Seven Sorcerers: Book Three of the Books of the Shaper

by John R. Fultz

  Vireon lifted the boulder of crystal, which darkened now to the color of a purple bruise, or fresh-dried blood. He squeezed it between his mighty hands as if to splinter it, but it did not crack or shatter. It grew smaller instead, and smaller, and smaller still, until it was a single diamond lying in his palm, emitting a residue of sorcerous vapor.

  The center of the bright diamond was a drop of crimson.

  Sungui saw it clearly, even from atop the foredeck.

  The undying spirits of White Panther and Black Wolf had merged–fused like the disparate dreams of Iardu and Zyung–inside a gleaming stone no bigger than a walnut. They would lie entombed in this humble prison until the end of time, unless some great power freed them. Perhaps after a few eons they would become one with the stone, and their living souls would fade into oblivion. Vireon would ensure that the red diamond never saw the light of day again.

  Alua took the diamond and sang another ancient song over it, then closed it in her fist. Her eyes met Vireon’s, and a moment of understanding passed between them. The two shared a peculiar knowledge, a soul-deep communication that even Sungui’s expanded consciousness could not fathom. Perhaps it was that mysterious emotion that Men called love. He could not say for certain.

  Sungui broke the uncomfortable silence with polite words.

  “I thank you for ridding us of these pests,” he said. “We also have learned much, though the learning has cost us dearly. So we must depart this land, leaving our dead multitudes to enrich the soil of your plain. We wish only for peace between the two halves of the world.”

  Vireon and Alua regarded Sungui with keen eyes and stern faces.

  “So be it,” said Vireon.

  A globe of white flame sprang up about the couple. It lifted them into the night and raced like a falling star toward glimmering Uurz.

  Sungui turned to the New Seraphim gathered upon the Daystar’s deck.

  So be it.

  The dreadnoughts, full now with Manslayers and Trills, rose into the sky. Wind filled rustling sails, and canvas wings flapped to the rhythms of oarsmen who would soon be slaves no longer. The airships glided east beneath a sea of stars.

  In the bloody gold of sunrise the fleet of the New Seraphim entered the valley. A thousand dreadnoughts had remained here, floating like seaborne galleons in the bay with sails and wings furled. A hundred legions of Manslayers were camped across the valley in the shadow of the New Holy Mountain. Orderly rows of canvas tents spread wide from both banks of the Orra, and a new bridge of white stone arced above the river. The delta was no longer stained a deep red; sunbeams gilded the water and danced across the sea.

  Lavanyia and her hundred Lesser Ones had been busy. Their spells had sculpted the interior of the temple-palace into twenty-one levels, each with its own set of apartments, pillared halls, galleries, gardens, balconies, terraces, bath chambers, privies, and quarters for a hundred legions of Manslayers. In a few more days they would complete the last of the detail work that must be in place before soldiers and Seraphim could inhabit its airy precincts. Great murals, statues, arabesques, frescoes, and friezes would celebrate the Almighty and his Living Empire. Those who dwelled inside the creation of His Holiness would live in opulence and majesty.

  Yet these dedicated sculptors would never finish their great labor.

  Sungui pondered the wasted effort of Lavanyia and her charges. It was regrettable, but far less a tragedy than the multitudes of lives lost on both sides of this war. Lavanyia alone had survived the rise of the coven because she was not present at Uurz. She would be the last to choose between loyalty to Zyung or to the New Seraphim. If she resisted this new vision of the empire, then she must be sent to salt. Yet if she chose to join them she had none of Zyung’s essence to imbibe. None of Iardu’s either. The merged dream, the illumination of her fellow Seraphim, these things would be forever beyond her, no matter what her decision. Unless Sungui found some way to give her that illumination, as Iardu had found a way to give it to them all.

  Concern and confusion spread among the encamped legions when they saw less than half of Zyung’s dispatched dreadnoughts returning from Uurz. A single day had passed since their departure. This spoke of a quick defeat. Yet the truth was so much more complicated. There had been defeat, that was true, yet there had been a victory as well. That victory belonged to the New Seraphim as much as to the defenders of Uurz. All those who served the empire could be made to understand that in time. But first Sungui must bring that understanding to Lavanyia.

  The Daystar touched its hull to the water nearest the inland shore of the bay. The hundreds of other surviving dreadnoughts stationed themselves upon the calm sea outside the bay, which was already thick with anchored ships. Like the disembarked legions, those legions aboard the ships grew restless for news of the short Uurzian campaign. It would come soon, but Sungui was in no rush to end their curiosity.

  The New Seraphim gathered once more upon the deck of the Daystar as the last of the fleet came to rest upon the water. The enlightened ones were seven hundred and twenty in number. Sungui counted them with his mind as they assembled, his eyes unnecessary for the task.

  “She comes forth even now,” said Eshad. He stood nearest to Sungui on the middle deck. “We will have to send her to salt.”

  Gulzarr nodded on Sungui’s opposite side. “Perhaps not,” said the alchemist. “Her loyalty may have perished with Zyung.”

  Darisha regarded her mate with a half-smile. “Zyung resides within us now,” she said. “All of us. If Lavanyia realizes this, it may sway her.”

  Durangshara shook his round head. “She has always been stubborn. She will call us traitors and choose the salt.”

  “Only a fool would make that choice,” said Eshad.

  Brethren.

  Sungui’s mental plea sent them silent. “I will speak to Lavanyia first. Alone.”

  Without waiting for their reply, Sungui rose into the sea wind and glided toward Lavanyia, who was flying toward the Daystar with a company of twelve Lesser Ones.

  “What news?” asked Lavanyia in the air. “You return too soon.”

  They floated above a forest of masts and sails. Sungui motioned to the Lesser Ones.

  “Dismiss them,” he said “and I will explain.”

  Lavanyia’s gaze fell to the Daystar, where the cluster of New Seraphim stared up at her with an odd serenity. She waved a hand and the Lesser Ones turned in mid-flight, heading back to the nearly complete temple-palace.

  “Let us walk the shore,” said Sungui. Lavanyia descended with him to the strand of pale sand girding the bay. They strolled there between water and land, armada and mountain, past and future. The salty breeze was cool against Sungui’s skin. He decided to keep his male aspect for this conversation. Lavanyia had always resented the beauty of his female form.

  “Where is His Holiness?” asked Lavanyia.

  “Gone,” said Sungui. Wavelets washed the shore with gentle sighs.

  “Do not riddle me,” said Lavanyia. “Gone where?”

  “Nowhere and everywhere,” said Sungui. He stopped, turning to face her. “Gone to salt.”

  Lavanyia’s face went slack as if Sungui had slapped her. She blinked, and a strand of raven hair whipped across her face.

  “There has been a coup,” said Sungui. No need to be subtle. “We have taken his salt. Shared his essence and his wisdom.”

  Lavanyia looked toward the Daystar again, where the mass of silver-robes stood along the railing, awaiting the answer to a question that had not yet been asked.

  “Impossible…”

  “May I touch your hand?” Sungui asked.

  Lavanyia hesitated, but nodded.

  Sungui wrapped Lavanyia’s fingers in his own, then poured his mind’s images into hers. Lavanyia’s eyes grew round, then swollen with tears. They streamed down her smooth cheeks. Sungui showed her everything that had happened at Uurz, the battle of sorcerers, the salting, the devouring, the exodus. Yet a mere touch and a handfu
l of visions could not instill the depth of the enlightenment that had transformed the Eaters of Zyung.

  Lavanyia fell to her knees on the wet sand. Sungui released her hand.

  The last of the High Seraphim glared at Sungui with red rage on her face. “You did this! It’s what you’ve wanted all along! Your hidden ceremonies, your lessons of memory! I should have salted you long ago. You are a traitor. Nothing more!”

  “Then so are all of us,” said Sungui. “Save you and the three hundred who chose salt instead of revolution.”

  “So this is the choice that I must make?”

  “It is,” said Sungui. “But not yet.” He grabbed her shoulders and helped her to her feet. She was too weak to resist.

  “I would have you walk beside us,” he said. “Beside me. Hear my words before you decide.”

  Lavanyia turned away from him, her eyes scanning the rows of ships. How she must feel as the last of her kind, he could only imagine. Yet more than ever he could imagine her feelings. They poured in waves from her eyes and her skin. Sungui had never sensed another’s emotions so deeply. This was another of Iardu’s gifts, or another facet of the same gift.

  His salted heart had taught them empathy.

  “Speak,” said Lavanyia, her eyes on the blue-green horizon of the sea. She squinted against the sun’s brightness.

  Sungui explained to her the illumination of the Eaters. The transfiguration of the Seraphim that had altered their immortal selves. The blending of Zyung’s and Iardu’s dreams. The vision of a Reborn Empire without slaves, tyranny, or conquest. The rise of a new order where free will could flourish and Men could determine their own destinies under the guidance of the New Seraphim. They would not shatter Zyung’s empire and abandon his dream. They would improve it, perfect it, replace it with a greater dream, one that served humanity far better than the old one.

  Lavanyia listened in silence, and the morning shadows grew smaller.

  “As we were Diminished by Zyung, so was Zyung diminished by his creation,” Sungui said. “The greater his empire grew, the more it defined him. He was the Conqueror, the Almighty, the High Lord Celestial. Yet he built a vision so powerful that it trapped him within itself. Still the core of his wisdom yearned for what it could no longer have. He longed for change. Yet he could not change, or he would sacrifice everything he had built. He was the Living Empire.”

  Lavanyia turned to face Sungui. “Are you saying that Zyung wanted this to happen?”

  Sungui shrugged. “What happens to all empires eventually? Like earthbound trees they rise, grow strong and flourish, but eventually they grow brittle, and entropy claims them like a slow rot. They fall into chaos, which brings war and suffering and the death of peace. All of those terrible things that Zyung built his Living Empire to banish. I believe he knew that his great order must change to survive, as change is the only constant of this universe. Yet how could he change what was an extension of himself, when he was unable to change himself?”

  “How can you know all of this?” Lavanyia asked.

  “Zyung knew I was going to betray him,” said Sungui. “He told me this himself. For centuries he had known about Those Who Remember, and he knew that I led their rites. He could have destroyed me at any time, yet he did not. He told me that the seed of doubt growing in my heart was the test of his Great Idea. He challenged me to see that his wisdom was true. Now, when I feel the last glimmering of his salt inside me, I believe he knew that I would be the one to transform his dream in a way that he could not. I believe he saw at last the wisdom of Iardu’s own dream, and regretted that he had not seen it long ago. I believe all of this was meant to happen, Lavanyia. I ask you to believe these things as well.”

  Lavanyia’s thoughts were her own. She brushed the windblown hair back from her eyes.

  “I can never be one of you,” she said, voice heavy with regret. “For I did not taste his essence with you. I will remain a stranger to this new dream.”

  Sungui touched Lavanyia’s cheek lightly, raised her face to meet his own. “You need not remain so,” he said. “If I share my enlightenment with you, if I reshape your heart into that of a New Seraphim, will you come with me across the Outer Sea? If I do this thing, will you help me foster this Age of Illumination?”

  Lavanyia regarded Sungui now with fresh eyes. He remained a mystery to her, now more than ever, and he knew that she longed to understand that mystery. Her curiosity was irresistible. She nodded. He smiled.

  Sungui drew the black dagger from his inner sleeve. It was the same one that had transfixed poor Mahaavar the Ear not so very long ago. Its edge, tempered by sorcery, was as sharp as any metal could be.

  He raised his left hand, fingers spread, holding the dagger in his right fist. Sunlight flashed on the dark blade as it sliced through the smallest finger of his hand. He severed it cleanly at the middle joint. The finger fell in a thin trail of crimson, yet when it landed upon the sand it was no longer flesh and blood.

  Sheathing the dagger, Sungui bent and picked up the nugget of salt that had been part of his living body. Instead of blood it dribbled a few loose grains.

  “Eat of my salt, Lavanyia,” he asked.

  She accepted the white nugget from his open palm and raised it to her lips without a word. She paused for only a moment’s reflection, then dropped it into her mouth like a grape. She chewed it and the light of wisdom blazed from her eyes.

  Sungui ignored the pain of his hand. He conjured a flame to burn the small wound until it closed. The stump of the half-finger was pink and raw, but it would heal.

  Lavanyia fell forward, and he caught her. She wept softly, her arms clasped about his neck. They stood this way as seabirds warbled glorious melodies overhead.

  White surf washed again and again over the sandy beach.

  At last Lavanyia lifted her face close to his and breathed a single word.

  “Sungui…”

  Their lips met, and the heat of understanding passed between them. Sungui’s body altered spontaneously, its male and female aspects advancing and receding upon Lavanyia like the waves upon the warm sand.

  There was no more salt but that which lay in the sea.

  20

  Vows

  It was the silence of the forest that she loved most of all.

  The deep quiet of the glades between the soaring Uygas was not silence at all, if one paid close attention to it. This quietude was a blend of rustling leaves, gurgling waters, singing birds, and the sighing of wind between the branches. Yet after so many months in the cities of Men, and so many nights in the clattering, noisome camps of war, the forest was a golden dream of silence.

  The days flowed one into another, a stream of unbroken solitudes. Dahrima hunted the shaggy elk and the tusked pigs of the wilderness whenever she grew hungry. She walked by day beneath the titan trees, rediscovering the hills and grottoes of her youth. Once, while she sat dreaming atop a windswept hill, an eagle landed on her shoulder. It must have mistaken her for a crag of yellow stone. When she turned her head it flew away, yet she saw it later flying above a meadow with the sun at its back.

  After the first few weeks she spent most of her time near the Falls of Torrung, where the water plunging into the lake replaced the forest’s silence with its own gentle roar. She had come to the falls with her cousin Chygara many times as a girl, hunting the wily tigers that came down from the White Mountains in summer to stalk the elk herds. It had been three centuries since she had seen the place, but it was much the same. A hundred colors of leaf and blossom adorned the cleft hillside and the high cliff beyond it. The great leaves of the Uygas had begun to fall; they floated across the lake in shades of red, yellow, orange, and brown.

  At the edge of the lake, at the foot of the ancient falls, she found the peace that had eluded her for so long. She continued roaming the forest, hunting when she felt the call, but always she returned to the sweet thunder of the Torrung. A shallow cave across the lake from the torrent became her sanctuary. She
slept there more often than not, on a bed of elk hides and brown reeds.

  When the Udvorg had returned to the northlands, she had marched with them across Vod’s Pass. Vireon and Alua had ridden upon fine Uurzian steeds at the head of the procession, gifts from the new Emperor of Uurz. Dahrima had not spoken with Vireon since the day he requested that she join the war council, but the promise of his suspended judgment hung over her head during every league of that northward journey. She had never answered for killing Varda of the Keen Eyes, though her spearsisters spoke of it only as a duel of honor. Dahrima herself was no longer sure of the reason for the fight, or the killing. She remembered only the burning rage in her breast and the blue blade of Vireon in the witch’s fist. Had she killed Varda to protect Vireon from the witch’s influence, or because she was jealous of Varda’s closeness to the Giant-King?

  Dahrima could not answer that question if Vireon were to ask it. Nor could she answer it in her own heart. Vireon was King of both Uduru and Udvorg now, and he must uphold the laws of the blue-skins. Dahrima’s crime had placed him in a precarious position: Pardon her and offend his new people, or punish her and risk losing the loyalty of the remaining Uduri who served his house.

  Dahrima knew that she could not bear the chastisement of Vireon, or the loss of her station at his court. So she had done the only thing she could rightly do. When the legion of Men and Giants came down from the pass onto the wide, rolling plain of Uduria, she fled into the night as she had done before. Yet this time she spoke first with her sisters and made them understand. They must stay to serve the King as she could not. She explained her reason, and they grudgingly accepted it. Vantha wanted to come with her, but Dahrima forbade it.

  “You have taken the vow,” she reminded Vantha. “You must serve Vireon.”

  “You too have taken the vow,” said the Tigress.

  “And I have broken it,” said Dahrima. “I must be the last one to do so.”

  Vireon had camped in the shadow of the mountains, within a day’s march of Udurum. In the morning they would enter the city gates to cheers and celebrations of victory. Then would come days of memorial services and feasts to honor the fallen Men, Giants, and Uduri who had died for their King. Vireon would bury the red diamond deep in the vaults of his palace. Yet Dahrima would see none of these things.