Storm Warning (43 page)

That was just as well; An’desha had a lot more on his mind than explaining a simple friendship to his lover. The mage-storm’s first bluster had stirred something up from out of Falconsbane’s deepest and oldest memories, and he was still trying to sort it out.

First and foremost, he was certain, as he had never before been certain of anything, that
this
was what both the Avatars and his seizures of fear had been warning him about. Secondly, he knew that a part of him recognized just what the mage-storm really was—or rather, what it was a symptom of.

There was a version of Falconsbane who called himself “Ma’ar” who was somehow involved with that memory, though without actually probing after it, he could not be sure just what that involvement was.

When Firesong went out with Darkwind to do a bondbird aerial sweep to the south, An‘desha stayed behind in the reassuring confines of the tiny Vale. Although he would have preferred to have Karal to talk him through this, he had approached Karal’s master, the Karsite Priest Ulrich, as a substitute to help him through another search through those dreadful memories. When Ulrich agreed, the Priest suggested his own quarters as the best place for such a search, and An’desha had taken the suggestion with relief. Then he had taken his courage in both hands, just as he had done when he had tricked Falconsbane into walking out into the trap that meant his death, and plunged into a trance to trace back the memory.

It had taken a long time, and when he emerged from it, he was too shaken by the experience to say anything. Ulrich did not seem in a hurry to make him speak, though; the Priest just sat there with him, pressing a cup of sweet tea on him, letting him take his own time in recovering.

But by the time An’desha felt ready to talk, Firesong came to tell Ulrich that the rest of the mages had already gathered.

“I should be there, too,” An’desha said, as steadily as he could, and felt a little glow of warmth at Firesong’s glance of approval.

He’s been trying for so long to get me to accept my powers and responsibilities ... I suppose this makes him feel very good.
In spite of the soul-churning effect of wandering through the miasma of Falconsbane’s evil memories, An’desha realized that it made
him
feel rather good, too. Shouldering the burden—at least at the moment—was actually less onerous than anticipating and dreading the need to shoulder it. It made him feel the way he did when the Avatars had come to him—that tremulous exultation, the sense of being a tiny but bright light in a great expanse of darkness. He accepted what he must do.

He followed the others into the Council Chamber again, and waited with them while pages went around the room lighting the lanterns set into the plaster-ornamented walls. The Court Artist, who had apparently been sitting there and sketching some of the mages under pretense of recording a historical event, was sent packing out of the room by a scowl from Daren. Karal was there, sitting with the gryphons this time, bearing signs of windburn and chapped lips. His friend gave him a shaky smile. He seemed very disturbed by something, and somehow An’desha doubted that it had been the flying that had set that expression on his face.

“Let Karrral ssspeak forrr the thrrree of usss,” said Treyvan, when all the shuffling of papers and settling into seats was done. The great gryphon raised his head into the light, and his eyes glinted with reflections. “We have dissscusssed thisss, and he hasss the feelingsss of all three of usss.”

Karal cleared his throat self-consciously as all eyes turned toward him. “Well, what we basically discovered, is that there is a regular pattern to the disturbances, the ones that we saw, anyway. They are all the same size, the same distance apart, and in a straight line. We went as far as we could before turning back, and we didn’t see an end to them. Most of them are—transplants, I suppose you would say. They are circles of foreign soil; they look as if a gardener cut circles of land and replaced them with circles of land from somewhere else. Most of them were so similar to Valdemaran soil that if we hadn’t been looking for signs of disturbance we wouldn’t have spotted anything wrong. Some were from places I couldn’t recognize—the one nearest the city going directly north from the Palace is of black sand, for instance. There was one piece that I would swear was right out of a mountain meadow in Karse; it even contained an herb I know grows only there. I took samples from all of them. But one—there was one at the end that was different. That strange one—it was fused sand, like badly-made glass.” He swallowed, hard. “I—it would be very terrible if whatever did
that
has done it somewhere where there are people.”

“Did you see any of the strange animals some people have described?” Elspeth asked.

Karal shook his head. “No, nothing that didn’t seem quite normal, just out of place where we found it.”

“I found some of the strange animals, and even a bird,” Darkwind spoke up. “Or rather, Vree found them and caught them. I had the impression that the disturbances were not regular and not in a pattern, but it hadn’t occurred to me that many of them would simply look just like the land around them.”

An’desha listened with a sinking heart. Oh, this sounded far too much like that ancient memory for his satisfaction!
I had hoped they would prove me wrong, but they are only proving me more and more right!

An’desha simply sat and absorbed it all, unable to garner the will to speak. Not just yet, anyway.

Darkwind described the creatures that he had caught and brought back; the other mages who had gone in other directions added their observations. Karal offered more comments of his own, calmly, though with obvious deference to the others. He wouldn’t venture any conclusions, but based on his own figures and those of the rest, he began to plot the rest of the observations on a larger map of the land around Haven. Karal’s relative self-assurance—and his and Ulrich’s occasional glances of encouragement—finally gave An’desha the courage to speak up in a moment of silence.

“You all know—what, who I was,” he said softly, his eyes fixed on a spot in the middle of the table.

Every eye in the place turned toward him. Karal stopped writing.

“I still have Mornelith Falconsbane’s memories,” he went on, haltingly. “And those of the lives he led before he was Falconsbane. I
knew
this mage-storm when it struck. I
recognized
it somehow, out of those memories, though I did not know what it was, exactly, nor how I recognized it.” He swallowed; his throat and mouth felt terribly dry, and his hands were cold. “Please—please, do not think me crazy. What I say is true, as true as I can say it. With the help of Master Ulrich, I—I sought answers to that recognition. I believe I know what this storm was, what caused it, and even why.”

The silence was so thick he heard the hiss of the lantern flames behind him. “Please be patient with me; this was the oldest memory I have ever touched, possibly the oldest that Falconsbane himself had. It came from a time when Falconsbane was a mage and a king called Ma’ar.”

The gryphons hissed as one, hackles and crest-feathers smoothed flat to their heads, and sat straight up on their haunches. No one else moved.

“The memory of a storm like this one—it came after a Gate was destroyed. Not a temporary Gate like we know, but a
permanent
Gate—one that was held ready to be opened at any moment. It was a small storm, and the effects were limited, but they were very like what you have been describing here.” He swallowed again; what followed had been very, very hard to cope with, even at the remove of several hundreds, if not thousands, of years. “But when Ma’ar—died—it was with the knowledge that
his
realm, and that of his enemy, were both about to fall to a suicidal cataclysm. Both realms, rich in magic,
built
with magic, were about to have every spell within them broken within moments of his death.
Many
permanent Gates, shields, devices, all—and all at once. He died before he himself experienced that cataclysm, but the effects would have been very like those we are seeing now, but much, much worse, lasting for days, and traveling across continents.”

“Continents?” someone asked. An’desha nodded.

“Hence, that it is called ’the Cataclysm’ in the old texts,” Ulrich murmured as if to himself.

“But that wasss verrry long ago,” Hydona said, puzzled. “What hasss that to do with usss?”

He took another deep breath. This was even harder to speak of, but for a different reason. “I do not often tell of this, but when I was entrapped within my body by Falconsbane, I was aided by two—presences.”
Please, oh please, do not let them doubt my sanity!

“Avatars of the Star-Eyed, he means,” Firesong interjected, and reached under the table to squeeze his hand encouragingly. “The blade Need spoke to me of these, more than once. I believe they were what they claimed to be and so does she; after all, some of you saw them when they unmade both Nyara and An’desha, giving them back more human likenesses.”

“An’desha has told me of these Avatars,” Karal spoke up. “I believe them to be true Visitations also.”

An‘desha cleared his throat self-consciously, feeling his ears and neck growing hot with a flush he could not control. “They warned me then, several times, that there was something terrible in the future. Something that threatened not only Valdemar alone, but all our lands.
I
thought it was only Falconsbane, but I continued to have terrible dreams, and spells of great fear after he was gone. Now that this mage-storm has come upon us and I have searched out that old memory, I—I have—” he shook his head. “I am no great mage, for all the potential power that Firesong thinks I hold, but there are some things that are now making dreadful sense to me. The Avatars spoke to me once of ‘power and chaos echoing back across time.’ I thought that meant Falconsbane, but now I do not think so. I have the memory of
how much
power lay in all those spells that were released in that long-ago time of the Mage Wars. Ma’ar believed in his last moments that it was more than the fabric of the world could bear, to have it all released in a single moment—and as importantly, to have
two
such centers of power interacting with each other. I think that what happened
then
is about to echo back upon us
now
—but in reverse of the original. I think that the storm we just experienced is only the warning.”

An’desha drew a halting breath, and summed it up as best he could. “What we experienced was the little chill breeze that presages a hurricane.”

Firesong stared at him, stunned. Now it was Treyvan’s turn to break the silence.

“It isss in the trrraditionsss of the Kaled’a’in k’Lesshya that therrre werrre weeksss of mage-ssstorrrmsss following the death of Urrrtho,” the gryphon said with steady calm. “The old chrrroniclesss sssay that it wasss imposssible to dessscribe how terrrible they werrre, in effect, and in ssstrrrength. The verrry land wasss torrrn assssunderrr, and even time ssseemed to flow ssstrrrangely forrr the yearrr afterrr.”

“There is an oral tradition of the same among the Tayledras,” Firesong managed and shook his head. “I can’t even begin to guess what effect the release of that much mage-energy would have. If it could turn the land around the King’s Palace where Ma’ar was into a cratered lake, and the land around Urtho’s Tower into a plain of glass, there is no reason to suppose it might not even travel through the fabric of time itself. So many spells and wards are linked to time as if it were a physical presence—and even small magical explosions wreck the latticework of magic for a dozen leagues around them.”

The others turned their attention back to An’desha, who looked horribly pale. “I do not have the learning to guess at more,” he said humbly. “And if you will please forgive me, I do not wish to delve more into those memories that might give me that learning—at least not tonight. They make me feel ill.”

“I have knowledge of the old Kaled’a’in magicsss,” Treyvan rumbled. “Asss passsed to Vikterrren and Ssskandrrranon by Urrrtho himssself. The making of Gatesss warrrps time, asss waterrr warpsss wood; the making of perrrmanent Gatesss warrrps it morrre. Therrre werrre at leassst twenty sssuch Gatesss at Urrrtho’s Towerrr, perrrhapsss morrre. Theme werrre all the weaponsss that Urrrtho
would not
ussse, forrr they werrre too terrrible. Therrre werrre the prrrotectionsss on the Towerrr, and the magicssss of the placssesss we grrrryphonsss werrre borrrn.”

Ulrich’s brows knotted with thought. “I—this goes beyond what I have learned,” he said at last, “but I can tell you this; I have myself had warnings from an Avatar of Vkandis that something of this sort portended.”

Elspeth looked impatient. “You had
vague
warnings, An’desha had
vague
warnings, why didn’t anyone get anything clear?”

An’desha winced. That was a perfectly reasonable question. And he didn’t have an answer.

But Ulrich only smiled slightly. “Perhaps because even the Star-Eyed and Vkandis Himself did not know what the effect would be,” he replied gently. “Hear me out. When the Gods granted mankind free will, They allowed uncertainty to enter the world. Some things can be predicted; others cannot. If I may make an analogy—I can tell you that a great storm is coming. With the knowledge I have that when the wind blows such-and-so, and the glass falls, and the sky looks thusly at this time of year, I can say that there will be a storm. But I cannot predict what places will flood, how high the floodwaters will rise, what homes will be battered to bits, and what keeps struck by lightning. As this power comes back to us, I think that even the Gods could not tell exactly what form it would take,
perhaps
because of what we and others have done with magic since then. They could only warn that there was danger.”

“So—” Elspeth said slowly, after a long silence, “The good news is that this isn’t anything we caused, and it isn’t anything that the Empire is turning on us. The
bad
news is that this really isn’t a ‘mage-storm’ as such. Not yet, anyway. It was—was one wave, created by the real storm that is out of sight of the land. It swamped boats and wrecked docks, but the real storm still hasn’t come in yet.”