Water Keep

by J. Scott Savage

  “Culpable?” Marcus asked.

  “It means guilty. And I am afraid I have much to answer for, to both you and Kyja.”

  From her spot on a log several yards away, Kyja looked up briefly before returning to fingering the folds of her robe.

  “You don’t have anything to answer for to me,” Marcus said. “You’ve never even met me before.”

  Instead of responding, Master Therapass looked to the east, where the sun was just beginning to cast a golden halo over the highest peaks of the snow-capped mountains. “Have you ever heard the dawn chimes greet the morning?”

  Marcus looked out over the meadow he and Kyja had ridden across the previous evening. Barely illuminated by a sky which was still the gray of fading night, purple flowers with blossoms shaped like tiny bells were rising up out of the grass. “Just like in my dream,” he whispered.

  “Listen carefully,” the wizard said, with a wistful smile.

  Looking from the wizard to the flowers that were now beginning to appear all over, Marcus strained to hear, wondering what he was listening for. At first there was nothing. And then—like a single silver bell so far away its ring barely carried to where he was sitting—he thought he heard a note of perfect clarity.

  A moment later, another note joined in—slightly different, but so close the two notes immediately joined together, forming a completely new chord. Just as it seemed the chord was about to fade away, another flower joined in, then a fourth. At first the music was so pure, Marcus thought he was listening to some sort of instruments but as it began to rise and swell, he realized they were actually voices singing.

  “I once knew a man who told me dawn chimes are fairies who put down roots so they could be the first to welcome every new day,” Master Therapass said. “He claimed to be able to understand their song. Perhaps if you focus hard enough, you’ll be able to understand some of it as well.”

  Closing his eyes, Marcus concentrated on the melody. One minute it swirled and broke like a stream dashing itself against rocks and boulders. The next minute it was a baby bird being pushed from the nest for the first time.

  Images began to form and combine in his mind. A breath of morning mist turned into a white cloud sailing across an azure sky. A falling leaf changed into a red-eyed frog that leaped and became a running child who raised her hands and was swept into a flock of the most glitteringly colorful birds Marcus had never seen.

  As the music swirled about him, he thought he could almost make out words. They were right there—so close he could nearly touch them. And yet the harder he tried to make them out, the more they eluded him. Opening his eyes, he saw the blossoms nodding back and forth in a dance that didn’t seem in time with the music at all. It was almost as if—

  Suddenly he had it. They weren’t dancing to the music, they were dancing with the music. Motion and sound together formed an elaborate arrangement. Letting it wash over him, he discovered that he was getting snippets of the song—words and phrases that overlapped rather than proceeded one after the other.

  A new creation . . . glory to all . . . noble . . . made clean . . . again . . . hope renewed . . . everlasting . . . cherish the light . . .

  Suddenly he could swear he heard the voices say his name. But that was crazy.

  He glanced toward the wizard and saw he was beaming.

  “Did you get any of it?” Master Therapass asked.

  Marcus nodded. “Yes. I think so. At least a part.” He felt as if he had just been bathed in warm sunlight even though the sun was barely peeking above the mountain tops.

  “I believe the man who told me about the dawn chimes would be glad to hear that,” the wizard said, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes. “He sacrificed his life so you could hear their song.”

  * * *

  “I don’t understand,” Marcus said. The dawn chimes had finished their singing—the blossoms bowing down out of sight until the next morning—but he could still hear their voices in his head. It made him feel wonderful but a little woozy.

  “All in due time,” the wizard said. “First, I could use a good meal.” He removed a gray traveling cloak from his shoulders and swirled it over the ground. Three chairs and a table—complete with place settings, crystal goblets, and covered silver chafing dishes—appeared out of nowhere. There was even a small plate with three whole fish on it for Riph Raph.

  “Wow!” Marcus gawked. “Do you think I could ever learn to make food appear?”

  Master Therapass chuckled as he took his seat at the table. “We’ll have to see about that. But I’ve yet to meet a boy your age who couldn’t make a plateful of food disappear. Especially when it comes courtesy of the lovely and talented Bella. By the way, Kyja, Bella asked me to tell you . . .”

  The wizard turned toward Kyja, his expression clouding when he realized she was still seated on the log on the other side of the clearing—her eyes locked on the ground at her feet.

  “Aren’t you going to join us?” he asked.

  “I’m not hungry,” she said.

  Master Therapass got up from the table and walked to where she sat. “You’re not blaming yourself for what happened with the mimicker, are you?”

  Marcus blinked. He wouldn’t dream of saying it out loud, but a part of him did blame Kyja—at least a little. Why hadn’t she told him she couldn’t do magic in the first place? And why hadn’t she warned him about things like the mimicker?

  “I’m useless,” Kyja said, without looking up. “We all could have died, and it was my fault.”

  “Useless?” Master Therapass furrowed his brow as he raised himself up to his full height. In the wizard’s dark eyes, Marcus saw the same fire he’d seen in the wolf’s eyes.

  “Do you have any idea what would have happened to this boy if it wasn’t for you?” the wizard thundered. “I’ve been trying in vain for the last thirteen years to find a way to bring him here. Frankly, I’d just about given up hope, and I don’t have the faintest clue how you managed to achieve it. But I can tell you without the slightest doubt that by bringing him here, you saved his life, and I suspect you may have saved it again last night.”

  Marcus gulped as Master Therapass turned his stony gaze in his direction. “How did you know not to struggle inside the mimicker’s web?”

  “Kyja w-warned me,” Marcus stammered.

  “And did she not tell you to keep the fire lit?”

  Marcus wilted under the wizard’s scrutiny. He felt like a jerk. After all, Kyja had warned him to keep the fire burning. She’d also told him to wake her at the first sign of trouble. But he’d assumed he could handle anything that came up. And he hadn’t even thought to thank her for saving his life from Bonesplinter. He hung his head.

  As the wizard looked from Marcus to Kyja—both of whom wore abashed expressions—a trace of a smile crossed the old man’s face. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen two sorrier looking travelers in my life. Come sit at the table, and I’ll tell you a story that is long overdue.”

  Chapter 22

  Signs

  Nearly thirteen years ago to the day,” Master Therapass said, popping a forkful of sausage into his mouth, “a wizard and a warrior of some small renown set out together for a town called Windshold in the far northern reaches of Valdemeer.”

  Kyja started. Though she couldn’t remember exactly where she’d heard of Windshold, the name gave her a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  Noting her uneasiness, Master Therapass nodded. “I imagine the stories have carried even this far. Dark tales seem to have a much farther reach than light.”

  All at once she had it. “The city of the dead where everyone was—”

  “Yes,” Master Therapass cut in with a warning look in her direction. “But back then, Windshold was a town not so much different from Terra ne Staric. Smaller, to be sure, and with a higher ratio of soldiers to citizens, as is the case with most border outposts, but other than that, perfectly ordinary.

  “In the normal course
of events, the wizard and the warrior might never have visited the town except in passing. But an occurrence of possible interest to the tower reached the High Lord of Terra ne Staric, and he thought it worthwhile to perform at least a minimal investigation.”

  Master Therapass laid down his fork and pushed his mostly uneaten food aside with a sigh. “I must tell you that at the time, the incident was viewed as a misunderstanding at best, and more than likely a complete hoax. This in no way excuses the behavior of the wizard or the warrior. But you must understand. If they’d had even an inkling that the story might be true, armies would have been sent instead of only two men.”

  “I don’t understand,” Kyja said, pushing away her food as well. “What was the event and why would the tower send armies?”

  Master Therapass spread his hands wide. “Not just the tower. Every town and city within a hundred days’ ride would have sent representatives. You see, a story—a myth, most people believe—has been passed down from parents to children from so long ago that no one knows where it started.

  “According to the story, when Farworld was created, each living thing was granted its own part and parcel. Winged creatures were given the sky. Swimming creatures the water. The land was divided equally between the plants, the beasts of the field, and man. Some were granted the forests, some the plains, some the deserts, and some to burrow in the ground.”

  “Sounds fair to me,” Marcus said, piling more eggs, bacon, and toasted bread onto his plate. He and Riph Raph were the only ones who seemed to still have plenty of appetite.

  “It does,” Master Therapass continued, giving Marcus a level look. “But according to the story, a day would come when the inhabitants of the world were no longer satisfied with what they had. When they would make war upon each other in an attempt to take more than their fair share. And when that day came, their strife would open the door to a terrible power. A darkness would fall upon the world that would threaten to destroy everything.”

  “What kind of power?” Kyja asked leaning closer. “There isn’t any darkness here.”

  “We tend to judge the world by what we see closest to home,” the wizard said. “Terra ne Staric has been affected only minimally so far—a slightly longer winter, crops and animals producing a little less. But the darkness has taken hold far from here, and like a disease, it spreads quickly. You helped Singale find a job in the kitchen when he lost an arm. But did you ever think to wonder why he was battling Rock Giants in the first place? They are generally a peaceful race.”

  Kyja shook her head, wondering what else she had failed to notice.

  “It’s an easy mistake to make—assuming all is well because the danger isn’t under our nose. I, along with the other wizards in Terra ne Staric, believed the same thing thirteen years ago. So when word of a sign came from a small town in the middle of nowhere, no one really believed it.”

  “What sort of sign?” Marcus asked, shoving food into his mouth.

  The wizard tugged at his beard. “As I said, there are many different variations of the story. But all of the versions seem clear that when the time of darkness comes, a special child would be born.”

  The wizard bowed his neck, rubbing his forehead. “The wizard and the warrior—thinking they were on a fool’s errand—took their time getting to the city. But another group did not. And by the time the wizard and the warrior reached Windshold, the gates that had held for hundreds of years were thrown down and . . .”

  “Everyone was dead,” Kyja whispered, her face a sickly gray.

  “Nearly everyone,” the wizard said. Kyja thought his normally gentle eyes looked like bottomless pits. “The wizard and the warrior searched the city from top to bottom, hoping someone had survived to tell them what had happened—what could have destroyed an entire city so quickly and efficiently. Unfortunately the only survivor could tell them nothing. Buried beneath the dead body of the Captain of the Guard, they found a baby—the only living person in Windshold. The child from the legend.”

  “How could you know it was the right baby?” Marcus asked.

  “A fair question,” the wizard said. “There is only one way. The story speaks of a symbol—signifying the battle had begun.”

  “A symbol?” Kyja suddenly leapt from her chair and pulled the amulet from inside her robe. “The battle for the world between the creatures of air, land, and sea. This is it, isn’t it? The sign. See? All the different creatures fighting with each other.”

  Marcus choked on a piece of bacon when he saw what was on Kyja’s necklace. “Where did you get that?” he said.

  Master Therapass nodded. “The symbol you both carry is the sign of the great battle. A symbol found on only the most ancient of documents. Until that day, I had never actually seen it for myself. When the High Lord heard that such a sign was rumored to have been found in the city of Windshold, he sent the wizard and the warrior to investigate. Everyone assumed, of course, that nothing would come of it. After all, where was the proof? Where was the dark power?”

  “Who was the baby?” Marcus gasped.

  “I thought you would have guessed.” Master Therapass looked from one of them to the other. “It was you, Marcus.”

  Chapter 23

  Balanced Scales

  That’s crazy,” Marcus said, bursting into laughter. “I’ve never even been to Farworld before yesterday. I was found by the monks in Sonora, Arizona.”

  Master Therapass tugged at his beard, his expression unreadable. “I am the one who sent you there.”

  Marcus felt like someone had just hit him on the side of the head with a brick. “You . . . you what?” The world seemed to be spinning, and he clutched the edge of the table to keep from falling.

  “I was the wizard sent by the tower. And Tankum, my best friend and survivor of battles too numerous to count, was the warrior.”

  “Tankum Heartstrong?” Kyja asked. “The one whose statue is just outside the west gate?”

  Master Therapass nodded. “The same.”

  “But he’s been dead for . . .”

  “Thirteen years. When Tankum and I discovered Marcus, we thought at first he was dead. Seeing the brand on his arm, we understood he could be the child spoken of in the legend and despaired that we were not in time. Then the baby gave a cry, and we realized he was still alive. I tried to heal him but, like the rest of the inhabitants of that poor, doomed city, he had been attacked by a power which I quickly discovered my magic could not touch.

  “As soon as I realized dark magic was at work, Tankum and I tried to take the child and flee. It was too late. We had wondered what kind of army could destroy an entire city without leaving behind any of its own dead. We quickly learned the answer.

  “Out of the ground rose hundreds—thousands—of Fallen Ones. Men and beasts whose bodies had died, but whose spirits had been brought back by a wizard more powerful and terrible than anyone could imagine—venomous spiders, mutated hounds, things which were nothing but teeth. Leading them all were three dark wizards known as Thrathkin S’Bae. Literally translated as masters of the dead who walk, they are servants of the Dark Circle. It was as if we had suddenly been surrounded by a blanket of thick, black smoke which attacked us from all sides with teeth, claws, and blades.

  “Tankum fought ferociously. Whirling and slashing—ancient swords gripped tightly in both hands—he actually managed to force the dark legion back for a moment. Holding the child in my arms, I protected Tankum with my magic as best as I could, clearing our path with lightning bolts. But before we were halfway to the south wall, we realized our efforts were in vain. For every creature we cut down, three more rose up from the ground to take its place. The only way to save Marcus was to send him somewhere the dark wizard couldn’t follow.”

  “Ert,” Kyja said.

  “Yes.” Master Therapass looked to the sky, and Marcus saw tears were dripping down the old wizard’s wrinkled cheeks. “Opening a door to another world is a risky proposition at best. Less than a handful of wiz
ards possessed the knowledge at the time, and until yesterday, I’d have sworn I was the only one left alive who retained the ability. Tankum knew I would not be able to protect him while attempting the spell, yet without a moment’s hesitation, he pushed the child and me against the wall of a ruined tavern and stepped between us and the horde to make his final stand.

  “As I knelt before the wall—shielding the child from the dark creatures while I prepared the spell—I could hear the furious battle raging behind me. Once I glanced over my shoulder and saw Tankum wielding his swords while three pitch-black creatures hung from his body by needle-sharp teeth. Blood dripped from more wounds than I could count, and the tip of the sword in his right hand had been shattered.

  “I started to drop the doorway spell and began to transform into a wolf. Tankum sensed what I was doing and gave a shake of his massive head. Then he winked, ripped two of the creatures from his body, and dove back into the fray.

  “When I realized he had no intention of coming out of the battle alive, I committed myself to completing the spell as well as I could, so his death—and mine—would not be futile. I thought my spell had failed. But all at once the air around my head began to waver and sparkle. The clouds overhead went black and filled with electricity.

  “At the time I was not sure the doorway opened to the world I was attempting to reach. But as the air ripped open before me, Tankum finally went down, and the creatures swarmed over him. With no time to see where I was sending him, I pushed the baby through the portal and released the spell.

  “The doorway slammed shut with a clap of thunder, and I turned to save Tankum or lose my life trying. But as one, the creatures sank back into the ground—apparently realizing their prey was out of reach. Tankum lay stretched upon the blood-soaked street, sword hilts still clasped in both hands. Unable to stand, I crawled to where he had collapsed. At first I thought he was dead; no man could take the kind of injuries he had and live.