The Forest of Peldain

“I can’t say I ever had the feeling that gods were dictating my actions,” Octrago commented. “On the contrary, throughout my adventures I have been afflicted with a feeling of desperate loneliness. The fate of Peldain rested on my shoulders alone, or so I thought.”

He stood and paced the room, then turned to Vorduthe. “Well, it seems you are going to do some swimming, my lord.”

“Am I?” Vorduthe replied stonily. “However noble your motives might seem in your own eyes, I see you in a different light. You have used us for your own ends. You have lied to us, betrayed us, sworn false oaths, sent an army to its death—and not an hour ago I heard you plead that I and my men be murdered. Why should I help you?”

He had no idea what reality might lie behind the extraordinary beliefs Octrago and Mistirea had just propounded, but he was determined to wring what advantage he could from the situation. Mistirea spoke hurriedly.

“Have a care, Prince Askon. Our future may hang on this man’s good will. When he communes with the spirit, no one will be by his side.”

“So we have to make a loyal Peldainian of him?” Octrago said, as if voicing an impossible thought.

“If the soul of Peldain obeys him, he can do good or wreak even worse evil than now threatens.”

“What is it you want, my lord Vorduthe?” Octrago asked softly.

“A ship to return my men to the Hundred Islands. Until it is built, they must walk free and unmolested.”

“Your men may return, perhaps, but as for you.…”

“All lies in the balance,” Mistirea interrupted. “Little as you may like it, Prince Askon, communication with the outside world could prove essential to our future survival.”

It was clear that Octrago liked the idea not at all. “Well,” he said, looking thoughtfully at Vorduthe, “the future is long and much may happen in it. Let him prove himself first.”

Chapter Thirteen

The day before Lord Vorduthe was to attempt his first immersion, Troop Leader Kana-Kem had approached him. The seaborne warriors were able to wander at will throughout Lakeside, on promise of good behavior. It was a minimum concession which Vorduthe had extracted in return for his cooperation.

Kana-Kem had been sitting in the shade of an arbor with several comrades, drinking a mildly intoxicating juice that was popular here—though in comparison with the distilled essence of sea-root they were used to consuming in shore taverns all around the Hundred Islands, it affected them scarcely at all. He caught up with Vorduthe as he came within sight of the green lake.

“I remind you of your pledge, my lord,” he said quietly but firmly. “When do we strike the treacherous snake down?”

“Have patience,” Vorduthe told him. “I have a deeper revenge in mind. It may be that I can destroy not only Octrago but this whole rotten kingdom as well. That will be his reward.”

He stood now on a mossy bank, Mistirea by his side. The sun shone strongly, halfway between zenith and horizon. Both men were naked. At their feet the edge of the lake rippled slightly in a strong breeze. The dull green water—which Mistirea said was not water at all—was opaque, making the lake look stagnant, though it gave off no smell.

No stream or rivulet fed the lake. Nevertheless Mistirea claimed that it never diminished: it did not evaporate. Rainwater would float on its surface, either to dry off or to be absorbed by the containing banks.

“The time has come,” Mistirea said. “Be confident. Let your mind be calm.”

Vorduthe made no answer. To his military mind the High Priest’s training had seemed strange and incongruous, though he had seen Arelian physicians employ something like it when preparing patients for surgery. By fixing the attention on a steady flame, the mind could sometimes be made oblivious of pain.

In his temple behind the palace, Mistirea had used a similar technique to concentrate Vorduthe’s mind, and then had taught him how to turn his consciousness inward. It was like diving into a deep pool, where phantasms of thought drifted. Farther and farther in he went, until thought vanished and there was only a kind of limpid darkness. That, Mistirea said, was where he might meet the soul of Peldain.

Water or not, the substance of the lake felt like water as they waded into it, refreshingly cool to their feet and legs. Then they plunged, and swam for the center.

Mistirea maintained his position with easy motions of his arms. They were floating over the lake’s deepest part.

“May the gods who guided you to us aid you now,” Mistirea said. “Dive! Dive!”

And Vorduthe dived.

Darkness closed in on him the moment his head slipped below the quiet surface. Not one ray of sunlight penetrated the lake. Down he went, arms streamlined against his sides as though he were diving off the coral atolls that gave Arelia its calm seas.

As he descended he put himself into the semi-trance state taught by Mistirea. The darkness grew darker and took on the lightless clarity he had come to know.