“In a strange way I’m almost sorry for Vespasian,” Tristan said.
Mashiro sternly shook his head. “I understand how you feel,” he said. “But you cannot afford to sympathize with his plight, Jin’Sai. If you meet him on the battlefield you must strike quickly and with everything you have. He is the ultimate product of the Vagaries, and he would as soon kill us as draw his next breath-you above all.”
“And what about me and Shailiha?” Tristan asked. “You said that our blood signatures occurred naturally. What did you mean?”
Mashiro smiled. “Unlike Vespasian’s parents, yours found one another on their own. Wigg and the other Directorate Wizards chose Nicholas I to be king, and Nicholas later took Morganna as his queen. Your parents’ union was natural, as were your and your sister’s twin births. Unknown to your father, mother, and the late Directorate, Nicholas and Morganna carried the supreme male and female blood signature halves needed to produce theJin’Sai and theJin’Saiou. Your parents were each of highly endowed blood, to be sure. But only when these two magnificently powerful and opposing gender blood signature halves join to form a new one does the resulting child’s blood take on such transcendent strength. You and Shailiha became those two children. In the entire history of your world, only three other such random pairings occurred. This also means that your blood signature and Shailiha’s are identical with that of everyJin’Sai andJin’Saiou who preceded you.”
“And the previousJin’Sai s andJin’Saiou s that the Scroll Master spoke of,” Tristan said, “were they our forebears?”
“In a way, they were,” Kaemon answered. “But as you can imagine, for the vast majority of recorded time these two supremely gifted blood signature halves drifted apart from one another as they resided in various people’s blood and were handed down from generation to generation. You and your sister are the first and onlyJin’Sai andJin’Saiou born to royalty. Nicholas and Morganna were more than just your parents-they were also the human vessels that carried the transcendent blood signature halves for a short time. They made you and Shailiha who you are, and you are right to keep on loving them and holding your memories of them dear.”
Tristan sat in respectful silence for a moment, remembering. Then another question occurred to him. “Save for its lean, is my blood signature identical to Vespasian’s?” he asked.
Mashiro shook his head. “We do not know. Our rebel Heretic had no opportunity to see Vespasian’s blood signature before he was killed, nor has Julia. Our scholars believe that they are probably different in appearance but equally powerful.”
“But what is it that gives these two-or should I say four-uniquely powerful signature halves such amazing qualities?” Wigg asked. “Why does their joining create people of such transcendent blood?”
“Our scholars have long believed that it has something to do with the two orbs,” Renjiro answered. “That the orbs perhaps somehow influenced their evolution-one pair for the Vigors, another for the Vagaries. Each pair produces vastly different tendencies, to be sure, but they are probably equally powerful. In truth even we do not know. If we survive to defeat Rustannica, perhaps that will be one of the mysteries we will solve together. Aside from that, who is to say why these unique blood signatures produce such talented and extraordinary mystics? Why do some of us become geniuses of science and mathematics, or great prodigies in music and art? Nature still has her ways, and I daresay we humble humans have yet to fully understand them.”
Tristan again looked through the gaps in the colonnade to the gardens lying beyond. The sun had set in earnest, and the various night creatures had started singing. A cool wayward breeze flowed through the magnificently appointed gardens, its invisible tentacles sometimes reaching into the room to gently caress his face. They brought with them unfamiliar scents, sounds, and seemingly even greater mysteries.
Because of the many things he had learned this day, Tristan had at last found a sense of quiet peace in Shashida that he had known nowhere else. At last he knew who he really was, and how he and Shailiha had come to be, and why. Questions remained, but he understood enough to put his heart at rest-at least for now.
Then his eyes caught the lovely Hoshi’s once more. He was about to speak to her when Mashiro garnered his attention. Leaning over the table slightly, theInkai elder gave the three newcomers a serious look.
“It is late,” he said. “I fully understand that you have more questions, but the three of you should retire. But before you leave us, there is something more that you need to know. You will probably find the news disturbing.”
“What is it?” Wigg asked quietly.
“You three brave travelers and everyone still aboard your Black Ships will likely never see Eutracia again,” Mashiro said. “Like us, you have become trapped on this side of the world. Because of this, you should consider making Shailiha the Queen of Eutracia. Tristan will likely never return home, and Eutracia must have a ruler.”
Tristan looked over at Wigg and Tyranny to see resigned expressions. Wigg nodded; Tyranny took a deep breath and tried to give Tristan a reassuring smile.
All the expedition members who had come with Tristan had done so willingly and with the knowledge that if they reached Shashida, they might never return home. But now that possibility had become fact, and the stark reality was settling in.
Tristan was not concerned for himself. He would miss Eutracia, the other Conclave members, and most of all his sister. But with Celeste dead, and knowing that his destiny lay here, he was content to stay. Wigg had lost Abbey, so there was now less reason for him to return home even if he could. Tyranny was not romantically involved, as far as Tristan knew; her great love was for the Black Ships. With theEllistium destroyed and theCavalon damaged beyond use, the only serviceable Black Ships resided on this side of the world. Tristan couldn’t know whether she might command the great vessels again, but for her sake he hoped that she would. The other Conclave mystics who had traveled here with him had left no mates behind, and Tristan had insisted that the Minion warriors who accompanied him be unattached.
But in the end none of that mattered, for the die was cast. Reaching Shashida meant starting new lives-lives that would surely be filled with wonder and amazement. But they would also be dangerous lives that would test the limits of their courage and faith in the Vigors. What Tristan, Wigg, and Tyranny didn’t know was why they couldn’t return home. Pursing his lips with thought, theJin’Sai turned to look at Mashiro.
“We all knew that if we reached Shashida we might never see Eutracia again,” Tristan said. “But before we retire, please tell us-why are we all trapped here? What keeps everyone from crossing the Tolenka Mountains? Why can’t we sail the Black Ships back the way we came?”
“The story is a complicated one,” Mashiro answered, “and even we do not fully understand it. Because the hour is late, I will be brief. When thePon Q’tar first used the spells that were later banned by the Borderlands Treaty, their calculations were crude by today’s standards and resulted in acts of the craft that were nearly uncontrollable. As you know, when thePon Q’tar employed them, the Tolenka mountain range unexpectedly arose and the land mass separated to create the Sea of Whispers. We too had immense difficulties trying to control our versions of the spells. One such spell was designed to create the Azure Sea and the stone maze that would allow only persons of right-leaning blood to sail back and forth across it and to move easily from one side of the world to the other. When we realized that the spell was going awry, we created the Tome and the Vigors Scroll to leave behind for future generations of right-leaning blood to find and use. Some of us-like the Scroll Master and the Watchwoman of the Floating Gardens-volunteered to stay behind in hiding, in the hope that Vigors practitioners would find them and that they might help you to better understand the workings of the craft. But even they could not tell you about crossing the Azure Sea because it did not yet exist. Like thePon Q’tar ’s best efforts, ours too went awry. After the Azure Sea and the stone maze
that brought you here formed, the spell took on a life of its own. That is the major drawback to the banned spells-in some cases they seem to come alive to create their own sentience and purpose. To our amazement, it evolved further and of its own choosing. Since that fateful day, we have not been able to undo it.”
“Amazing,” Wigg said. “What was the result?”
“As you know, the spell allows travel from east to west across the Azure Sea, but only by those possessing right-leaning blood, lest the maze’s course become different and continually repeat itself,” Jomei answered. “Regardless of one’s blood-be that blood unendowed or endowed of any type-should he or she try to sail the Azure Sea and head east, the maze walls rise, but afterward they join, crushing everything and everyone caught between them. You were lucky. Had you turned your ships around and headed back, everyone aboard them would have suffered that terrible fate. Despite our scholars’ best efforts, no answer to repairing the spell has been found. And even if one was devised, using it would violate the Borderlands Treaty, because its calculations are environmental. Even so, if the Rustannican break the treaty, our survival will mean that we must do the same.”
“But that is not to say that others of right-leaning blood can’t come from east to west,” Tristan said.
“True,” Mashiro answered. “But before doing so, they should be warned that they can never return.”
“Why can’t the Tolenkas be crossed from this side?” Tyranny asked.
“We are stymied by the same limitations as those living in the east,” Midori answered. “The mountains are simply too high for even us to cross. The air becomes so thin that every mystic group we sent up the mountainsides returned in failure. Despite much trying, we have found no spell to overcome this obstacle. ThePon Q’tar ’s early spell that unexpectedly created the mountain range also developed a life of its own. To this day it morphs to protect its matrix against tampering.”
“If that is true, then the craft has entered a dangerous and startling new phase,” Wigg said. “Or should I say, new to us three.”
“Indeed,” Mashiro answered.
“Because we can’t go back, you are right about the need for Shailiha to become queen,” Tristan said to Mashiro. He looked over at Wigg. “Do you agree?” he asked.
Wigg nodded. “She is the rightful heir, and her time has come,” he said.
“Before you retire, there is something that I must ask you, Jin’Sai, ” Mashiro said. “Can you decide soon whether you will help us to defeat Vespasian? As we said, to do this we must grant you the banned forestallments. Because of their great power, it is likely that even we cannot imbue your blood with these gifts without causing you great physical pain. If you choose not to help us, no shame will be attached to your decision. But if the answer is to be yes, we must alter our war plan, and time is precious. We also understand that all this news is overwhelming and that you will need time to decide. But know this: Our futures and the survival of the craft are inexorably tied to yours. Vespasian and thePon Q’tar must be defeated, be it now or later. If you accept, we will do everything in our power to help you.” Mashiro gave Tristan a short smile, and the gleam in his eyes seemed to brighten.
“After all, even the reigningJin’Sai does not discover a new world every day,” he added.
Tristan needed no time to decide. From the moment he took a seat at the meeting table, he had known that this strange land was where he would finally meet his destiny.
“I will answer now,” he said quietly. “I cannot speak for those who accompanied me here, but for my part I will do all that I can to defeat Rustannica and her servants who wish to destroy us.” Pausing for a moment, he looked over at Wigg and Tyranny.
“What say you?” he asked. “Are you with us?”
Despite the painful loss of Abbey, Wigg dredged up the semblance of a smile. “I have been alive for more than three centuries,” he said. “I have loved and lost, and this night I find that is the case yet again. During all that time, I have striven to learn everything I could about the craft and to protect it from those who would see it destroyed. And now it seems that the real struggle is about to start.” The wizard stared into Tristan’s eyes. “I watched you and your sister come into this world not so long ago,” he added softly. “From that moment forward, I have been and always will be yours.”
“Thank you,” Tristan answered. He turned to look at Tyranny. She in turn looked at Mashiro before answering.
“I have no endowed blood,” she said. “I want to help, but how?”
Mashiro smiled. “Although you cannot summon the craft, you have unique seafaring talents,” he answered. “I’m sure that something can be arranged to your liking.”
“Then I’ll join you,” she said. “It’s good for a simple privateer of unendowed blood to know that she can contribute to the cause.”
Tristan let go a short laugh. He then looked into every face around the table and raised his cup. Everyone followed suit.
“We’re yours,” he said. He raised his cup higher, as did the others.
“To new beginnings!” he offered.
“To new beginnings!” everyone answered.
After draining his cup, Tristan looked across the table to see Hoshi smiling at him. This time her smile was genuine and offered without reservation.
CHAPTER XLII
AS THE BOY AWAKENED, HE AGAIN FOUND HIMSELF LYING on a cold stone floor. Something hard lay between him and the stones, biting into his skin and causing him pain. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up. The familiar room was dark, but this time a burning candle in a golden holder stood atop the usual wooden stool. The candle seemed out of place, the boy realized, but it provided some welcome light.
Coming to his feet, he felt an unexpected heaviness clinging to his left hip. He looked down, and what he saw surprised him. A short sword in a tooled leather scabbard lay there. The scabbard was attached to a leather belt cinched around his waist. Reaching down, he grasped the sword hilt and slowly drew the weapon. As the blade came free, it produced a ringing sound.
Holding the sword before the faint candlelight, the boy regarded it carefully. It was at once a beautiful and a terrible thing, and its weight felt good in his hands. Lowering the sword a bit, he ran one finger across the blade to find that it was razor sharp.
Still wondering why he had been given such a magnificent weapon, he slid the sword into its scabbard, then walked to the shabby stool. Taking the candleholder into his hands, he climbed atop the stool to wait in silence for his master to arrive. Although the sword was a mystery, the boy believed that he would have the answer soon.
Unlike the times before, today he was unafraid. During his last training session with the still unidentified master, the boy had lost something but gained far more. His dreaded fear of the faceless man in the hooded robe was gone, replaced by a strange gift that the master calledK’Shari. With the coming of that gift, rather than dread the imminent arrival of his teacher he hungered to learn the object of today’s lesson. He was sure that the sword lying at his hip would be instrumental in his understanding, although he couldn’t imagine how.
The door slowly opened and a shaft of light streamed into the room, hurting the boy’s eyes. This time I will not look away, he resolved, nor will I cover my face with my hands. I will stay strong and look into the light with courage.
The robed figure walked into the room. Saying nothing, he placed his hands into opposite robe sleeves. The boy gazed unafraid into the dark recesses of the empty hood to again see nothing but blackness. This time the sight did not frighten him, and for a time neither student nor master spoke. Finally the hooded master took a step nearer.
“You didn’t shield your eyes from the light this time,” he said. “Did its sudden brightness not hurt them?”
“It did,” the boy answered. “But I now know that keeping my eyes open was needed, despite the pain it brought.”
“And why would that be?” the master asked.
“Becau
se a warrior cannot fight what he cannot see,” the boy answered. “I could not know who was entering the room. The pain caused by the light would surely be less than that of being killed by an unseen enemy.”
“Well done,” the master said. “It is time for your next lesson.” Reaching out, he beckoned the boy to leave the stool and follow him.
The hallway was just as the boy remembered it. Endless and stark white, it held countless doors with golden handles. Saying nothing, the master turned left and started walking. The boy followed willingly, the heaviness of the sword at his side a reminder of its still unexplained presence.
After a long walk the master stopped before a door. He pointed a finger at the golden handle, and it levered downward. The boy and his master entered the room beyond, the door closing behind them with quiet finality. The scene before the boy was surprising. Like the hallway, the room was stark white. Two incongruous things stood before the boy, neither of which made sense to him.
On one side of the room stood a huge white bull. An iron ring was secured through its nostrils, and a chain led from that ring down to another one embedded into the floor. The bull was magnificent. Two wide black horns protruded from the top of his skull, each curving forward to nearly touch the other’s point. His face was broad, his dark eyes wide apart, large, and lustrous. Strong muscles rippled beneath his skin, and as he stood there he turned to look at the boy. Everything about the animal conveyed power, courage, and strength.
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