The Last Talisman

by Licia Troisi

  “Nihal, what is it?” Sennar asked, concerned.

  Nihal shook herself back to the present. Her cheeks were wet, and she realized she’d been crying. She dried her eyes with the back of her hand and pointed into the distance, toward the swamp. “Seferdi once stood there. The capital, the White City. The crystal of its royal palaces was said to be the most brilliant in all the Overworld, its bright gleam visible for miles.” She indicated a point farther to the east. “Over there was the Bersith Forest, beloved by Nammen.”

  “But … how do you know?” Sennar asked in a whisper.

  “I saw it. The spirits, they showed me. What have they done to my land?”

  Sennar stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her.

  Descending into the valley, they spared no precaution, seeking out the least traveled, least accessible trails. The journey would take longer, but at least they’d avoid any unwanted confrontations. From what they’d seen, the vast plain of the Land of Days was crawling with Fammin.

  It took them one extra day of hiking, and as evening fell, they took refuge in a dark, damp cave that they’d spotted from the mountainside. There, Nihal hurried to consult the talisman. Throngs of voices chattered incessantly in her head. It required an immense effort to concentrate. In the end, she was able to perceive their next direction.

  “In the desert, a palace … farther east.”

  “Wonderful. This whole Land’s a cursed desert. …” Sennar muttered. “It took us two weeks just to reach this burned patch of ground. And it’s freezing, even though it’s spring.”

  They decided to stick close to the mountains until the cities were behind them and they’d reached the first stretches of desert. During their first few days of travel, they felt at ease in the shadow of the Sershet Mountains, where there seemed to be no guards and no villages, only desolation.

  As time passed, Nihal grew increasingly distant and distracted. When Sennar tried to initiate conversation, she replied only in monosyllables. She was tormented ceaselessly by the voices in her head. It was like a chant, a rhythmic pattern, beating in time with her footsteps, and almost always incomprehensible: words, voices, sighs, shouts, disconnected phrases recounting stories of death and carnage. Come nightfall, when she finally managed to doze off, the torment persisted in her dreams, to the point where she could hardly wait for her shift as night watch.

  Trying to picture what the desert might look like, Nihal imagined vermilion sunsets over a sea of rolling sand dunes—a desolate landscape, though charged with a certain savage beauty.

  The place they reached at dawn on their fifth day of travel, however, was utterly different. Here and there was the supple curve of a dune, but for the most part the land was bleak and arid, covered in gray gravel. Even the rare outcroppings of vegetation had a touch of harshness to them, the plants brownish or acid green and covered with long thorns and strange-looking flowers. They stretched grotesquely toward the leaden sky, casting menacing shadows over the land.

  It was cold. Hardly a ray of sunlight penetrated the blanket of dark clouds above. The hours passed, each indistinguishable from the next. Dawn would begin as a pale glow in the east, tingeing the gray clouds white before the day unrolled between the eternal shadow of the clouds and the cawing of crows. At the end of it all came the squalid, sallow sunsets that carried off what little daylight was left. Nights were passed shivering in silence.

  After three days, their provisions ran out, and they were forced to nourish themselves with some roots they’d collected at the edge of the desert. They still had water, but no more than a week’s worth, and they hadn’t the slightest idea how much longer they’d be traveling. In every direction, they saw only more desert, more gravel, more of the godforsaken twisted plants that seemed to be taunting them.

  Little by little, they lost all perception of time or how long they’d been trudging though the desert. Night followed day, the light grew brighter, the light grew dimmer, and neither could say which way was east or west. They were in the middle of nowhere. Nihal was close to losing her mind and Sennar felt completely powerless.

  “Not another step!” Nihal howled suddenly. She fell to her knees. “Get me out of this place! Get me out! Make them shut up! Shut up!”

  Sennar rushed to her and hugged her. Just then, a frigid wind rose and whipped across the desert.

  “We have to find cover, now! A storm is coming!” Sennar shouted. Nihal lay motionless on the ground, as if she hadn’t heard him. “Listen to me, Nihal. You need to get up!” the sorcerer insisted, but she was paralyzed.

  Sennar lifted her in his arms and set off running blindly through the wind. The dust had risen, blocking his view, and he couldn’t even employ a spell to set them in the right direction because he hadn’t the slightest idea where he was supposed to be going.

  “Stay strong! The storm will pass in no time, you’ll see,” he encouraged her, though she made no reply. “Speak to me! Say something!”

  He felt nothing but her cold hand against his chest, gripping his tunic.

  13

  Thoolan

  or On Oblivion

  The windstorm swept over them. Within moments, everything was tinged a dark, dusty gray. To continue would be impossible. Sennar stumbled forward blindly, dragging a half-conscious Nihal. In the end, he collapsed to his knees, convinced there was nothing left to do but allow the sand to bury them alive. Just then, he heard a faint voice calling his name.

  Sennar looked down and realized that the voice was Nihal’s. She spoke calmly. “I feel calm. … Keep going, straight ahead.”

  Sennar understood they must continue. He rallied his strength and pushed forward.

  “Farther ahead … keep going … I can feel my head getting clearer with every step,” Nihal continued.

  After a short while, Sennar, too, glimpsed something beyond the gray dust: a light. Then, gradually, the wind died down, until it stopped blowing altogether. A sudden, unnatural calm descended.

  Before them rose a strange palace, from which all the winds that had plagued their journey seemed to emanate. It was a cubic structure, on top of which rested a series of geometric shapes—a hodgepodge of parallelograms, pyramids, and polyhedrons. Most unusual of all was the large windmill dominating the structure from one of its corners. A stream of water ran through a duct that followed the perimeter of the top of the palace, then cascaded down through the windmill and set its blade in motion. Rather than simply flow off into its own little river below, however, the current defied gravity, running in the opposite direction around the structure’s base—an infinite, inexplicable cycle.

  The surfaces of the walls were almost entirely decorated, but no two paintings shared the same style. One section of wall featured geometric drawings, another an immense fresco, another a mosaic, and yet another stained glass, their colors all in stark contrast with one another. It seemed more like a patchwork of several different buildings slapped together by a blind man than like a single palace.

  “You can put me down now,” Nihal said.

  Sennar peeled his eyes away from the palace and did as he was told. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” he asked.

  Nihal smiled. “Just like that, my head is clear,” she said, breathing in deeply to savor the sudden silence in her mind. It had been a real nightmare. She lifted her eyes toward the structure. “This is the sanctuary.”

  “What do you think?” Sennar asked.

  “It seems to be offering me its protection and inviting me inside.”

  A staircase led to the entrance, a small door at the center of the building’s main facade. Extending above it was a small balcony from which a few plants dangled—including, surprisingly, an enormous tree. It seemed impossible that such a massive plant could flourish in such a constricted space.

  “You may be right, but this place gives me the creeps,” said Sennar. He pushed her asid
e and stepped in front. “This way, at least, I’ll take the fall if something happens.”

  “You do know that this little act of yours isn’t always necessary,” Nihal teased, but Sennar was already inside.

  She followed after him, and the moment she set foot inside the palace, her confidence vanished. The building’s interior was alarming, to say the least. It was impossible to decide what to look at. It was all a maze of staircases, rising, descending, turning right, hooking left, leading everywhere. It was not clear where they came from or where they led; “up” and “down” were useless concepts. There were doors on what should have been the ceiling, lamps hanging from the floor. A labyrinth. And yet, Nihal felt as if the structure was the source of the calm in her head and her sudden feeling of well-being.

  “Now what?” Sennar asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  The sorcerer stepped toward the center of the room and Nihal took another look around. There were two doors high above, another three up on the right wall, five more opening off to the left, and more leading through the floor. In every direction, an endless knot of stairs.

  “Maybe there’s a spell you could try,” Nihal proposed.

  “To do what? You can’t even tell up from down in here.”

  “Well, then, we’ll have to find out the hard way,” said Nihal, taking the staircase directly in front of her.

  Sennar followed. The climb seemed endless. When at last they reached the top, it was only to find a wall blocking their way.

  “Evidently, I chose the wrong staircase,” said Nihal.

  They turned and headed back down. Yet the staircase they were now descending had nothing at all in common with the one they’d just ascended. It was the same exact staircase, and yet, it was completely different. The climb down, in fact, was far shorter than the climb up, and the room they arrived in was clearly not the one from which they had started.

  “Did we not go up this same staircase?” asked Sennar.

  “I’d say yes. I got to the wall, I turned around, and I climbed back down. There were no other stairs to take.”

  Yet there was no denying it; they were in a different room. Before them, now, stood a single door. They crossed through it into another room. There, too, they found a single door. Again, they stepped through, and found a third door. Once again they crossed the threshold and were faced with yet another door, and then another, and another, and another. They passed through a seemingly infinite number of doors, each one smaller than the last, until, finally, they reached a room decked with staircases, and not a single door. Nihal sprinted up a staircase at random. When she reached the top, a bottomless pit opened at her feet.

  Finally, Sennar took control. “I’ve read about labyrinths before, a few things anyway, and from what I remember, you’re supposed to keep one hand glued to the wall at all times. Maybe then we’ll make some headway.”

  Sennar set his right hand on the wall and began to walk, Nihal following. They descended a series of staircases, passed through several doors, and arrived at last in a vast room with no exits. They took a look around and, when they turned, found that the door through which they had entered had disappeared.

  “What the devil …” Sennar said under his breath.

  At a loss, Nihal surveyed the room once again.

  Now what?

  Sennar stood with his back turned to Nihal. His shoulders, she noticed, were trembling. Then Sennar raised one hand and a ray of light burst forth, sending a section of wall crumbling to the ground.

  Sennar looked over his shoulder. “Now there’s a door,” he said, and proceeded toward the opening.

  His solution, however, was only temporary. Once they’d exited the room, they found themselves again confronted with a tangle of rooms, stairs, and doors.

  On and on they walked, their frustration mounting, their concentration waning. Sennar tried what seemed like thousands of spells, all to no avail. In the end, they gave in and sat down on a narrow ledge.

  “I’ve got nothing,” Sennar admitted.

  Nihal stared at the floor. At least there were no voices in here. That was something, right? “How long have we been at this now?” she asked.

  “I don’t know … an hour or two at least, but at this rate we’ll be stuck in here forever.”

  “Huh?” she blurted. “What do you mean an hour or two? We’ve been wandering around for at least two days now.”

  “Have you lost your mind? We haven’t even eaten. … It … it’s just not possible. If you count them all, we’ve only been on about thirty different staircases. … We really haven’t been here that long.”

  “Thirty, yeah right … I lost count at a hundred,” she replied. A bead of cold sweat ran down her back.

  “Have you been counting the rooms?” Sennar asked, his voice quavering.

  “I was, for a while … but I lost count last night.”

  “Last night? Nihal, there was no last night.”

  “Of course there was! We stopped to rest in the round room, the one with the columns, and slept for a few hours.”

  “Not me. I never slept.”

  “You slept, Sennar. You used your cloak as a pillow.” She picked up his cloak and handed it to him. “You see how it’s all wrinkled?”

  Sennar grabbed it. In truth, it did seem a bit ruffled up. “We ate?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “Two of the roots we gathered, and we finished the second jar of water.”

  Sennar grabbed the sack where they’d stored the roots and opened it. None were missing, and the water jar was full.

  Nihal eyed him. “I’m positive we ate, and I’m positive we slept. …”

  “And I’m just as positive that we didn’t.”

  The half-elf leaped to her feet and drew her sword. “Someone’s playing games with us. …” She scanned the room, but there was nothing.

  “It has to be the guardian.”

  Nihal spun around.

  “What is it?” Sennar asked.

  “A noise. Follow me.”

  Nihal began climbing a set of stairs. Sennar trailed her. Up and down the steps they ran, in search of something or someone to free them from this nightmare. Before long, though, Nihal realized she’d lost all trace of the clue she had thought she’d found.

  “Never mind,” she said, downcast. “There’s nothing here. I must have been mistaken.” But when she turned, there was no one behind her. It was not clear how she’d even reached this place. “Sennar …” she cried out faintly. Only her echo responded. “Sennar!” she repeated, calling louder this time. Nothing. “Sennar!” she shouted, and took off at a sprint.

  Where am I? What happened to Sennar?

  She was too distraught to pay any attention to direction, nor did she notice the light around her growing dimmer and dimmer until it disappeared altogether. Now she was alone in the pitch black. She had no sense of the room’s shape or size, no idea how she’d ended up here. She stood still for a moment. Her heart began pounding in her chest. Panic took hold. She stretched her arms out in the dark, in search of a wall, but her fingers found only air.

  “Where am I? Sennar! Sennar! Where are you?” She sensed a presence and drew her sword. “Who is it?” she shouted.

  A faint light appeared, casting a pale glow around her. She heard a voice.

  “Welcome.”

  “Where’s Sennar?” Nihal asked, before even considering whom she was addressing.

  “Don’t worry, he’s safe. Busy acquainting himself with my palace,” the voice replied.

  Nihal cast an anxious look about the room. The wall was punctuated with archways held up by massive columns. There was even an arch in the roof. Through it, Nihal could see the night sky, strangely luminous and crowded with immense stars and unknown planets.

 
“Bring me to Sennar, please,” she begged.

  An old woman, her long white hair tied back in a ponytail, descended from the arch in the ceiling. The expression on her face was peaceful but stern. She wore a long white dress, held tight around her waist with a silver rope. She paced solemnly, gracefully, toward Nihal, and the first thing the half-elf noticed were the women’s eyes, deep and blue.

  “He’s safe. Don’t you see?” she said.

  Through the arcade, Nihal could see Sennar climbing a staircase.

  “Why don’t we have a little chat first, just you and I, Sheireen?” the old woman added.

  Nihal jumped at the sound of that name.

  The old woman reappeared beneath another arch, directly beside Nihal. “You’ll have to forgive me, I shouldn’t have called you by the name you so despise. You go by Nihal, is that right?”

  “Who are you?” Nihal asked.

  “Thoolan,” the old woman answered. “The guardian of Time, protector of the fourth stone for which you long. That’s what you’ve come for, is it not?” She pointed to a gleaming gray gem between her eyebrows.

  Nihal felt a wave of relief. “Yes, I’ve come for the stone,” she said, more relaxed.

  “Good,” Thoolan continued. “I intend to give it to you, don’t you worry. After all, you’re far more worthy of possessing the stone than so many others, aren’t you?” She remained silent for a moment. Then, in a faint voice, she added: “If you want it, it’s yours.”

  Finally, a reasonable guardian, Nihal thought. “Alright then. Give it to me and let me out of here. This place is nerve-wracking.”

  The old woman smiled. “I can understand why you’d say that. … I, on the other hand, quite love this place. Here, all is arranged according to my desire: time, space, life.”