Final Passage (The Prisoner and the Sun #3)

by Brad Magnarella

Now Iliff found the river that he and Troll had followed shortly after entering the world. Onward it flowed, here frothing, there calm. Curious as to where it would have led them, Iliff followed it upstream. After some meandering, the river found its spring among some foothills that soon climbed to become the same Mountain on which he now stood. They had not been far.

  The revelation seemed to please Salvatore, who chuckled beside him. “Yes, yes, that happens,” he said.

  Now Iliff traced the river downstream to where his and Troll’s old shelter once stood, all the way to the tall grass where they had encountered Tradd’s mother, and farther still, to where he had first met Stag. Iliff walked along the edge of the high plateau as he went, recalling more and more of their journey in those earliest days—Troll’s first attempts at hunting, his own poor attempts to forage.

  The old man scuffed alongside him.

  At last Iliff found himself peering down to where something climbed the other side of the Mountain. Iliff squinted and felt over it with his awareness. It was a rambling structure of many levels, all made of stone. Its lowest levels went deep below ground. Its highest ones narrowed and climbed inside the clouds, hugging the mountainside. It looked to Iliff to be a fortress of some kind, or…

  All of the air left his body. The plateau seemed to fall away. Beside him, Salvatore laughed merrily.

  “It cannot be ours,” Iliff said when he could speak again.

  “And why not?”

  “It is so close. It comes almost through the clouds.”

  “How else would I have spoken with the Sun that day?”

  “So all this time, all that distance,” Iliff said, “and I had but to climb to the roof of…?” He looked from the familiar stone blocks beneath them to the pebbly teeth around which Salvatore now smiled. “Why, I could have arrived here in a day!”

  “I suppose you might have.”

  “But what of the journey?” Iliff asked, looking out over the world again, still not believing he had traveled in one great circle, a circle that had taken most of his life to complete. “Is this to say the journey was for nothing?”

  “Ah, young master, but you are measuring the journey in geography.” He took Iliff’s arm in his and patted it firmly. “Listen: First you must seek me. Then you must come to know my nature. And finally may you see me. It is what the Sun told me, if you remember. It is what I tell you now. Do you think you would have come to know my nature by that other way?”

  Iliff followed Salvatore’s gaze back down to the prison.

  “No,” Iliff said.

  “No,” Salvatore repeated. “And what is my nature?” he asked suddenly.

  Iliff looked on the slight, sagging fellow, still not certain whether or not to believe his claim to being the Sun. But as he watched him, a light seemed to fill the space behind his large pupils. And for the first time, Iliff realized he was no longer cold, no longer weak, and had not been ever since Salvatore’s arrival.

  Iliff drew a deep breath and recalled his journey. “You are beyond Ignorance,” he said. “And that is why I had to leave the prison. You are beyond Naiveté, and that is why I had to venture into the harsh wilderness. You are beyond Reclusion, and that is why I had to leave the swamp. You are beyond Light and Shadow, and that is why my walls around the township had to fall. You are beyond Life and Death, and that is why I had to venture over the Sea and through the Far Place. And you are beyond the World, and that is why I had to ascend the Mountain.”

  “And yet…” Salvatore said, gesturing for him to continue.

  “I’m sorry?”

  Sighing, he tapped the back of Iliff’s head with his staff so that his gaze fell to the world once more. And now Iliff saw not just the journey he had completed, but all of the journeys of all of the Seekers before him, including Salvatore’s. And he was surprised to see that Salvatore’s went out in a different direction than his own, negotiating a wider and even more sinuous course. But it was a familiar course, for he recognized in it people and places he had seen in Adramina’s manifold eyes. And the course was circular, like his own. In fact, none of the Seekers’ paths drew straight lines. They veered and twisted and tacked, many of them into beautiful patterns, but all of them ultimately circular. And in their circularity, Iliff’s awareness became enormous, far greater than anything he had attained before.

  He beheld the entire world.

  Iliff balanced this totality in his awareness a long time. As he did so, he recalled the creature he had seen on the morning of his and Skye’s wedding, and many years before, on the night of his escape from the prison. A curious creature, black and shining. A beetle. Both times it had been carrying a clump of earth in its mandibles. And that is what the world seemed to Iliff now, a round clump of earth. Small enough to carry in his own jaw. Small enough to swallow, even.

  “And yet,” Iliff said from far away, “you are all of these things. You encompass everything.”

  When Iliff came back to himself, Salvatore was dancing a small jig around him. “I knew I saw a light in you!” He appeared as pleased as on the morning Iliff had agreed to listen to his tale.

  Iliff smiled for a moment, then became serious. “I hope you won’t consider this impolite,” he said. “But as the Sun, you are nothing like I would have imagined. Nothing at all. And even though I look on you, I still cannot say who I am.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought I was supposed to know who I was and where I come from.”

  Salvatore clucked his tongue. “You just told me who you are. And that is where you come from.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You left the prison,” he recited, “and so you are beyond Ignorance. You ventured into the harsh wilderness, and so you are beyond Naiveté. You left the swamp, which means you are beyond Reclusion. Your walls around the township fell, and so you are beyond Light and Shadow. You ventured through the Far Place, so you are beyond Life and Death. You have ascended the Mountain, which means you are beyond the World. And yet…”

  When Iliff realized where Salvatore was leading him, he shook his head vigorously.

  “Yes, yes, you have just seen,” Salvatore said. “You are all these things. You encompass everything.”

  “But that is impossible.”

  “Why?” Salvatore asked.

  “Because that would mean… I was the Sun.”

  Salvatore laughed and clapped Iliff’s shoulder. “You see?” he said. “You do know!”

  Just as Iliff opened his mouth to argue, something stirred. It was the same feeling he had had as a boy upon hearing the old man’s story—as though something familiar was awakening deep inside him. And now he understood that it had been awakening his entire life, but so gradually that he had not always noticed. The feeling swelled forth, more powerful and resonant than anything he had experienced before, more powerful, even, than when he had stood before Adramina, the refractor of light. For he sensed this awakening was the pure light beyond the Prism, the Sun itself, coming into full awareness inside him.

  Iliff fought to suppress the feeling.

  “But how is that possible?” he asked. “How can we both be the Sun?”

  Salvatore lowered himself to the stone and crossed his legs. Iliff sat opposite, crossing his own legs. The old man sighed and looked over the blue-black sky, his staff standing against his shoulder, his knotted fingers laced around its middle. To Iliff, he appeared very sage suddenly.

  “Each day the Sun circles its creation,” he said. “Why, it only recently descended over there.” He nodded toward the west, then turned his head. “And tomorrow it will rise there. And so go our days and nights. But the Sun is observing, young master. Always is it observing.”

  “Observing for what?”

  “To see whether any of us are returning. For it is this more than anything that sustains the Sun. You see, as its manifestations, we all hold within ourselves the burning seed of our origin. And it is this seed that agitates us. Indeed, it is t
his same seed that agitated you, young master. Agitated you to defy your walls and duties and return to your beginning—indeed, to become your beginning. It is why you never would have known peace until you completed your circle and arrived here.”

  Again the familiar feeling rose inside Iliff, and again he forced it down.

  “And now I must die.”

  “Of course,” Salvatore said, blinking his eyes wide. “You can no longer pretend to be separate from the Sun. You can no longer pretend to be other than the Sun. The line between acceptance and non-acceptance of this truth is the final wall. And yes, to fell this wall is to die. But it is also to be born, young master—into the Sun, into yourself. No longer as a manifestation, whether he be called ‘Iliff’ or ‘Salvatore,’ but as all of it. And that is how I can tell you that I am the Sun and that you are the Sun. Both are true.”

  For a long time, Iliff sat looking on the old man.

  “What happens upon becoming the Sun?” he asked at last.

  “Why, all creation is yours.”

  “What does this mean?”

  “You experience this world of yours, this interwoven world that is you. You pass through the Prism as you please, you guide your manifestations on their own journeys, the ones who seek. You immerse yourself in their growth. You are like a gardener to his garden, except the seeds you sow are glimmers of yourself. You are beyond all of your own manifestations, yes, and yet inseparable from them.” He chuckled softly, his eyes glowing in the night. “It is quite a way to be, I must say.”

  The feeling rose in Iliff once more.

  “This feeling you keep fighting down,” Salvatore said. “It is there because you are close, so very close. Indeed, if you are still here tomorrow when the Sun ascends, you will no longer be able to deny it or yourself. When you look upon it at last, when you behold the Sun and the Sun beholds you, it will burst into full awareness inside you, and your final wall will be consumed. You will die as creation and be reborn as creator, whence you came.”

  “What of Skye?”

  “Ah, yes,” Salvatore said, smiling. “What a lovely, lovely story. You would carry her into the full knowledge of the Sun as well. Just as she sensed, the Far Place will fall. Her people will awaken. Some will come to the Mountain by her reckoning. Others will choose to wander the world and settle into new cycles and beliefs. Alas, it is the way of things.”

  Iliff warmed at his words.

  “And Tradd?”

  Salvatore cocked an eye over Iliff’s shoulder and chuckled.

  Iliff turned and spied the silhouette of a ragged head peeking from behind one of the stones. The silhouette ducked down, but upon realizing he was spotted rose to his full height and ambled up the final steps.

  “Tradd!” Iliff called, springing to his feet. He met Tradd as he stepped onto the high table, and embraced him.

  “I had to climb down a ways,” Tradd explained, “but I found a collapse of stones. They led to the stairs. But when I found you here and heard you talking, I wasn’t sure whether or not to interrupt.”

  “No, no, it’s all right,” Iliff said. “This is the man from the stories I’ve told you. This is Salvatore.”

  But when Iliff turned, he found the old man nearly to the stone from behind which he had first appeared. Through the darkness, his white hair bobbed above the taps of his staff.

  “Wait!” Iliff called after him.

  Salvatore stopped mid-shuffle and turned, his eyes flashing white.

  “I have to know,” Iliff said. “As the Sun… do you ever become lonely?”

  “Oh no, young master.” He smiled and held his arms out. “Not only have I all of you, but there are others. Others like me.”

  Iliff followed the old man’s raised eyes and was startled to find the high dome awash in piercing lights. They shone in great constellations, speaking to things beyond knowing, enhancing one another, illuminating the plateau on which Iliff stood as well as the clouds beneath him.

  “Indeed, there are many of us,” Salvatore said. “And it is a congenial community for the most part, though at times we disagree. We talk of our worlds, mostly. We share in one another’s joys when our manifestations return to their beginnings, to us. But we wonder, too, where we come from.” He chuckled and turned on his staff. “It seems a small seed stirs inside each of us as well.”

  “Where are you going?” Iliff asked.

  “Why, nowhere at all,” he answered.

  With two more taps of his staff, he was behind the stone. Iliff looked after him and was surprised when, a moment later, a bird hopped onto the stone’s top. It glistened black in the night. Iliff heard Tradd start beside him, for indeed, it was the same bird that had guided them from the Far Place and through the fallen trees. The bird sang a short song, then rose up and flapped westward. And when it was gone from sight, so too was the last bit of paleness along that horizon.

  Chapter 30

  “How much did you overhear?” Iliff asked.

  The luminous crescents of Tradd’s eyes seemed reluctant to fall from the night sky, a sky that reminded Iliff of Troll’s final immolation.

  “Well, mainly that you’re the Sun,” Tradd said.

  Iliff chuckled. “As are you.”

  “And that you have to die.”

  “Yes,” Iliff said solemnly.

  “Does that mean…?” Tradd’s voice trailed off.

  Iliff placed his hand on his companion’s shoulder. “You are far along on your own journey, Tradd. But what you decide now, that is your choice. If you do not feel you are ready, you have only to climb back down before first light. I would understand. The Mountain will still be here.”

  Resolve seemed to harden Tradd’s gaze as he nodded. And before he spoke, Iliff knew his decision.

  “Now that I’m grown, I want to journey through the lands of my mother and father,” he said. “To see the forest grown. To travel along the river, as you did. I want to cross the swamp and return to the town. And when I get there, I’ll tell everyone of our voyage, both Fythe and Garott. I’ll tell them of the lands beyond, where the Mountain climbs to the Sun. I’ll tell them that’s where you have gone, you and Skye, and that the legends are true.”

  Iliff smiled and squeezed Tradd’s shoulder. Iliff had forgotten to ask Skye about its meaning, but it was just as she had foretold to the townspeople: A messenger will come and tell you. A messenger from the south, though we go north.

  He pulled Tradd into an embrace.

  “I am so proud of you,” he said. “Your father is proud of you.”

  “Those are some of the last words Skye spoke to me,” Tradd whispered.

  Iliff’s chest swelled with her presence. “We would not have made it here without you,” he said.

  They held one another for a long time.

  “Here,” Iliff said. He took Salvatore’s bag from his back and helped Tradd put his head through the rope. Tradd shrugged his shoulder until his arm was through as well. He adjusted the bag over his back. It looked small on him—too small, in fact—but he wore it with a posture of great importance.

  “There is my old prison,” Iliff said, directing Tradd’s gaze over the edge of the plateau. “And that way also lies the forest. We will all be close. Troll, Skye, me. You have but to call on us.”

  “Thank you,” Tradd said.

  “I look forward to your return. To our reunion.”

  Tradd clasped Iliff’s hand and shook it, just as Iliff had taught him on their first meeting. They smiled into the other’s eyes, and then Tradd turned and began his descent. Iliff watched until the clouds stirred around his bag and closed over his tangle of black hair.

  * * *

  Iliff sat in the center of the plateau, eyes closed, as still and quiet as the air around him. That he could hold the entire world in his awareness seemed so effortless now, so natural. Once more, he was reminded of the beetle and its small clump of earth. He watched it amble the breadth of his consciousness, then lift away. At length, Iliff o
pened his eyes. In the deep black, the stars had become even more abundant. They swept and swirled, some shining near, others farther off. But all were kindred to one another, Iliff thought. And in some way, all were kindred to him.

  The Sun was on the other side of the world now, arcing into its ascent. Iliff could feel it, just as he felt its burning awareness continuing to climb inside him. Chill air steamed up around him.

  He thought now of the life he had known, the life he would leave.

  He stood and walked to the edge of the high table. Though Tradd had long since departed, Iliff looked along the path of his descent until his gaze rested on the high walls of the prison. The same walls he had once labored on with a trowel. So near to where he stood now and yet so very distant.

  Iliff remained standing there in thought.

  At last he began his own descent.

  * * *

  A large spill of rocks nearly hid the fissure that opened between two large blocks near the prison’s top. Cloud mist swirled as Iliff knelt and cleared the rocks away. He paused a moment, then pressed himself between the stones.

  When he cast his awareness before him, it became light. He followed the fissure as it wend and fell, the smell of stone concretizing into memories of his boyhood. At last Iliff found himself peering out from a broken wall and into a large room. Two sets of six pillars rose to a vaulted ceiling. He climbed down the wall onto a dais. Across the long room, he found a set of stairs.

  Many levels Iliff descended, one winding staircase after another. He happened upon guards here and there, but with only the barest thought, concealed himself from their eyes and minds. When the stairs and corridors straightened at last, Iliff stopped and listened. He remembered the sound well: hundreds of prisoners breathing at once. It was the last sound he had heard upon leaving his wing.

  Iliff descended several more levels before departing the stairwell for one of the corridors. The light of his awareness illuminated each cell, each prisoner. They rose as gray bundles, deep in their sleep, then fell away.

  At last, Iliff turned and faced one of the cells. He ran his hand along the top of the frame until he found the bolt. When he pulled it, the door eased open on its hinges. Though he had never stood in this cell, it was the mirror image of the one beside it, though it seemed so much smaller now. He looked over the wash basin, the few personals in a line; the mirror, where he caught his own reflection, tall and suffused with heat; the wooden table.