“Eat,” he said with authority as he poured himself a brimming cup of the dark, hot tea. He took a sip and felt its warm goodness go all the way down. “Bless you,” he said as he gingerly sipped some more.
Suddenly remembering he was still half naked, he put his cup down and walked back over to the chair to fetch his vest. As Celeste watched him go, for the first time she saw the angry, still-healing scars across his back, and her eyes went wide with concern. As he walked back to her, he looked up from lacing his vest and immediately understood.
Taking her hands into his, he saw that her eyes had become shiny.
“It’s all right,” he said softly. “They don’t hurt as much as they once did.” Reaching out, he touched her cheek.
“Did Krassus do that to you?” she asked, her face darkening with anger.
“In a way. These marks are from my time on the slave ship. One of the demonslavers did this.”
Celeste looked down for a moment. “Then he shall have to answer for what he has done,” she said, so softly he could barely hear her.
“That won’t be necessary.” Placing one hand beneath her chin, he raised her face back up to his. “He has already answered,” he added gently. “To me.” Silence reigned for a few moments.
“You lead such a dangerous existence,” she said bravely, trying to hold back her tears. “It would be safer for you if you stayed here in the palace.”
One corner of Tristan’s mouth came up. “It would be safer for me if I were someone else altogether,” he answered with a smile. “But we can’t do much about that, now, can we?”
“No,” she said, a hint of a smile returning. “I suppose not.”
“Come and eat,” he said, leading her back out in the sunshine. “I, for one, am famished.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you when you weren’t,” she chided as they sat down across from each other.
As they sat and ate in the sunshine, Celeste told him a bit more of what she knew about Abbey, and the prince expanded on his experiences with Krassus, and the pirates of Sanctuary. As they talked, Tristan couldn’t help but notice a very discernible change in Celeste. She seemed more alive, more spontaneous, happier than he had ever seen her. As he took another bite of the gingerwheat toast, he innocently told her so. When he did, a more thoughtful look came over her.
“Does this have anything to do with what you said you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked gently.
Celeste put down her teacup and looked into his eyes. “I’m finally free,” she said softly.
“Free?” he repeated.
“Free of Ragnar,” she answered. “I will, of course, never forget my time with him. But my horrific memories and nightmares no longer haunt me. While you were away, he came to me in a dream. It was so real that I was sure I was awake. He had returned from the dead somehow, and had used the craft on me so I couldn’t move. He was going to abuse me again, right there and then, and return me to the Caves. But when I awakened from my dream, my mind fought back this time, and my anger finally came flooding out. When it did, something inside of me just snapped, and the grip of his terror over me was broken.” Taking his hands, she closed hers lovingly around them.
“I’m finally free, Tristan,” she said softly. “Free to live, laugh, and love.” Her eyes anxiously searched his face, trying to discern what he was feeling. “The way it was rightfully meant to be,” she added. “The way it should be between a man and a woman.”
His heart full, Tristan stood, bringing her up with him. Pulling her close, he held her for a long time. When she finally took her face away from his shoulder, he saw the tears in her eyes again.
“Is it too late?” she asked softly.
At first Tristan didn’t understand. Reaching up, he dried one of her eyes. “Too late for what?” he asked.
“Does Tyranny mean anything to you?” Her body trembled slightly, and her voice was barely audible. “Is it too late for you to love me?”
Closing his eyes for a moment, he pulled her closer. “Don’t you know by now?” he asked her. “It has always been you. From the first moment I saved you at the edge of that cliff and looked into your eyes.” Feeling her body rise up to meet his, he looked down at her open mouth and realized the time for words had ended.
Reaching into her hair, he gave it a sure but gentle tug. As he did, her body bent willingly beneath him, and he put his mouth down on hers.
He looked into her eyes. She smiled, and cried, and laughed, and cried again. Her tears coming freely now, she rested her face against his chest and held him so tightly that he thought she would never let go. With his hands, he turned her face up and pressed his forehead against hers.
At that moment, Tristan understood that he had never truly loved before. Certainly not in just this way, nor ever with so full a heart.
“And just what do you suppose your father will have to say about all of this?” he asked with a little laugh.
“I have no idea.” She laughed, too. “But I know I love you with all my heart, and nothing in this world will ever change that, I promise you.”
“And I, you,” he answered softly.
Taking a deep breath of self-discipline, she tore herself away. “I have to leave,” she said. “And you need to clean yourself up!” Her sapphire eyes seemed to stab right through his heart. “I will see you in the courtyard.”
With a final smile of good-bye, she walked to the door and left him alone with his thoughts. Long after she was gone, he could still smell the myrrh in the air.
Tristan walked back out to the balcony and looked down at the remains of the breakfast she had brought him, and then stared out over the peaceful countryside. Realizing his lips still held the memory of her kiss, he slowly grazed his fingertips over them. It was then that the long-awaited understanding finally came whispering its way into his mind.
And so it begins.
CHAPTER
Fifty-six
By the time Tristan had bathed, dressed, and finally reached the courtyard, the sun was nearing its zenith. Abbey, Wigg, Faegan, and Shailiha were already there, waiting for him. Caprice, Shailiha’s violet-and-yellow flier of the fields, was perched calmly on the princess’ outstretched arm. Shailiha had left her daughter in the care of the gnome wives, Tristan assumed. As he joined the group, he gave Celeste a knowing smile.
Seeing Tristan, Wigg scowled and loudly cleared his throat. “And now that we’re all finally here . . .”
Tristan paused in midstride. Glancing at Wigg, he sighed and pursed his lips.
The lead wizard turned to Abbey. “Are you ready?” he asked.
Running one hand worriedly through her thick salt-and-pepper hair, the herbmistress nodded. “Perhaps this time our luck will hold.” She looked over at Faegan. The Paragon, hanging around his neck, sparkled in the sun.
“But given the fact that we still do not completely understand the Furies, I suggest we take some protective measures,” she added. “We have postulated that the Furies arise only when the blood of the Chosen Ones is involved in this process, but we also must admit that our understanding of this remains limited. I have no desire to relive what happened the other day. To that end, I have a suggestion.”
Faegan looked up from his chair. “Indeed,” he replied. “What is your idea?”
“Can you use the craft to fashion something to contain my gazing flame?” Abbey asked him. “Something that would be strong enough to shield me from the Furies, if need be, but that my hands and my gifts might also be able to actually reach through, so that I still might accomplish my work?”
Faegan nodded. “There is a variation of the wizard’s warp that should do.”
Raising his arms, he called the craft. As he did, the familiar azure glow appeared. Then the glow coalesced into a gleaming, transparent cube sitting silently before them on the grass of the courtyard. Open at the top, it was about five meters high, and another five meters across on each side.
Tristan guessed that F
aegan had left the cube’s top open purposely, so that if the process erupted the force would go upward, harmlessly releasing its power into the sky.
Faegan lowered his arms. “That should suffice,” he said thoughtfully. “I have fashioned it to be as strong as I know how, yet also accommodate your other demands. But what you need to understand is that whenever a warp is constructed so that one may pass any part of his or her body through it, by necessity some of its inherent strength is lost.” He went quiet for several moments. “I certainly hope it will be enough,” he added casually, his sense of understatement not lost on the others.
“Then it is time for me to begin,” Abbey said quietly. She held one of her arms out toward Faegan. “The herbs I specified?”
Faegan untied the leather cinch bag from around his waist and handed it over to Abbey. Then the herbmistress turned to Wigg. “And the fragment from the Scroll of the Vagaries?”
As Wigg took the vellum from within his robes, he looked down at it, and a look of concern crossed his face.
“Tell me, Abbey,” he asked her. “Do you need all of the vellum to view the other scroll?”
“While the relative size or quantity of the matching item is important, it is not so critical to the process as the quality and quantity of the herbs,” she answered. “Why do you ask?”
“Because if this thing blows up in our faces, I would prefer that we only risk half of the vellum, rather than all of it. Do you think you could be successful using only one half?”
“Perhaps. We won’t know until we try.”
Nodding, Wigg looked over at Faegan. “What say you?” he asked.
“I think we should proceed,” Faegan said knowingly. “But we must also tell them the other reason we wish to divide the vellum in half.”
“And what might that be?” Shailiha asked quizzically.
“Consider the following,” Faegan said as he pushed his chair closer. “While it’s true that Tristan brought us the vellum, and that we believe it came from the Scroll of the Vagaries, we still have no way of knowing who put it into his boot. Or even why, for that matter. Since only Krassus and the woman Tristan describes as Grizelda supposedly had access to the scroll, logic would dictate that it had to be one of them. But why would they do such a thing? They certainly do not wish to aid us in our search for the Scroll of the Vigors. But there is one thing Krassus and his herbmistress very much would like to see us accomplish on our own,” he added wryly.
“And what is that?” Celeste asked.
“To die,” Tristan said softly, half to himself. He looked over at the wizard in the chair. “That’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it? You and Wigg believe that Krassus and Grizelda have somehow enchanted the vellum to destroy us, should we try to use it to view the other scroll. An enchantment set to enact with the onset of Abbey’s flame.” Angrily, he shook his head. “How could I have been so blind!” he groaned. “I might have gotten us all killed.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Wigg said, laying one hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Faegan and I came to this hypothesis only hours ago ourselves, as we were examining the vellum.”
Tristan scowled as he thought about it all. Then he suddenly realized that part of the wizards’ theory made no sense. “But how could he know I would escape?” he asked.
“From the story you told us, there was no way he could have,” Faegan answered. “But you’re a very resourceful individual, and your reputation precedes you. We believe he may have enchanted the vellum and then placed it into your boot as an additional strategy, should you somehow actually find your way out of your predicament. Think about it. Why else would Krassus show you the scroll? As anyone in your position would do, you immediately associated the piece in your boot with it, and tried to bring the vellum back to us as quickly as you could.” Pausing for a moment, Faegan cast his ever-curious eyes over at the vellum Wigg still held in his hand.
“If you failed to escape, it wouldn’t matter,” he continued. “If you did, he was prepared. Given the desperate nature of our situation, he is no doubt counting on the fact that we will hurry in our attempts to employ his little gift without first considering the consequences.” Faegan took a deep breath. “And he was very nearly proven right.”
Deeply discouraged, Tristan shook his head. “So what do we do now?” he asked.
“We do what we came here for,” Wigg answered. “Provided, of course, that Abbey is still willing to try. After everything she has just heard, we can hardly condemn her, should she choose to decline.”
“And so the other reason why you want to divide the vellum in half is to lessen its deadly effects, should Krassus have actually enchanted it,” Tristan surmised.
“Well done,” Wigg replied. He looked concernedly over at Abbey. “Are you still willing to try?”
Abbey shook her head. “Just how strong is this warp of yours?” she asked Faegan.
“As powerful as I could make it,” Faegan answered. “But there are no guarantees.”
Sighing, Abbey rubbed her brow. Then she looked up at Wigg and gave him an ironic smile. “I just had to come back to Tammerland with you, didn’t I?” she said ruefully. Glaring back at Faegan, she raised her eyebrows. “Is there nothing else that can be done to help protect me?” she asked. “Surely that legendary brain of yours can come up with something.”
Looking up at the sky, Faegan took a few moments to mull it over. “There might be something,” he said finally.
“And what is that?” Wigg asked.
“If I begin to see the cube eroding, Wigg and I can try to shore it up again,” Faegan answered slowly, thinking out loud. “Though by then it might already be too late.”
He looked up into Abbey’s eyes. “Do you trust me to keep you alive?” he asked seriously.
Obviously unsure, Abbey hesitated. “Is there any other choice?” she finally asked resignedly. When neither of the wizards answered, she gave a short, derisive laugh. Then she bent over and put her mouth near Faegan’s ear. “If you let me die, I’ll kill you,” she said, fully realizing the absurdity of her words.
Faegan let go a soft cackle. “If you die, I’ll let you,” he answered. “Now then, shall we begin? But first I suggest that the rest of you retire to a much safer distance. Wigg, if you would.”
Wigg nodded, then turned to face the new brick wall he and Faegan had conjured that morning, upon coming to their disturbing conclusions.
Raising one arm, Wigg loosed an azure bolt against it. When the bolt reached it, it flattened out, encasing the wall entirely. Apparently satisfied, the lead wizard dropped his arm.
“Just another little precaution in case something should go wrong.” Faegan winked. “Now then, I want everyone except Abbey and myself behind that wall.”
Wigg watched them all go, then gave Abbey a kiss on the cheek. “Good luck,” he said quietly. Then he joined the others. The wall was just tall enough for the three of them to see over.
When Faegan was satisfied that the others were safe, he looked at the herbmistress. “Please give me the scrap of vellum.” Once she did so, he used the craft to divide the ancient skin in two. He returned one piece to her, then nodded. “You may begin whenever you are ready,” he told her. “And may the Afterlife look over us.”
Taking a deep breath, Abbey opened the leather cinch bag Faegan had given her and removed two smoke-colored bottles. Taking a pinch of herbs from the first bottle, she tentatively reached through one side of the cube, watching as its azure wall closed in around her arm. Finally satisfied, she dropped the herbs to the floor of the cube and withdrew her arm.
Closing her eyes, she bowed her head.
Almost immediately, the familiar golden flame erupted, slowly snaking its way toward the open top of the cube. Abbey reached back through the side and cast a few more of the herbs into the flame. Roaring even higher, the gazing flame gained strength and color. Abbey removed her hand from the cube and backed away a bit. Raising one arm, she silently comma
nded the flame to split into two separate branches. The smaller of the branches angled toward her.
Opening the other bottle of herbs, she carefully measured some out, then reached into the cube again and dropped the herbs into the nearest of the branched flames.
The two branches rejoined, returning to the vertical. Placing the two bottles on the ground at her feet, Abbey took the piece of vellum in both hands and raised it high.
As she watched the fire, a rectangular, azure window appeared in its midst. Within its confines, an image slowly formed. Faegan wheeled his chair closer to the edge of the cube and peered in.
A street scene was unfolding. It looked like a plaza of some kind. But which city? Faegan wondered. And for that matter, which country? Eutracia or Parthalon? Trying to examine the image was maddening—like trying to solve a shimmering, constantly moving puzzle with several of the pieces missing. But then Faegan saw the familiar statues.
The Plaza of Fallen Heroes! he realized. The Scroll of the Vigors was there in Tammerland, right under their noses!
But suddenly the piece of vellum in Abbey’s hand began to quiver and turn azure. Nearly beside herself with fear, the horrified herbmistress turned to Faegan.
“Get out!” she shouted. She shoved her arm into the warp, and dropped the ancient scrap inside. Immediately, she hiked up her skirts and charged toward the protective wall. Shaking off his shock, Faegan levitated his chair and soared over the courtyard to join her and the others.
As they all watched in horror, the vellum in the cube began to emit strange pinpricks of light. With the birth of the lights came great screeching sounds, so loud that the people behind the wall could barely stand the pain in their ears.
The pinpricks became shafts, and the shafts increased in size and began ricocheting against the inner walls of the cube. Some of them soared up through the open top, screaming their way into the empty sky above. The entire cube shook and jumped violently on the grass.
The Scrolls of the Ancients Page 50