Clash of Catalysts

by C. Greenwood

  For a moment she thought the oracle didn’t hear that last part. The younger woman’s dark eyes were gazing through her, as though looking to some distant point beyond.

  “Your journey will be to no purpose,” the oracle said slowly.

  Eydis supposed this was what she should have expected when requesting help from such an untrustworthy quarter. She had been a fool to hope for assistance here.

  She turned and was walking away when the oracle’s unhurried words drifted after her.

  “You will receive what you ask, mistress of masks. But you will not achieve your aim.”

  Eydis refused to acknowledge the warning. She had little enough cause to place faith in the oracle’s predictions anymore. She rapped on the thick granite door and, when the attendants on guard opened it from the outside, stepped through to the corridor.

  She didn’t look back.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Geveral

  Geveral could hear the eerie singing of the temple attendants and see the distant light of the funeral pyre flickering through the trees. But he didn’t question his decision not to join the others, as he made his way down the pebbled path toward the sacred grove. As an outsider, he didn’t belong at such a private ceremony. It was awkward enough being the only male staying at the temple. He didn’t want to wear out his welcome.

  Besides, he needed to check on Kalandhia. The dragon seemed content enough inhabiting the grove beyond the temple grounds. It even found plentiful food in the wild game that wandered the grove and the fields beyond. Geveral hoped the temple attendants didn’t notice that last part. For all he knew, they might count the grove’s creatures as sacred as the ancient trees they dwelled among.

  But despite the dragon’s appearing to have all it needed, Geveral felt responsible for the beast. Kalandhia had more or less adopted him since the death of Keir, the dragonkin youngling who had possessed a strange bond with the beast. With the dragon’s loyalty seemingly transferred to Geveral now, he must look after it as Keir would have done.

  He found Kalandhia pacing in the deep gloom of the towering trees. More than twice the size of a large horse, the young dragon was an immense moving shadow. Its golden eyes glowed in the darkness, and its black scales glinted when a stray moonbeam found its way through the leafy canopy overhead. The biggest trees swayed when the beast rubbed against them, and smaller samplings snapped and crunched like dried leaves beneath its feet. Geveral winced at the noise and the damage. Maybe the temple attendants wouldn’t notice it on their next visit to the grove.

  Calling out Kalandhia’s name, he went to the dragon. The beast ceased pacing and lowered its head in recognition of the visitor. With apparent pleasure, it stood motionless and allowed Geveral to stroke the scales between its eyes.

  “Getting restless aren’t you, boy?” Geveral asked soothingly. “I don’t blame you for growing impatient. I don’t know how much longer Eydis means us to stay here or what her next plan will be. But I wager any day now we’ll be moving on. You’ll like that, won’t you? Flying through the open skies again?”

  The dragon breathed a blast of warm air out its nostrils, enveloping Geveral in the stench of whatever it had last eaten. By its snuffling noises, it seemed to agree with him.

  Geveral spent a few more minutes visiting the dragon. By the time he left Kalandhia among the trees and turned back toward the temple, the distant singing of the adherents could no longer be heard. It seemed the ceremony was over and it was safe to return.

  But Geveral didn’t go immediately back up the winding path to the temple. His leg, recently injured by a fall from Kalandhia’s back while in midair, needed a rest before making the walk back. Besides, there was another reason he had come out here tonight, and it had nothing to do with checking on the dragon or escaping the gloomy atmosphere up at the temple.

  The sacred pool was nearby, silvery moonlight reflecting off its placid surface. Those mysterious waters beckoned to him. Eydis had visited the pool more than once and seen visions of the future. It was possible even Orrick swam in the pool during his visit to Silverwood, although the big barbarian had never mentioned it. Something told Geveral it was only fitting that he, the last of the catalysts, should also visit the sacred pool. If he didn’t, he would forever wonder what might have happened if he had.

  Even as he approached the water’s edge, he had no notion what he was hoping for. A glimpse of the future? Guidance from the voices that, up to now, had chosen to speak only to Eydis and Keir?

  He didn’t even know the proper ritual for entering the water. He had heard from Eydis that white-robed attendants from the temple were usually on hand during the day to help pilgrims with some kind of cleansing procedure. But he had no desire for their company. What he did now, he needed to do alone. He would just have to trust that the pool guardians Eydis had spoken of would sense that he meant no offense.

  He paused between the vine-covered columns only long enough to remove his clothes and shoes. Then he waded carefully into the shallows. The water felt cool but not unpleasant, as it lapped around his knees. He kept his eyes on the shadowed edges at the opposite side of the pool, where the sacred trees of the grove grew right up to the edge of the water. Was it his imagination or did he see faint movement in the darkness? If the pool guardians were lurking above the surface, they might conceal themselves in such a place.

  As the water rose past Geveral’s waist, he called out to any hidden observers, “I come to your sacred pool with pure intentions. I am a catalyst of chaos, a summoner of storms, and I ask for permission to enter these waters.”

  There was no response, no sound but the whisper of the evening breeze stirring through the branches overhanging the pool. A cricket chirped in the tall grasses.

  Geveral tried not to think of the stories of unworthy visitors drowned for trespassing in this place. Surely whatever unnatural creatures guarded the pool would see he meant no harm.

  Taking the silence for consent, he drew a deep breath and plunged beneath the surface.

  It was a different world down here. He could no longer hear the wind or the crickets. But other noises were magnified. Like the sounds of shifting silt and the whooshing noises his movements made through the water. His heartbeat was loud in his ears.

  He waited expectantly for something to happen. He wasn’t sure what. Who knew what a vision felt like? Would he even know when he was having one?

  He swam deeper toward the bottom, where the temperature grew colder. Still nothing happened.

  Cautiously he opened his eyes. The water was dark, its depths murkier than they had appeared from above, but his eyes didn’t sting. Bits of moss drifted past his vision. Looking upward, he saw a faint glow of light representing the moon. But that light was far distant.

  His lungs began to ache, and his injured leg throbbed slightly from the kicking motions keeping him below the water. Still he experienced nothing that felt like a vision. Maybe such glimpses didn’t come to every pilgrim, only a select few. He couldn’t hold his breath or strain his bad leg much longer.

  Disappointed, he reluctantly struck out for the surface. He would catch a few gulps of air and then try again, he told himself.

  That was when he heard it. A sudden heavy splashing sound as if something large had fallen into the water overhead.

  His first panicked thought was of a vengeful pool guardian diving in after him. But the dark indistinct object he saw sinking toward him didn’t move like a living thing. It was long and skinny. A tree branch, he realized. It must have fallen from one of the trees overhanging the water.

  Relieved, he let the branch sink past him, while he paddled on for the surface. His head broke the water, and he sucked in eager gasps of air. Shaking wet hair out of his eyes, he again scanned the far shore, where the shadows were deepest. Something pale blinked back at him out of the darkness.

  It might be anything. All sorts of animals made their home in the grove. There was no reason to think it wasn’t a fox or a deer c
ome down to the water for a drink. But then the thing moved and a stray beam of moonlight glinted off the green scales of its body.

  This was no animal but a strange mixture of woman and fish. Geveral still couldn’t get a clear look at it because its lower portion was in the water, its upper half concealed in shadow. Neither could he read whether there was hostility in the chilling gaze the thing fixed on him. But a shiver ran over him just the same. He remembered that nobody, not even Eydis, knew he was here. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come alone. He had a sudden urge to be out of the water and away from this place, visions or not.

  He struck out toward the shallows although that meant turning his back on the creature. He had just reached a place where his feet touched bottom, when he felt a stirring in the water and heard a gentle splash behind him as though something were surfacing.

  Fear told him to flee, but another stronger instinct made him look back to see what he was running from.

  An emerald-colored she-creature rose up out of the water. Her elongated face, extended neck, and small breasts were covered in iridescent scales. She had the lips of a fish and gills below her jaws. Her face, just human enough to be unnerving, held no expression. But her opaque eyes were fixed on Geveral.

  Was this one of the famed pool guardians?

  His first impression, that she meant to pursue him and drag him under the surface, proved wrong. She remained motionless a little distance away, as if waiting for something. He realized she was extending an object toward him across the water. In the darkness, he could just make out its shape. It looked like the long tree branch that had fallen into the pool earlier.

  Confusion replaced fear, and Geveral gave up thoughts of fleeing. If the she-creature wanted him dead, he suspected she could easily enough have drowned him already. He decided to risk communicating with her.

  “Are you offering me the branch?” he asked. “Is it a gift?”

  She gave no answer, regarding him unblinkingly. Streams of water trickled down green scales that glistened wetly in the moonlight.

  Geveral wasn’t sure whether she was capable of speaking, wasn’t sure whether she even understood his words. But she continued to hold out the skinny branch in her clawed hands. Why?

  Slowly, cautiously, he moved a little closer and reached out for the stick she seemed to want him to take. He needn’t have worried. She made no move to attack him.

  “Thank you,” he said, hesitantly taking hold of the extended branch.

  Instead of answering, she abruptly dived beneath the water. With the flap of a broad fishlike tail, she disappeared into the murkiness.

  There was nothing for Geveral to do but wade to shore, carrying with him her strange gift. Climbing out of the pool, he looked back and saw numerous pale eyes were now glowing at him out of the darkness. Several scaled creatures had gathered across the water, watching him.

  Although he had received no visions in the pool, Geveral had the distinct feeling he had been given the blessing of the pool guardians. The branch they gave him was of good sturdy wood from one of the ancient trees of the grove. It was, he realized, a fine gift. Much as the trees of Bleakwood had once given him a sturdy staff, now he would carry a reminder of Silverwood Grove to his next destination—wherever that might be.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was late when Geveral, dried and dressed, returned to the temple and the small private room that had been assigned him. It was down a lonely corridor, far away from the quarters where the temple adherents lived and slept. The isolation added to his sense of being an outsider, especially since Eydis was kept at the other end of the temple, sharing a common room with the adherents.

  But as he limped down the dark hall, his bad leg still throbbing from the recent swim, he told himself it was probably for the best that Eydis was in a more crowded area. It would be safer for her. Since the recent tragedy, when an assassin had crept into the temple and murdered Server Parthenia, everyone was on edge. The killer was doubtless long gone by this time. Why should he remain after having achieved his aim of stealing the golden scepter? Even so, it was hard to feel comfortable in a place where such unexpected violence had occurred.

  On entering the silent temple, Geveral had taken up a candle from the great room just inside the double doors. Hundreds of these lights were left burning in tall stands all night. He doubted anyone would object to his borrowing a small one to illuminate his way. Now as he opened a door and slipped into the small room that was more like a closet than a bedchamber, the glow of the flickering candle revealed his sparse surroundings.

  The walls of pale stone were without windows or tapestries. The ceiling was low and the floor bare but for a mat he had been given for sleeping on. The mat, a thin blanket, and a pillow were hardly enough to fend off the chill that seeped up through the floor on cold nights. At one end of the room was a small chest. It was probably meant to hold his belongings, although he had few possessions, beyond the clothes on his back.

  One of those few belongings rested in a corner of the room, a sword stolen from an undead soldier during Geveral’s recent escape from enemy captivity. Because of the customs of his dryad ancestry, he couldn’t bring himself to carry it, except when necessary.

  He crossed the room and leaned the broken branch the pool guardian had given him against the wall, alongside the sword. Tomorrow he would borrow a bone knife, if any of the adherents owned one, and he would whittle the knots and bark away from the stick. With a little work, the branch from the grove could be shaped into a smooth walking staff. Considering the slow recovery of his bad leg, the assistance would be welcome.

  A soft knock sounded at the door, startling him out of his thoughts.

  He was surprised anyone was still awake at this hour. Opening the door, he found a fair-haired young adherent out in the hall. She shyly delivered a message that his presence was desired in the audience chamber of the oracle.

  When his questions gained him no further information, he had no choice but to leave his room, snatching his new walking stick on the way out. Reluctantly he also grabbed his sword, which the oracle had sent a strange request he bring with him.

  He hurried after the adherent as quickly as his limp would allow. Through empty chambers and down deserted corridors they went, never passing another soul. All the rest of the temple seemed to be asleep.

  Geveral tried to think what this summons to the oracle could be about. The seer had never sent for him before. Had she called for Eydis as well?

  He soon had his answer when they started down the final short corridor to the oracle’s chamber. At the end of the hall, he recognized the flame-haired, green-clad figure pacing before the granite door with its double guard of attendants on either side.

  Eydis looked as out of place here in the temple as Geveral felt. It wasn’t really anything physical about his friend that set her apart. At around twenty years old, she was about the average age for an attendant. But even had she exchanged her travel-stained tunic, green tights, and boots for the white robes of one of the temple women, she wouldn’t have been able to disguise her nervous energy, at odds with the relaxed environment. As a former adherent-in-training, who had spent most of her life within the walls of a seclusionary, she must once have led a similar lifestyle to these temple attendants. But the past few months had changed her. An air of danger and adventure now clung to her.

  She also looked impatient. But she ceased her pacing at Geveral’s approach.

  “So she sent for you too?” she asked.

  “It seems that way,” he answered. “What do you think she wants with us that couldn’t wait until morning?”

  “Who knows,” she answered. “I saw her only a short while ago and didn’t expect another interview. There seemed nothing left to say.”

  Eydis turned her attention to the pair of silent attendants posted on either side of the entrance to the oracle’s chamber.

  “All right. We’re both here now,” she said. “Can you let us in?”


  The attendants exchanged glances, then drew open the heavy door.

  The room Geveral and Eydis stepped into was better lit than the outer hall. The burning wall torches cast orange light across the room, and the braziers lining the way to the dais at the center of the chamber held just enough coals to illuminate the way. But they were not, Geveral noticed, blazing enough to overheat the space. Apparently, her recent illness had discouraged the oracle from inflicting such discomforts on herself nowadays.

  She waited for them, seated on a carved wooden chair at the head of the dais. Geveral was used to seeing her sitting cross-legged on cushions or bare floors. She looked more imposing, even regal, in her high-backed chair.

  Crossing the room to stand below the dais, Geveral didn’t stare at the oracle’s unusual form, at the upper pair of arms folded across her chest or the lower pair resting on the arms of the chair. He had grown accustomed to the violet-hued skin and the shiny, bald head peeking out in places from beneath her black veil. Some folk might have felt revulsion or pity for the strange appearance of the oracle, but it seemed to Geveral that she was, somehow, exactly what she was supposed to be. A unique creature, beautiful in much the same way the pool guardians were lovely in their terrible grace and the dragon Kalandhia was magnificent in strength.

  Eydis seemed less impressed. “You sent for us,” she reminded the oracle. “I thought our earlier conversation over.”

  The oracle broke her silence. “Are you so impatient to be away on the morrow that you cannot wait to hear one final word of guidance before you go?”

  Surprised, Geveral glanced sideways at Eydis. She hadn’t told him they were departing in the morning. It was odd she hadn’t mentioned it.

  The oracle must have sensed his confusion. “You have not told your dryad companion of your plans,” she observed to Eydis. “Interesting that you should be secretive at such a time.”

  Eydis shot him an apologetic look. “I was going to tell you in the morning, Geveral. The assassin has taken the scepter into the Arxus Mountains, and I’ve decided I must give chase. If the key to Rathnakar’s freedom falls into the hands of the mountain wizard, all our hopes will be doomed.”