Authors: Licia Troisi
In Zirea, Sennar saw sirens for the first time. They were similar to the other inhabitants of Zalenia, except for two unmistakable gills at the base of their necks. Every now and then he would notice them darting about in the open sea.
The capital pulsed with life, though it was nothing like the chaos that reigned in the Overworld’s larger cities, like Makrat. The daily bustle was marked by an exemplary calm—no shouting, no clamor, no confusion. The citizens, all clothed in white or grey, strode about the metropolis with an air of composure.
Though even where the light shines most radiantly, shadows always linger. The city was encircled—besieged—by miserable suburbs. These areas were home to the poorest citizens, mostly new arrivals and people who were ill. By law, they were not permitted to pass through the gates of the brilliant Zirea. As Sennar himself passed through one of these gates, he wondered for the thousandth time if true brotherhood were ever possible.
The king’s castle was an enormous structure at the center of the city. It rose up in an infinite series of steeples and spires—white, transparent, opalescent, all reaching toward the sky. There were no real windows. Air entered directly through the ampoule’s base column and light poured in through several small portholes. Only at second glance did he notice its most extraordinary feature: part of the structure extended out into open water. The castle was divided into two wings, one of which was submerged in the sea’s depths, outside of the glass ampoule. The underwater wing served as a government building for the mermaids and tritons, constructed at the time of Zalenia’s founding as a sign of the inhabitants’ eternal gratitude to those who’d helped them realize their dream.
The two governments were completely separate. The tritons and mermaids had acted merely as welcoming hosts. After all, the settlers from the Overworld had never shown signs of hostility toward the underwater population, nor had they insisted on what would have been an impossible merging of the two peoples. Even though relations between the two were well established and neighborly, the overriding logic was of absolute independence.
“It’s best, I believe, if I speak to His Majesty first. This evening, I’ll inform you of the result of our discussion,” said the count, and Sennar, too, thought it a wise decision.
Sennar and Ondine, in the company of an escort, spent the rest of the day wandering about, gawking at the majestic governmental buildings and the soaring temples that honored the kingdom’s gods, and idling among the shops that lined the side streets. It was Ondine’s first time in a city, and she found everything enchanting. Sennar, on the other hand, felt oddly ill at ease. He couldn’t figure out why, but for some reason he had a sensation of looming danger. Everyone around him seemed to be walking along normally, the streets and public squares humming quietly, and yet the sorcerer’s nerves were on edge.
“Is there something the matter?” Ondine asked him suddenly, shaking him from his thoughts.
“No, everything’s okay.” Sennar smiled. “Come on, let’s go take a look at that vendor’s stall.”
On the counter was a series of drawings that seemed to represent imaginary lands: idyllic landscapes, fertile fields, wild forests. All of a sudden, Sennar realized why this particular stall had caught his eye. Propped at the front of the stall was a painting featuring a sort of observatory and several little men writing intently and peering through an enormous telescope. Sennar leaned in closer to the canvas. His heart skipped a beat. The figures in the painting were thin, with blue hair and pointed ears. Half-elves.
The merchant saw a potential customer in this strange, hooded figure. “Welcome, visitor,” he said with a mellifluous voice. “Do you like this one? These are the astronomers of the Land of Days. I’ll sell it to you at a discount.”
Sennar made no response. His thoughts were a thousand miles away, swirling with images of Nihal. Where was she? How was she? Did she think of him still?
“Sennar,” Ondine murmured, caressing his arm.
The sorcerer came back to his senses. “Where did you get it?” he asked the salesman.
The merchant narrowed his eyes at Ondine. “I can see you’re not from around here. Me, I made it myself, stranger! Palevudd, in the flesh, at your service.”
“You know the half-elves?” Sennar asked.
“Who doesn’t?”
“I mean to say, you’ve seen them?”
“How could I have? They’re from Above. I made this painting with the Ballads of Exodus in mind. It’s a fine piece. Would you like it?” the merchant asked, getting back to business. But Sennar had already grabbed Ondine by the arm and was walking away.
“Did you like it?” Ondine asked him.
“No, I was only curious.”
Nihal
. Yes, Nihal … How could he have fooled himself?
That evening, he waited for the count in the tavern at the inn where they were staying.
“It’s getting late, Ondine,” said Sennar, once they’d finished eating dinner. “It’s best if you get some sleep.”
“Actually, I thought I’d wait here with you.”
The sorcerer looked at her tenderly. “It’s not necessary. Honestly. I can tell you’re tired. You should go up to your room. Go on.”
Ondine obeyed without protest.
Sennar wanted to be alone. It all seemed crystal clear to him now. What did he think he was doing with Ondine? She wasn’t the one he wanted. She wasn’t the one who filled his dreams.
He was wrestling with his guilt when the sensation returned—the same, portentous feeling from earlier that day. He banished all thought from his head, closing his eyes. When he reopened them, he began scanning the room, taking stock of everyone around him. One by one, he crossed them off. Not the man seated in the back, nor the woman up at the counter, nor the drunk man at the table … All of a sudden, the sensation fled. Sennar leaped to his feet just in time to notice a wisp of black cloak slip through the door. He took off in pursuit, but when he reached the doorway he nearly rammed into Count Varen.
“Did you see who went out just before me?” he asked in a rush.
“I wasn’t paying attention,” Varen replied. “What’s going on?”
Sennar shook his head. “Nothing. Let’s go inside. Tell me about the king.”
Sennar sat at the tavern’s most isolated table, listening intently to the count.
“I spoke to His Majesty. It was a long and difficult discussion. I want to be frank with you, Councilor. The king is not well-disposed toward you.”
“I didn’t expect he would be,” Sennar replied. A nice glass of Shark would have done him well right now. He ordered a drink. “So, I’m assuming he has no interest in seeing me.”
“No, I was able to secure a meeting. Tomorrow, at the parade grounds at the royal palace, before the people. You’ll have to be chained. The king fears you. And …” the count hesitated for a moment. “If you fail to convince him, he’ll have you executed on the spot. And the same goes for me.”
Sennar turned rigid, his glass half raised. “You mean to say … you put your life on the line for me?”
Varen looked the sorcerer in the eye. “Listen to me, Sennar. When I was named count, I was filled with hope for the future. You remind me of the way I was then. I never managed to realize my dreams, but if you can do what you’ve come here to do, it will be a new beginning for me. Otherwise … well, I’ve lived more than enough, and no one will suffer my absence.”
Sennar was at a loss for words. “I … I’m happy you believe in me. But you have an entire region to govern, people whose lives depend on you. I can’t allow you to make this sacrifice.”
“I’m not doing this for you, Councilor. I’m doing it for myself,” the count murmured. Then he took Sennar’s glass and downed it in a gulp.
Sennar entered his room and walked toward the window. The glass city appeared motionless, enveloped in deep blue, a blue that suddenly seemed threatening.
What’s going on? Who’s out there?
He sat cross-legged on the ground and thought. One of the first things a sorcerer learns is to sense the presence of other sorcerers. It wasn’t a spell, per say, but more a matter of enhanced perception. In truth, he shouldn’t have been able to sense anything at all, after the seal the aged Deliah had put on him, but there was only one way to interpret this sensation of danger: another sorcerer was somewhere in the vicinity.
He recalled the words Deliah had said to Varen outside his cell: “In a few days, his powers will return.”
Sennar opened his palm. He closed his eyes and recited a spell under his breath. A moment later, a blue flame was hovering above his hand. His lips curled into a satisfied smile.
You’re back to normal.
Now there’s work to do.
From out of his tunic he extracted a small leather bag. He emptied its contents into the palm of his hand. Ten small silver discs clinked and jangled in the room’s silence. Ondine sighed and turned over in bed. The sorcerer spread the coins out on the ground and slowly, solemnly, began whispering a litany. One after another, the discs started to move, gradually forming a circle. Sennar concentrated on them.
Nothing. Could I have been mistaken?
He continued reciting the spell until the circle of coins began to spin, faster and faster.
There we are
. One of the discs rose up into the air. Its surface darkened to black and a flaming, scarlet rune appeared at its center: two incisions in the form of a cross, with one long, vertical line intersecting them.
Sennar suddenly stopped reciting the spell. The disc paled again to silver and fell to the ground, followed by the remaining coins.
There in the dark, the sorcerer sat still, unable to breathe. He held his head in his hands.
The Tyrant. He’d arrived.
Ondine was deep asleep, curled up under the covers like a child. Sennar, his face a ghostly white and dark circles under his eyes, leaned over and shook her shoulder gently.
The girl stretched and batted her eyelids, adjusting to the light of the lantern. When she saw him in the flame’s glow, she snapped awake. “What happened?”
Sennar sat on the edge of the bed. “Ondine, I need you to listen to me carefully.”
“What did the count say?”
“Listen. In a little while they’re going to come and take me to the king. …”
“So he agreed to meet with you!”
Sennar placed his hands on her shoulders. “I want you to stay right here in this room today. Don’t move, not for any reason. Do you understand?”
Ondine looked back at him, frightened. “What’s happening, Sennar?”
He spoke as clearly as possible: “Do what I said and wait for me. Everything will be fine.”
Once they had him in chains, the guards pushed him forward through an enormous crowd of men, women, and children, some who seemed intrigued, others apparently frightened. Sennar looked all around, glancing from face to face in the sea of people, but found nothing suspicious.
He stepped through the palace gate and entered an extremely long corridor bathed in turquoise light. Lined along the walls, far beneath the towering vault of the ceiling, stood two rows of armed spearmen.
Sennar tensed. Sweat glistened on his forehead and his mouth went completely dry. A single drop slid down his skin and splashed onto the elegant carpet, leaving a small dark stain.
Stay calm. Concentrate.
On the one hand, he needed to convince the king, on the other, to keep the situation around him under control. It wasn’t only his life that was in danger, but the lives of the entire known world.
The hallway opened into an immense, scarlet room. The walls were blood red. Light filtered in through tiny, transparent arches. At the far end of the room was a large, emerald door. The guards fanned outward and Sennar found himself front and center in the main square, where all hearings took place. It was a sort of amphitheater, boundless and brimming with people. A glass runway cut across the entire square, leading finally to a stage at least ten feet off the ground. An elegant staircase covered the distance, climbing higher to a perch above the stage, where, looming over all, sat a blue crystal throne.
At the runway’s mid-point, the guards halted. Sennar could feel his legs caving beneath him. His thoughts muddled. Desperately, he tried sensing a presence among the crowd, but the agitation, the fear, the immensity of the room jumbled his senses. His head was spinning.
The count was not far ahead of him.
“Something’s not right, Varen!” he shouted.
“Quiet!” ordered one of the guards, giving him a shove.
The count hadn’t heard.
Turn around! Turn around, Varen!
Sennar tried catching up to him, but the guards blocked his way.
A trumpet blast resounded in the square and a troop of armed guards stepped forward, followed by a hulking, bare-chested man with a black crystal mask covering his face. The muscles in his arms seemed ready to burst through his pale skin. In his fist he gripped an axe. The executioner.
Sennar had grown used to putting his life on the line, but the awareness, now, when the distance between life and death lay within the tenuous confines of his words, rattled his composure.
The sorcerer and the count were led to the base of the stage.
It was then that the king made his entrance. Preceding him was a vast and dazzling company of attendants. There were beautiful women, as slender as stalks of reed, their figures barely hidden beneath light-blue silken slips, and courtiers with pomaded hair, wearing heavy, brocade gowns of a most lively blue. Nereo came last.
Sennar was baffled by what he saw. The high sovereign of the Underworld was an adolescent boy. Wielding a scepter taller than himself, he paced forward majestically, his chin held high, glancing from side to side as if to challenge his onlookers.
At his arrival, a murmur ran like a tremor through the crowd and gave way to raised cries of jubilation and chants of His Majesty’s name: “Nereo! Nereo!”
The count bowed low to the ground and Sennar followed his lead.
With a vague gesture of his hand, the king silenced the audience. “Count Varen …”
Varen stepped forward. “Yes, Your Highness.”