lang, looking peaceful. Dritt, Moris, Torve, Harald, all the life gone out of their movements. Sun-spark, quenched in the twilight like a Firebrand dropped in water. Herewiss, his light eyes dark with Glasscastle's dusk, and no flicker of Fire showing about Khavrinen.
Despair and anger shook her. She didn't have time to go into each mind separately and break the Maiden's grip. She doubted she had the strength, anyhow. Not even the Fire, had she been able to focus it, would help her now, though sor-cery. .
She paused, considering. Perhaps there was a way to break them all free at once. It shamed her deeply to consider it, but then she had no leisure for shame. (Mdaha!)
THE DOOR INTO SHADOW
(Do what you must,) Hasai said, placid. (I'll lend you strength if you need it.)
She gulped, and began the sorcery. It was a simple one, and vile. These people were her friends. She had fought alongside them, guarded their backs, eaten and drunk and starved with them, lain down in loneliness and merriment to share herself with them. Their friendship gave her just enough knowledge of their inner Names with which to weave a spell of compul-sion.
It was almost too easy, in fact. Their own wills were al-most wholly abolished. The images of loneliness, loss of Power, and midnight fear that she employed were more than adequate. She knew less about Herewiss and Sunspark than about Freelorn and the others, but could guess enough about their natures to make them head out the door. Torve was hardest — a name and a wry flicker of his eyes was all she had. Yet she was terrified for this innocent, and her fear fueled his part of the sorcery, making up for her lack of knowledge.
As she gasped oul the last few syllables of the spell, Segn-bora began carefully making her way out of the construct in
her mind. She slipped sideways through the final fold of the sorcery, scoring herself with sharp words in only a few places, thankful for
once that she was so slim. Once out, she bound
the sorcery into a self-maintaining configuration that would give her time to fight off the inevitable backlash and follow the others out.
One by one, her companions began drifting away from the Maiden's throne, out toward the great gates. She sagged a moment, feeling
weary and soiled, watching them go.
Inside her, wings like the night sheltered her and fed her strength. (Sdaha, don't dally—) (No.)
She looked one last time at the throne, where the Maiden sat silent, watching the others go, dispassionate as a statute in a shrine. O my Queen, Segnbora thought. Surely somewhere the Maiden dwelt in saner aspects, whole and alive and forever creating. But to see even a minor aspect of Godhead so twisted was too bitter for a mortal to bear for long. Hurry-ing, Segnbora turned away to follow the others. They were far ahead of her, unerringly following the way out that she had set for them. The sorcery was holding sur-prisingly well, considering bow long it had been since she had used sorcery to as much as mend a pot or start a fire. She went quickly, trotting, even though physical activity would bring on the backlash with a vengeance. It felt wonderful to move again. (Mdaha, you all right?)
(My head hurts,) he said, surprised. The mdeihei rarely ex-perienced pain for which there was no memory.
(It's the effect of the sorcery; you're getting it from me.) Somehow she couldn't bring herself to be very solicitous: There were still too many things that could go wrong. They could come to the doors and find them closed. Or, if they were open, the bridge could be gone. Or—
Something moved close by, a figure approaching Sgenbora from one side. It was not one of her own people, she knew. Her hand went to Charriselm's hilt.
Suoimersky opals winked at her as Efmaer came up beside her and 'walked with her, quickly but without animation. "You are leaving," the Queen said. "Yes. Come with us—r >
Efmaer shook her head. "Gladly would I come. . but I never found Sefeden to get my Name back, and without it I cannot leave …"
"But you know your Name." "I have forgotten it," said the Queen. Segnbora's insides clenched with pity. . and suddenly the memory she hadn't been able to pin down appeared in her pain-darkened mind.Urgently, she stopped and took the Queen by the shoulders. She had half expected to find herself holding a ghost, or something hard and cold, but there was life and warmth in the body, and an old supple strength that spoke of years spent swinging F6rlennh and Skadhwe in the wars against the Fyrd.