Magician's End

by Raymond E. Feist

  Pug said evenly, ‘Best I could manage at short notice.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said the monk.

  ‘Where was I a moment ago? When you came to fetch me?’

  ‘I don’t rightly know what to call it. It’s not the void, certainly, as that has distinct properties even if they are deuced hard to apprehend. I call where you were the Nether, as I think it’s even below the void. Or it might be the Neither, as its neither here nor there!’ He seemed amused by that. ‘Forgive me. I have waited a very long time to use that jest.’

  ‘If we’re waiting,’ said Pug, ‘what is it we are waiting for?’

  ‘Ah, me, where are my manners?’ said the monk. ‘I am waiting to be reborn, or rather I am in the process of being reborn, though it is very slow as such things go. I am Ishap.’

  Pug was speechless. Finally he said, ‘The Balancer?’

  ‘The very one,’ said the Monk, standing and taking a bow.

  ‘I thought you … Controllers weren’t personified.’

  ‘Well, that’s usually the case, and sometimes when I finish returning, I’ll have too much on my hands to bother interacting with mortals, or even the Lesser Gods on the majority of occasions, for that matter. But at the moment, I’m waiting.’

  ‘And what am I doing here?’

  ‘That is a very good question,’ said Ishap. ‘And at the moment, I have no really clear notion what you’re doing in my waiting room.’

  ‘Midkemia is a strange world, in many ways,’ said Ishap.

  ‘So I have discovered,’ agreed Pug.

  They had been sitting for a while at the table, silently, each caught up in their own thoughts. Pug considered it very strange that he felt no significant emotions about what he had endured before arriving here. He had felt his son die, and seen his best friend die before that, had witnessed horrors and pain beyond imagining, yet he felt calm and without concern as he waited. Even his sense that this was strangely inappropriate as a response was distant and muted. He was content to sit in silence staring at the white walls, or to respond to Ishap’s occasional remark, but he wasn’t even sure if he would use the word ‘content’ in this circumstance. Simply put, he was aware and unconcerned. Along with his other emotions, curiosity was blunted as well. Yet there was a certain desire for a logical conclusion

  ‘Would you care for something to eat?’ asked Ishap. ‘We don’t need to eat, but occasionally it serves to blunt the boredom.’

  ‘You get bored?’

  The monk shrugged. ‘In a manner of speaking. I exist as you see me now because I am scarcely alive in terms of how gods are supposed to live. I’m little more than a mortal at this stage. On the other hand, I won’t be needed until Arch-Indar is reborn. I can’t balance until all the forces are in existence. There is only so much time that even a god can dedicate to reconstituting his being and gathering together his essence to become alive again. Occasionally, a break in the routine is welcome. I think some grapes.’

  A platter of grapes appeared and he plucked one, popped it into his mouth and motioned that Pug should help himself. ‘Another advantage, the food is always perfect. These are delicious.’

  Pug declined. ‘I find it odd that I have little interest in any of this, which is hardly my nature. And perhaps even more unusual is that I merely find it odd and not profoundly disturbing.’

  ‘I suspect it’s because you are now dead. The dead have little ambition.’

  ‘I’m dead?’ Pug looked at the back of his right hand, then put it up to his face and touched his own cheek. ‘I don’t feel dead.’

  ‘How would you know? Have you been dead before?’

  ‘I believe so,’ said Pug. ‘I—’

  Ishap waved his hand dismissively. ‘That business with the demon and your curse. Yes, I know about that, but you weren’t dead. You merely hovered at the brink.’

  ‘If I’m now dead, then why am I not before Lims-Kragma?’

  ‘I do not know,’ said Ishap. ‘Perhaps we should ask her.’

  He waved his hand and they were no longer in the little waiting room, but standing in a familiar setting, the Pavilion of the Gods. Pug looked around and said, ‘I don’t understand.’

  Ishap actually grinned. ‘I do get lost in my rebirth at times, and your appearance is a wonderful excuse to break up the monotony; I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. I was happy to find you once I became aware you were floating out there in the Nether. I thought a bit of a visit and a little conversation would be welcome, but this is far more entertaining.’ He glanced around, then shouted, ‘Lims-Kragma, if you would be so kind!’

  Lims-Kragma appeared in all her majesty: black veils, a clinging gown with silver netting sewn into the hem and sleeves. ‘You’ve been granted a moment.’

  ‘A moment?’ asked Pug. For the first time since his arrival, he felt a stir of feeling: irritation.

  The other gods appeared and Kalkin said, ‘We felt you deserved to know you closed the rift. There was a great deal of destruction and much loss of life but the world, and the larger universe, is safe for the time being.’

  ‘Time being?’ muttered Pug.

  Ishap smiled cheerily. ‘It’s a matter of scale. The time being is several million years, so we can all catch our breath, in a manner of speaking.’

  Pug felt as if something profoundly important was missing within him. ‘I don’t think I care, really. Should I?’

  ‘The dead do not care,’ said the Goddess of Death.

  ‘Then why am I here?’ asked Pug. ‘Why are we not in your hall? Why am I not being judged and returned to the Wheel of Life or sent on to my reward?’

  Kalkin, who now looked like Jimmy the Hand, smiled. ‘Well, there is this one thing, Pug. You’re not entirely dead.’

  ‘I’m alive?’

  ‘No, not that either,’ said Kalkin.

  The ancient figure of Arch-Indar appeared and in a scolding tone said, ‘Tell him the truth, Trickster!’

  ‘She’s rapidly becoming a conscience,’ said Kalkin with a scowl. ‘When you manipulated the time stream – and by the way, that was truly impressive – you contrived to do two unexpected things. First, you drove almost all the Dread back into the void.’

  ‘Almost?’

  ‘There’s this … bit of the Dread that got trapped in the bottom of that crater you created. It’s dormant, unaware, and buried under hundreds of feet of rock. Compared to the totality of what you faced, it was just a tiny bit. By the standards of what you’ve previously faced, you have a sleeping Dreadlord at the bottom of a vast crater.’

  ‘But it could awake?’

  ‘It could,’ said Kalkin. He shrugged. ‘But that’s not your concern.’

  Pug felt a stir of interest. ‘But it should be,’ he countered.

  ‘There will be others who will concern themselves with that, in the future,’ said a proud-looking blonde-haired goddess who looked a great deal like Sandreena in her armour. ‘Protecting the weak is my province and I will ensure there are others.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Pug. ‘There are now few with any power and none still with the power and experience needed to protect this world.’

  ‘We are well aware of that,’ said Lims-Kragma.

  ‘You said there were two unexpected things. What’s the second?’

  ‘You froze that Dread in time, which is why it’s dormant, and until that time thread resolves itself, it will stay that way. And when you froze that thread of time, you froze yourself into it as well.’ He indicated Pug’s left hand, which the magician raised to study. He realized it had been clenched since his awakening and within it something tiny but marvellous stirred. Pug felt a hint of satisfaction.

  ‘And only the dragons can manipulate time,’ said Pug softly.

  ‘So …’ Kalkin shrugged.

  ‘As long as I’m here, not quite dead, you have no power over me,’ said Pug to Lims-Kragma.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘You are neither in the realm of the living nor in t
he realm of the dead.’ She moved to stand before Pug and again he marvelled at her cold beauty. ‘But before you count that as the means to cheat me, realize this: you are trapped between the realms of the living and the dead, and you must make a choice.’

  ‘To live or to die?’ said Pug. ‘It would seem an easy choice.’

  ‘No,’ said Kalkin, ‘for you are not alive either. You can abide here, share a room with the other waiting gods, or drift as a spirit and observe the living, but you may not rejoin the living without our help.’

  ‘Are you offering that help?’

  A god Pug recognized as Astalon the Just said, ‘If you wish it. We have considered your sacrifice and voted, six for life, six for death. So, the decision we have ruled must be yours. That is only just. If you choose death, this existence ends and you move on. You have earned much, Pug, and despite the feeling among some here that you’ve affronted their dignity in the past,’ he glanced at Lims-Kragma, ‘your reward in your next life will be profound.’

  ‘I urge you to consider this,’ said Kalkin. ‘The Dread slumbers in the pit below the Sunken Lands, as that crater will come to be known, and if it awakes, only you among mortals can face it. Choose life.’ He smiled as Jimmy had years ago and said, ‘Besides, things are so much more interesting when you’re around.’

  Pug considered, then said, ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ asked Lims-Kragma. ‘Shall I take you to my hall now?’

  ‘No,’ said Pug. ‘I will strike a bargain.’

  ‘What bargain?’ asked Sung the Pure.

  Looking around at the twelve lesser gods, Pug said, ‘There is another, one who is far more now than I was at his age and will be so much more than I am now when he reaches this age. Magnus must be saved to guard this world. He will rebuild the Academy and the Conclave, and in the end you’ll have a more powerful guardian than I could ever be.’

  ‘You’d give up your life for your son’s?’ asked Lims-Kragma.

  ‘Every time, without question,’ said Pug. ‘Have we a bargain?’

  The twelve gods exchanged glances, and the shadow memory of Arch-Indar shimmered as if somehow being more vivid a memory than she had been a moment before. ‘He has earned it!’ she said.

  A mature woman dressed in simple clothing, a faint scent of wheat accompanying her, stepped forward and looked at Pug, and she said, ‘Yes. So says Silban the Mother,’ and she vanished.

  A young blonde woman in white, her large blue eyes hinting at playful possibilities, nodded and said, ‘I, Ruthia, say yes, and luck will follow your son, Pug, at least for a while.’ She vanished.

  A man with red-rimmed eyes, his grey clothing resembling nothing so much as one of the dreaded Nighthawks, stepped forward and said, ‘I, Ka-hooli, say yes,’ and the Hunter After Fugitives vanished.

  Astalon stepped forward. ‘I, the Just, say yes.’ He vanished.

  Killian, clad in a gown of green leaves with a wreath of flowers in her earth-dark hair said, ‘I say yes,’ and she was gone.

  A slender woman also wearing white but with none of the playful aspects of Ruthia, stepped forward next, her bearing aloof. ‘I, La-timsa, say yes.’ Then she disappeared.

  A warrior with massive shoulders, wearing red armour with a giant sword strapped to his back, came before Pug and put his hand on his shoulder. ‘War in and of itself is pointless; without serving a higher purpose it is the most terrible thing; all true warriors know this. You have served me as well as any mortal living, but always for a higher good, and you mourn the loss of innocents and carry that burden. You are a good man. Tith-Onanka says yes.’ Then the god of war was gone.

  The goddess who looked like Sandreena came before him and Pug felt a stirring of amusement. ‘Dala,’ he said.

  She nodded and returned Sandreena’s smile. ‘Of those not in my service, I treasure you most of all, protector of this world. I say yes,’ and she was gone.

  A god in silver, slender and furtive-looking, said, ‘Guis-wa says yes,’ and he vanished.

  The next god stepped forward and said, ‘Prandur says yes!’ and vanished in a column of flame.

  ‘He always loves his theatrics,’ said Kalkin. He turned and looked at Ishap and Arch-Indar and said, ‘You are no longer needed,’ and the two Controller gods vanished.

  Kalkin, also known as Ban-ath, smiled. ‘Of all the mortals I have known, Pug, you are among my favourites. I will honour your request and say yes.’ Then he was gone.

  Pug looked at Lims-Kragma and said, ‘You are the last, Goddess of Death.’

  She nodded. ‘It is not my nature to make bargains with humans, as my province is inexorable. All I need to do is wait. You, however, have created a unique situation, and I will confess I find rule-breaking irksome.’ She glanced to where Kalkin had stood a moment before. ‘But Arch-Indar is right; you have earned consideration. Moreover, you are right: your son will be a more powerful protector. He compelled me to his will before he truly understood what he was doing, a feat no other mortal, even you, has achieved. I count your choice the wisest choice. Death you shall have and Magnus will have life.’

  ‘What do I do?’ asked Pug.

  ‘You must let go of that tendril of time.’

  Pug looked down and realized that the thing he clenched in his left hand, the marvellous little energy that was confined in his fist, was time itself. ‘Really? That’s all?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied.

  Pug opened his hand and let go of the shred of time.

  Suddenly he was again in the collapsing pit, with the screaming planet around him, crying out as if the very matter of its existence was being ripped away and sucked down the hole into the void.

  Pug realized this was the instant before his death. He reached out to where Magnus was seconds away from dying and with every remaining shred of strength he had, he placed a protective sphere around his son and cast him as far away as he could.

  Then came death.

  Lims-Kragma turned and the Pavilion of the Gods was again occupied by the others. She looked around and said, ‘He won’t be getting off as easily as he thinks.’

  The memory of Arch-Indar said, ‘He deserves much. He’s sacrificed more than any other. He deserves to be happy.’

  The tiniest of smiles played on the lips of the Goddess of Death and she said, ‘That can be arranged.’

  Magnus had no idea what happened. He had felt the energy he had harnessed for his father yanked away from him, had tried his best to get everyone out, then felt the wave of energy that was about to obliterate him. One moment death was certain to claim him, then suddenly the next moment he was in a protective sphere of magic hurled across the sky like a rock thrown by a giant.

  He arced through the storm clouds and could barely keep his senses about him as he tumbled and spun, and when he struck the surface, miles away, he was stunned to insensibility.

  He lay motionless on the ground, trying to force himself to focus, but the huge tasks he had undertaken, the shock of the magic lattice ending, all overwhelmed him and he lost consciousness.

  Hours later, he stirred. He took a deep breath and the air tasted heavy with moisture as if a storm had just passed. It took him a minute to gather his wits and he sat up, realizing he was covered in mud and his robe was soaked through to his skin.

  He saw the sun was above the horizon to the east and realized he had slept through the balance of the night. It was a new day and he was alive.

  Looking around for landmarks, he judged himself somewhere between the destruction of the valley containing E’bar and the northern boundary of the Kingdom, near the foothills of Stone Mountain.

  He took a deep breath, and willed himself back to the peaks above the valley.

  Materializing in mid-air, he caught himself before he plunged into the maelstrom below. The crater was vast, having consumed what had been a range of mountains more than a hundred miles across at its widest point, obliterating everything from the King’s road to Yabon down to the land of the dwarves.<
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  Magnus stared down into roiling clouds of dust and smoke, with flashes of lightning playing underneath, illuminating the dust from within. He could feel rampant magic, the lingering after-effects of the unprecedented magic his father had used to destroy the Dread’s incursion into this world. He willed himself lower.

  Hovering above the dust and ash, Magnus sent his senses down and two things were immediately made known: first, there was a malevolent presence, a massive aspect of the Dread still there, miles below, but it was dormant and unmoving; second, magic was running amok, and already the changes being made were manifesting themselves. One day Magnus would return to investigate this new place, for he knew without a doubt that what he would find in that crater would be unique in Midkemia. Everything would be changed, from the very rocks and soil to all life, from the tiniest insect to the largest creatures.

  He rose up and took another deep breath. There would be time.

  He willed himself to move, and was suddenly in his father’s study. He closed his eyes and sent out a mental question that was answered by a profound silence. Feeling an intense sadness, Magnus realized with certainty that this would now be his study.

  A very fatigued Ruffio appeared a moment later. ‘I sensed you … I’m delighted to see you, Magnus.’

  They embraced like long-lost brothers, each relieved to see the other alive. ‘When you didn’t appear yesterday, I feared the worst,’ said Ruffio.

  ‘Yesterday?’ said Magnus.

  ‘The rift was closed two days ago, Magnus.’

  ‘I must have been unconscious for a full day more than I thought.’ He led Ruffio outside and stepped out into the mid-day sun. He took a deep breath of fresh ocean air, and said, ‘It is good to be alive.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Ruffio.

  ‘Tell me, how many …?’ He let the question go unfin-ished.

  Ruffio didn’t need to ask what he meant. ‘Most of our students here died, as they were the best and most committed. And many from Stardock died as well. I have only preliminary information, but the temples were hit hard too. Many clerics perished.’