Read The Last Days Of The Edge Of The World for Free Online Page B

of colour.
    “Oooooh!” moaned the mirror. “Stop it. Please!”
    “It isn’t me,” said Helen helplessly. “Honestly.”
    She wondered whether it might be her father. But Sirion Hilversun was not the kind of man to start working wayward magic in his daughter’s bedchamber.
    Suddenly, Helen felt frightened. She leapt to her feet and would have run to the door to call to her father, except that the whirling image began to slow down again and become distinct.
    For a moment, she thought that the mirror was recovering, having suffered a dizzy spell or a mild fit of some kind, but then she realized that the face coalescing out of the blur was not her own. Most definitely not, in fact.
    It was the face of an old man. A very old man. Sirion Hilversun was getting on two hundred by now, but compared to this face his was young. Sirion Hilversun’s hair was white and his beard was long, but the hair retained a certain fluffiness, and his complexion was pleasantly pink. The man whose image was in the mirror now had hair the colour of ancient dust, a beard that seemed as insubstantial as morning mist. His skin was dark brown and looked to have the texture of varnished wood. The eyes were large and staring, and coloured a deep, deep purple. They had no whites at all, and the black pupils were very tiny. The expression worn by the face was neither hostile nor ugly, but it was nevertheless a very frightening face.
    “Sit down,” it said. Its voice was not the voice of the mirror, but deeper and somehow more remote.
    “Who are you?” she whispered.
    “It doesn’t matter,” he replied.
    “What do you want?”
    “I came in answer to your plea.” There was the ghost of a smile in the thin, dark lips. “What plea?”
    “Questions,” he said, simply. “You asked for questions. I bring you six. Six of the most curious questions in the world. No one has answered them in a hundred years and more. No one has dared to try.”
    “I don’t need six,” said Helen, uneasily. “Three at the most. If they’re really unanswerable, one will do.”
    “You have to take the six,” said the image, gently. “They come as a package, so to speak.”
    The image reached into the folds of its black cloak, and produced a scroll of yellow parchment. “I fear that I cannot pass this through the mirror,” said the sonorous voice. “You will appreciate that I am only here, as it were, in spirit. I will hold it up. You must read it carefully—all of it. Its words will be impressed upon your memory. You will not forget.”
    “Wait…” said Helen, uneasily.
    But the image wouldn’t wait. Two skeletal brown hands unwound the parchment and held its face towards Helen. The vast purple eyes peered over the upper edge, focusing on Helen’s face.
    Helen read the words.
    The parchment read:
     
    The last will and testament of
    Jeahawn Kambalba
     
    I leave to the world my fortune and my fate, these verses:
     
    What words are writ upon the stone beneath the sign which stands alone in Methwold forest held in thrall?
    And what are those engraved by me on Faulhorn’s horn which waits for thee in Mirasol’s haunted banquet hall?
    Where the towers of Ora Lamae stood a lamia waits to drink your blood— what secret name is in her bred?
    The monster Zemmoul takes his prey where Fiora falls in silver spray— what coloured gem is in his head?
    If you take your stand in Hamur’s place at edge of world and gate of space— what feeling creeps within your bone?
    Aloof from Sheal the shadowed deep at edge of world and gate of sleep— what do you feel as you stand alone?
     
    While Helen scanned these words, the stare of the purple eyes never wavered. Only when she finished did the intensity of the gaze relent somewhat.
    Helen had held her breath for some time. Now she let it out in a short, fearful gasp.
    “That’s a spell!” she said.
    “It is indeed,” said the image. “A very powerful spell.” “And you’ve printed it in my mind! You’ve