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The Golden
Swan
Nancy Springer
A TIMESCAPE BOOK
PUBLISHED BY POCKET BOOKS NEW YORK
Distributed in Canada by PaperJacks Ltd., a Licensee of the trademarks of Simon & Schuster, a division of
Gulf+Western Corporation.
Another Original publication of TIMESCAPE BOOKS
A Timescape Book published by
POCKET BOOKS, a Simon &: Schuster division of
GULF & WESTERN CORPORATION
Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.V.
In Canada distributed by Paperjacks Ltd.,
Steclcase Road, Markham, Ontario.
Copyright й 1983 by Nancy Springer
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Timescape Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y.
ISBN: 0-671-45253-
First Pocket Books printing May,
POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster.
Use of the trademark TIMESCAPE is by exclusive license from Gregory Benford, the trademark owner.
Printed in Canada
The loom, and on the loom
Thematic colors woven,
The prophecies within the web.
The lake, and in the lake The mirroring reflection, The shadowshining face of fate.
The grove, and in the grove
The riddle of the goddess,
The dwelling of the guessing god.
Prologue
In her secluded valley in the midlands of Isle lived Ylim, the weaving seeress, and thither rode young King Trevyn with Dair, his small son. Dair was a wolf. Leggy, half grown, he bounded along by the horse, his paws huge and playful, his slate gray fur unruly. Sometimes Trevyn smiled and slapped the saddle, and the yearling wolf would leap up to ride with him for a while. Dair was a wolf because his mother had been one at the time of his birth. She had since taken back her human form and returned across the sea to Tokar, Trevyn surmised. He was a Very King and a sorcerer in the truest sense; the kiss of the goddess was on him. But he did not know what to do for Dair. Destiny is a personal matter.
The young wolf entered the cottage at his heels and sat courteously by his side. "Laifrita thae, llderweyn," said Trevyn to Ylim. "Sweet peace to thee, Grandmother." It was the Old Language, the language of the Beginning, which only a special few still remembered. She was not his grandmother in fact, though she might have been grandmother of earth and moon.
"Laifrita thae, Alberic." She called Trevyn by his elfin name. "Laifrita thae, Dair, how are you?"
Quite well, Grandmother, thank you. His voice was a murmur or a growl. Only these special ones could understand him, they who conversed with the animals as all men once had.
"Is it good, being a wolf?"
It is very good. The smells, and the air in my nostrils, the chase and the -warm meatЧHe stopped with a sidelong look at Trevyn, afraid of being laughed at. He had only recently killed Ms first rabbit; more often he ate at the king's table and slept by the king's bed. But both Ylim and Trevyn listened to him soberly.
"He is quite content," Trevyn said, "and I am glad of it. But I wish I knew what is to become of him, Grandmother."
"Look your fill," she said.
Dair looked as well. Most folk when they looked on the work of that loom saw nothing. Some who saw could not remember afterward. But Dair saw and remembered well enough. Light, it was all light, not cloth; mauve and lavender light. Then a striking feral face appeared. Broad forehead, brows that darkly met, nostrils that pulsed, wideset amethyst eyes that moved to meet hisЧthat were his. A human face, but unmistakably his connate face, his own.
"A regal face," Trevyn said in a hushed voice. Even as he spoke the face shifted form, became a flower such as no one had ever seen before, a blossom made of fire and dew. It blazed and flamed; then as they blinked it dwindled and vanished into the orchid light. The web on the loom went gridelin grayЧ
Now what? Dair: wondered, puzzled. Shadowy waterЧ
It was a lake, the most still and waiting of lakes, its smooth surface glinting iron gray, willows on its verge hanging moss gray hi breathless, sunless ah". On the dim water a swan floated with scarcely a ripple.
"Strange water," said Trevyn.
The swan was black, its image in the water, white. It had been hurt or crippled somehow, for one wing hung limp. But in a moment the wing had healed and it was flying, and it had turned white, pure shining white. It circled and flew nearer, nearЧthe water drew nearer as well. But it was no longer the still lake water. It was purple tinged and restless. The swan vanished or became the whitecaps of that sea.
Ocean, Dair murmured.
A vast expanse. He knew that cold, swelling, limitless expanse that surrounded IsleЧand amidst all that vastness a speck, a floating cockleshell, a mere bauble of a boat, a coracleЧand in it a solitaryЧ
Who is that?
"Watch," said Ylim.
Closer, always closer. They could see the face now. A youth with russet hair, freckles on the high cheekbones, fine, rugged features and a keen, seeking look about Ms clear brown eyes. One hand was on a steering oar. The other hung useless from a shriveled arm and shoulderЧ Dair felt his heart turn over. Without knowing he had moved he found himself standing with his front paws on the frame of the loom, and in a blink the vision vanished. He faced featureless cloth.
"Who was it? Ylim asked.
IЧdon't know. But already he felt the mystic bond.