The Gates of Dawn

by Robert Newcomb

  Sitting in this chamber made Tristan feel the need to speak in hushed, respectful tones—as if the heart of the world had somehow been secreted here.

  “Wigg,” Faegan said at last, “please hand me the Tome.”

  Removing the book from his robes, Wigg placed it on the table. “You will restore it now?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Faegan said.

  Tristan and Shailiha watched Faegan close his eyes. An azure haze began to surround the small, leather-bound book, and the Tome began to grow until it was once again full-size. The process was spellbinding.

  Faegan then narrowed his eyes, and the great treatise rose, floated over to another of the nearby tables, and landed gently. “It is a great thing you have done—bringing the Tome back to the Redoubt,” he said solemnly to Tristan and Wigg. “And you have, each in your own individual way, paid a terrible price to do so. The craft of magic is seriously in your debt.” He sighed, carefully taking the measure of his next words. “The most important issues to discuss, of course, are the blinding of Wigg and the wounding of Tristan,” he continued. “But Wigg has made a personal request of me to resolve certain other concerns first, and I have agreed.”

  Wigg took up the conversation. “This magnificent room is called the Hall of Blood Records,” he said. “It is the resting place of one of the most fascinating of all the aspects of the craft. Here within these many drawers can be found the identification of almost all persons of endowed blood who have lived within the time since the discovery of the Tome and the Paragon. It is one of the most sacred and revered of all of the chambers in the Redoubt.”

  Faegan nodded. “Wigg has explained to both of you how trained endowed blood is alive and can move on its own, has he not?” he asked Tristan and Shailiha.

  They nodded.

  “What you do not yet know, though,” Faegan went on to say, “is that when the blood of a trained endowed is exposed, it always moves about in its own particular way. The same way every time, forming a pattern. When the pattern is completed it begins again, retracing its journey over its original track, until the blood finally dries up and dies. Every such pattern is completely unique. There are no two alike, except in the case of twins—and even that is not a hard and fast rule. These patterns are called blood signatures. Please allow me to demonstrate.”

  The wizard caused one of the many mysterious drawers to open, and a large sheet of blank parchment rose from it, coming to land gently in the center of the table. “Wigg, if you will allow me,” Faegan said.

  Using the craft, Faegan created a tiny incision in Wigg’s index finger. A single drop of blood came from it, landing with a soft plop on the parchment.

  Almost immediately Wigg’s blood began to move, creating a distinct, red pattern. Fascinated, Tristan watched as the blood drop completed its gyrating pattern, then began anew over the exact same track it had just laid. Gradually drying, it finally stopped.

  Tristan was amazed. “Do you mean to say that it is exactly the same every time?” he whispered incredulously.

  Faegan smiled. “Indeed. Observe.” With that the chair-bound wizard turned his attention to the many drawers and ordered, “Wigg, lead wizard of the Directorate.”

  Almost immediately one of the highest of the drawers began to slowly open, another sheet of parchment fluttering down to land on the table. But this parchment was not bare. Looking down, Tristan and Shailiha read:

  Wigg, Lead Wizard of the Directorate

  Trained Blood Signature

  Date: Forty-fifth Day of the Season of Harvest, 002 s.t.

  The blood signature just below the words, although faded with age, was identical to the one just created from the fresh drop of Wigg’s blood. Tristan turned to Shailiha and Celeste to see that they were as mesmerized as he.

  “What does the ’002 S.T.’ mean?” Celeste asked. “I have never seen such a phrase used.”

  Faegan stroked his ever-present cat. “This is the manner in which all documents kept here in the Redoubt are dated,” he responded. “All dates are located on the same timeline, with the discovery of the Tome and the Paragon being the focal point from which all things are measured—either before or after that event. That precise day in time therefore happened in the year zero. ‘S.T.’ means Subsequent to the Tome. Any years previous to the zero demarcation point are labeled ‘P.T.’, or Prior to the Tome. My birthday, for example, would be written as the Seventy-third Day of the Season of Crystal, 032 P.T., or thirty-two years prior to the discoveries.”

  Shailiha spoke up. “Tristan and I, because we are untrained, do not yet possess blood signatures,” she reasoned. “They will only appear after we become educated in the use of the craft.”

  “A logical assumption, but quite untrue,” Faegan responded, eyes twinkling at her obvious confusion. He leaned closer to the princess and bounced his eyebrows up and down slightly.

  “Training in the craft does not produce the signatures; it only activates them, allowing them to be seen and thereby recorded,” he went on. “Every endowed we know of, trained or not, has his or her blood signature on record in this hall. Finding newborn endowed and recording their blood signatures was one of the main tasks of the consuls.” Faegan smiled. Follow your thoughts, Chosen One, and see where they take you.

  “But if my blood does not move, how then can my signature be recorded?” she asked. “Or for that matter, anyone else’s who has not yet been trained? And do you mean to say that mine has already been done somehow?”

  “Especially yours,” Faegan answered. “Yours and Tristan’s. Which, by the way, are very similar to each other, since you are twins.”

  “But how?” she asked.

  “Why don’t you tell us yourself?” Faegan answered. Wigg smiled in agreement.

  “I still don’t understand,” Shailiha answered in frustration.

  “Then I shall give you a clue.” Faegan winked. “Think of how it was that Wigg and I finally cured you of the last remnants of the Coven’s spell.”

  Shailiha smiled. “The water from the Caves.”

  “Now tell me how this applies to our current problem,” Faegan continued. Shailiha gazed down at Morganna, asleep in her sling, and pursed her lips in thought. At last she looked back up at the wizards. “We know that the waters agitate untrained, endowed blood within a person’s system. It might therefore also stand to reason that the water, when placed near the blood when outside of the body, would have the same effect.” She paused to collect her thoughts.

  “But in the second case,” she finally continued, “because the blood is away from the body and therefore has much more freedom of movement, the waters may have an even greater effect upon it, convulsing it into revealing its signature prematurely.” She raised her eyebrows tentatively, wondering whether she had gotten it right. “Or something like that . . .”

  “Exactly,” Faegan said softly. “I am impressed.” And he meant it. He looked to Wigg to see him smiling as well.

  “Can Tristan and I be permitted to see our signatures?” she asked hesitantly.

  Faegan smiled. “Of course. I thought you would never ask. Your hand, please.”

  Shailiha tentatively held out one hand, and Faegan created a small incision in her first finger. A single drop of her blood fell gently onto the parchment alongside Wigg’s signature.

  “And now, Wigg, a drop of the water if you please.” Faegan smiled.

  Wigg reached beneath his robe and produced a small pewter vial. He held it out, waiting for Faegan to take it.

  Faegan very carefully poured a single drop of the precious fluid directly onto the waiting blood of the princess.

  The joined liquids began to writhe, and the same process commenced as had occurred with Wigg’s blood: The fluid moved hauntingly across the parchment until Shailiha’s blood signature was complete.

  Faegan stared down at it. He could have come here to the Hall of Blood Records and pulled a copy of it beforehand, but that would have done nothing to prove his theor
y. He knew that only seeing the princess’ fresh signature created before his eyes would produce the answer. He continued to examine the trail left by her endowed blood, finally seeing the anomaly he was looking for—the anomaly that Egloff’s scroll said would prove his theory.

  It’s true! he thought exultantly. The Forestallments exist! This will change so much!

  Faegan turned his eyes toward Wigg. “Old friend,” he said compassionately, “I know there is something very personal that you long for me to do, but I must ask your indulgence one more time. Please wait just a bit longer, for there is something that we must first discuss.”

  Wigg’s face fell a little, but he nodded back with curiosity. “If you insist,” he replied. “But what is this about?”

  “It is both my great pleasure and my great worry to inform you that I have just categorically proven the existence of Incantations of Forestallment,” Faegan whispered.

  Tristan immediately looked to Wigg to see that the lead wizard’s mouth was open in astonishment, his white, milky eyes wide. Incantations of Forestallment? Tristan wondered.

  “Impossible!” Wigg exclaimed. “Forestallments are only myth! Everyone of the craft knows that the calculations required for such a thing are far beyond us, and always have been! This time your imagination has gone too far!”

  “What are you two talking about?” Tristan asked warily. “I’ve never heard of a Forestallment.”

  “Simply put, the principle behind a Forestallment is the relativity of time,” Faegan responded. He gave Nicodemus another affectionate stroke. “I believe there are a great many such ties binding the craft to the fabric of time—ties that we have yet to explore. The Forestallments are merely one such example. But to answer your question, a Forestallment is a gift, placed within the blood of one endowed person by another. This can presumably be accomplished either with or without the subject’s knowledge. But this incantation is different, in that the spell does not take immediate effect. In fact, it may not become evident for years, decades, or even centuries. It lies in wait, as it were, in the recipient’s blood until activated. It is thus forestalled, or delayed, until the preselected time of its activation.”

  “Or so goes the theory,” Wigg said skeptically from the other side of the table. “But what is your proof?”

  Faegan smiled. “I will tell you shortly. But first I will finish the prince’s question. Incantations of Forestallment may be either time-activated or event-activated. In other words, the Forestallment within the blood may become active only after a prescribed amount of time has passed, or it may become active only after the occurrence of a specific event. In addition, it can either be open ended, or can be set to terminate after the passage of a prescribed period of time or after the occurrence of yet another specific action. You can well imagine how useful or destructive such a spell could be.”

  Tristan’s head was spinning. “But what does all of this have to do with us?” he asked.

  “Indeed!” Wigg said. “What you have just described has long been the theory. But it is now time for you to tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Very well, then,” Faegan said. He took a deep breath. “What you don’t know is that Princess Shailiha, without a scintilla of training in the craft, can mentally communicate with the fliers of the fields. She has been accomplishing this for days, and each time she does so her ability increases. It is clearly an innate, rather than a trained talent. And it is a feat that even I, after three centuries in the craft, have been unable to perform. The most likely explanation for this is that she has been unknowingly placed under a Forestallment. An event-activated Forestallment, initiated when she first came into contact with the butterflies.”

  Tristan looked at Shailiha as if she had somehow just descended from the heavens. “Is this true?” he whispered incredulously.

  Shailiha raised her eyes to his, a slight blush of embarrassment on her face. She began to rock Morganna gently. “Yes,” she said. “It is. The fliers reveal themselves to my mind, and I can answer them back without speaking. I have absolutely no idea how I do it. It was Faegan and I who sent the fliers to find you and Wigg. Caprice called back to me, saying that Wigg was injured, and that there was an unknown female traveling with you. We therefore knew these facts even before you arrived at the Redoubt.”

  Tristan shook his head in disbelief. “Caprice?” he asked.

  Only slightly less chagrined, Shailiha smiled. “Caprice is the name I have given to the violet-and-yellow flier who usually speaks to me for the rest of them,” she said, raising her eyebrows as if expecting neither the prince nor the wizard to believe her. “It is she who led the group to find you.” Her smile turned mischievous. “She is the one who flew so close to your head, trying to get your attention. I must admit that she did so under my orders.”

  Tristan turned his awestruck face to Faegan. “This is all true?” he asked, still not entirely willing to believe.

  “Oh, yes.” Faegan chuckled. “True as the day is long. I have seen it with my own eyes.”

  “But the proof!” Wigg countered. “Where is your proof?”

  Smiling, Faegan withdrew a scroll from his robes. “I hold in my hand a copy of a scroll I found by Egloff,” he said quietly. “Its existence was apparently unknown to the rest of the Directorate. It seems that just before his death he was deep into research regarding the possible existence of Forestallments. It was the sudden reappearance of the stalkers and harpies that finally placed him on the right path.”

  Wigg’s face began to register a hint of understanding. “Do you mean . . .”

  “Yes, Wigg,” Faegan answered rather sadly. “It is now my belief that the blood stalkers and screaming harpies, the tools of the Coven that we had all prayed were dead, were actually infected with Forestallments, waiting to be activated. After you sent the consuls into the field to try to wipe them out, Egloff finally had the one thing he had lacked to prove his hypothesis. Their blood. The three-hundred-year-old, endowed blood of the beasts that before then had not been available for examination. It is all here, written in his scroll.” He paused for a moment, letting the import of his words sink in. He gently placed his copy of the scroll onto the table.

  “I still don’t understand,” Tristan said, rubbing his forehead in frustration. “What does the endowed blood of the stalkers and harpies have to do with Shailiha’s bond with the fliers?”

  “It seems that when a Forestallment is inserted into the blood of an endowed, be it human or creature, the blood signature is altered,” Faegan replied. “But only slightly. Look down at Wigg’s blood signature, and then at the princess’. Tell Wigg the difference you see between the two.”

  The prince and his sister looked down intently at the two signatures lying side by side on the parchment. Shailiha spoke first. “The shapes are very different.”

  “True,” Faegan responded. “But I have already told you that they always are. To understand the Forestallments you must do better than that. Look again.”

  After a brief time, Tristan thought he saw what the wizard was referring to. “Shailiha’s signature has branches leading off from it,” he said softly, half to himself. It was a series of branches—like tributaries of a river—that led off from the main body of the signature. There seemed to be dozens of them.

  “Exactly!” Faegan exclaimed.

  Looking over to Wigg, Tristan could see that the expression on the lead wizard’s face had become one of great surprise. “What do you mean, her blood signature has branches?” Wigg asked. “There was no such an anomaly in her signature at her birth. Why should there be one now?”

  Placing each hand into the opposite sleeve of his robe, Faegan leaned forward in his chair, his expression quite serious. It was as if he knew that his next words would hurt Wigg, and he didn’t know how to say them. “Because she has been with the Coven,” he answered quietly. “I believe Failee perfected the Forestallments, and placed a number of them into the princess’ bloodstream. I also b
elieve this act was an enhancement to their plan of making Shailiha their fifth sorceress.”

  “But why would Failee bother to do such a thing?” Wigg countered, obviously still unconvinced.

  “Because the more Failee could immediately influence the princess’ blood, the easier her overall task would be. I ask you to consider the following possibility: Once Shailiha had truly become their fifth, it was likely that Failee would turn control of the Coven over to her, because of the vastly higher quality of Shailiha’s blood. And if the princess’ blood contained Forestallments, it would empower a gift immediately, without the tedious, time-consuming teachings of the craft. I believe Shailiha’s sudden, unexplained bond with the butterflies to be just such a Forestallment, accidentally activated when I took her to the atrium.”

  “But why would she want to give Shailiha dominion over the fliers?” Wigg interjected. “There are no known fliers in Parthalon. It seems a particularly wasteful use of a Forestallment.”

  “I agree with you,” Faegan answered. “I therefore do not believe that this particular Forestallment was originally meant for the fliers. I feel that is simply a by-product, so to speak, of the original incantation.”

  “What do you mean?” Tristan asked.

  Faegan looked soberly to the group as a whole before answering. “She was to be their fifth sorceress and eventual leader. I believe this Forestallment was meant to give her a bond to the Minions of Day and Night.”

  For a very long moment the room went silent, each person trying to grasp the stunning importance of the wizard’s statement.

  “Then why does it succeed with the fliers also?” Shailiha finally asked.

  “We may never be sure, but perhaps it is because both the Minions and the fliers are winged creatures of the craft. In fact, you may eventually be able to perform this gift with any winged creature that has been either created or otherwise affected by magic. And only time can tell us that,” Faegan answered. He gave Nicodemus a short stroke under the cat’s neck.