"Sure I did." Leaning in, lowering his voice, though only the plashing water could eavesdrop. "If you can believe it, she's gone and joined the Resistance."

"I heard ..." His voice caught in his throat. "I heard that she was dead."

"No. Not at all. My source saw her with his own eyes."

Wa tarabibi. My beloved. Knees weak, Sornnn felt suddenly lightheaded. His ears were buzzing.

"Where?" Voice no more than a croak.

"In the West Country. Near Receive Tears Ridge."

"I don't believe it."

"Neither could my informant. He saw her in a fight. Said what a fierce warrior she is. Imagine! A Tuskugggun!" Kwenn looking quizzically at Sornnn, who was laughing so hard tears had come to his eyes.

30

Emergence of Things Past

The view was breathtaking. Seen through a steep col, thrusting into the crystalline cerulean sky, was Kunlung Mountain. Even though it was set in the midst of the Djenn Marre's highest peaks, still it towered over all of them, its head and shoulders whipped, roiled, distorted by permanent ice storms. It was whiter than bleached bone, but here and there were glimmerings, like gems of the same berylline color as the sky, life within the monolith, revealed to Riane, so newly come to this creased and pitiless realm.

The wind howled like a daemon being slaughtered, great plumes of dry snow swirled across razorback ridges and deep defiles, cracking creva.s.ses and sheer ice walls, everything large, too large to take in, let alone understand. Yet all this blasted bleakness, this yowling, tumbled, treacherous sea of ice, all this was prologue, leading to what lay behind her. With a seer's premonition, she turned. She was on a steep ice- and snow-encrusted mountain slope just below the place where colossal walls jutted up. An edifice that looked carved out of the mountainside itself-a castle or fortress, but was in fact neither. She knew that, knew what it was. It was an abbey. She had been there before, though she could not quite remember when. She beat her fists against her forehead, frustrated by memories that flickered tantalizingly before her, only to vanish into the darkness of her unremembered past.

It was very cold. Unprepared for the fierce weather, she shivered, cast Inner Circulation to insulate herself. The rarefied atmosphere sawed in and out of her lungs, made breathing painful. She could only imagine the effect on her skin were she not so well protected.

Still, she could not remain there indefinitely; she needed to gain entry to the abbey. But how? No door, no gateway, not even a practical approach presented itself to her no matter which way she looked.

She slogged west along the ice field, then east, looking for a way in and finding none. At the end of the trek, back more or less where she had begun, she was exhausted, for the snow was almost hip deep, layered on top with a friable crust of ice. She was obliged to battle for each step, to crack through the ice and plunge into the densely packed snow beneath.

She stopped, opened her Third Eye, moved into the trance-state of Ayame, preparing to Thripp inside, found she could not. Her eyes snapped open. This was a first. How was it possible? She tried again. Skimming the periphery of the abbey, she discovered innumerable sorcerous safeguards to prohibit Thripping into it.

Returned to the normal world, she stood with hands on hips, wondering what to do next when she spied a figure coming up the slope at a fantastic speed. It was moving not in a straight line, but tacking this way and that, using the gusting wind as would a sailboat on the ocean.

Details emerged through the snow clutter: a male, big-boned and muscular, wrapped so completely in layers of spotted white fur that only his eyes were visible. He was leaning forward, shoulders and hooded head projected ahead of his body, his long, powerful legs pumping rhythmically in concert with his arms.

He had seen her by then, and he changed course slightly, heading directly toward her. By that time, she could see that he wore low boots on the undersides of which were attached long silver blades that allowed him to skate across the ice field. It was a fantastic sight, really, this male skimming over the ice as lightly as if he were a water spider on a pond. Where was he coming from? she wondered. Where could he be coming from? He had emerged from the north, but what was there save Kunlung Mountain and the Unknown Territories, where it was well known no one could survive for more than a few hours, let alone live?

And yet, there he was, skating toward her in long, swooping S-shaped tracks. He was traveling at such a rate of speed she felt sure he could not stop in time, but again her a.s.sumptions went by thewayside as, at the last possible moment, he turned his blades to the side and, in a great shower of snow and ice, came to a halt not a half meter from where she stood. He was not even breathing hard. His large eyes were, like hers, a clear, brilliant blue. He grinned and bits of a thick red beard appeared from the edges of his furry hood. His mustache, exposed, was white with cl.u.s.tered snow crystals, but the face was unmistakably that of Redbeard, the same as was set into the entryway of her memory building.

He was grinning. "Stay right there." That booming voice resounded in her head, familiar, comforting.

I know him, she whispered in her own ear. But because she had learned in this world to be, above all, cautious, all she said was, "My name is Riane."

Her simple response appeared to bring him up short. Iced eyebrows condensed across the bridge of his hawklike nose. "I became aware of you when you entered null-s.p.a.ce. I thought I had lost you forever."

"Lost me? I do not understand."

"Do you remember nothing?"

"In truth, your face is familiar to me. But as for your name or where you come from ..." She shook her head helplessly.

His lips pursed, and for a moment he seemed lost in thought. At last, he said, "I am Asir." He p.r.o.nounced it Ay-seer.

Her fine ear caught his accent. He was from neither the low country around Axis Tyr nor the high plateaus. Not from the West Country. She saw his eyes go to the infinity-blade wand clutched in her right hand, and she put it away at once.

There seemed to have formed between them a lake of questions neither of them was yet prepared to venture into.

"Asir, how do you know me? What is this fortress that seems so familiar to me?"

"In time we must both learn everything there is to know about one other," he said. "But for the moment we must remove ourselves. A storm is quartering in from the northeast. These storms are not pleasant. The Great Rift channels them, magnifying their strength like a lens."

Without another word, he skated away from her. Was he just going to leave her there, alone and unaided, to face the terrible storm? Did he mean for her to follow him? If so, how? She had nothing resembling his miraculous skates. But no. When he had gained sufficient speed, he made a sharp turn, leaning into it at a forty-five-degree angle, looped back to where she stood, transfixed by the sight.

Without warning, he scooped her up, taking her right off her feet.

Swooping off, he made three more S-shaped turns, cutting them more sharply than he had lower down because of the increased steepness of the slope. How swiftly and surely they flew up the last levels of the ice field] Wind whistling in their ears, snow bursting in their faces, they pa.s.sed into the penumbra of the overhanging abbey walls, which, closely observed, had more the feeling of cyclopean cliffs rising to dizzying heights.

The moment they came to rest in a shallow niche in the wall, a kind of crenellation that ran, so far as Riane could see, the entire height of the wall, Asir set her down, detached the long, knife-edged blades from his boots.

Then, startlingly, he put his arms around her, drew her close.

"Riane," he said, "put your arms around me."

"What?"

"Do you not remember?"

"No. I-"

"Now!"

Something in his voice-not exactly a command, but something like it-made her obey. She was pressed fully against his furs. Their warmth gave rise to a stir of echoes: the smell of cured leather on their underside, the bitter tang of ice particles, tiny as needle points, clinging to the outer layers of the fur, and, beneath, the dark, mysterious musk, all that remained of what the beasts had once, in life, been. She could smell him, as well, a not unfamiliar swirl of spices over a light scent of male sweat. Her eyes began to close, her mind drifting off. More echoes, just out of reach."Hold tight."

A curious sensation in her stomach told her even as she disbelieved the evidence of her own eyes that they were rising off the surface of the ice field.

Straight up they ascended, and then regaining her wits, she saw with her keen gaze that no snow or even wind touched them. They were in some form of invisible shaft-a spell shaft, doubtless-up which they were drawn like smoke in a flue. She was keenly aware of Asir studying her with his bright blue eyes. She wished she could read his expression, wished she knew where she knew him from or how.

As they ascended, she noticed that the abbey's outer wall lacked both window and balcony, as befitted such a forbidding fortress. Layer upon layer of ma.s.sive stone blocks, seamlessly set, impenetrable, impervious to either wind whip or ice lash, this was all she saw, for she faced inward. What Asir saw over her shoulder she could only imagine.

Their aerial journey ended on a platform that emerged from the blank wall. As they stood upon it, it began to retract into that same blank wall.

Feeling her tense, Asir smiled and turned her in his arms, so that she faced outward and, he, his bulk, his warmth, protected her. She gasped, for the sky was gone and, with it, Kunlung Mountain. What remained, what came howling, raging through the magnifying lens of the Great Rift, was a fist of opaque whiteness. Like a door slammed in her face, the storm cut off the outside world. Only a cell remained, monochromatic, featureless, malefic, fast closing in.

"Deadly," he said as he turned her back to him. "Even to us."

Us? she wondered. What did he mean by us?

He had a gentle smile. It made her want to believe him, want to like him. The white-stone wall was coming closer, and still no opening presented itself. None did, ever. Asir held her tight, and she had no other option but to hold as tightly to him. The storm roared at her back, advancing on them like the first wave of an enemy a.s.sault. She thought of being caught in a vise, of the storm flattening them against the stone, white on white, the color of their blood soon whipped into a froth and whirled away into the maelstrom.

There came a moment of utter darkness, of disorientation, her stomach seeming to plummet as it did when she entered jihe, just before she reached Otherwhere. This sickening sensation did not, mercifully, last long. Instead she became aware of a warm light pressing gently against her lids, and she opened her eyes.

Asir had pushed back his hood, the flame of his full beard and hair startling, his wide grin as warming as the goblet of hot spiced wine he held out to her. He had taken off his gloves. His hands were square, immense, ridged with veins and callus. They were the hands of someone who worked the land, who knew the ins and outs of things, who could find in his surroundings, no matter how barren and desolate they might be, the means to survive. These hands, wrapped around her goblet, then around her own hands, as she took it from him, rea.s.sured her. She was aware of his power, but also of the vein of gentleness that ran through him.

"Drink now," he said. He looked as if he could not take his eyes off her. "I will return within a short while."

The wine was delicious, warmed her immediately, left a complex spice tingle on the back of her tongue. She looked around. The antechamber was not large, not small. It had a high, vaulted ceiling suspended upon the brawny shoulders of carved pillars. Great lanterns of iced bronze hung from chains, exuding an amber glow, but she could smell no oil nor tallow. The center of the anteroom was covered with a carpet of dark, muted tones, a pattern not unlike that of Asir's furs. With a start, she saw that it was a pelt, upon close inspection a single pelt, but from what immense beast she could not imagine. The Annon part of her remembered rumors he had heard while in the regent's palace that fantastic beasts roamed through the ice storms of the Unknown Territories, beasts long lost even to the present-day Kundalan. Riane wondered whether she was looking at proof of those rumors. Both of them-the fused ent.i.ty that was the Dar Sala-at-felt a nervous antic.i.p.ation at being here, for they both suspected that they were on the verge of a profound discovery.

The furniture consisted of a matched pair of lounges, upholstered also with pelts of spotted white fur,luxuriantly thick, soft as silk. She sat back in one, abruptly spent. Her nostrils burned, and her head throbbed. At what alt.i.tude was she? High, very high.

The sound of bells, light and airy, accompanied the ma.s.sed voices of a choir raised in what might have been a psalm that was yet again tantalizingly familiar. It was beautiful, and a certain quietude descended upon her. She sipped more wine and listened to the echoes die away. When it was over, she c.o.c.ked her head, aware at the very edge of hearing of a deep and rhythmic thrumming, huge engines buried deep as the secret of the past.

Soon thereafter, Asir appeared, escorting a female in white robes with deep blue trim. Riane put her goblet aside and rose.

"Riane," he said in his booming voice, "this is Amitra."

The female was standing unnaturally still, her face was very pale, her eyes open wide. So profound was her shock that she could not keep it from registering on her face.

"Can it be?"

Riane had no idea what she meant.

Like the anteroom, Amitra was not large, not small. Slender and upright as a pillar, blond hair framing an oval face, full lips, trembling now, resembling nothing so much as a pet.i.te bow. She gathered herself, recalling most if not all of her natural serenity.

"Tell me something, Riane," Amitra said. "Does anything here appear in the least bit familiar to you?"

Her voice held the clear timbre of a precisely struck bell.

"Everything, I would say."

Exchanging a quick glance with Asir, she said, "And what about us, Riane? Asir and me." The two of them watching her intently.

"I wish I could remember." She put a hand to the side of her head, ma.s.saged her temple. "I have had a ... bad fall. And then I grew ill. I almost died of duur fever."

"Asir, do you hear?"

"She is not the same as she once was, Amitra. Even you can see that."

"Asir-"

He shook his head sternly. "We must know."

He gestured, and the twin lounges disappeared, along with the pelt. The stone flooring was laid bare, in its center a sigil was incised, what looked like an eye. The circle of pupils in its center began to pulse in a particular rhythm. The stone down the center of the eye split open, the sections opening downward. Up through the opening rose a square column of gleaming metal, dark, depthless. Vertical channels ran down each side. Reaching just above the level of Asir's head, it stopped. He went to it, depressed a lever. Up along the channels rose a pair of leather-bound stirrups and a carved cat's-eye handgrip.

Asir motioned to Riane as he put his feet in the stirrups, but she shied away.

"Asir." Amitra seemed alarmed. "This is not the way." "Tell me another."

Riane withdrew her wand, thumbed on the infinity-blade. "Look, now," Amitra said. "Look what you have given rise to." "Her training has stood her in good stead, Amitra. With it, she escaped null-s.p.a.ce."

"You said you found me when I entered null-s.p.a.ce," Riane said. "How?"

"Besides." Asir apparently ignoring her. "I am only doing what is necessary."

"If only you would trust her."

"It is not her I am concerned with. It is our enemies. What if she has fallen into their hands, what if she is being used as a weapon against us, have you thought about that?"

"Every day and every night since she was lost to us." "What is going on here?" Riane said, brandishing her infinity-blade. "Who are you two?"

"Riane, we want to tell you. More than you could possibly know." Amitra took a step toward her, hand held out, palm up. "But we have to make certain."

Riane squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Had they drugged the wine? Was she still in null-s.p.a.ce, hallucinating?

"Your mind is not clear. You yourself described the reasons why." "My mind is perfectly clear," Riane said. "It's my memory before the fall that has failed me.""It has been two years." Asir said. "A lot can happen in that time."

"I could have become a weapon for your enemies."

"Yes."

"It depends who your enemies are," Riane said. "Because that is precisely what I have become-a weapon aimed squarely at the V'ornn. The only weapon in the Kundalan a.r.s.enal."

Asir and Amitra exchanged another charged look.

He put his hand on the transport lever. "Will you come with us now?"

"I need time."

"Time is running out," Asir said. "Believe me."

Riane shook her head, and Amitra, clearly distraught, made a complex weaving in the air with her hands.

"Don't." Asir removed himself from the stirrups.

In Amitra's hands was a mirror in a lovely painted wood frame. "You brought her inside. You brought her to me. What else did you expect?" She said, "Riane, please be good enough to stand between us."

Riane hesitated only a moment. She desperately needed to know why everything there seemed so familiar. So she did as Amitra bade, taking her place between them. Then Amitra held up the mirror and together they gazed at their reflections.

"You see it, don't you?" Amitra whispered.

How could she not? The resemblance to both of them was uncanny. She had Amitra's face, mouth, hair, Asir's eyes and nose.

"You are my parents," Riane whispered. Her throat was tight with awe. "My parents!"