A Blackbird In Silver (Book 1) (42 page)
Read A Blackbird In Silver (Book 1) Online
Authors: Freda Warrington
Medrian had to swallow tightness in her throat as she saw the landscape. She could not say why she felt moved, except that the mist seemed alive, caressing the rocks as if greeting old friends with infinite tenderness. The formations appeared to return the greeting, bowing imperceptibly with love and gentleness in every line of their forms. The strange, still dance of light and stone was so unearthly, so far above and beyond her that she knew she could never touch or share their communion. All that love, she thought, and I am condemned to feel cold forever.
As if reading her thoughts, the Lady placed a comforting hand on Medrian’s arm and led her down the slope into the strange landscape. There was light in her grey eyes as she said, ‘Everything, even rock, has a spirit. In places the soul of H’tebhmella shows itself in more than external beauty. Don’t be envious. No human can hope to feel such pure and un-human emotion.’ Medrian dropped her eyes, shivering.
‘I am not envious,’ she said. ‘I have had enough pure and un-human emotion to kill me – the Serpent’s hatred.’
The Lady’s hand fell from Medrian’s arm as if she had no reply, no answer for her pain. She was silent for a long moment. Then she said, ‘Medrian, forgive me.’
‘My Lady, I should not have–’ Medrian broke off, biting her lip. ‘You asked me to talk with you, but I don’t know whether I can. I’m so unused to being able to speak freely. It’s difficult.’
‘Then there’s no need, if you don’t wish it,’ the Lady responded gently. ‘Let us just walk for a while.’
They went on in silence. Soft mist swirled around them, attaching to their skin in glistening azure motes, like dew. Their hair – the Lady’s silken brown, Medrian’s black – floated in the charged air, full of blue sparks. The Lady had faith that Medrian would, eventually, find words to release the misery that she’d kept locked within her for so long.
This time on H’tebhmella may be the only happiness she will ever know, the Lady thought sorrowfully, but while she is here no consolation, no joy will be denied her.
Medrian, however, had no expectation that confiding in the Lady would help her. Kind and wise as the H’tebhmellian goddess was, she was not mortal. She glided through the weird landscape at Medrian’s side, tall, beautiful, crystalline… and so distant. There was a gulf between them, no human warmth. I cannot bear this alien beauty, Medrian thought. It can’t be real.
Without knowing it, she had discovered H’tebhmella’s paradox. The Blue Plane was viewed as a kind of paradise, enigmatic and unattainable. Some strove for years to find an Entrance Point, and the few who succeeded found it all they had dreamed of, and more. Yet no one ever stayed here for more than a few months. The H’tebhmellians never forbade anyone from living out their lives here, but perhaps the Blue Plane was too perfect, its unearthly beauty too alien. Sooner or later each visitor would feel a restless need to return to a more normal, spherical world. For that reason H’tebhmella remained literally unattainable, and so its legendary enigma was perpetuated.
As the initial relief of arriving here faded, Medrian was assailed by self-doubt and indecision. These were enemies she had never had to fight before and she was afraid. To lose the battle would destroy her. She ached to ask the Lady many things, but she could not seem to frame a question.
‘Won’t you tell me what’s in your heart?’ the Lady murmured.
‘I don’t know. I would, but–’ With sudden, heartfelt bitterness the confession burst from her, ‘Oh, I wish I had never come here.’
The Lady turned to her, a puzzled look on her clear, compassionate face. ‘Medrian, why?’
‘All my life I have dreamed of being free of the Serpent.’ Her voice was icy and flat. ‘I know it’s said that M’gulfn cannot touch the Blue Plane in any form, but I could hardly believe it when I came through the Entrance Point – and I was free. I still can’t believe it – it feels so–’ She shuddered with remembered dread and revulsion. ‘It’s heaven to me. And I can’t stand it.’
The Lady’s rain-grey eyes were full of sorrow as Medrian went on, her voice hoarse with loss, ‘It’s heaven I can never have. I can’t afford to let it touch me, any more than I can afford to let the Serpent touch me. I must harden myself to it, so that I can bear to go back into the world and finish the Quest. If I accepted freedom, I would be finished.’
‘Medrian, you must not doubt your strength,’ the Lady said gently. ‘If you accept the small amount of comfort we can give you here, I believe it will increase your strength, not undermine it.’
‘When there’s no hope, how can there be any comfort?’ Medrian exclaimed savagely. ‘I’m sorry, my Lady. It’s selfish to think only of my own hope – I forsook that many years ago. I have received healing here, and without H’tebhmella the world would have no hope at all. But no one can help me. Not even you. I’ve accepted it.’
The Lady felt inwardly stilled, almost stunned, as though the very fabric of the Blue Plane had shifted beneath her feet. What a fool I have been, she reflected. I thought I knew everything. Now, the revelation. Medrian is unhappy on H’tebhmella; even we, here, cannot really touch or ease her misery. Have I deluded her, as well as myself? Must the Serpent triumph?
Now the Lady of H’tebhmella knew: she had no power to reassure or even console Medrian. She could not even say,
don’t be discouraged
, because Medrian already was. Despair was all that kept her going.
The Lady could look into human souls as into crystal, and she shared deeply in their suffering, devoted all her strength to alleviating it. Yet human beings had an insubstantial quality that she could not quite touch, any more than a rock can grasp the sea that washes against it. She knew she could never cross that essential barrier, for she was H’tebhmellian, immortal. And now, faced with this Alaakian woman, whose soul was as intangible as a shadow, the Lady felt the void more acutely than ever. All her compassion, strength and wisdom failed her. She felt wordless, powerless. Diminished. I cannot heal her. M’gulfn has won.
When the Lady spoke at last, there was a quality of inner exhaustion in her voice that Medrian had never heard before.
‘I accept that you feel like this, but I wish you would tell me your story, so I can understand more clearly what has brought you to this depth of hopelessness.’
Medrian hesitated, and the Lady felt sure she would refuse. But at last she said, ‘Very well. I will tell you, my Lady, because you’re the only one to whom I’ll ever be able to speak freely. Not that relating my story can change anything, but it might restore my strength of purpose.’
Emotionless, the words falling from her lips like cold, white pebbles, Medrian began to describe her life: a nightmare such as even the Lady could not have envisaged.
***
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