CHILDREN OF AMARID

by DAVID B. COE

  “We need to find out what he knows,” he insisted, as they sat by the lake in the late-afternoon sun.

  “I know we do,” Alayna conceded, “but we may be the only ones alive who know that Sartol betrayed the Order. We have to warn the Order. If Theron kills us, there might not be anyone left to stop Sartol.”

  “If Theron wanted to kill us, he would have done it last night,” Jaryd countered, hoping that he sounded convincing.

  In the end, Alayna relented. In return, Jaryd promised that even if they got no more information from the spirit tonight, they would leave the grove first thing in the morning and start back toward Amarid.

  Just before dusk, they took some time to search for berries and roots with which to supplement the dried meat that Jaryd still carried in the folds of his robe. But as the sky darkened, and their encounter with the Owl-Master drew nearer, Jaryd found that he was not terribly hungry. For whatever reason, Theron had spared their lives the night before, but this did little to ease his fears. Baden had said that no one had ever returned from the grove alive. And they were still in the grove. Alayna seemed nervous as well, and, in the end, they ate very little before returning to the water’s edge to await Theron’s arrival.

  Even by the lake, where the ancient trees of the grove could not fully obscure the sky, darkness came quickly. As the pale blues and yellows of twilight gave way to darker shades of purple and indigo and, finally, to black, stars began to emerge. Jaryd tried to calm his nerves by picking out the familiar constellations. To the west, he could see Arick, with his arms raised, one extended to give form to the land he offered to his children, the other poised to smite it. Almost directly overhead, Jaryd saw Duclea kneeling before her husband, her arms also open, but in supplication and grief. Much lower in the sky, just barely above the tops of the trees, stood the twins, Lon and Tobyn, with their backs to one another and their arms folded defiantly. And between them, forever spiraling in her graceful dance, and beginning now to rise slowly in the sky in order to assume her place of ascendance for the autumn equinox, Jaryd saw Leora, whose stars always gleamed brightest over Accalia and the forest that bore her name.

  As Jaryd and Alayna sat silently by the lake, staring at these glowing denizens of the night sky, another light, pale at first, but gradually growing brighter, appeared at their backs. Aware, suddenly, of his heart hammering in his chest, and thankful that he had not eaten very much, Jaryd scrambled to his feet. Alayna was next to him, standing as well, and, sharing a quick glance, and what Jaryd hoped would be a reassuring smile, they turned to face for a second time the emerald luminescence of the unsettled Owl-Master.

  “You are still here, I see,” Theron commented sourly as he reached them, “though the traitor has left.”

  Jaryd and Alayna looked at each other.

  “We . . . we didn’t know that he was gone, Owl-Master,” Alayna stammered.

  “Apparently,” the spirit rumbled. “And are the birds on your shoulders merely ornaments, or do you know how to communicate with them?”

  Jaryd felt his pulse racing. “We looked,” he said, the words sounding like a plea. “We didn’t see anything.”

  Theron’s expression hardened. “That is not my problem!” he countered harshly. “And it does not excuse your continued intrusion on my solitude! I would have thought that one night in this grove would be enough for you! But apparently I was too easy on you!”

  “We are sorry, Owl-Master,” Alayna offered. “Truly, we did not know that Sartol was gone.”

  “And if you had,” Theron demanded, narrowing his eyes, “would you have left?”

  Alayna hesitated. “We still have questions, Owl-Master. We need your help.”

  “When did your ignorance become my concern?”

  Alayna glanced at Jaryd and shrugged slightly, as if unsure of how to proceed. Jaryd didn’t know what to do, either. He felt his frustration mounting. And in that moment it occurred to him that, during their previous encounter with Theron, the spirit had not reacted well to their servility. Indeed, the only progress they had made with the Owl-Master—and admittedly, they had not made much—came when Jaryd and Alayna asserted themselves. Ignoring the pounding of his heart and the knot in his stomach, Jaryd took a deep breath and accepted the challenge he heard in Theron’s tone, knowing as he did that, if he was wrong, the spirit would probably kill them both. “The stakes haven’t changed since last night, Owl-Master,” he said, meeting the spirit’s bright, angry glare, “nor has our need for haste. If the rest of our company is gone, as you say, then we’ll leave with first light. But you issued a challenge to us last night. I believe you said, ‘Let us see how you endure a night as my guests.’ We’ve met that challenge, Owl-Master. We survived. We’ve earned your consideration.”

  Theron’s eyes flashed angrily, and Jaryd feared that he had miscalculated badly. “Impudent child!” the spirit raged. “You dare speak to me in this manner? I should strike you down where you stand!”

  “Then do!” Alayna returned, seeming to understand Jaryd’s tactic. “But stop playing games with us!”

  The Owl-Master glared at them, his glowing features as hard and cold as a ceryll. And then, slowly he began to nod. “You have courage,” he admitted grudgingly. “I saw it in each of you last night, and I see it again now. Perhaps there is some shred of hope for your Order after all.” He paused, as if considering something. “Twice now you have invited me to kill you,” he said at last. “I will not make you do it a third time. Ask what you will, Hawk-Mages. But know this: I will not simply give you the information you need. You must earn it. I will answer your questions as I see fit, and I will steer you in the right direction. But, ultimately, you must figure this out for yourselves.”

  Jaryd let out a slow breath, and he saw Alayna pass a rigid, white hand through her hair. Then she glanced at him, a question in her dark eyes. After a moment, Jaryd nodded. “Very well,” Alayna said, turning back to Theron. “We’ll be grateful for any help you can offer.”

  Theron gestured for the young mages to sit on the trunk of a fallen tree that lay on the ground not far from where they stood. He walked with them over to the tree, but, rather than sitting, he began to pace in front of them. He suddenly seemed agitated; his movements had grown tense and sharp. Jaryd and Alayna exchanged another look, both of them unsure of how Theron expected them to proceed. It was the Owl-Master, however, who broke the silence. “You must understand,” he began, “that this is an adversary unlike any the Order has ever faced.”

  “More dangerous, you mean?” Alayna asked.

  Theron nodded. “Yes, but not just that. Different.” He sounded relieved in a way to be speaking, but he could not quite mask the tension in his voice. It occurred to Jaryd that perhaps the Owl-Master had wanted to help them all along. “You cannot defeat this enemy through conventional means. The Order will have to adapt. It will have to change.”

  Alayna stared at him, her eyes wide. “How?”

  Theron halted his pacing and grinned. “You will have to work harder than that,” he told her.

  Alayna smiled and fell silent, and Jaryd tried a different tack. “What’s Sartol up to? What’s his role in all of this?”

  Theron resumed his walking. “Be wary of that one,” he warned. “He is very strong, stronger than any mage since Phelan. But do not focus on Sartol exclusively. He is but one piece of the puzzle, and, even if you can defeat him, greater perils will remain.”

  Stronger than any mage since Phelan, Jaryd repeated to himself. Phelan, the Wolf-Master; the only member of the Order ever to bind to a creature other than a hawk or owl. Phelan’s power and his heroics during the third and final war with Abborij were legendary. Now Theron had compared Sartol’s strength with his. No wonder Jessamyn and Peredur had been unable to withstand Sartol’s assault.

  Alayna, apparently, had been thinking along similar lines. “But if Sartol is so powerful,” she said, a note of desperation creeping into her voice, “how could anyone else in Tobyn-S
er represent more of a threat?”

  Again the Owl-Master stopped, and this time, he gazed so intently at Alayna that she averted her eyes and brushed back her hair self-consciously. “Your question reveals more than I could possibly tell you about the shortsightedness of the Order,” he declared with fervor. “Look beyond your shores. Once, when I was your age, the Order could afford to limit its vision to this land. But the world has changed, even if Tobyn-Ser has not. You ignore these changes at your own risk.”

  Somehow, Jaryd was standing. “Do you mean,” he demanded, “that the attacks on Tobyn-Ser have been committed by outlanders?”

  Theron regarded him for a long time. Then he nodded once.

  His mind reeling, Jaryd took several steps away from the tree trunk on which he had been sitting and stared across the lake. Ripples from the waterfall rolled gently across the surface, making the starlight reflected on the water dance and glitter. Outlanders, Jaryd thought to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. This had never occurred to him; as far as he knew, it had never occurred to any of them. Theron was absolutely right about that. He wanted to ask the Owl-Master where they were from: Abborij? Lon-Ser? Maybe someplace of which Jaryd knew nothing, not even a name. But he was sure that Theron would not give that information, at least not yet. He turned back to the Owl-Master. “Why would they do this?” he asked. “What do they want from us?”

  The spirit shook his head. “I am not fully certain. And even if I was, I think this is something you must discover for yourselves. I will tell you this, though: their tactics reveal their weakness; foil their plan and you may save yourselves.”

  Jaryd looked at Alayna, whose ashen face told him that she, too, had been shocked by Theron’s revelations. She shrugged slightly, and he faced Theron again. “We don’t understand,” he said. “What do their tactics tell us?”

  “You will have to give that some thought,” the Owl-Master replied enigmatically.

  The three of them fell silent. Jaryd thought it ironic in a way. He had so many questions, and yet, now that Theron was willing to speak with them, he couldn’t think of any.

  “You said the others who came with us were gone,” Alayna ventured after several moments. “Did they go back to Am—? Did they go back to the Great Hall?”

  “I never said all were gone,” Theron replied. “Just the traitor. One still remains.”

  “Who?” Alayna asked with concern.

  “I don’t know his name. He is dark-skinned, with a brown bird.”

  “Trahn!” Jaryd said with recognition. “He’s a friend,” he added, explaining to Theron.

  “How do we know that?” Alayna demanded.

  Jaryd shrugged, turning to face her. “We’re talking about Trahn. Of course, he’s a friend. Baden’s known him for years.”

  “A few days ago, I would probably have given you similar assurances about Sartol,” she argued. “We just can’t be certain anymore, Jaryd.”

  “Sure we can.” He looked to Theron for help. “I’m right, aren’t I? We can trust Trahn.”

  The Owl-Master made an ambivalent gesture with his hands. “I cannot read what is in men’s hearts,” he explained. “I know of the traitor because I have seen him do . . . certain things. But I know nothing of this man. For what it is worth, I have not seen him take any actions that could be construed as a betrayal.” He turned to Alayna. “I would also say this: do not let the duplicity of one person color all your friendships. The two of you cannot win this fight alone; eventually, you will have to trust others.”

  After a pause, Alayna gave a small nod. She then turned to Jaryd, who had been watching her closely. “All right,” she breathed, “we’ll find him in the morning. But we should be careful, just in case.”

  “That makes sense,” Jaryd agreed.

  Alayna faced the Owl-Master again. “Have you seen mages other than Sartol doing . . . whatever things you saw him do?”

  “No,” Theron replied, shaking his head. “He is the only traitor I have seen.”

  “Then maybe, Owl-Master,” Jaryd said, “you can help explain a vision I had several weeks ago, just before one of the attacks.” He stared at the blue ceryll shining from within the stick he carried, as if he might catch a glimpse once more of the mage he had seen in his dream so many weeks ago. “I saw a man,” Jaryd recounted. “I thought at the time that he was a mage, although now I’m not as certain. I couldn’t see his face, but he wore a mage’s cloak. He carried a staff with a blood-red ceryll, and a huge black hawk sat on his shoulder. In my vision, he handed me a single black feather that burst into flames when I touched it.”

  “Do you remember anything else?” Theron asked, his bright eyes narrowed and intent. “Perhaps something about the bird’s eyes?”

  Jaryd looked sharply at the spirit. “You’ve seen him, too, haven’t you?”

  The Owl-Master did not respond. “What about the hawk’s eyes?” he pressed.

  “I remember them being strange, unlike the eyes of any bird I’d seen before. But I can’t describe them. They were just different.” He looked searchingly at Theron. “Owl-Master, have you seen this man, too?”

  “Yes,” Theron admitted, “a number of times. And,” he added, after a brief hesitation, “I have seen more than one of them at once.”

  “How many?” Alayna demanded.

  “Mostly, I have seen them in pairs or groups of three. But, on one or two occasions, I have had visions of as many as sixteen.”

  “Sixteen!” Jaryd exploded.

  Theron nodded. “One of them has died, I know, but the others still roam the land.”

  “Died how?”

  “That, I did not see.”

  “What do you know about the birds’ eyes?” Alayna demanded. “What were you trying to get Jaryd to recognize?”

  Again, the Owl-Master faltered. “In truth, I do not know. I have seen what your friend has seen, and I have noticed the alien appearance of the creatures’ eyes, as he did. But I do not know what it means.”

  “You have an idea,” she insisted.

  “An idea, yes. But I am not prepared to tell you what it is,” the spirit told her with finality.

  She held Theron’s gaze for a moment longer. Then she looked away. Again, no one spoke for some time. The sound of the cascade tumbling ceaselessly into the water drifted across the lake, and a light wind stirred the trees.

  “I must do this my way,” Theron said at last, breaking the stillness in a voice that offered no hint of concession, no room for compromise, “for reasons I have given you already, and for others I choose not to share. No doubt, you deem me capricious in all of this. If so, that is too bad. These are the terms under which I have agreed to assist you. If you find them unsatisfactory, you are free to leave.”

  Alayna shook her head. “We agreed to your terms, Owl-Master. Forgive me if I gave offense.”

  Theron shook his head. “You did not offend me,” he told her matter-of-factly.

  Another brief silence ensued, this one broken by Jaryd. “The man I envisioned,” he said with sudden intensity, facing the Owl-Master, “and those you’ve seen; are they the outlanders?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you said that their tactics revealed their weaknesses, right?” Jaryd continued in the same tone.

  “I did,” Theron returned, a fierce grin of recognition spreading across his features.

  Jaryd turned to Alayna. “They’re masquerading as mages while they commit the attacks so that they can get people to distrust the Order,” he stated. “So that must mean that they can’t fight us directly.”

  “Do they have magic?” Alayna asked Theron.

  “Not as you know it,” the Owl-Master told her cryptically.

  Alayna frowned. “Is whatever they have as strong as the Mage-Craft?”

  Theron paused, considering this. “A difficult question,” he remarked finally. “In some ways, it is, and in others, it is not.” He smiled as her frown deepened. “Your friend is right, though: they
cannot defeat the Mage-Craft directly. That should tell you something.”

  “Is the destruction of the Order their ultimate goal, or just a means to another end?” Jaryd asked.

  “Do not overestimate the importance of the Order,” the Owl-Master told him coldly. “It is a figurehead, nothing more.”

  “Then are they trying to destroy the Mage-Craft?”

  Theron shook his head in exasperation. “Think, Hawk-Mage! You should be able to answer that yourself!”

  “If they were trying to destroy the Mage-Craft, Sartol wouldn’t be helping them,” Alayna said with conviction. “They must have offered him dominion over Tobyn-Ser to get him to cooperate. Which means that they can’t rid themselves of the Mage-Craft, they can only try to control who wields it.”

  Jaryd nodded and then looked at the Owl-Master speculatively. “Can you see things beyond Tobyn-Ser’s borders?” he asked.

  “Not in the way you mean,” Theron replied. “I cannot see events or people’s actions as I can here in this land, but I see vague images—shadows, if you will—that give me some sense of what other lands are like.” He shook his head. “I have never understood why this should be so, why I should be able to see even that much. I have always believed that the Mage-Craft flows from the land, but, if that were the case, my vision would end at the edge of Tobyn-Ser.” He stopped, lost in thought, his cold, bright eyes focused on the ground before him. After a moment, he looked at Jaryd. “Why?”

  The Hawk-Mage gave a small shrug. “I thought maybe, if you could see what went on in other lands, it might help us figure out where these people are from, and what they want.”

  “In time, you will find other ways to learn those things,” Theron assured him. “You need not learn everything at once. You have already gleaned a great deal that will be of use to you.”

  Once again, silence descended upon them. Jaryd could not think of any more questions. Theron was right: the young mages had learned a tremendous amount. All that remained was for them to convince the Owl-Master to ally himself with their cause. Faced now with this task, however, Jaryd found himself unsure of how to proceed. Theron had made it clear from the outset that he would not be coerced or cajoled into helping the Order directly, and Jaryd had little confidence in their ability to sway him from that position. More than that, though, Jaryd realized that he did not wish to try. Recalling the grief that he had seen briefly in the Owl-Master’s glowing eyes the night before, Jaryd knew that he could offer no compelling reason why Theron should assist them. The Owl-Master owed nothing to Tobyn-Ser that a thousand years of ostracism had not already exacted. It was enough that history had consigned him to infamy, forgetting all the good that he had done before. It was enough that he had been sentenced to an eternity of unrest by his own curse. Jaryd turned to Alayna, who was already looking at him. Gazing into her eyes, he understood that she harbored similar doubts. They both turned back to Theron, intending to thank him for his assistance, and then to leave.