The Gates of Dawn

by Robert Newcomb

  Silence reclaimed the room as the prince and princess waited for one of the wizards to speak. It was finally Wigg who broached the reply. “No, Tristan,” he said, knowing how difficult this would be for the prince to hear. “We cannot let you. At least not now.”

  “But why not?” the prince exclaimed, a clear mix of frustration and anger showing on his face. “Is it not true that the Tome may hold the key to our problems?”

  “Yes,” Faegan said. “But it is now also quite true that your blood is, to a large extent, the cause of all of our problems, as well. As I said, your blood is dying. Given the current condition of your blood we cannot know what putting the stone around your neck might do to you. It is for this same reason that your training cannot now begin. And all of this has become yet more complicated, given the attack on Ilendium.”

  Tristan looked to Shailiha to see that she was as confused by Faegan’s words as he was.

  “Why do you think they destroyed Ilendium?” he asked the wizards. “It has no real strategic value.”

  For the first time that day, a small smile began to creep along Faegan’s lips. He gave the twins a playful wink. “Tell me,” he asked, “what comes to mind when you think of Ilendium?”

  “Marble,” Shailiha said decisively. “That’s where the best marble comes from.”

  Wigg leaned forward, placing his arms carefully down on the highly polished mahogany tabletop. “Yes,” he said. “And we now believe that may be the reason behind all of our troubles.”

  Tristan was still stymied. “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “Tell me,” Faegan asked him, “have you ever, in your entire life, seen black marble with variegated veins of azure running through it?”

  Tristan tried to think. “No,” he finally said. “As a matter of fact, I have not.”

  “Nor will you ever,” Wigg countered. “Unless you go to the quarries at Ilendium, the only place it can be found. The use of that particular marble was outlawed by the Directorate over three centuries ago. Any buildings containing it were ordered knocked down, and the marble was returned to the quarries to be buried. It has never been used since. Just like the wizard’s warp that guards the entrance to the Caves of the Paragon, another guards that particular section of the quarry in which this marble can be found.”

  “But why?” Shailiha asked from the other side of the table. “What is so special about it?”

  “It is dangerous,” Faegan said softly, “and said to be of the craft. It has to do with the Ones Who Came Before.”

  Wigg had said that the Ones Who Came Before were the first true rulers of Eutracia, and had been responsible for first harnessing the craft and employing the orbs of the Vigors and the Vagaries.

  They had written the Tome as a guide to the practice of magic. They had also left behind the Paragon, the jeweled conduit of magic, without which the practice of the craft would be impossible. It had been their hope that mankind would learn from their teachings, following only the Vigors and using the craft strictly for the practice of good.

  Wigg had also made reference to a great struggle of centuries ago, in which the Ones Who Came Before had become embroiled with some dangerous adversaries. They had hidden the Tome and the Paragon to be found, hopefully, by the next generation of the endowed.

  “I still do not understand,” Tristan protested. “What does all of this have to do with us?”

  “Tristan,” Wigg said rather apologetically, “I’m afraid we have not been entirely forthcoming with you all of these years. In truth, we know more of the Ones Who Came Before than we ever let on. Your parents knew also, as did each king and queen before them. This secret, this history of the Ones, if you will, has been closely guarded ever since the discovery of the Tome, the Paragon, and the subsequent knowledge that one day you and your twin sister would walk among us.”

  “Why weren’t Shailiha and I informed?” the prince responded angrily. “After all, as you have told us, we are the Chosen Ones. Is it not both our duty and our responsibility to know?”

  “It is for that very reason you were not told,” Faegan said coyly. “As the Chosen Ones, you were to be protected at all costs. This meant keeping a great deal of knowledge from you for your own good, training you in these things little by little when the time was right. Your parents agreed.”

  “How is it that you know all of this?” Shailiha asked. “And just when were we eventually to be told?”

  “Tristan was to be told first,” Wigg said, his white eyes gazing unseeing out across the table. “It was to have been an essential part of his training—the training that we now cannot risk giving to him. And then, should he die or otherwise fail in his attempts to join the two sides of the craft, the duty was to fall to his twin, who would then be trained, taking up the challenge. As for how we know these things, well, in truth they came to us from the Tome.” Wigg pursed his lips, thinking of how to formulate his next words. “There is a small section of the great work that you still know nothing about,” he said softly. His words landed on the ears of the Chosen Ones like a thunderclap.

  “Do you mean to say that there is a fourth volume of the Tome?” Tristan asked, his voice nearly a whisper.

  “Not exactly,” Wigg answered. “It is in the form of a preface to the Tome—a history of the Ones, also written by themselves. However, it is incomplete. We believe they died before being able to finish it. The Directorate presumed this was because the great cataclysm the Ones predicted finally overtook them. The Ones wrote that should this feared disaster occur, it could wipe out the vast majority of human life. We believe that this is exactly what happened, leaving only a few humans, both endowed and unendowed alike, left to roam the wreckage of the land. We also contend that it is these survivors who eventually gave rebirth to the population that now inhabits Eutracia.”

  “What was the nature of this supposed struggle?” Tristan asked.

  “A great war ensued,” Wigg said. “They were near the end of it while writing the Tome and the Preface. Apparently a group of malcontents, bent on using the craft for their own purposes, had splintered off from these original, compassionate practitioners of the craft. They were vying for power in much the same way the sorceresses did against the wizards three centuries ago. A great, final battle ensued, and their combined use of the craft amounted to almost the total destruction of the land and the people inhabiting it. A doomsday, if you will. Their cities apparently decimated, the surviving people must have been scattered, becoming nomadic tribes or cave dwellers. We think that all forms of education and culture were virtually extinguished, including the ability to command the craft. What truly saved magic was, of course, the natural passing of endowed blood through the coming generations. But there was little possibility of practicing it or passing the knowledge down, since virtually all of the adepts had perished in the war. It was only after thousands of years had passed that nature replenished the earth and the sky. The remaining humans finally emerged from their ignorance to start again. We are the eventual result. Although over the passing centuries various of the endowed began to understand and use certain simplistic examples of their gifts, it was only upon finding the Tome and the stone that the craft was truly reborn.”

  “But how could the craft result in the nearly complete annihilation of everyone and everything around them?” Shailiha asked.

  “We feel that both the Ones and their enemies were immensely more powerful than we are,” Faegan answered. “Remember, unlike the wizards and the Coven, these mystics of old were exquisitely trained, in ways we may only be able to dream of. For all we know, they may have been studying and employing the craft for thousands of years.”

  Tristan felt something tugging at the back of his mind. “If the history of the Ones is incomplete because of their demise in the cataclysm, then what about the Tome?” he asked, at first even he not completely understanding the importance of his words.

  He has grasped it, Wigg thought to himself. One of the greatest of the
riddles. The topic that perhaps more than any other prompted so much heated debate among the wizards of the Directorate. But he reined in his excitement. “What do you mean?” he asked politely.

  “You say that this preface, this so-called history of the Ones, was not completed because of their demise. If that is true, then how do we know the Tome itself is not incomplete for the very same reasons?”

  Faegan crackled. “Well done!” A grin and a wink followed.

  Tristan’s eyes went wide at the overwhelming implications of such a premise. “Do you mean to say—”

  “Yes,” Faegan interrupted. “Even the Tome itself may be incomplete. What we know to be the art of magic may only be a sliver of what can actually be attained.”

  “What were they called?” Shailiha suddenly asked.

  “Who?” Wigg asked back.

  “The enemies of the Ones. What did they call themselves?”

  “They were called the Guild of the Heretics,” he answered softly.

  “But what does the black-and-azure marble of Ilendium have to do with this?” Shailiha asked. “I don’t see how any of it pieces together.”

  At the princess’ question, Wigg’s face became very dark.

  Faegan slumped down a bit into his chair. “ ‘And just as the Ones left behind certain instruments of the craft, the Heretics shall also leave behind marks of their mastery. One of these shall flow as azure through the darkness, and lay in wait for the coming of he who can release its power upon the land,’ ” he quoted.

  “From the Tome, I assume,” Tristan mused, turning to look at his sister.

  “Yes,” Faegan answered. “But this time it comes from the Preface, not one of the three volumes proper.”

  “What does it mean?” Shailiha asked.

  Faegan looked into the eyes of the Chosen Ones with an intensity he rarely showed. Drawing a long breath, he answered, “Someone is attempting to construct the Gates of Dawn.”

  “The Gates of Dawn,” Tristan said. “And these gates have something to do with the black marble from Ilendium?”

  “They have everything to do with it,” Faegan answered. “The potential construction of the Gates is the reason that the mining and use of this particular marble was banned so many years ago. The black-and-azure marble is the material from which the Gates will be constructed. No other will do.”

  “Why?” Shailiha asked.

  “Because the azure that runs through the marble is not stone,” Wigg answered solemnly. “It is the preserved, endowed blood of the Guild of the Heretics.”

  Tristan shook his head in disbelief. “How can that be?” he asked. “Stone is not blood, nor blood stone.”

  “ ‘And before they perish, the Heretics will perfect the Art of Transposition, thereby converting their life force to stone . . . The resultant perfection shall be embedded into the living rock, and used to facilitate their return,’ ” Faegan said. “From the Vigors. A warning from the Ones to whomever would eventually find the Tome and the stone. And, as you know, that person was Wigg.” He looked carefully into Tristan’s eyes, waiting for the prince’s understandable, inevitable disbelief. It didn’t take long.

  “Their return?” Tristan whispered incredulously. “You must be joking! Do you mean to say that—”

  “Yes,” Wigg interrupted. “It has long been our belief that both the Ones and the Heretics were eventually able to use their powers of the craft to delve into the study of what we now call the Afterlife. The ultimate pursuit of learning, wouldn’t you agree? They may have turned to this because they felt they had pushed the boundaries of magic to its limits. We feel they are still alive. In spirit only, but that these spirits reside in the heavens. Because of having lost their material presences, they are unable to take true action here on earth, despite their great power.” He paused for a moment. “Unless, of course, they are able to somehow return,” he added drily.

  Faegan took up the explanation. “The Tome makes several references to ‘those who shall reside in the sky,’ ” he said slowly. “As a part of their seemingly never-ending struggle, we think the Heretics now plan to unleash the power of the Gates. We also believe they could not do so until they had the use of one or more beings of immense, heretofore-unseen power residing here, with us. Otherwise they would have attempted to construct and employ the Gates centuries ago. These powerful beings now somehow here with us, these Heretics’ servants, if you will, would presumably be dynamic enough to ensure the building and the subsequent empowerment of the Gates. And because of this, something formidable has happened to magic. That much is abundantly clear. It could only be something of a great, craft-altering magnitude for this opportunity to have finally presented itself after all these centuries. We must find out what it is. And we must stop the construction of the Gates.”

  “And just what would happen if they in fact did return?” Tristan asked.

  “Due to the fact that the Heretics worship and practice only the Vagaries, they would probably see us as inconsequential, killing us all,” Wigg answered. “And there would be absolutely nothing we could do to stop them. The craft would no longer exist as we know it, for they would never employ the Vigors. In fact, they would probably do all they could to stamp out forever the compassionate side of the craft. As for the unendowed population as a whole, I can only assume the Heretics would consider them to be the lowest forms of life. As such, they might do away with them altogether.”

  Tristan sat back in his chair, stunned. He looked to Shailiha to see that she was equally astonished. “And you actually mean to say that the Heretics may be able to return from the Afterlife?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” Wigg answered. “And that the construction and empowerment of the Gates will allow this to happen.”

  “But how?” Shailiha asked.

  “For this to become possible, the Tome states that several things must first be accomplished,” Wigg replied. “Things that the Directorate never believed could be arranged. First, the mines at Ilendium must be opened, and the black marble taken from them. Second, at least one being of truly immense power—one who could oversee both the building and the empowering of the Gates—needs to walk the earth and be under the Heretics’ control. No such power of that magnitude has ever before been known to exist. And third, there needs to be a catalyst, an empowering substance if you will, that would be used to energize the Gates. Faegan and I now believe that substance to be endowed blood.”

  “What would happen then?” Tristan asked.

  “First the Gates must be built,” Wigg answered. “And then, at dawn, they are empowered with the blood of the endowed, combined with the inherent energy of the being responsible for the process. The Tome states that once energized, the azure of the marble returns to its previous state—that is, the blood of the Heretics. The details of all of this are still very unclear to us, but apparently the Heretics will be drawn to this empowerment of their blood, and then somehow be able to descend from the heavens. Their spirits would then pass through the Gates, regaining their bodies, rejoining the world of the living in the same powerful, fully human forms they enjoyed before perishing in their struggle with the Ones. But this time they would be alone on the earth, without the Ones to oppose them.” He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. “The Guild of the Heretics are the true masters of the Vagaries, Tristan,” the wizard said, lowering his voice. “This rebellious offshoot of the original harnessers and employers of the craft would make the comparatively limited abilities of the Coven seem as mere child’s play.”

  “One other fact has become abundantly clear,” Faegan said. “Ragnar is obviously not the being who has been chosen to oversee this great venture. He is a pawn in the game, rather than the king he would like us to think he is. His powers do not in any fashion possess the dynamism required to perform such a thing. There is someone else, at least one such person, who will be responsible for performing all of the more infinitely difficult aspects of the process.”

  “The same
being creating the amazing glow Wigg and I witnessed in the Caves,” Tristan said softly. “The power to which I felt so curiously drawn. Now I understand.”

  “Yes,” Wigg said. “It was the plan of the Heretics to leave behind their blood, hoping for a practitioner to eventually come who was strong enough to aid them in their return. Just as it was the hope of the Ones to leave behind the stone and the Tome, so that the compassionate side of the craft might flourish. Faegan and I now believe we may also have the answers to some of the other things that have been troubling us so,” he added.

  “Such as?” Tristan asked.

  “For one, if it is indeed true that someone is attempting to construct the Gates, the killing of the citizens of Ilendium seems a logical if brutal first step. They would have been in the way. And this being may have a specific use for the city. It might better serve his purposes if it were abandoned, perhaps even destroyed. In addition, the wanted posters of you that have been scattered around the countryside, blaming you for the ‘murder’ of your father, now seem to fit, also.”

  “Why?” Shailiha asked. Morganna whimpered. Smiling down at her, Shailiha stroked the baby’s soft cheek and then adjusted the sling a bit. Morganna began to quiet.

  “We had first postulated that the posters were a result of our enemies wanting to keep Tristan in hiding so that he could not rally the citizens against them,” Wigg went on. “This was only partially correct. No citizen army in the universe could combat what we are facing. Scrounge put the posters up and offered the reward for a different purpose. To keep Tristan safe.”

  Shailiha furrowed her brow in frustration. “But they are our enemies, are they not?” she asked. “Why would they want to keep him safe? And how does making the entire nation want to capture him accomplish that?”

  It was then that Tristan suddenly understood. “They wanted me safe so that nothing would befall me before they were able to take my blood,” he replied softly. “Keeping me here, among the wizards, was the best way to accomplish that. The posters and reward were intended to drive me underground. And they worked.” He looked up to Faegan, the muscles in his jaw tense. “That is why they wanted my blood, isn’t it?” he asked slowly. “It is my azure blood that they plan to use to empower the Gates of Dawn.”