When she looked up, she saw the young man stretched headlong on the floor beside her chair. A dusting of glass chips made his hair glitter. From his position, he looked like he had taken a dive into the room through the wall. But his right leg from mid-calf down was missing. At first, she thought it was still in the walclass="underline" his calf and his boot seemed to be cut off flat at the plane of the wall. Then she saw that the end of his leg was actually a couple of inches from the wall.
There was no blood. He didn’t appear to be in pain.
With a whooshing breath, he pushed himself up from the floor so that he could look at her. His right calf seemed to be stuck where it was; but the rest of him moved normally.
He was frowning intensely. But when she met his gaze, his face broke into a helpless smile.
“I’m Geraden,” he said. “This isn’t where I’m supposed to be.”
TWO: THE SOUND OF HORNS
Without quite realizing what she was doing, she pushed her chair back and stood up. Involuntarily, she retreated. Her feet in her moccasins made faint crunching noises as they ground slivers of glass into the carpet. The wall where the mirror had been glued was splotched and discolored: it looked diseased. The remaining mirrors echoed her at herself. But she kept her eyes on the man sprawled in front of her.
He was gaping at her in amazement. His smile didn’t fade, however, and he made no attempt to get up.
“I’ve done it again, haven’t I,” he murmured. “I swear I did everything right – but any Master can do this kind of translation, and I’ve gone wrong again somehow.”
She ought to be afraid of him: she understood that distinctly. His appearance there in her living room was violent and impossible. But instead of fear she felt only bafflement and wonder. He seemed to have the strange ability to bypass logic, normalcy. In her dream, she had not been afraid of death.
“How did you get in here?” she asked so softly that she could barely hear herself. “What do you mean, this isn’t where you’re supposed to be?”
At once, his expression became contrite. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t frighten you.” There was tension in his voice, a fear or excitement of his own. But in spite of the tightness he sounded gentle, even kind. “I don’t know what went wrong. I did everything right, I swear it. I’m not supposed to be here at all. I’m looking for someone —–”
Then for the first time he looked away from her.
“— completely different.”
As his gaze scanned the room, his jaw dropped, and his face filled up with alarm. Reflected back at himself from all sides, he recoiled, flinching as though he had been struck. The knotted muscles of his throat strangled a cry. A fundamental panic seemed to overwhelm him; for a second, he cowered on the rug, groveled in front of her.
But then, apparently, he realized that he hadn’t been harmed. He lifted his head, and the fear on his features changed to astonishment, awe. He peered at himself in the mirrors as if he were being transformed.
Spellbound by his intense and inexplicable reactions, she watched him and didn’t speak.
After a long moment, he fought his attention back to her. With an effort, he cleared his throat. In a tone of constrained and artificial calm, he said, “I see you use mirrors too.”
A shiver ran through her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “I don’t have any idea what you’re doing here. How do you know I’m not the right person?”
“Good question.” His grin stretched wider. He looked like he enjoyed the sight of her. “Of course you can’t be. I mean, how is that possible? Unless everyone has misunderstood the augury. Maybe this room pulled me away from where I should be. Did you know I was going to try this?”
Terisa didn’t want to repeat herself. Instead of continuing to mention that she had no idea what he meant, she asked, “Why don’t you get up? You look a little silly, lying there on the floor.”
One thing about him pleased her immediately: he seemed to hear her when she spoke, not simply when it happened to suit his train of thought. “I would like to,” he said somewhat sheepishly, “but I can’t.” He gestured toward his truncated right leg. “They won’t let go of my ankle. They better not let go. I would never get back.” His expression echoed the mercurial changes of direction in his mind. “Although I don’t know how I’m going to face them when I do get back. They’ll never believe I haven’t done it all wrong again.”
Still studying him for some sign that what was happening made sense, she inquired, “You’ve had this problem before?”
He nodded glumly, then shook his head. “Not this exact problem. I’ve never tried to translate myself before. The fact is, it isn’t commonly done. The last one I can remember was when Adept Havelock made himself mad. But that was a special case. He was using a flat glass – trying to translate himself without actually going anywhere, if you see what I mean.”
He looked around again. “Of course you do. Flat glass,” he breathed as though her mirrors were wonderful. “It’s lovely. And you haven’t lost your mind. I haven’t lost my mind. I had no idea Imagers like you existed.
“At any rate,” he resumed, “the theory of inter-Image translation is sound, and there are lots of cases recorded. Most people just don’t want to take the risk. Since I made the mirror – if I step all the way through, they might not be able to bring me back. Only an Adept can use other people’s mirrors – and Havelock is mad.
“But never mind that.” He pushed his digression aside. “It just looks like I haven’t been able to make it work.
“The fact is,” he concluded, “I’ve never been able to make anything work. That’s why they chose me – part of the reason, anyway. If something went wrong and I didn’t get back, they wouldn’t lose anybody valuable.”
Baffled as she was by this conversation, her training with Reverend Thatcher came to her aid. He had taught her to ask the questions he expected or wanted. “Where are you supposed to be?” Again she shivered. “Who am I supposed to be?”
He thought for a moment, chewing his lip. Then he replied, “I’d better tell you. The augury could have been misinterpreted. An Imager like you might be exactly what we need. And if I’m right –” He shot a gleam at her and began to explain.
“Everyone has studied the augury. Some of what we see in it can’t be wrong. It shows over and over again that the only way Mordant can be saved is if someone goes into a mirror and brings back help. For some strange reason, that ‘someone’ is me. Unfortunately, the augury doesn’t show me bringing any ‘help’ back. Instead, it shows an immensely powerful man in some kind of armor – a warrior or champion from another world. It doesn’t show whether he’ll save or destroy Mordant, but he’s unmistakable. And about the time of the augury he just happened to arrive in the Image in one of Master Gilbur’s mirrors. Judging from what we could see, he was about twice your size – in his armor – and he had enough magic weaponry to tear down mountains. He looked perfect.
“Of course, Master Gilbur could have just translated him to us. Several of the Masters thought we should do that – and defy the King. But the augury is explicit. We’re supposed to send me somewhere. Something about me is crucial. Apparently.” He lifted his shoulders. “There was a lot of argument. Master Quillon said I should go. But Master Eremis said that forcing me to translate myself out of existence was as good as a death sentence – and he isn’t usually that serious about anything. That surprised me. I don’t like Master Eremis, and I thought he didn’t like me. But in the end the Congery decided to let me try.