A Blackbird In Darkness (Book 2) (40 page)

‘As I grew, I realised that this mind was something apart from my own, and utterly alien. But I still had no idea that I was different from anyone else. I only wondered how it was that other children could laugh and play, how my parents could smile and hug me, how my brother could return their affection... I don’t know how to describe to you the nature of M’gulfn. It is just – always there. And it is grey and reptilian and vast – as a nightmare seems tangible and frightening, even though it’s only something within your mind. And it is full of hatred – like a sickness – and because it has come to understand humans through its previous hosts, it knows the most subtle and insidious ways to torment us.

‘It spared me no torment as a child. It could make me weep and scream with fear, it could make me attack other children, destroy things, whatever amused it. Even so there was nothing to make anyone suspect that I was the host. To all appearances I was just a fractious, ill-tempered child. My mother must have loved me, to tolerate it.’ She fell silent for a few seconds, then continued, ‘I don’t know how I came to realise that not everyone had this nightmare presence within them. As I grew older I became aware that my real self was separate from M’gulfn and quite different from it. I realised that I was intensely disliked by the others in our village, even feared. And I think the Serpent itself had somehow explained to me that I was “special”. Chosen. I was an outsider, but my real self wanted to be loved, just as any human does.

‘I believe that by this stage most of its previous hosts had gone insane – I don’t know why I didn’t. Perhaps it’s just the stubbornness of the Alaakian character, which also made it impossible for us to accept Gorethria’s rule. I remember being angry, and going off alone into the hills to fight it. I was about seven or eight, I think. And I found that the angrier I became, the more it tormented me, and the harder I fought, the more easily it controlled me, laughing and raging within me. But for that Alaakian obstinacy I would certainly have gone mad.

‘But I didn’t. I experimented. I found that the less I allowed myself to feel, the less M’gulfn could hurt me. First I suppressed anger, then slowly – oh, it took months, years – every other emotion, unhappiness, love. Fear was the hardest, but that went too, eventually. I became utterly cold. This must have puzzled and upset my parents more than my previous behaviour; soon there were no more smiles, no more hugs. I think my mother grew to hate me. Ye gods. Do you know I can’t even remember what my parents looked like?’ Medrian paused, expressionless, knotting her hands together until the bones shone through the skin. ‘But I was in control. The Serpent could not read a single thought of mine, unless I permitted it. Oh, but it made me suffer for it. It never stopped fighting me, whispering and straining against the icy barrier I had set against it. Sometimes I was certain it would burst through and swallow me, and sometimes it could still gain control of me, just for a little while. And all the time I was thinking: how am I going to end this?

‘As soon as I was old enough – fourteen – I joined the army. Alaak was not supposed to have an army, as you know, Ashurek, but we trained in secret. Then came the uprising, and the massacre... and I survived, and I stood on the plain knowing that the Gorethrians had gone onwards to the village, and that I would never see my mother, father or brother again. That was when I realised that the Gorethrians were also the Serpent’s children, and that it was causing not only me to suffer, but the whole world. So I left Alaak, hardly knowing where to go or what to do, except that I must find a way to stop this damnable suffering.

‘Don’t think I hadn’t thought of suicide: I attempted it, but the coal-black horse M’gulfn had sent to me died instead. Such horses have protected me from other death blows, as you know. When one is dead, another always comes. I suspect the one that came through the forest when I was with Calorn now lies dead from the sting of a venomous plant. M’gulfn does not want me to die. It has a kind of possessive attachment to its hosts. If anyone should succeed in killing me, the killer would instantly become the host. But I think that to relinquish its hosts before extreme old age claims them is agony to it. Nevertheless, it happily allows me to be wounded and tortured. The strange thing is that physical pain makes it shrink from me, so that I have greater freedom and control in those times. I came almost to revel in battle and danger because of that.’ There was a note of disgust in her voice.

‘I went into the Gorethrian Empire, and I was there for years, seeking an answer. I went to the palace library in Shalekahh, and found some books about the Serpent there. They weren’t much use, except to teach me that I had access to the knowledge I needed within my own mind. M’gulfn’s thoughts contain the memories of all its previous hosts. All I had to do was look there... and there were thousands, stretching back to the very beginning of mankind, one after another. All had suffered, most had gone insane, one had even tried to slay the Serpent and had been grossly tortured and humiliated for her efforts. And I learned that the Serpent is immortal and unassailable, filled with loathing of mankind. The only reason it hadn’t destroyed us all long since was that the Guardians had taken one of its eyes, the Egg-Stone, so lessening its power.

‘But the stealing of its eye also sparked its hatred. It feared that they’d come again and slay it. So it decided to take a human host, which would work in this way: if ever anyone succeeded in destroying its body, its spirit could flee and hide in the human body, until it regenerated itself. Only once has it had to do this. Hundreds of years ago, a party went out from the north of Vardrav and injured it so seriously that they thought they’d slain it. And M’gulfn itself was afraid, and hid within its host, but its wounds were healed by its gross energy, and it soon returned to life, and ravaged northern Vardrav in return. All others who set out to kill it died without touching it.

‘And after I had learned this, there was the attack on Forluin.’ Again she stopped, biting her lip. ‘Sometimes I feel I am half in its body, and I can see through its eyes and...’ She stretched her fingers out, rigid, and stared at them. ‘I couldn’t stop it, I tried, I offered it myself, anything... It paid no heed to me. And I knew – I think I’ve always known – that it’s no good seeking only an end to my own suffering. The Serpent must die. There must be no more hosts, no more witnesses to its depraved cruelty... I decided I was going to be the last.

‘I had no idea how it might be done. All I knew was that the Serpent and the host, somehow, must die together. I was its ultimate protection, so any venture against it stood no chance at all without my presence. In the end I went to the House of Rede, wretched, with M’gulfn fighting me every inch of the way. I had no real hope. But when I met Eldor, he knew who I was, and he told me that others would soon arrive to form a Quest against the Serpent, and we were to go to the Blue Plane. The Lady of H’tebhmella knew me as well. Yes, she knew, but she and Eldor agreed that no one should tell you this except myself. That was why she could not answer your question.

‘You understand, Estarinel, that although I was in the deepest despair, I could find no comfort for it. If I had tried, M’gulfn would have swept away my defences and possessed me. Even to be offered help tormented me.

‘Of course, M’gulfn was enraged by my setting out upon the Quest. It did everything it could to stop me. Sometimes my control would slip and it would force me into acting against you. I was always aware of this danger, and did my best to warn you... But there was one occasion when I managed to bend its will to mine. When you summoned the demon Siregh-Ma, Ashurek, and it refused to obey you, I persuaded M’gulfn to send it back to the Dark Regions. But the demon recognised me as the host, and told Gastada, and Gastada purposed to seal my mouth so that I should never speak of who I was, and to keep me imprisoned so the Serpent wouldn’t be endangered.

‘Ah, but I haven’t told you, about Arlenmia. Its priestess.’ There was bitter mockery in Medrian’s voice. ‘Arlenmia also recognised me. She wanted to be the Serpent’s host herself – I’m sure she can’t have understood what was actually involved, but she certainly possessed the power to transfer it from me to herself. Perhaps the power was no more than fanatical determination, but it was real. I feared her. It was so tempting… all my life I have craved nothing but to be free of it. Just to give in, and let the burden be taken away. But in the end I could not: I had already made my decision. I couldn’t abandon the world’s fate into Arlenmia’s hands, just for my own sake. Of course, my refusal made her furious. She decided to murder me instead, thinking that she would become the host instantly. It was ironic then that the horse protected me, because with Arlenmia as its host, the Serpent would have been invulnerable.

‘On H’tebhmella, I had my wish; I was free of M’gulfn. It cannot touch the Blue Plane in any form, and the part of it that dwells within me was left in a kind of limbo when we passed through the Entrance Point. Oh, that sweetness was edged with pain. It was everything I had dreamed of, while all the time I knew it could not last, and I had to go back into hell. It would have been better if I had never gone to the Blue Plane at all.

‘And as for Forluin, the Lady assured me that I would also be free of it there. And I could not resist the temptation to walk on the Earth in freedom for a time.’

Ashurek said, ‘No one can blame you for that.’

‘I told myself I wanted to be sure that Estarinel didn’t give up the Quest, and that I wanted to witness the evil of M’gulfn’s work so that my own determination did not waver... and these reasons were real, but the main one was my selfish desire for a taste of freedom, which became a weapon for the Worm to turn against me.

‘Perhaps now you understand why I was so ill when we returned to Earth. At once the Serpent was within me again, and its anger almost destroyed me. Pain brought me back to myself, but my control was not what it had been before, because my experience of freedom had weakened me. And by the time we reached the river, Ashurek, M’gulfn was winning the fight, and by the time we reached the Glass City, it had won.

‘But Miril saved me. The Worm is terrified of her. When she touched me, it shrank away in fear. And that gave me back my control, stronger than it has ever been before. This is why I am able to speak freely now. I’m also able to think and act without its intervention. You were right to be suspicious of me, but there is no longer a danger of the Serpent sabotaging the Quest through me. It is still within me, but I am free of it. Do I make sense?’

‘Yes,’ said Ashurek. ‘Yes, you do.’

‘I had to be careful about the Staff, of course. I have done my utmost to keep the knowledge from it. All it knows is that we have a weapon of some sort, and that troubles it. But it can no longer read my thoughts, or even see through my eyes. Miril has blinded it. I think she showed it a reflection of itself. And now my explanation is finished,’ she concluded dully, still gazing downwards at nothing. Estarinel sat beside her as if frozen, expressionless and ashen-pale.

‘I feel I must apologise to you, Medrian,’ Ashurek said. There was a quality of sorrow and understanding in his voice, even a touch of shame. ‘I misjudged you. And in a way that could have led the Quest to disaster. I am sorry.’

‘There’s no need,’ she replied with the ghost of a smile. ‘None of us can help being what we are.’

Estarinel was sitting absolutely numb, stunned by what she had said. He had known, of course, that she was somehow unwillingly cleaved to the Serpent. Perhaps if he had cared to analyse everything she had done and said, he would have arrived at the appalling truth long ago. But he’d had even more cause than Ashurek to shut his mind against connections that led to this unthinkable conclusion: that Medrian, whom he loved, and the vile Worm, which was beneath loathing, were linked in such an intimate, obscene way as to be one being.

His first reaction had been revulsion, and Medrian knew it, and he sensed how much this had hurt her. His abhorrence, though, was not really directed at her. As her story unfolded – so much more terrible than he could have imagined – his disgust and outrage at M’gulfn for subjecting her to such anguish became overwhelming. Understanding her pain, and knowing that he had caused her further torment himself, he bled with inexpressible sorrow for her. And the admiration he felt for her strength and her tenuous, adamant determination, was poignant in its extremity.

Then he understood that he’d known the truth all along. She was M’gulfn’s victim, but more than that she was herself, and nothing she said could have made him love her less, only more.

Estarinel realised that she was no longer at his side. She had wandered into the middle of the cave and was standing there with her back to him, dwarfed by the ice walls soaring around her. And on top of the dreadful burden of the Serpent, she believed that he had turned aside from her, and she hated herself, because she felt that she had betrayed him.

In a second he was at her side, pulling her into his arms and holding on to her, tight, until she eventually relaxed and returned his embrace.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I never meant to deceive you, but I couldn’t stop myself. I despise myself for it.’

‘Medrian, don’t,’ he said gently. ‘Never, ever think such wrong of yourself. If you knew how much I love you – it’s me who should say I’m sorry.’

‘It must make a difference, now that you know,’ she said tightly, looking up at him.

‘Yes, it does – I never realised how much courage you had. I’ve always known that the Serpent was tormenting you in some way, but I never guessed it was this bad. What the Serpent has done to you is abominable beyond all reason. I never thought I could hate it more than I already do, but this…’