by Jim Hines
“You awake now?” Pynne asked. She had been gently shaking his uninjured side for close to a minute.
“Yes,” Nakor answered. Concentrating, he placed a hand on his wound. Frowning with the effort, he gradually healed the deep puncture made by the priest’s dagger.
A few minutes later, he staggered to his feet. Tearing the bandage from his shoulder, he walked into the room Galadrion was in.
She was sitting in a corner, looking miserable.
“Are you okay?” Nakor asked, concerned.
Galadrion just looked at him.
“We need to leave here, soon,” Nakor continued. “There’s no way of knowing when Olara will send another attack.”
Maybe you should have thought of that before taking your elf-nap?
Slowly, Galadrion got to her feet. Walking as if in a daze, she followed Nakor out of the room.
Whoo still slept peacefully under Pynne’s watchful eye. She glanced up as Nakor and Galadrion walked in.
“Let’s go,” Nakor said, lifting Whoo in his arms. Together, they walked out of the castle.
Silently, Nakor sat down on the grass and gestured at the others to do likewise. Once they had complied, he closed his eyes and began another spell.
His short nap had been too little time to completely replenish the magical energy he had expended earlier. Beads of sweat appeared on his face as he used his will to manipulate what little power he still had.
A short time later, he opened his eyes and let out a deep breath. Nakor gestured with one hand, using the other to hold Whoo in his lap.
Together, they began to rise, suspended on a carpet of air.
“If you can fly, why do you waste all your time on the ground?” Pynne asked.
Nakor allowed a smile to appear on his face for an instant. “It’s a secret,” he answered.
“Would it be easier if I flew on my own?” she offered impishly.
“It might,” he responded, “but I don’t think you’d be able to keep up with us.”
Pynne looked at him with disbelief clearly etched on her face. “You’ll have to prove it to me.”
As they cleared the tops of the trees, a smile spread over Nakor’s face.
“As you wish.” He made a small motion with his index finger.
That day, Pynne was amazed to discover that when Nakor was saying “As you wish,” what he meant was, “I love you.”
Pynne grabbed reflexively at Nakor’s cloak as they shot forward. Her hair and clothes flapped madly in the wind as they flew at incredible speeds.
It was a bright night, well lit by the stars and the moon. She hated to admit it, but Nakor had been right. They were racing through the air faster than she had ever flown before. It was exhilarating.
Cautiously, she stood up. There was nothing beneath her feet, and yet it felt as if she was standing on something solid. The air on which she stood had a slight give to it, feeling slightly swamplike. With a smile, she spread her arms and let the gusty winds buffet her small body.
Nakor sat silently, lost in thought. Ever since he and Brigit had fled two years ago, Olara had seemed content to leave them in peace. Now, suddenly, there had been two attacks in the same night. What had changed, he wondered silently.
He slipped the priest’s ring out of his pouch and studied it. That had been Calugar’s ring, before he had been murdered by Olara. Apparently, his death was important enough that Olara had been willing to send her high priest out to kill him. It made no sense. Why now, after two years, would she suddenly be so intent on killing a lone elf?
It’s worth noting that at no point in this entire book does Nakor think to check on Brigit, or to send word that Olara is being all evil again. This reflects rather poorly on either him or the author. I leave it to the reader to decide which.
He dropped the ring back into his pouch. A better question would be, what was he going to do about it?
Chapter 3
Nakor waved a hand, and they slowly began to glide downward. Soon, they came to a halt in front of a small, stone building in a circular clearing. Nakor stood up, mentally ending the spell.
Some authors might have explained why Nakor can do magic, or what kind of powers he had, or what the limits were…anything to avoid the impression that he’s simply pulling spells out of his pointed ears without rhyme or reason. But I prefer to preserve the mystery.
Pynne had vanished the instant she felt them sinking toward the ground. Nakor glanced over at Galadrion, who still seemed pale and weak. He was worried about her. The attack by Olara’s high priest seemed to have taken a lot out of her.
Noticing his stare, Galadrion turned and began walking toward the building. Unable to do anything else, Nakor followed. Pynne flew invisibly behind them both.
It was an simple, stone structure. The doorway was a simple arch that framed a sturdy-looking oak door. In front of the door stood a large, burly man wearing white robes and holding a heavy wooden club. A plain copper amulet hung around his neck. To Nakor’s eye, the amulet and the white robes marked him as an initiate of some sort.
He watched without speaking as Nakor and Galadrion approached.
“Our friend needs healing,” Nakor said with a nod towards Whoo.
The initiate glanced at the unconscious pixie, then peered closely at Galadrion for a moment. “You may enter,” he began, “but the undead are forbidden within the temple.”
Galadrion turned away. An expression of pain raced across her face, but it was gone so quickly that anyone not watching would have missed it completely.
Nakor had been watching, and felt a wave of fury pass through him as he witnessed Galadrion’s pain. He reached out and caught her arm as she began to walk away. Turning back to the initiate, he spoke in an even, quiet voice. “The undead is my friend, and she stays with me.”
The white robed man simply adjusted his grip on the club and looked at Nakor in an appraising, calculating sort of way.
Forcing back his anger, Nakor asked in a tight voice “Then could you send a healer out to see us?”
The initiate shook his head silently.
Taking a deep breath, Nakor turned and gently passed Whoo’s body to Galadrion. “We don’t have time for this,” he muttered.
Turning back around, Nakor cast a spell. He used his anger and frustration to supplement his minuscule reserves of energy. Even with that extra power, he swayed unsteadily as he finished his spell.
Stepping forward, the initiate raised his club to strike. Unfortunately for the initiate, the club now had different ideas.
Touched by Nakor’s magic, the wooden club suddenly remembered what it was like to be alive and to grow. And grow it did. Branches shot out of the club and wrapped themselves around the initiate’s arm. Soon his entire body was enveloped by the newly animated club.
Nakor stepped past the helpless guard and tried the door. It was locked. Ignoring the initiate’s glare of defiance, he turned around.
“Galadrion?”
She handed Whoo’s body back to Nakor, who stepped out of the way. With no expression on her face, Galadrion calmly ripped the door off of its hinges, lock and all.
Nakor smiled to himself and walked into the temple, followed closely by Galadrion. Pynne began to follow, but then a thought struck her and she took a moment to hover in front of the initiate. A quick push, and then she turned and flew after her companions.
A muffled cry, followed by a crash, signaled the toppling of the temple guard. Pynne giggled softly to herself as she waited for Galadrion to wedge the door back in the archway. Leaving the door propped slightly off-kilter in the doorway, Galadrion turned and followed Nakor inside.
Once inside the temple, they stopped. The only item worth noting was a white marble altar at the far side of the temple. A number of doors scattered almost randomly along three of the walls. From one of these doors, two men emerged wearing the gray robes of temple priests.
“Welcome back, Nakor,” said one.
“Our f
riend needs healing,” he replied bluntly.
The other priest stepped forward. Studying Whoo’s wingless body, he asked “How did this happen?”
“He was burned,” Nakor answered.
The first priest raised an eyebrow at Nakor’s blunt manner. After a second, he turned to his companion.
Raised eyebrow count: 5
“See to him, Sorin.”
The priest addressed as Sorin gently took Whoo from Nakor, then turned wordlessly and walked through another door.
“Your friend will be cared for,” the remaining priest said.
“Thank you, Thomas,” Nakor responded wearily. As his fatigue caught up with him, he sank down to sit on the floor. With a slight smile, Thomas joined him.
Galadrion remained standing. Fatigue had no meaning for her, and she rarely allowed herself to relax. Slightly apart from the others, she allowed her mind to wander. The attack in Nakor’s home had awoke the self-loathing she habitually ignored. Now, she simply waited, alone in her hatred. It would pass in time. It always did.
After a moment of studying the situation, Pynne allowed herself to become visible, and landed gracefully beside Nakor. Thomas raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Raised eyebrow count: 6
He turned to look closely at Galadrion. She simply returned his stare, her face expressionless.
Looking back at Nakor, he said “I trust your judgement in bringing these strangers to our temple, but I doubt Anthony would have been so open-minded. If I may ask…” he concluded with a glance toward the broken door.
With a slightly sheepish smile, Nakor answered “He’s fine. Somewhat… immobile, but fine.”
“Unless he bruised something on the way down,” Pynne added.
Thomas sighed quietly to himself. He grasped a silver amulet from around his neck, similar to the copper one the initiate had worn. He closed his eyes briefly.
Moments later, a man wearing white robes emerged from one of the doors. “Yes, Brother Thomas?” he asked politely.
“Go and assist Anthony,” Thomas directed. He waited until the white-robed man disappeared. Then he studied Nakor carefully, noting the weariness etched into his features. “Would you care to tell me?” he invited.
Nakor hesitated only for a moment. Starting with his encounter with Whoo and Pynne, he began to describe the two attacks made by the Spider Goddess’s priests over the past day. Galadrion and Pynne added what few details Nakor forgot to mention.
A half hour later, Nakor ended his tale. Thomas nodded and slowly began to speak, almost to himself.
“I remember when Olara returned, two years ago. A goddess, gone for five thousand years, was suddenly among us once more.”
Ever notice how these things always involve nice, round numbers? Why don’t we ever see an evil goddess who vanished for 3,142 years?
Nakor looked down, feeling guilty. He had never quite managed to forgive himself for his part in that resurrection.
“The gods do not decide lightly to destroy one of their own,” Thomas continued. “Yet this was their decision in Olara’s case. They battled for over a hundred years. Eventually, they were able to imprison her, powerless, in an astral prison of their own fashioning. The physical manifestation of that prison was the very temple from which you freed her. She had been left there, trapped in another plane, ever since. The gods made the decision to allow her to survive in exile. They were unwilling to expend the enormous amount of energy necessary to kill a god. A rather unfortunate error on their part,” he added.
Thomas paused to contemplate his audience. Nakor sat quietly, wearing his old, frequently mended purple cloak. Beside him sat Pynne, dressed in flowing silken clothes whose silver material seemed to be woven from the clouds themselves. She frowned slightly as she listened to Thomas. Behind them stood Galadrion, her face expressionless. Thomas spoke again. “But you must know why they decided to try and destroy Olara in the first place.”
Two chapters after introducing Pynne, I finally think to describe what she’s wearing. Up to this point, I just kind of visualized her in cutoff blue jeans and a Black Sabbath T-shirt.
He took a deep breath. “One of the things we try to teach here is that everything has its place in the world. Good, evil, pain, joy, all of it serves some purpose. It is for this reason that evil can be considered an impossibility.”
Galadrion raised an eyebrow at that.
Raised eyebrow count: 7
“You seem confused,” Thomas noted. “Allow me to explain.”
He looked off into the distance, trying to organize his thoughts.
We interrupt this story for an amateur philosophy lecture.
“Those people whom we describe as evil are, for the most part, unaware of the harm they cause. Evil is often a rather inaccurate label for ignorance. While that ignorance may cause great harm, it rarely contains the deliberate cruelty implied by the label of ‘evil.’”
“Even so, there are those who delight in cruelty. Yet what event could ever occur from which no good would emerge? The most painful experiences of our lives are often the very same experiences that teach us the most.”
“Galadrion,” he said, turning to address her. “Even your curse is not evil in itself. Look at the good that has come of it.”
Sure, your husband was murdered and you’ve become a blood-drinking killer and sunlight will turn you into instant barbeque, but on the bright side, there’s only 43,000 words left in the book!
Thomas gestured at Nakor. “You were able to use your gifts to rescue a friend today.”
“Even death is not an evil, but rather a natural and necessary process. Quite simply, evil does not exist in a pure form. Thus, while Olara is considered to be evil by most, this is not sufficient reason for her banishment.”
He paused to take a breath before continuing. “The world is constantly changing. Empires crumble, children are born, grow up, and die. All of it changes. Even for the gods, things change.”
“Olara was unwilling to change. Her ways became inconsistent with the rest of the universe. By deliberately refusing to alter her ways, Olara gradually became an artifact from the past. She became an alien thing, whose mere presence could cause the decay and corruption of those around her.”
She’s like that guy down the street whose house is still decorated in avocado green, and carpeted in deep shag.
“As a goddess, Olara possesses incredible power. One aspect of this power is that she exudes a powerful aura. It twists the life around her, until that life becomes warped, consistent with her own alien nature.”
Basically, her power gives her the power to exude a powerful aura of power. Also, power!!!”
“She was weak when she returned to our world. But as she grows in power, her influence will expand until it devours all life on our world.”
“So why have the gods allowed her to remain for the past two years?” Pynne asked.
Thomas smiled in amusement. “Who are we to know what goes on in the minds of the gods? Perhaps they are unwilling to expend the energy necessary for another century-long war. Or perhaps they are no longer strong enough to battle a god of Olara’s primitive might.”
“Who are we to know the minds of the gods?” asks the guy who just got done lecturing about the gods’ motives.
Nakor looked startled.
“Gods also age, Nakor,” Thomas explained. “Religions die out, gods lose their worshippers. Nothing is forever. It may be that the gods of today are no longer a match for the gods of the past.”
“What I do know,” he added, “is that Olara must not be allowed to continue her existence on this world. It is not a matter of good or evil, it is a matter of survival. If Olara remains, she will eventually destroy everything.”
“Everything,” he repeated, emphasizing the point.
Then he looked into Nakor’s eyes. To Nakor, it felt as if those eyes were piercing into his soul. He felt an uncomfortable urge to squirm, but suppressed it.
“
And you must be the one to destroy her.”
Nakor blinked. “Perhaps I’m just a little slow, Thomas, but would you mind explaining how you came to that conclusion?”
“You have never been in the underground vault, have you?” Thomas asked. Without waiting for an answer, he rose to his feet. “Follow me,” he said, walking past the altar to the door directly behind it.
Confused by this sudden change of subject, Nakor got to his feet and followed after Thomas. Pynne floated gently after, and Galadrion walked behind her.
Thomas opened the door, revealing a narrow, winding staircase that descended into darkness. Taking a step down, he paused to reach into a small niche in the left wall. He withdrew a smooth wooden stick, as big around as a man’s thumb, with a silver sphere on one end. As soon as it emerged from its hole, the sphere began to glow, emitting a strong blue light.
“One of our bright initiates designed this,” said Thomas, leading the party down the stairs. “It’s rather ingenious, actually. We still haven’t figured out quite how it works.” He stopped at the bottom of the staircase. “Ah, here we are.”
They stood before another wooden door. Unlike the other doors in the temple, however, this one had no handle. Instead, a circular copper plate had been bolted to the center of the door at chest level. It was relatively undecorated, with a small, round depression in the middle. Thomas took his amulet and placed it into that depression.
With a click, the door swung open. “We don’t allow most people to get down here,” Thomas explained as they passed through the doorway.
They entered into a large room, much bigger than the temple above. Rows of shelves filled the room. On a few of the shelves, different amulets, wands, and other items were neatly arranged. Other shelves held endless numbers of books. Built into the walls were hundreds of small holes, each about the width of a man’s fist.
Thomas led them through the maze of shelves. After a while, he stopped and handed his glowing light to Nakor. He studied the wall for a moment, counting silently to himself.
“Ah, here it is,” he said at last. Leaning down, he withdrew a scroll out of one of the holes in the wall.