A March into Darkness dobas-2

by Robert Newcomb

  “And when the Heretics see that I have returned to Eutracia?” Tristan asked. “What then? Won’t they know that they have been duped?”

  “Yes,” someone said from across the table.

  Tristan looked to see Mitsu staring at him. She was younger than the others, with an attractive face and a pleasant smile.

  “But by then you will be home, and about the mission we shall entrust to you,” she added. “When they realize that they have been misled, Xanthus’ masters will likely kill him. If all goes as we hope, Xanthus will die believing that he was truly a failure to his Heretic masters. He will never remember the other side of the story-our side, to be precise. We know it’s unfortunate, but it’s how things must be if we are to succeed.”

  “You can do that to people’s minds?” Tristan asked.

  “Yes, Jin’Sai, ” Mitsu answered. “One day you and Shailiha will also command such gifts.”

  Tristan shook his head with wonderment-not only at what Mitsu had just said about him and Shailiha, but also at the Envoys’ intricate plan. It was foolproof and elegant, he realized. And for some reason it centered on him.

  “All right,” he said. “I understandhow you brought me here. What I haven’t learned iswhy. ”

  “This is why,” Hoskiko answered simply. “Observe.”

  Waving one arm, she called the craft. Tiny azure particles soon formed in the air. Waving her hand again, she caused them to start whirling. They formed a mini-tornado that hovered and swirled, then moved to the room’s other side. Then the glowing cyclone coalesced to form a staggering panorama. A dozen meters across by several meters high, the colorful image was life-sized and terrifying. Soon sound arose from it to fill the room.

  What Tristan was seeing and hearing was so all-encompassing that for several moments he had to close his eyes. When he opened them again, to his dismay he found the scene unchanged.

  Across a wide field not unlike those of Farplain, two vast armies charged toward one another. Tristan realized that he was witnessing a battle in the ongoing War of Attrition. He could only imagine the numbers of troops involved-hundreds of thousands in each camp, he guessed.

  Some rode towering beasts across the land and through the sky, the likes of which he couldn’t start to describe. Entire regiments could be seen doing something even the best Eutracian wizards had always found impossible-they were literally flying through the air toward the enemy. Carrying odd weapons and screaming maniacally, other soldiers ran across the ground at amazing speed. Everything was happening with such frantic quickness that Tristan could hardly take it all in. As the thundering ranks neared, he didn’t want to watch, but he found it impossible to tear his eyes away. Then the brave warriors started dying.

  The first strikes came from each army’s rear lines, as the opposing archers loosed their shafts against one another; the converging arrow clouds were so dense that they literally darkened the sky. Amazingly, every arrow seemed to find an enemy body into which to tear. Screaming and writhing, tens of thousands died on the spot. As the mayhem grew louder, blood ran across the emerald-green battleground.

  At first he couldn’t believe that such unerring accuracy was possible. But then he realized something more. Many of the warriors must command the craft.

  This was no ordinary war among mortals. The War of Attrition was a war among adepts from both sides. Tristan knew that this was what Xanthus had meant when he said that after seeing this world, his perspectives on war and death would be forever changed. The Envoys were right. Compared to what went on here, the war between the Directorate and the Coven was a mere skirmish between light and dark.

  As the two armies neared, azure bolts flew through the air. Thousands died on either side; thousands more quickly took up their comrades’ abandoned ranks. Amid more explosions, smoke, and carnage, the two great armies finally collided, their forces swarming over each other in a terrible display of wanton death-dealing.

  Deciding that Tristan had seen enough, Hoskiko caused the battle scene to vanish. Everyone around the meeting table stayed respectfully silent for a time. Tristan finally looked over at Hoskiko. He shook his head.

  “So this is what it is like in your world?” he asked. “I have never witnessed such death and destruction.”

  Hoskiko nodded. “That was but some of the ongoing struggle. Battles continually rage, and sometimes a siege can last for decades. That scene is being carried out more than two thousand leagues away. Other conflicts go on in the sky and on the water. At this moment, over fifty such battles are occurring. Many are far larger than what you just saw.”

  Tristan simply sat there for a moment, trying to imagine the war’s vast scope. “Your losses are staggering,” he breathed. “How can your people continually suffer such decimation yet survive as a race? It doesn’t seem possible.”

  Hoskiko was about to speak when a Heretical Envoy answered for her. “It’s all relative,” Balsius said. He was a short man, with a long, hooked nose and a kind face. Like Wigg, when speaking he used his hands for emphasis.

  “From the Tolenka Mountains that border us on the east, our world stretches for tens of thousands of leagues in every other direction,” he said. “By comparison, Eutracia and Parthalon are mere garden plots. Like you, we have our cities, ports, and such-although their splendors would be nearly unrecognizable to your mind. And like you we live, love, care for our children, and hope for a better day. Just as our lands are so much greater, so is our population. The land is almost evenly divided. The Heretics control the north, the Ones the south. The azure pass is found just north of the war border, in Heretic-controlled territory. When activated, the Borderlands run east to west along the border’s entire length. Had the orb cut through the Tolenkas farther to the north, constructing Crysenium might have proven impossible. As you might expect, most land battles tend to occur along that north-south border. The struggle you just saw was one such conflagration.”

  “Do the two separate lands have names?” Tristan asked.

  “The Heretic lands are called Rustannica,” Faxon answered. “In Old Eutracian it means, ‘heretical,’ or ‘splitting away.’ The Ones’ lands are named Shashida, or ‘homeland of the faith-keepers.’”

  “I see,” Tristan mused. “And the war has raged ever since the Heretics split away.”

  “Correct,” Faxon answered. “Before the Heretics started their exclusive practice of the Vagaries, we all lived in quiet but fragile harmony. Then the Heretics revolted and started the war. What followed was a miscalculation beyond description.”

  “What do you mean?” Tristan asked.

  “During the war’s early years, the Heretics used especially dark magic to influence the forces of nature,” Hoskiko explained. “Spells were formulated that allowed them to employ natural phenomena as war weapons. Millions died. To survive, the Ones had no choice but to do the same thing, even though it went against their better judgment. You see, before the war, what you call Eutracia and Parthalon were also part of where we lived. The Tolenkas didn’t exist, nor did the Sea of Whispers. The lands encompassing Eutracia and Parthalon were contiguous.”

  Tristan looked at Faxon with amazement. “How could that be?”

  “Once loosed, the magic was far more powerful and difficult to control than either side anticipated,” Hoskiko answered. “The Tolenkas unexpectedly rose, and the landmass separated, creating the Sea of Whispers. Since then the environmental and seismic arts have been abandoned by both sides as being far too dangerous. But the formulas are still held in reserve by each side, should either try such madness again. It is said that the Heretics first formulated these spells to create the Isle of the Citadel.” Pausing for a moment, she sadly closed her eyes.

  “Because such potent magic unintentionally created them, the Tolenkas and the Sea of Whispers hold many secrets-secrets that even we have yet to unravel,” she added. “One such mystery is why no one from either side can conquer the mountains. Some say that it is because they are high an
d the air too thin to breathe-even for us. Others believe that there are darker reasons. But no matter the cause, there is finally a way to cross.”

  “The azure pass,” Tristan said.

  “Yes,” Hoskiko replied. “That will be your way home again. But time grows short, and we cannot afford to indulge your many questions. It is finally time to tell you why we brought you here.”

  Sitting quietly, Tristan looked first at Hoskiko, then Faxon. Hoskiko reached out to touch him on one arm.

  “Your ultimate destiny is to stop this terrible War of Attrition,” she said. “It always has been-just as it has been the destiny of eachJin’Sai andJin’Saiou before you who tried and failed.”

  Hoskiko’s words stunned Tristan. “That can’t be,” he protested. “The Tome clearly states that I am to combine the craft’s opposing sides for the betterment of mankind. Besides, how could I ever hope to stop a war that you brilliant Envoys cannot?”

  “It has to do with interpreting the word ‘sides,’” Hoskiko answered. “Old Eutracian can be a difficult language to grasp, even for those who have spoken it for aeons. Is it so impossible to believe that your wizards might be wrong in how they interpret it?”

  Suddenly Tristan understood. “The Tome isn’t saying that Shailiha and I must combine the two arts,” he breathed. “Instead, I am to combine the two opposite ‘sides’ that practice those arts-the Ones and the Heretics! I am to somehow bring peace among you!”

  “Yes,” Faxon said. “You are the firstJin’Sai to fully understand.”

  “But how am I to do this?” Tristan asked.

  “You must first understand that the craft’s two sides need each other to survive,” Hoskiko said. “Without good, evil would not exist and vice versa. Like light and dark, and male and female, each side needs the other to carry on. Each side of the craft must be allowed its existence-even the Vagaries. But to flourish peacefully they must coexist in a world of mystical checks and balances, rather than by warring against each other. If either side should be destroyed, the other will wither and die.”

  “But if that is the case, then why do the Heretics continue trying to destroy the Vigors?” Tristan asked. “The Coven, Nicholas, Wulfgar-with the Heretics’ help, in one way or another they all tried to ensure that only the Vagaries ruled. If what you say is true, their actions make no sense. Was it their goal to wipe out all magic?”

  “No,” Faxon answered. “The answer has to do with left-leaning blood signatures. Those with signatures leaning far leftward are much more devoted in their fanaticism. Their minds become frantic, chaotic, and unyielding to any philosophy other than their own. Any sense of tolerance disappears. The craft’s two sides are much the same, save for this distinction.

  “For the most powerful of those who practice the Vagaries, their worship turns into deadly obsession,” he added. “Their minds, hearts, and souls are overtaken by it, and they consider the Vigors’ followers to be the evil ones. In essence, they no longer know that what they are doing is wrong, or destructive to the craft as a whole. The Coven of the Sorceresses, Nicholas, Wulfgar, and now Serena were all such true believers, as are the many Heretics who counseled them. Each suffered from this madness. In their frantic need to crush the Vigors, they believe their cause justifies any means. Among the more fanatical leaders of Rustannica that misguided sense of fatalism exists to this day.”

  “Do you remember Wigg telling you about Failee’s madness?” Hoskiko asked Tristan. “She was brilliant, even by our standards. To this day her dark work continues to influence your world. She was not the first to be affected that way. Aeons ago, when the Heretics split away, their improper Vagaries use sometimes caused the same madness in them. Sometimes it also became psychosexual, as it did with Succiu, Second Mistress of the Coven.”

  “Because of their immense gifts, the radical Vagaries worshippers hold sway over all others living in Rustannica,” Faxon told the prince. “Their kind is comprised of two distinct parts. The governing order is a group of Heretical clerics called thePon Q’tar. They are the true fanatics. The Imperial Order is thePon Q’tar ’s military arm. They oversee the war, taking their orders from thePon Q’tar and the emperor. Beneath both these groups live the more ordinary citizens.”

  “Why don’t those with far right-leaning signatures suffer their own madness?” Tristan asked. “That’s something I could never understand. Nor could my wizards answer this question.”

  Faxon smiled. “Ah,” he said. “We have finally come to the heart of the matter.” Leaning a bit closer, he searched Tristan’s face.

  “To better understand the answer, consider these questions,” he said. “Tell us-is cold the absence of heat, or is heat the absence of cold? In that same vein, is dark the absence of light, or is light the absence of dark?”

  Tristan found Faxon’s inquiries strange. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  “Have your wizards ever mentioned that chaos is the natural order of the universe?” Faxon asked.

  “Yes,” Tristan answered, “many times in fact.”

  “With that idea in mind, consider Faxon’s questions, then answer them to your best ability,” Hoskiko said.

  Tristan thought for a moment. “I suppose that cold is the absence of heat,” he said, “and dark is the absence of light.”

  “Well done,” Hoskiko said. “Tell us why.”

  “Because unlike cold and dark, heat and light are energy forms that must be generated,” Tristan answered. “It is like being in a cave. Because the cave’s natural inclination is to be cold and dark, it will remain that way until visited by a flame’s heat and light.”

  “And…?” Faxon asked.

  “The cold and darkness are therefore the natural order of the universe,” Tristan mused. “Without energy to change them, they always prevail.” An astonished look suddenly overcame Tristan’s face. “I finally understand,” he breathed.

  Smiling, Hoskiko looked knowingly at Faxon, then back at Tristan. “Tell us,” she said.

  “When the Heretics split away to practice only the Vagaries, they forever abandoned the Vigors-the craft’s side that provides its energy and light. It is being in this perpetual state of ensured ‘darkness’ and ‘cold’ that causes the Vagaries practitioners to go mad. Just as dark and light are the natural order of the world, without the Vigors, chaos is the craft’s natural state. That chaos soon affects the Heretics’ minds.”

  “Exactly,” Hoskiko answered. “They shun the light, warmth, and balance that the Vigors would ordinarily bring. Madness soon follows. As their minds spiral downward, they stop caring about anything else. It is this concept that lent the craft sides their names. The ‘Vigors’ speak of energy and light; they are the ‘vigorous’ side. The Vagaries refers to the darkness, chaos, and confusion that follow, should one abandon the light.”

  “But how does this knowledge help me broker a peace among you?” Tristan asked.

  “Before you can help do that, you must first return to Eutracia,” Hoskiko answered, “for two important reasons.”

  Tristan listened as Faxon explained the plan that Serena was carrying out. It was heinous, barbaric. Armed with this understanding, Tristan could easily see how Serena’s success might easily destroy the Vigors, and all that the Conclave held dear. Worse, if the Conclave hadn’t already attacked the Citadel, they soon would. His friends would unknowingly be sailing into a death trap. He had to get home as fast as possible.

  As he thought about the danger the Conclave was heading into, Tristan closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, Hoskiko’s expression was compassionate and concerned.

  “If you and the Conclave can defeat this final threat to your side of the world, your wizards must then alter your blood signature,” she said. “We ask that you then return to us.”

  “Change my signature in what way?” he asked.

  “It must be forced leftward,” Faxon answered, “toward the Vagaries. As you know, your wizards and sorceresses have re
cently acquired that power. Once your signature shows no appreciable lean in either direction, you must return to us through the azure pass. Because your blood has not been classically trained, there is little worry that you will be attracted to the Vagaries.”

  “Before you leave here, we will grant your blood the Forestallment allowing you to safely summon and navigate your way through the pass,” Hoskiko added. “We will remain here until you return.”

  “And then?” Tristan asked.

  “We will all leave Crysenium,” she answered. “We will seek out the rebel Heretic network. Together we will go on to attract ever more souls to our cause, until our numbers are such that thePon Q’tar has no choice but to listen to our peace plan. To save the craft, we must bring the Heretics back to the light. Ordinarily this would have been impossible. But with you leading us, we finally have a chance.”

  “But why should these people listen to me?” Tristan asked.

  Faxon smiled. “You’re forgetting something. You are theJin’Sai. For aeons, millions have anticipated your coming. TheJin’Sai willingly changing his blood signature so that it has no appreciable lean will be seen as a monumental, unheard-of act of good faith. Everyone will understand that your intentions carry no bias, and that you are willing to work for the good of both sides. We believe that millions from each side will rise up to hear your word, then drop their swords to follow you. Even the Imperial Order and thePon Q’tar will eventually be forced to listen. Peace is finally possible, Jin’Sai, if only you will lead us. If the fanatical Heretics can be reasoned with and again be persuaded to accept the Vigors, Rustannica and Shashida will finally be reunited into one kingdom.”

  Pausing for a moment, he looked into Tristan’s eyes. “It will be a new kingdom,” he said softly. “One ruled in peace and harmony by theJin’Sai, his blood signature permanently altered to the vertical. Should you succeed in your destiny, you will rule the combined lands with no bias toward either side of the craft. So will your children, and your children’s children, who shall all inherit your blood.”