B008P7JX7Q EBOK

by Ijaz, Usman

  “You had to know.”

  “They were horrible. They ate away at me every moment of every day, and I couldn’t stop them. I --” Adrian stopped, aware that he was on the verge of tears.

  Lysa stared ahead as she spoke. “Yes, they were horrible, but you had to know what happened, to prepare you for the hand that fate would deal you.”

  “You mean the Source?”

  “Yes, and--”

  “Why me?” Adrian demanded suddenly, surprised at his own vehemence. “I can’t be the last.” An odd sadness filled him as he spoke the words, fearing the answer.

  “No, you are not,” Lysa said gravely. “But who else does it leave if some will try to avenge loved ones gone to dust, and others further their own ambition, while some simply ignore the need? I am sorry, my son, but it had to be you.”

  For a while they walked in silence as Adrian pondered her words. At last he asked, “Where are the others?”

  “I do not know.” She stopped him then and knelt before him to meet his gaze. “Believe me, Adrian, if there was anyone else who could be trusted with the task, you would never have been brought into this. But you are still pure of heart. You have not been raised to fear and despise the humans around you as many others have.”

  “I ... I feel as though I'm by myself.” The words seemed dragged from him, but he knew they were true. Even with Connor and Alexis accompanying him he felt half a stranger.

  Lysa’s voice was pained. “You must bear the loneliness, Adrian, and pray that a time may come when you do not have to feel alone.”

  Adrian looked away from her, not wanting to voice the strong words that came to his mind then. His mother must have seen the reluctance on his face, for she asked him what was wrong.

  “How can I --” He struggled to find the right words. “Why should I risk everything to save those who killed you? I think about it every day ... mother. Why shouldn’t they suffer?” He was caught up in his anger, but simply calling her mother brought a strong joy to his heart.

  Lysa’s eyes bore into his for what seemed the longest time. “Will you hold them all accountable for what their ancestors did? And what of those who resisted the Mad Emperor, will you doom them as well, Adrian?” She searched his face. “No. I see your choice clearly, and I believe you do as well. You ask me these questions, but yet you know that you will find the Source if for no other reason than that it is the right thing to do. Even if you hate these people, you will still carry out your duty. Is this not true?”

  Adrian frowned at her words. “But ... but they don’t deserve it!” he shouted at last, relieved to be rid of those words before they choked him.

  Lysa’s gaze remained warm. “And is that up to you to decide, Adrian? Do you have it in you to decide the fate of an entire world? Will you be God, then?”

  “No,” Adrian cried immediately, alarmed. “But ....”

  “Do you stop to think what your father would have thought of you? Or do you forget his bloodlines? If you have, then I bid you now turn and walk away.”

  “My ... father? I never knew him.”

  “As you never knew me, Adrian, but yet here we are. Your father loved you, and he still loves you. And I feel that whatever choice you make he will still hold some love for you in his heart ... but I cannot be like him. You are my son, but who are you if you turn your back on all that is your ancestry?”

  Adrian looked at her, feeling an odd mixture of emotions stir within him. “How can you so quickly forgive what they did to you?” he demanded. Cold Tears rolled down his cheeks. “I watched them murder you! Every night I watched them murder you and hundreds of others! How can you forgive them, mother?”

  Lysa smiled wearily at him. “In time, I hope you come to realize that only through forgiveness can peace ever be found.” She took his head in both of her slender hands and pulled him forward to place a gentle kiss upon his brow. “Whatever decision you make will be yours to make. But I know I do not want to spend this time that is given to us arguing with you. Come, you must see your home.” She brushed away the tears on his cheeks and took hold of his hand once more.

  As they walked, Adrian began to feel at a distance even from his mother. He couldn’t understand why she was willing to forget so quickly what had happened. Perhaps it was that he had been witness to the brutality so many nights, but he couldn’t understand her reasoning. She seemed to sense the hopelessness within him, for she began to direct their conversation to other matters.

  “Did you know that we were here before all the others, Adrian? Before the Northmen came from Naban and before the Westerners came from their islands. It is why they call us the Old People. They came from the sea, and slowly at first and then rapidly they began to spread across the land. They fought their wars over territory, while we knew that the land belonged to no one. Their warfare drew our people in at times, and it seemed soon that their ways had replaced ours. There was no longer any such thing as taking as need requested it, but rather wanting everything that desire demanded. The land changed as well. It was no longer our land soon, but theirs, and we were the outsiders. But we never stopped thinking of ourselves as the people of the land, and thus I hope it forever remains.”

  Adrian listened to her speak, and in his mind he could envision the loss of freedom that the Ascillian people had undergone. Listening to her speak, he gained a better understanding of his ancestors of both lines than he had before. But he still had questions he needed answered.

  “And how does the Source relate to us?”

  Lysa smiled as she looked at him. “In our old tales the Source and the land are two halves of one whole, forever linked to one another. One represents the heavens, while the other symbolizes the earth we tread. The land we lost to those from across the sea, but then we know that it was never ours to own to begin with. But we dare not lose the Source to the waiting dark. Since time out of mind we have been entrusted with the care of it. It has been in our care for thousands of years ... but now there is no one to care for it, and it weakens.” Her voice dropped as she spoke. “It is hard to believe that something so beautiful could be found in the Ruins, a most horrid of places. But you must understand that the Source belongs where it is. It is an odd balance, a small pinprick of light within a swarming mass of darkness. It is the only thing that slows the rot.” She regarded him with suppressed hope, and breathed, “But perhaps you can change that.”

  “How?” Adrian demanded.

  For the first time he saw her falter a little, become hesitant. “I ... I do not know. The Source has changed over time. It is no longer what it once was. You will find out for yourself, I trust. All you must worry about is reaching the Source and preserving it.”

  “And if it fails?”

  Lysa shuddered. “It will be an unpleasant fate that awaits this world of ours.”

  2

  The city appeared before them as they topped a rise. It stood as Adrian had last seen it, but for the fact that it looked much more livelier. But as he looked at it he couldn’t shake the feeling that it also looked quite forlorn without the long-stretching fields of memory-blossoms surrounding it. Even from the distant they were at, he could see the gates standing whole and wide open. Beyond the walls the towers stood tall and complete. The hand holding his squeezed gently.

  “This is your home, Adrian. Wherever you may go, never forget that.”

  They walked to the city in silence. Wagons and people atop horses rode past them coming and going from the city. Adrian watched them all in fascination as he realized that not all of them had the tell-tale gray eyes of the Ascillians.

  As they came to the gates, Adrian felt hesitant to enter beneath the walls, fearing what had happened the last time. But his mother gently pulled him along and he followed her. They came out the other side and into a bustling city. The warble of hawkers and of a great city that had come to them subdued outside suddenly seemed to magnify. Adrian looked around with wide eyes. People filled the streets, hurrying about their ch
ores or strolling languidly. The bright cone-topped towers looked down on everything. Square buildings, unlike any he had seen before, lined the streets, their color ranging from an earthy brown to sky-blue and sun-gold. Booths and canvas tops were attached to most of these buildings and from beneath their shade hawkers cried to the passersby. Those on horseback evidently had a hard time getting about in the milling throng. Adrian’s eyes followed the people as well, as strange in the fact that they shared his eyes as the cut and color of their clothing. Many were dressed in colorful tunics that came down to their waists, with baggy trousers of either white or light brown. He noted how many simply wore sandals rather than boots.

  “It is marvelous, is it not?” Lysa asked him.

  “Yes,” Adrian said, and nodded. He found it hard to believe how alive the city seemed compared to what he’d glimpsed earlier. The thought nearly saddened him, but the sight of the vivacious city before him dispelled any such feelings. Lysa began to lead him down one of the streets.

  “When the people from across the sea decided that the land was theirs to conquer, they give us a small bit to call our own, to try and appease us. Where we once had the entire land to stroll, now we had only a small plot of it. We decided then that it was easier to make of it what we needed, rather than to rectify the greed of the outlanders. War has never been our way: in the long stretch, both sides lose and grieve. So we accepted what they gave us, and accepted that the world was changing.” She frowned as she added, “Most of us, at least. In the beginning there were bands of Ascillians rebelling against the growing change, but it soon became clear to us all that we would have to accept that change. In the end it was our own left hand that doomed us. I trust that you know of the left hand which brings darkness and the right hand which holds the memories of peace?”

  “I’ve heard the priesthood proclaim it,” Adrian said. “But what do you mean we doomed ourselves?”

  His mother gave a tired sigh. “A small few took upon themselves to slay Emperor Nero to justify what they had endured. They killed his wife and children, but failed to assassinate him. The mistake of those few shaped the fates of the rest of us. Nero’s wrath pursued our people for decades, and by the end we were but a scattered folk in a land that was not our own anymore.”

  Adrian watched the people around them, to see if they overheard their talk and what they made of it, but it seemed to him that no one took notice of them. “How long ago was all this?”

  “Longer than you would believe.”

  A new thought struck Adrian. “Were the Ascillians immortal?”

  Lysa laughed. “No. We are not immortal. That is simply one of the myths that surround our kind.”

  The buildings that lined the street were now painted an earthy brown, a color that seemed both at once warm and welcoming. Children ran among the alleys, laughing and taunting one another as they dodged the adults that passed in their way. To one side of the street a seamstress sewed patches into a pair of woolen breeches while conversing with another woman. Further down the street a blacksmith worked in open view of the street, beating red-hot metal into the shape he sought.

  Adrian watched them all and felt as though this was how the world should be. Not filled with war and grief, but with an easy peace. He recognized it as the ingenuous thinking of a twelve year old, but he couldn’t shake the feeling. His mother led him to stairs built into the side of one of the outer walls, and they began the climb to the parapets. As they climbed Adrian looked down on the city and the folk that strolled through the streets. He felt an abrupt sadness in knowing that in his time all that he saw was destroyed, not only the city but the peace that it seemed to harbor. There is still peace in that time, he thought, but it is hidden and scattered. He was suddenly certain that he didn’t want to see the little peace that remained in that time flee as well.

  “What should I do?” he asked as they neared the parapets.

  Lysa regarded him oddly. “Do? You will do what is in your heart. For good or ill, you will do what is in your heart.”

  “But ... can’t you guide me?” Adrian asked desperately.

  His mother’s grave, sympathetic gaze met his. “I have done all that is in my power already, Adrian. In -- in truth, this may be the last we see of one another.”

  Adrian felt an immediate pang of regret and sorrow at her words. “Why?”

  “Some of our kind have the ability to pass down parts of our memories and ourselves from generation to generation, so nothing may be lost. It is why we are here now, talking with one another. It is why you witnessed what you did, for I forged a link between us to pass down my last memories before I died.”

  “Why would you do that?” Adrian asked, unable to keep the horror out of his voice.

  “Because I knew that sooner or later the bloodshed must end, and I hoped you would survive it. I wanted you to know of what truly happened, despite what the histories claim. But more importantly … you were a safeguard, a measure to insure there would be someone left of our line to reach the Source.” Lysa looked to the surrounding countryside and let out a sigh. “I have already stretched the time that was given to me,” she said calmly. “I cannot do more for you, I am afraid. But I can in the least promise you that the nightmares will cease.”

  Adrian felt an odd mixture of relief and despair at her words. If he had to suffer the nightmares to be with her once more, he felt certain he would agree to it at once.

  They strolled along the parapets in silence before stopping to admire the vantage point. Adrian looked over the wall at the countryside that surrounded Asgar. Somewhere to the north a river shone like a silver band in the sun. Running from the river to the city wall was what looked to him like a slender stone walkway.

  Lysa noticed his interest in it. “It is a water conduit. It carries water from the river to the city.”

  Adrian looked from her to the stone conduit, and wondered what magic operated such a thing. Magic! He abruptly turned away from the wall, all other thoughts banished from his mind. “I need to ask you about my--”

  The loud toll of bells from one of the towers interrupted him suddenly. Adrian stared toward the sound and then looked back to his mother, already aware that everything was changing. “Do I have any talents?” he demanded abruptly. “I need to know! I can sometimes feel--” The bells tolled once more. “I -- I can feel something at times, but I don’t know how to use it.” The urgency in his voice made him stammer. He looked back towards the sound of the bells, and saw everything begin to grow transparent. A lurking darkness awaited behind that transparency. Adrian looked to his mother frantically.

  Lysa’s face was full of dismay. “I cannot teach you here, Adrian. We are running out of time. All I can tell you is to let the Source come to you. It will come to you in time. Do not worry. When it comes, accept it.”

  Adrian felt as though he needed a more definitive answer than that, but he let it go as he saw her begin to fade before his eyes. Desperately he reached for her. Her arm was light as air in his grasp. “Please, mother, don’t go! I need you! I can’t be all alone! I can’t do this by myself!” By the end his sobs made it hard for him to hear his own choked words.

  “I know you will do what is right, Adrian.” She smiled. “My son.”

  Her final words hung in the air even as she faded away. Adrian’s hand closed in on thin air. He collapsed to his knees, and gave a loud anguished cry, as though it could keep the darkness at bay.

  He felt a dazzling light beyond his closed lids and opened his eyes to confront the glowing sun that now hung in pitch blackness. The white light should have blinded him at once, but instead it spread ephemeral warmth through him. Then it burst, and there was only the dark.

  Feeling cold anger at the injustice of it all, Adrian closed his eyes and plunged himself into the darkness.

  3

  Connor became aware of the slight stirring in Adrian’s body lying beside him before Alexis or Leah. It warned him to his cousin’s waking. Adrian sat up wi
th a hand to his head as if it pained him, and looked around as though trying to recall where he was. The glow of the fire drew attention to his wandering eyes. Somewhere in the dark a nightbird cried once before falling silent.

  “We’re far from the city,” Connor told him in a painful whisper.

  Alexis and Leah became aware that Adrian was awake and left the fire to gather around him.

  “Are you feeling well?” Alexis asked.

  Adrian nodded. For himself, Connor didn’t much like the distant look in his cousin’s eyes.

  “We did not know what had happened to you,” Leah said, looking genuinely concerned. “We decided it must have something to do with the city, so we left quickly.”

  “H-How long have I ...” Adrian began, and then seemed to lose track of his words.

  “For much of the day,” Alexis answered. “We’re now heading back along the old road. Adrian, what happened to you?”

  For a long time Connor didn’t think his cousin would speak. He himself was glad to be away from the city, filled with death even in daylight as it had seemed to him, but Adrian stared back along the road with a longing that was startling.

  In small bursts Adrian explained to them all what he had experienced.

  Chapter 28

  A Meeting of Chance

  1

  Connor had heard of the eccentricities of Arcadia, but had never given credence to much of it until they actually crossed into the country from the south. The contrasts from what he had seen in Sune and what he knew from Grandal were subtle at first, but it seemed to him that every mile that they rode inward displayed some new difference to them. Leah and the Legionnaire didn’t seem much affected by the changes but Connor saw the same wondering curiosity in his cousin’s eyes that he supposed was reflected in his own. The travelers they passed on the road were dressed oddly. They wore tight vests, often of bright colors, atop rich shirts with sleeves that were puffy above the elbows and belled around the wrists. Their breeches were made in much the same fashion, flaring out above their boot tops. The women were dressed in much the same manner, but there seemed a strictness to their dress. The collars of their blouses and dresses traveled up to beneath their chins, and the slender sleeves covered as much of their arms possible. Their skirts didn’t even show their ankles, of those who didn’t wear boots like the men. As they traveled inland into the more urban areas, the fashion became ever more peculiar. Large, round-brimmed hats often sat atop the heads of both women and men, and more often than not there was a single feather poking out from the brim. To Connor they looked like gallivanting peacocks.