Child of Thunder (Renshai Trilogy)

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  “Now I understand why so few attempt the final task. There is no reward. I’ll take neither staff.”

  The One-eyed One stared impassively at Colbey, his single eye unwinking. “The reward is what it is. Every tool requires a man to wield it. The man, not the tool, determines its significance.” The hush that followed stretched painfully. “No questions will be answered this time. There is nothing left, Kyndig, but your choice.”

  No sane man would willingly decide to serve or distribute chaos. Yet two ideas gave Colbey pause. First, he knew that one god, Loki the Shape Changer, had been charged with instigating the Ragnarok, though he knew it would lead to his own doom as well as that of most of the other gods and men. Colbey did not profess to understand the motivations of the gods; surely their immortality and millennia of experience gave them insight and wisdom that men could never contemplate. But Shadimar’s words struck more deeply: “Law is the direct opponent of chaos. If we work within the tenets of law to bring the Ragnarok, our efforts could do exactly the opposite. If, however, we turn against Odin’s laws and break our Wizards’ vows in order to avert the Ragnarok, we are virtually guaranteed to cause it. When the time comes, I hope we will all have the sense and competence to choose our actions wisely. Quite literally, the world and everything in it will lie in our hands.”

  Colbey harbored little doubt that the time mentioned by Shadimar had come, yet no vision of the consequences came to help him make the decision. Only one thing about the choice seemed certain. Without balance between the forces shaping the world, it would have no direction. The staves complement one another. Neither alone could serve mankind. It could only destroy us. Again, logic told him to refuse both, yet he knew the Keeper would not allow it.

  Colbey sheathed his swords, kneading Harval’s hilt with a sweat-slicked hand. Usually even a foolish action accomplished more than immobility. He reached inside himself and called on the power remaining in his body to strengthen his mind. The muting haze of exhaustion lifted, and he shaped a mental probe, stretching it delicately toward the Keeper. He braced himself, expecting a solid block or a massive retaliation. Yet he found neither. His probe entered without difficulty, and he explored a mind more complete and intricate than any he had encountered in the past. Although the Keeper seemed not to notice the intrusion, Colbey found the ignorance difficult to accept. Still, he probed deeper.

  Colbey’s mind extension entered a labyrinth of twisting thoughts and abstract concepts. Barely beyond his comprehension, they beckoned him deeper into the vast, convoluted pain of the Keeper’s subconscious. Then, suddenly, a barrier dropped behind his probe, blocking his only retreat.

  Every instant his mind wandered through another’s thoughts, physical strength drained from Colbey. Needing escape, he spun the probe, battering the barrier with all the power of his will. The mental wall remained, and Colbey managed enough contact with his body to feel it weakening. Unable to go back, he sought escape ahead.

  The maze wound, thought twisting upon thought, concept crossing concept. He felt the barriers shudder and dissolve behind him, but he no longer knew the route back. Too late, Colbey realized he had become lost, trapped inside another’s mind. He hurried forward, staking his life on the possibility of another exit, and the One-Eyed One’s mentation led him to a great void. Around him, Colbey sensed only emptiness, as if the massive brain that had surrounded him had disappeared completely. He realized that he might never free himself from this limbo, and he sought escape with little hope of success.

  Abruptly, Colbey discovered texture. Curiosity now fueled a new enthusiasm. He explored the irregularities. Silhouettes hovered, barely discernible at the edges of his consciousness. With maddening slowness, vague outlines sharpened to hauntingly familiar concepts of war, sword forms, and deeply etched religion. Colbey recognized the phantoms as a mirror image of his own mind.

  Stunned, Colbey struggled against the reflection, but the transposed images remained. They were real. Another Colbey? It seemed impossible. True, the gods had once copied his body and his actions, animating it with a will of their own. Yet their failure to fill it with true life or sentience had made him certain that they could not. Even the gods created offspring as men did. And, though Odin and his two brothers had crafted the first man and woman from an ash and an elm, Colbey had never heard stories nor legends of humans coming from anywhere but one another since then.

  Colbey followed the memories, finding Renshai maneuvers and sword cuts he alone knew. This was a second Colbey, and yet it was not. The mind he had entered initiated no actions. Although it demonstrated evidence of mind control, it did not react to his intrusion. The pictures and concepts endured, a reversed duplicate of the Renshai’s own mind, as if the two Colbeys examined the same scene from opposite sides at the exact same time. Colbey realized that he stood outside, looking into his own mind. He entered the reflection and turned to stare out through his own eyes.

  Again, Colbey faced the one-eyed being. For the moment, the Renshai silently reveled in the return to his own body. He found it as strong as always, and the familiar supple quickness and deadly precision restored his brashness as well. “How did you manipulate me?”

  The other smiled. “Very well, I thought.” The grin vanished at once, back into the casual nothingness of his previous expression. “Now, choose.”

  “I want neither staff. I told you that.”

  The Keeper glowered.

  “But if I have to take one, then I’ll take them both.”

  The Keeper did not move. “So be it. You completed the task, and you must have your reward. I will give you both, but understand one thing, Kyndig. Though men struggle, they change nothing. What you see, feel, and do is only a matter of perspective. You alter appearances only. Reality remains inviolate. Had you not realized this truth, you might never have returned to your own body.” He extended the staves, one in each hand, toward Colbey. “With these, you change reality itself.”

  Hesitantly, Colbey reached forward and took the staves. White light exploded around him, blinding him with its brilliance. When vision returned to Colbey, the Keeper of the Eighth Task was gone.

  PART II

  THE KEEPERS OF LAW AND CHAOS

  CHAPTER 10

  The Keepers of Law and Chaos

  Shadimar sat in passive silence, staring into the space where the Pica Stone should have lain until his vision smeared and the blue shards merged into the expanse of blurry grayness. This charade could not continue. If the woman that he, Trilless, and Carcophan had sent to complete the Tasks of Wizardry did not return, it would mean they had condemned five competent humans to their deaths in as many weeks since Colbey’s failure. Damn the Renshai anyway. Frustration and grief drove the Eastern Wizard to blame Colbey for a demise even the Deathseeker could not have sanctioned, a shallow attempt to convince himself that the Renshai’s slaying meant nothing to him. Death in any other fashion would have left the Pica intact and dispensed with this infernal waiting in blind ignorance. A stray hair tickled his cheek. He raised a hand to brush it away, his movement scattering fragments of sapphire to the floor. The pieces sprinkled to the granite with tiny, high-pitched noises. Not even a spark of their former magic remained.

  Secodon stalked the remnants, sniffing delicately, as if trying to understand their fascination. Mar Lon sat quietly on the floor, seeming out of place in a roomful of solemn Wizards.

  Carcophan spoke in a low growl that seemed to be the most comforting voice he could manage. “Shadimar, we have to send another. We’ve given her enough time.”

  Shadimar glanced up. Carcophan and Trilless sat in their usual places, across the longest part of the Meeting Room table. The Northern Sorceress nodded tacit agreement, her concurrence with the Evil One unnerving Shadimar nearly as much as the events of the last several weeks. Over the centuries, he had learned to keep his emotions a step back, never to become attached to mortals. To do so might mean putting individual interest over cause as well as watching frien
ds wither and die. Yet the events he had shared with Colbey Calistinsson bore a significance his heart and mind would not allow him to forget. For all of Shadimar’s aloofness and Colbey’s savagery, he missed the old Renshai as a friend as well as a promised colleague.

  Avoiding the other Wizards’ gazes, Shadimar pushed himself away from the table and rose. He turned his back, watching the uniform glow in the fireplace without seeing the flames. His mind slid to a memory that had never been his own, a mental vision of a story Colbey had told. Shadimar imagined himself as the previous Western Wizard, Tokar, faced with a decision of world-shattering significance. Wind soughed through his white locks and beard, and the sky had already become sprinkled with the hues that preceded a Wizard’s ceremony of passage. It was a time when Tokar should have had nothing more to consider than the sequence of magic that would end his mortal life and link his consciousness with the Western Wizards before him, a collection that would live on in the mind of his successor.

  Secodon whined, nosing his master’s cupped hand.

  Shadimar ignored the wolf. He imagined Tokar studying his apprentice, a weak Pudarian named Haim. Somehow, Haim had passed the Tasks of Wizardry, though they had cowed rather than strengthened him, as if the gods had sanctioned Tokar’s plan. Now Shadimar tried to understand his colleague’s choice. Had Tokar, as Colbey thought, chosen Haim because he knew the ceremony would kill his apprentice? Had this been Tokar’s way of ending a line wracked by insanity, of forcing Shadimar to begin the Western line fresh and untainted by the madness it had incorporated and, unwittingly, nourished? More likely, Shadimar believed, Tokar hoped Haim’s weakness would make the apprentice little more than a puppet. Though now only a part of the collective consciousness, Tokar could control Haim, protecting him from the older portions of his predecessors’ thoughts.

  Tokar’s motivations mattered little, as did the events leading to Colbey’s presence at the time of the Western Wizard’s chosen passage. But recognition of the Renshai’s potential had given the old Wizard a choice that few would have considered or even have been aware of. Surely, neither Trilless nor Carcophan would have thought of passing their Wizard’s line to anyone other than their long-trained apprentice. Yet when Tokar stood amidst the thunder and light show of his summoned magics, he had had the wherewithal to place strength over weakness. He had risked putting the Western line into the hands and person of the most powerful mortal he had ever met, though it meant annihilation of the collective consciousness and his apprentice. Surely, it had never occurred to Tokar that Colbey might fail the Tasks of Wizardry.

  Trilless interrupted Shadimar’s considerations. “You’re tired, my friend. Would you like me to look for another?”

  Another. Shadimar did not move or reply. Why not send another to his death? Carcophan and Trilless are only aiding my search to honor their vows, but they know there’s no one left capable of serving as Western Wizard. Eventually, one will come along.

  Shadimar scratched Secodon absently, aware he did not have the luxury of time. Alone, I’m not strong enough to stand between good and evil. Soon they would overcome me and attack one another openly. War between them would begin the destruction heralded by the calling of the three Swords of Power. Shadimar knew he had little choice but to keep his companions occupied with obtaining more prospects for the tasks, yet the idea of sending more innocents to their deaths to delay the inevitable seemed abhorrent.

  Carcophan responded to Trilless’ offer as Shadimar had not. “You look for another? You’d like that—”

  Suddenly, a door appeared directly opposite the one to the outside. Shadimar stared. Carcophan stopped speaking. Mar Lon and Trilless turned their heads to look as well. They all knew this magical panel. It appeared only when an apprentice returned successfully from the Tasks of Wizardry. Relief thrilled through Shadimar, and he prepared himself for the speech he would need to give to the woman who emerged from that door. Then, another possibility filled his mind, bringing a twinge of guilt. Only one apprentice could perform the tasks at any given time. If one of the earlier candidates emerged, it meant that every subsequent recruit had simply been sent to an immediate death.

  The door swung open, its breeze fanning the magical fire into a ragged, orange blaze. The man who stepped through the frame wore a gold-colored shirt and breeks, held in place by a black sash. Yellow hair framed handsome features and burning blue-gray eyes that did not seem mortal. A sword dangled at each hip, and he carried a staff in either hand. Though the face seemed familiar, its youth and vigor threw Shadimar completely off target. His mind answered impression before logic. Loki? Has the god come to mock us? Worse possibilities haunted Shadimar then, concerns about the Cardinal Wizards’ interactions and the drawing of chaos.

  Apparently, Trilless came to the same conclusion. She rose, her stance graceful yet stiffly formal, and her voice held power and rage. “You’re not welcome, Shape Changer. Enough trouble has befallen us already. You hold no power here. In the name of Odin, I deny you entrance.”

  The man in gold laughed. “An excellent speech, Trilless. It’s a shame Loki couldn’t hear it.” He raised the staves, drawing Shadimar’s gaze directly to them. A faint white glow traced the edges of each, revealing their magic. “Behold the reward of the eighth task.”

  Mar Lon went so still he seemed to stop breathing. Trilless studied the newcomer and the staves. Carcophan came slowly to his feet. Shadimar found himself rooted in place. Colbey. It’s Colbey. The voice and confidence could belong to no one else, yet the Staves of Law and Chaos commanded Shadimar’s full attention.

  Trilless found her voice first, though she focused on what seemed to Shadimar to be the less important question. “I don’t understand. We watched you die. What happened after you touched the seer’s crystal?”

  Carcophan struck for the more salient point. “Explanations later. You have both staves! By Fenrir’s teeth, you condemn us all. Fool, you . . .”

  “You call me fool?” Colbey’s reply rose in anger. “I call you coward. At least I had the courage to attempt the eighth task.” Colbey came fully into the room, and the portal disappeared behind him.

  He brought the Staff of Chaos. The Staff of Chaos! Why? Shadimar considered probing Colbey’s thoughts. But he recalled the awesome power of the Renshai’s mind and chose words instead. “Colbey, listen to me. You don’t understand.”

  A smile creased the Renshai’s now-youthful features. “Perhaps I do, and that’s why you fear me. How many times have I talked about our own rules and protections stagnating us into oblivion? Times change. We can’t advance when ancient needs still govern civilization. Law is rigid and uncompromising. It’s not good and evil that are unyielding, as I once thought. It’s our world wholly without chaos.”

  Although trained to maintain composure in crises, Shadimar had never before reasoned with one who held the future of every world in his hands. The Wizard’s heart pounded, and his argument drew desperate. “Chaos is rampant and destructive. It has no shape and form. It drives lies, betrayals, crime, and dishonor. In the end, it will destroy us all.”

  “Perhaps,” Colbey concurred. “But without it, we’ll smolder into changeless oblivion, one moment the same as the next. Law is only the structure. Chaos is what lives, grows, and evolves.”

  Shadimar saw some logic in Colbey’s words, yet experience showed him the flaws in the argument. Odin had driven the Primordial Chaos from the world because of the need for structure. For millennia, the Wizards had protected that structure, and Odin had ensured that the system would continue for eternity. Without it, all of the gods, Wizards, and mortal civilization would collapse into chaos’ decadence. “You speak madness!”

  “I speak only of balance.”

  Carcophan came forward menacingly. “With chaos, there can be no balance. There is only destruction.”

  “I don’t believe that to be the case.”

  Trilless leapt to her feet. “Wiser minds say otherwise—”

  Colbey
smiled. “I don’t believe yours to be wiser minds.”

  Mar Lon remained rigid. Trilless went silent, blue eyes flashing with anger. Shadimar tried to appeal to the Renshai who had once been a brother. “Colbey, we have millennia of knowledge to draw upon. You have to believe that we know better. You have to listen.”

  “I have listened. And I’ve made my choice.” Colbey headed further into the room. “Your millennia of so-called wisdom only make you more rigid and stagnant. Again, I propose balance.”

  “Law is structure and reality!” Shadimar was shouting now, groping for the right words that would make Colbey understand the terminal significance of his decision. “It’s what men themselves are composed from, as well as our world and all that’s in it! There can be no balance between form and nothingness.”

  “I believe there can be.”

  Trilless glowered, arms folded across her sagging chest. “Then you’re every bit the fool Carcophan named you. And we have no choice but to stand against you.”

  Again, Colbey grinned, his expression smug. “I expected nothing less. And I’ll revel in the challenge.”