Shawna pulled a chair up before the princess and stood upon it. Without asking for permission, she rather grumpily began rearranging the way Shailiha’s dress lay upon the princess’ shoulders. Muttering under her breath, she tugged at the material until it was more to her liking—as if the princess were somehow her own personal charge. Getting down off the chair, she then looked into the crib to check on the child. Apparently satisfied, she started on the room itself, carefully fussing with things that were already in perfect order, like an old, contrary mother hen in need of something useful to do for her brood of chicks.
Shailiha shook her head and laughed. “You really needn’t do all of that,” she exclaimed. “The room is just fine as it is. So is Morganna. How you fuss over us!”
Shawna turned around to face the young woman. “You know how much I care about you,” she snapped. A short, knowing smile came to her lips, quickly vanishing behind the deceit of her supposed sternness. “Besides, you wouldn’t take these duties away from a poor, broken-down, three-hundred-year-old gnome, would you?”
Shailiha winked at Faegan. “There’s nothing broken down or old about you,” she replied. “You can do the work of a hundred. I’ve seen you.” With that she let the little woman alone, smiling as Shawna happily went about her loving but quite unnecessary labors.
Faegan cleared his throat. “Actually, I was hoping you would take a walk with me,” he said simply. “There is something I would like to show you. But I think it best you leave Morganna here. That is why I brought Shawna with me. So that she could look after the baby while we are gone.”
“I would be honored,” Shailiha answered. “But what is it you wish to show me? Will I be impressed?” She lowered her voice and raised one eyebrow high into the air in an obviously satiric imitation of Wigg. Faegan couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
“Yes,” he said. “You will be impressed!”
“Very well then, go along now,” Shawna said from a corner of the room as she began furiously dusting a shelf near the loom. “Go and do whatever it is you have to do. Just leave me and the baby in peace.”
Smiling at each other, the princess and the wizard left the room to negotiate the endless halls of the Redoubt. They talked of Morganna and of Joshua as they went, and of the trials that Wigg and Tristan had gone through to bring both the Paragon and the princess back to Eutracia. Her face darkening slightly, Shailiha also mentioned the loss of her husband and her parents. But she quickly regained her composure as they finally arrived at the door Faegan wanted.
He smiled at the princess. “Brace yourself. What you are about to see will, I’m sure, bring a smile to your face.” And with that he again narrowed his eyes, commanding the doors to open. As the wizard wheeled his chair through, the princess followed him into the massive atrium containing the fliers of the fields.
Faegan wheeled his chair into its usual place on the balcony. The princess came to stand next to him, on the side nearest the brass rail that was attached to the wall. Her smile expanded as she watched the giant, multicolored butterflies swoop and dart, careening endlessly but somehow never colliding. She stood transfixed, radiating a sense of happiness that the wizard had never before felt from her except in her moments with Tristan and Morganna. Grinning at her expression, Faegan cackled and slapped the arm of his chair.
Shailiha looked all about in amazement. The atrium was several stories high and constructed of the palest light blue, Ephyran marble. Plants, trees, and flowers of every color and description lined the floor. The light from the oil sconces helped to make the room seem full of magic and the promise of discovery.
Looking down, she saw the two curious wheels of marble upon the floor. One contained the letters of the Eutracian alphabet, the other the numbers, both in sequential order. But it was the butterflies that entranced her the most. She just gazed at them, wide-eyed, as they flashed by in the pale light of the great room.
Faegan was reminded of the fact that this was the first time the princess had truly seen the giant butterflies. Shailiha had not been aware of their existence before her abduction by the Coven, and during her trip home from Shadowood she had still been under the influence of the Coven’s incantation, and thus had no memories of the butterflies that had accompanied them here.
As he watched her, she slowly, silently extended her right arm out over the railing of the balcony. Almost immediately one of the larger fliers, violet and yellow one, came fluttering up to land on her arm. The flier rested there patiently, its only movement the slow opening and closing of its large, diaphanous wings.
There were few things left in the world that amazed the wizard Faegan. But now his jaw literally dropped. How can this be happening? he wondered. A bond between a flier and one of untrained blood!
Shailiha seemed mesmerized. It was as if she had entered another world, oblivious to everything around her except for the flier perched on her arm. Even the butterfly was unusually calm. It did not dance about, as was so often the case whenever Faegan called one to himself. Shailiha with the flier was one of the most beautiful, unexpected scenes the wizard had ever witnessed. For a long moment he simply watched. Finally his wizardly curiosity overcame the moment.
“Shailiha,” he said carefully, “will you please turn and look at me?”
Mechanically, slowly, the princess turned toward the wizard. As she did so the flier remained perched upon her arm. Shailiha had a faraway expression in her eyes that seemed to look straight through Faegan, rather than at him. She did not blink. Her only movement was her deep breathing, matched by the equally exaggerated rising and falling of her chest.
Faegan was now worried for her, since she had been so recently cured of the Coven’s spell.
“Please release the flier,” he told her calmly. “Just lift your hand into the air a little, and the butterfly will leave your arm.”
But Shailiha did not seem to hear him.
“Release the flier, Shailiha,” he said again, a bit more sternly.
“No,” she finally said in a monotone voice. “The flier does not yet wish to leave me.”
“And how do you know this?” Faegan asked, wheeling his chair a bit closer.
“It told me,” she said.
Faegan felt something inside of him slip. The blood drained from his face.
Beads of sweat had begun to break out across the princess’ brow. Her breathing had become quite irregular. The strain of whatever was happening to her was clearly beginning to show, and the wizard knew that he must somehow end this.
Reaching up, he gently grasped her arm. She made no attempt to shake him off. Faegan shook her arm slightly, and the butterfly flew off to rejoin the others.
Almost immediately the princess’ eyes began to regain their focus, and her breathing returned to normal. The wizard gratefully noticed that not only did the princess seem to be quite well, she had actually been refreshed by the experience. Her eyes were brighter; her demeanor was more serene.
“Your Highness,” he asked gently, “are you all right?”
For a moment Shailiha stood without speaking. She looked out at the fliers as they playfully soared and careened in the pale light of the atrium. Finally turning to Faegan, she said, “Yes, I believe I am fine.” She took a deep breath and stretched a bit, smiling as she did so. “In fact, in some ways I am not sure I have ever felt better. But what just occurred was an experience far beyond anything else in my life.”
“Tell me about it,” Faegan said, wheeling his chair closer to her, as if that might bring him deeper into the riddle he was trying to solve.
She pursed her lips as she thought for a moment, trying to find a way to put her feelings into words. “For some reason, when I saw the butterflies I was compelled to raise my arm. To this moment I do not know why. Something just told me to. And when one of the fliers came to me, something happened. I felt something change within me—in a way I have never before experienced.”
“And that was?”
“I beg
an to hear voices,” she said softly, as though she did not believe it herself. “Many of them at once. Then the cacophony of voices died down, and there remained only one. Strong and clear.” She shook her head a little. “Somehow I knew that the single voice remaining was coming to me from the flier on my arm.”
“It spoke to you?” he asked.
“No, not exactly. Rather, it revealed itself to my mind.”
“What did it say to you?” Faegan asked, his intense curiosity growing by the moment.
“It told me that I was the one for whom they had been waiting so long,” Shailiha answered. “What does it mean? Am I going mad? Am I truly not healed of the Coven’s spell?”
Faegan took her hand in his. He did not completely understand what had just happened, but he felt that this phenomenon was a gift, rather than something to be feared.
“I believe you may have just discovered the beginnings of your personal destiny,” he said to her. “This is something to be treasured and refined, rather than an evil to be avoided. We must explore this further. But before we do I need time to consider it all. I also need to consult with Wigg. Promise me you will not come here without at least one of us in attendance.”
“I promise,” she said earnestly. “But I will find that promise difficult to keep. I now feel drawn here—as surely as I am drawn to both my brother and my child. I won’t rest until I have the answers to what has happened to me.” She turned from him again to watch the butterflies.
So much like her brother, Faegan thought at the sight of the determination in her hazel eyes. Had their parents lived to see these days, they would have been proud.
He suddenly felt the tug of Consummate Recollection upon his mind, telling him that there was something in the Tome that spoke of what she had just witnessed. Slowly, as was his custom, he closed his eyes and relaxed his intellect, letting the passage come to him rather than sending his consciousness to chase after it. And then the quote appeared to him, as though he could see it written upon the page of the great book.
“ ‘And each of the Chosen Ones shall be allowed certain gifts before their training in the craft,’ ” he said aloud. “ ‘These gifts shall be different, yet in some ways the same, and shall remain forever with them, even unto death.’ ” He opened his eyes and looked at her.
“What was that?” she asked innocently.
“I am able to recall with accuracy anything I have heard, seen, or read since the very day of my birth. The quote you just heard is from the Tome of the Paragon. I am the only living person, as far as we know, to have read the entire first two volumes.”
“Is it really true?” she asked, wide-eyed. “Can you really remember all of your experiences if you choose to?”
“Oh, yes,” Faegan said, smiling. “And I can assure you that it is as much a curse as it is a blessing.”
“And the section you just quoted—what does it mean?” she asked.
“Ah,” the wizard said, shaking his head. “That is always the difficult part. The speaking of a quote from the Tome is always far less difficult than the deciphering of it. The Ones Who Came Before certainly did not make it easy for us. Presumably they had some motive for being so cryptic. But I suppose we shall never be sure.” He paused for a moment, looking out at the butterflies. Their whirling, colorful wings continued to dart through the scented air of the atrium.
“As for the quote, it probably means just what it says—that you and the prince each have as-yet-unrealized gifts,” he resumed. “Some powers of which neither he nor you have ever been aware.”
“How is it that Tristan and I could have such powers without being trained?” she asked. “I thought our blood was still dormant. And what is Tristan’s gift?”
“How things are possible, I cannot say at this time,” he answered. “I am sure, however, that it must have something to do with the fact that your blood, and the blood of the prince, are both of such unsurpassed quality. And as for Tristan’s gift, we may have already witnessed it.”
“What do you mean?”
“When he destroyed the Coven, he did so by causing the Paragon to move. He did this strictly through the use of his mind. Such a feat had never before been accomplished by an untrained person of endowed blood. Even with the proper guidance, such a breakthrough usually takes years. This may be Tristan’s gift. That is, the ability to move objects. But then again, it could be something else entirely, something that has yet to reveal itself.”
Faegan could see that the princess was tired. “It is time for us to go,” he said, turning his chair away from the fliers and wheeling back through the door. “We will return tomorrow, and every day thereafter, if it pleases you. We must explore the mysteries of your bond with the fliers.” He paused, looking up at her beautiful face. “And what we find should be very interesting, indeed.”
Taking a final look at the butterflies, Shailiha reluctantly followed the wizard out of the room. Faegan closed the great doors of the atrium behind them.
And then, from seemingly nowhere, a mesmerizing idea overtook Faegan’s mind.
It was possible that Shailiha’s bond with the butterflies was not one of her natural gifts! He was filled with a strange mix of excitement and foreboding as he pondered his new idea. Impossibly, it seemed, the bond might be a sign of something else, something always thought to be mere myth: an Incantation of Forestallment. Not wishing to alarm the princess with either his actions or his words, he wheeled his chair forward.
If what he had just witnessed was truly a sign of a Forestallment, then there was a great deal more going on than he had ever imagined.
His mind whirling, he continued to roll down the magnificent hall. The unsuspecting princess followed obediently behind.
CHAPTER
Sixteen
The cold wind tearing through the lengths of his dark hair, Geldon held on tightly to either side of the litter that was carrying him through the sky. He found the feeling of flying totally exhilarating. Looking down, he delighted in seeing familiar landmarks of the Parthalonian countryside passing by as he soared along, the Minions upon each side expertly holding his litter between them.
At first the sensation of being carried up and away by the winged warriors had been frightening. Not only was this something he had never done before, but the Minions, his onetime enemies, very much had his life in their hands. But after the first few moments he had settled down, coming to trust the fact that if the warriors had wanted to drop him they probably already would have. He then embraced the flying with a kind of glee he had not felt since was a child.
Joshua, however, was having an altogether different experience. The consul’s litter was close enough that Geldon could see the blatant terror on his face. Joshua’s eyes were clamped shut, and he was holding onto his litter with both hands. Even as Geldon soared bouncingly along, he could see that the younger man’s knuckles were white.
Geldon smirked to himself. For a disciple of the craft he seems unusually frightened. But then again, even consuls cannot fly.
Occasionally they would swoop straight through a bank of clouds. The dwarf had at first tightened his grip, holding on for dear life as if they were about to smash headlong into a solid object. From his inexperienced perspective, that was exactly how it seemed. But he had quickly learned to love tearing into the clouds and feeling the cool, fine mist striking his face before bursting out the opposite side over a charged panorama.
Geldon looked in awe at the Minion warriors flying all around him. Their powerful, leathery wings reached through the air in great, broad strokes, propelling them through the sky. Flying seemed as natural for them as walking across the ground. He soon found himself admiring—even envying—this marvelous advantage.
But Geldon had not come to trust the Minions yet, despite the fact that they were helping him. As they continued to soar through the air he focused his mind on the upcoming meeting. Traax, the Minion second in command, was no fool. Geldon needed to be as prepared as possible when
he finally landed. He would have to put into his own words whatever the Chosen One would say if he were here, to impress upon the Minion leader the importance of what must be done.
For over three hundred years Geldon had been the butt of the Minions’ cruel jokes. But now things were different. Now he was the emissary of the Chosen One himself. His job was to see to it that Tristan’s wishes were being carried out, and see to it he would. Assuming, of course, that Traax recognized his authority. But deep down he was starting to worry that such a thing might be a very large assumption, indeed.
It was then that he first noticed the anomalies in the Parthalonian landscape, as its familiar beauty flashed by below him.
Something was different—he was sure of it. They had already flown over several landmarks he knew quite well, so he was sure they were on the correct course to the Minion fortification closest to the Recluse, north of where Faegan’s portal had exited them. He had seen both the Black River and the Vale of Torment, the valley where Tristan and Wigg had first learned of the Gallipolai. He looked down steadily now, his mind awash with curiosity. And then he realized what had changed.
The ground below him was covered with lakes and ponds. Some had huge waterfalls spilling into them. Others emptied more serenely into babbling brooks that stretched into the distance. Still others were calm, their placid surfaces reflecting the sky and clouds back to him as if some great force had placed a series of huge mirrors upon the earth. In all of them, the water was a strikingly beautiful blue.
But these waters were not here when I left Parthalon! he thought, confused.
Just then, a group of Minion warriors detached themselves from the flying mass and dived down toward one of the largest lakes. They winged their way around the edge of the lakeshore and then soared back upward, seeking out their leader.
Almost immediately the entire flight of warriors plunged down toward the lake at an alarming speed—faster than Geldon had known the Minions could fly. The warriors seemed to have absolutely no regard for their own personal safety; the way they were falling through the sky bordered on suicidal. So rapid and violent was their descent that at one point Geldon feared his litter might come apart.
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