A March into Darkness dobas-2

by Robert Newcomb

  Who was she, Serena wondered-this woman from aeons ago who had decided to add such a unique formula to the scroll? Although they speak to me, there is still so much I do not know about the Heretics. But this brilliant lady from another place and time has somehow reached out across the ages to offer up this teasing nostrum in my hour of need. Did she ever use it? Had she tragically lost her lover, as I did? Does she somehow watch me from the Afterlife even now, as I consider this temptation?

  Increasingly seduced by the intriguing calculations, the queen of the Vagaries took a deep breath. Standing, she grasped the parchment from the air, then looked to the sea again. Finally she decided. Forgive me, my love, she thought.

  After memorizing the formula she placed the parchment back into the box, then walked to her bed to lie down. As its lace crinkled against the bedcovers, she was reminded that she still wore her black mourning gown. Taking a deep breath, she summoned the spell.

  She watched as the room’s light started to change. Unafraid, she willingly embraced the violet hue washing over her. Music came to her ears, its melodious strains permeating her psyche. Her mind started drifting pleasantly, her need quickly strengthening while her guilt at having enacted the spell strangely faded away. Soon she was possessed by a hunger even more irresistible than before.

  The unexpected stirring in her loins started slowly, warmly. She wanted to reach down, but then stopped herself as she realized that there was no need, for the magic washing over her grew more enticing by the moment. As the sensation swelled she could almost feel Wulfgar holding her, taking her, whispering in her ear.

  Soon her urgency reached a crescendo. Aching to be taken by it, she let the spell enslave her. The result seemed never-ending as she fell into its rapturous embrace. Crying out, she lost all track of time. It seemed the overpowering contractions might never end.

  Then the spell slowly left her. The music stopped, the violet light vanished, and her heartbeat slowed. Wondrous, she thought.

  The queen turned her head to one side and fell into a deep sleep.

  “SERENA,”SHE HEARD THE VOICES CALL AS SHE LAY SLEEPING.“Awake to do our bidding. There is much for you to learn.”

  Stirring from her sleep, she looked around. Several hours had passed, and the room’s candles had nearly burned to their bases. Calling the craft, she brought flame to three fresh ones in various places about her chambers. She left the bed and went to her knees, then bowed her head and closed her eyes.

  “I am here,”she responded silently.

  “The Conclave is nearly ready to sail,”the Heretics’ voices said.“Circumstances demand that you be shown how to defend the Citadel. Rise, and do as we say.”

  She came to her feet.

  “Go to the lowest Citadel region,”the voices commanded.“You know the place. Go alone.”

  “As you wish,”she answered. She left her chambers and entered the hallway.

  There were few consuls or Valrenkians about at this late hour, save for those standing guard. Her appearance surprised them. Our queen is restless this night, some thought as she walked through the shadows.

  Serena entered the moonlit courtyard and trod down one of the many covered porticoes before coming to an old door. Made from solid oak, its iron cross braces were deeply layered with crimson rust. Calling the craft, she caused it to open. Its hinges protested loudly. Once she was on its opposite side she closed it again.

  Remembering what the Heretics had said about coming alone, she locked the door from the inside with an especially convoluted spell. She brought light to the oil lamps lining the steps. Lifting her skirt, she started down.

  Although the curved stairway seemed interminable, Serena was not afraid. She and Wulfgar had come here once before. They had been out exploring the Citadel one day soon after their marriage. On reaching the bottom they had found only an abandoned stone room. In the end their search had given them nothing but a good laugh. Unable to imagine why the Heretics would want her to go there, she dutifully continued on.

  Reaching the last step, she looked around. The nondescript room was just as she remembered. Square and spacious, it was carved from the surrounding rock. There was no other way in or out besides the stairway she had exited. The room was barren save for several oil lamp sconces hanging on the four walls. A shiny metal light reflector lay attached to the wall behind each one. Waving an arm, Serena brought the lamps to life, flooding the room with a golden glow. She waited.

  “Well done,”the voices said.“Walk to the wall facing you.”

  She walked across the room to stand before the far wall. Like the other three, its surface was unremarkable.

  “Touch the wall,”the voices said.“As you do, enact the same spell you would employ when using a visage board.”

  Having spent much time in the Citadel Scriptorium, she was familiar with visage boards. Reaching out, she touched the granite wall and called the proper spell.

  At once the wall’s right side started to change. The stone morphed into a smooth black visage board. As she watched in wonder, four separate formulas written in Old Eutracian rose from its depths. The azure symbols twinkled brightly against their dark background.

  “Good,”the voices said.“Summon the first spell, then the second one. But never bring the third or fourth ones unless told to do so.”

  Marshaling her concentration, Serena employed the first spell. Without waiting to see the results, she then called forth the second one.

  “Back away from the wall,”the voices ordered her. She immediately obeyed.

  The wall’s entire left side started changing. The rough granite vanished to show another dark panel, its right edge bordering the visage board. Larger than the first, this one stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Then the second spell took hold. As the black panel became transparent, a bright light appeared, illuminating the area on the panel’s opposite side.

  Stunned, Serena took several steps backward. Her hands flew to cover her gaping mouth. What she saw was impossible. She was looking directly into the Sea of Whispers.

  The vision before her was wondrous, overwhelming. She suddenly realized that the lengthy stairs she had descended had brought her to a place far below the ocean surface. The seafloor partly pressed against the panel’s opposite side. As the second spell brightly illuminated the depths, she stared in wonder at the sea’s untold mysteries.

  The water was a brilliant blue. Fish and other exotic sea creatures swam, crawled, and scurried across the ocean floor. Their strangeness both fascinating and beautiful, most were alien to her.

  Like they were being caressed by some unseen hand, undersea waves gently undulated the colorful foliage. Multicolored coral grew in abundance. Starfish and shellfish trudged slowly across the sandy bottom, while shadows created by fish swimming overhead crawled over the scene, adding to its mysterious elegance. The occasional fish, eel, or other sea creature would sometimes approach the panel and seem to stare blankly at her, only to turn and swim away again. Entranced, Serena could have stood there watching for hours.

  “Four years, Serena,”the Heretics said to her.

  “I don’t understand,”Serena answered.

  “It took us four years to create the wonder you see before you. That is what you were wondering, is it not?”

  Surprised, Serena nodded.“Yes,” she answered.

  “Summon the third spell.”

  Serena did so. At once the seascape started changing. The ground outside the panel rushed toward her, like she had somehow gone into the water and was sailing over the seafloor. As the journey quickened she became dizzy, even though she herself did not move. Finally the onrushing landscape slowed, then stopped to show a different underwater scene.

  The seafloor had become dark and highly irregular. A high underwater cliff lay before her, its leading edge facing west. It seemed as tall as the Citadel itself before sharply dropping off into a dark infinity. Confused by what she saw, she could only look and wonder.

  “T
he ledge you see is many leagues west of the Citadel,”the Heretics said to her.“Listen closely as we explain what happens with the fourth spell’s onset.”

  As Serena listened she became astounded. Could such a thing be possible? she wondered. How could I, a far weaker craft practitioner than the Heretics, ever summon such power?

  “When the time comes, all you must do is summon the last spell,”the Heretics answered.“It will then perform all that is called for to defend the Citadel. The fourth spell has never been enacted. Even so, it is as strong as the day it was first conceived. Now you may rest easier, knowing how your island home will be protected. If the time comes that the spell is needed, we will tell you.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  “Command the first three spells in reverse,”the voices ordered.“Return everything in this room to what it once was.”

  Serena walked back to the visage board and cast the first three spells in the opposite order from which they had been summoned. The seascape rushed back to its original place on the ocean floor. Then the bright light illuminating the ocean went out and the viewing panel disappeared. Finally the visage board vanished. In their places the granite wall reappeared.

  “Do you fully understand your duties?”the voices asked.“The Vagaries’ future and the Citadel’s defense might soon depend on you performing these deeds properly.”

  “I understand,”she answered.“If needed, all will happen as you have ordered.”

  Walking back to the stone stairway, Serena turned to take one last look. Everything about the room was just as it had been when she first arrived. Astounding, she thought.

  Waving one hand she extinguished the wall sconces and started up the stairway.

  CHAPTER XXX

  AS TRISTAN TOOK IN HIS NEW SURROUNDINGS, THEmore he saw, the more astounded he became. He was lying atop a silken bed. Xanthus stood beside him, the Darkling’s human face staring down at him worriedly. The Paragon still shone brightly as it hung around Xanthus’ neck.

  Turning his head, theJin’Sai saw a group of beings crowded around his bed’s foot. Men and women were in attendance. Each was elderly and wore a glistening white robe.

  It took Tristan several moments to find his voice. “Are you the Heretics of the Guild?” he asked.

  An elderly woman approached to stand by his bedside. She was tall and graceful, with long, gray hair. Her face was attractive, her expression calm. Her brown eyes seemed to bore their way into his.

  “I am Hoskiko, one of Those Who Came Before,” she answered. “Five brothers and sisters of my order are here with me. The other six males and females you see are Heretics of the Guild. We welcome you in peace. You are the firstJin’Sai to reach us. Our world has long awaited your arrival.”

  Tristan shook his head. “This can’t be!” he protested. “The Guild and the Ones are at war! I saw an entire army of the Ones destroyed by the Heretics! Why would bitter enemies like yourselves gather together?”

  A man stepped forward. Like Hoskiko, he was elderly. His presence was commanding. His hair was gray, his chin strong. There was a resolute look in his eyes.

  “It is preciselybecause we are enemies that we gather together,” he said. “My name is Faxon, and I am a Heretic. Like Hoskiko, I lead five specially selected brothers and sisters of my order. But we six Heretics did not kill the Ones’ army-others of our sect did that. We detest violence. Taken as a whole, we are the twelve Envoys of Crysenium.”

  Tristan didn’t understand a word of what Faxon said. But he knew one thing-Xanthus had deceived him. He looked up at the Darkling with hate-filled eyes. Grabbing Xanthus’ duster, he roughly pulled him closer.

  “You liar!” he said. “You told me you were taking me to the Heretics! Had I known that the Ones would be present, I might have come sooner! Innocent lives could have been spared!”

  An immensely sad look overcame Xanthus’ face. To Tristan’s great surprise the Darkling went down on one knee before him and bowed his head. He started to speak, but Hoskiko waved a hand, cutting him off. Surprised by Xanthus’ reaction, Tristan released him.

  “Did Xanthus lie to you?” Hoskiko asked Tristan. “Perhaps-but if he did, it was only by omission. If you must be angry with someone, be angry with us Envoys. He was only following our orders.” Hoskiko smiled at the Darkling.

  “He did his job exceedingly well,” she added. “You see, Xanthus serves all twelve of us.”

  Tristan felt a shudder go through him. Had Wigg, Faegan, and the late Directorate somehow been horribly wrong about the Ones? Xanthus was a servant of the Vagaries-he had said so himself. If the Ones were partly responsible for sending the Darkling through the pass, did the Ones also worship the Vagaries? His mind filled with unanswered questions, theJin’Sai stared worriedly at the twelve figures in the white robes.

  Sensing his confusion, Hoskiko took him by the hand. Her touch was warm, reassuring. “Do not fear,” she said. “No harm will befall you here. It’s true that we purposely deceived you. But you must understand that not only were our motives just, but highly needed. After we tell you why you have been summoned, you will go home to Eutracia. We are about to burden you with a sacred mission. Whether it takes a day, a year, or your entire lifetime to finish, it must be done. If you are successful, you will forever change not only every living being’s future, but that of the craft, as well.”

  Trying to understand, Tristan took a deep breath. “Are you speaking about Shailiha’s and my destinies?” he asked. “The destinies that are so often mentioned in the Tome?”

  Hoskiko nodded. “The same,” she answered.

  “I already know that my fate is to combine the craft’s two sides,” Tristan said. “If I should fail or die in my attempt, the burden falls to Shailiha. What I do not understand is why or how this is to be carried out.”

  “The Tome has always been unclear on that point, has it not?” Faxon said. He gave Tristan a compassionate but also critical look that reminded him of Wigg. “Even your wizards are the first to admit that things are not always what they seem-especially about the craft.”

  “First things first,” Hoskiko said. She held out one hand. “Come with us. There is much to discuss.”

  Tristan stood from the bed. At first his legs were wobbly. Looking around again, he found his surroundings awe-inspiring. “Crysenium,” he said softly. “That must be an Old Eutracian word. Where are we?”

  “Let us sit,” Hoskiko answered. “Then we will explain.”

  Hoskiko took him by the hand. As they walked across the floor, Xanthus and the other Envoys followed. Walking farther, Tristan still couldn’t believe the place’s overpowering majesty. It was like being inside a palace made of azure glass.

  They were crossing a huge circular room. It seemed to have been built of some sort of crystalline material, almost giving one the impression that it was made of ice. But that was not so, he realized, because the room’s atmosphere was warm and welcoming.

  The spherical chamber was stunning. Azure columns by the dozens reached high into the air, their scrolled tops seeming to support nothing. There was no ceiling, and the sky overhead was blue, with white, fluffy clouds floating through it. The smooth floor and concave walls were made of the same shimmering material as the columns. A lovely melodious sound-much like that that produced by wind chimes on a breezy day-wafted gently through the air.

  Although the room was open to the sky, no wind blew though the chamber, nor could Tristan detect any of the normal outdoor sounds one might expect to hear. Then he caught sight of some curved, reflected sunlight high above, and he understood. There was in fact a roof. Made of a clear material, its surface stretched from sidewall to sidewall, covering the entire room. It was breathtaking.

  As they walked farther they entered a long hallway. Soon they came to another circular room constructed of the same material as the first one. Tristan saw several closed doors situated in the curved walls. They led to living quarters, he suspected.

 
At the room’s center sat a round, pure white table encircled by fourteen equally beautiful chairs. Half of the circular wall was devoted to the same transparent material that formed the ceiling in the other room. A beautiful pastoral view, much like the one he and Xanthus had just left behind, beckoned from the other side. Tristan again saw many exotic and unfamiliar plants, birds, and creatures. The scene was mesmerizing.

  Hoskiko beckoned everyone to sit. As Tristan took a chair, Hoskiko and Faxon sat on either side of him. Xanthus and the remaining ten Envoys also took seats. Tristan eagerly started to ask a question when Hoskiko touched his hand, requesting that he remain silent. Understanding, he nodded.

  Clearly, Hoskiko and Faxon would control these proceedings. The two mystics seemed to possess a quiet, innate power. Wigg, Jessamay, and Faegan each commanded the same type of dignified respect. But in Hoskiko’s and Faxon’s cases, Tristan sensed it far more strongly. Despite his overpowering need for answers, he resolved to be patient.

  “First we will introduce ourselves,” Hoskiko said. “You have already become familiar with me, Faxon, and Xanthus.” She looked across the table to the other ten Envoys. “For theJin’Sai ’s edification, will each of you please state your name, and which order you represent?” she asked. “So that theJin’Sai will understand us, we will speak only in his eastern dialect, rather than our own. Is everyone agreed?” Each Envoy nodded his or her consent.

  One by one the Envoys told Tristan who they were, and to which order he or she belonged. The three female Ones were Hoskiko, Mitsu, and Sakura. The men were Ichiro, Rinji, and Suzu. Of the Heretics, the men were named Faxon, Arvid, and Balsius. The Heretical women were Alma, Emilia, and Kristin. The Heretics sat as a group on Tristan’s right; the Ones sat on his left. Directly across the table from Tristan and separating the two groups sat Xanthus.

  “You are wondering where you are,” Faxon started. “The explanation is not an altogether simple one.” Placing his hands flat atop the table, Faxon chose his next words carefully.