The Ways of Mages: Two Worlds (16 page)

Hope rests in the Sword;

A sword is double edged so to cut both ways.

Hope rests in the choice;

One way to destruction; the other to Salvation.

Hope rests in the healer;

This is the last chance to heal tortured wounds.

Hope rests in the young.

Fresh eyes can repair the damage.

I do
n’
t know if this hope is justified or how it will come to pass. Only time is wise enough to tell.

The Empero
r’
s heir, the Winged Dagger, gave the Marlhemans no quarter. He was young, a youth on the threshold between boyhood and manhood. Yet, for his lack of years, he was keen, keen as a swor
d’
s edge, and just as feared.

There was reason. Kaishan showed no emotion. He was cold and merciless. If he set his mind to something, one way or another he would succeed.

I knew deep in my heart that Kaishan was the one to watch. His father was dangerous, true, but he was like an open book to those who knew how to read. Kaishan was different. One could not trust their eyes around him. He could melt into his surroundings without really trying. It was then, when one had to look for him. Be wary or pay dearly. Many pay dearly.  Kaishan was the force who put the Marlhemans on their knees.

The Sheyestivans were on the eve of victory a year after the war began. They had the Marlheman king trapped in his own hall. It was then that the Marlhemans ignited the greatest spell since the rise of the Nirami.

The world paused in its daily spin. Even the Niram
i’
s storms stilled. When the world resumed its natural rhythm, the Sheyestivans were back on their lands, their bodies trapped in a timeless sleep. The hoards of Cursed were laid to waste. The Marlheman king and several others of his court were found dead; every ounce of strength they possessed to the working.

To their hope.

The rest of the dragons were gone without a trace. The Niram
i’
s storms settled. Five hundred years have passed and I still hear the vers
e
…

The wind howled as it clawed upon the mountains. Like a wounded beast it raged. So high and sharp were the mountains that they tore the wind. It shrieked its pain. Upon the win
d’
s back rode a slave master of a storm. It drove the wild winds before it without mercy. It sent lighting lashing down through the moaning wind to beat upon the scarred mountains below. Rain water steamed as it fell. Flash streams raced each other into pools of boiling water. Cold stone cracked and heated beneath the scalding pools.

Beaten and torn, the wind moaned. It searched for anything alive to share its pain. It moaned so loud that it woke her up. Bleary eyed, Ari
té
glared at the entry to her home. The wind had a lot of breath to put into its moans. In a brief silence, the old woman listened to her old flesh and tried to get more sleep. Predictably, just when she was almost out, the wind renewed its moaning. Ari
té
tried to ignore it. These storms were always loud and, blessedly, short. If she could but fall back to sleep, she would wake up and the storm would have blown through. If she could fall back to sleep. But this storm was making it exceedingly difficult.

“
What do you want me to do
?”
she muttered tiredly
.“
You have survived the last two thousand years. Hush and let me sleep
.”
Ari
té
huddled farther into her thick blankets. There was a soft thud as something fell out of her blanket folds.  Ari
té
tried to peer at what had fallen. Bones protesting, she leaned forward and saw that it was her journal. Its burgundy cover edged by gold filigree gleamed in the blue firelight. She had been writing a history. Time might be the wisest of all things, but it never writes its own histories. She must have fallen asleep before she could finish. Too tired at the moment to pick it up, she settled back into her chair. The winds had subsided, giving her some peace.

She was able to enjoy the peace for only so long. An insistent scratching sound intruded upon her. A moment later there were pitiful cries. It sounded like a small child.

“
Now what
?”
She asked sitting up as quickly as her old bones would let her. Her maternal instinct was invoked, as was her curiosity. She pushed aside her blankets, grabbed her cane and worked her way up to her feet. Slowly, for the stiffness in her legs, Ari
té
shuffled toward the entry of her home. Her home was a cave drilled into this mountain centuries ago. Being that old and holding up to two inhabitan
t’
s at a time, it was full of odds and ends. Thick blankets that she had fancied over the years kept the floor warm and soft. Tapestries that she had saved from old ruins covered the stone walls, keeping in the warmth of the blue magic fire (it was easier to control than a normal one)  that burned in the center of the room before her chair. On tables about the room were books and scrolls, some of which were older then the mountains themselves. In all the clutter was a basin of polished mountain stone. Water churned within it, never still. Upon a table nearby was a quartz crystal pyramid. Floating within it was an onyx four point star. The star was lined in silver with a black opal set in its center. Slowly, very slowly as if asleep, the star turned.

A small tunnel led from the main cavern on the far side from the door. Through it one would find a larger cave then Ari
t
é
’
s chamber. Within it was a lush world. A garden that would make any gardener cry with joy. There were crop plants such as corn, carrots, cabbage, potatoes, and tomatoes. There were trees bearing fruits.  Small deer and rabbits provided Ari
té
with meat. The whole place was lit by a petite ball of flames which floated at the top of the cavern. Heat from this sun ran the entire cave like its cousin in the sky. Water vapor rose from the plants and animals and condensed in the colder parts of the ceiling and rained upon the little world. From those points of rain, tiny streams flowed to irrigate the rest of the garden. Besides her chair, the garden was Ari
t
é
’
s favorite place. 

Ari
té
was heading away from all this. She was heading toward her metalwood door. Before she could reach the door a small voice wailed from the shadow near it
.“
Mama! Mama
!”
it cried. Ari
té
backed as a smal
l…
child materialized out of the shadows. The child was of nondescript appearance. So covered in an urchin
s’
filth, one could
n’
t tell if it was a boy or girl. The child cried softly.

“
Who are you, child
?”
Ari
té
asked. No one ever visited her. Considering where she lived, that was not a surprise. Any one foolish enough to brave the mountains typically died after a day. The mountains suffered only her presence. The only ones who survived a passing did so with Ari
t
é
’
s knowledge. She grimaced at that thought. She had made a devastating mistake hundreds of years past; she had let the Sheyestivans through. Ari
té
wished she could correct her mistake, wished she could go back in time. Just like everyone else, despite her magics, she could not go back. Her mistake, like all her actions, was carved into tim
e’
s granite surface. Unable to correct her mistake, she did what she could for all those who died. She remembered them.

On the opposite wall from her chair she had hung a huge plaque of
Kales Amei
, timeless glass. Engraved upon it for all time were the names of the hundreds of people she had indirectly murdered. She could
n’
t dishonor them by forgetting them.

“
Mommy should know who I am
.”
The chil
d’
s voice brought her out of dark memories.

“
Why is that
?”
A pause the
n“
And how are you here
?
”
 
Ari
té
asked.  On this occasion, Ari
té
had not opened any pass that a person on foot could traverse.

The child only whimpered
.“
How can mommy not know me? We have been together for a long, long time. How can mommy not know me
?
”

Ari
té
looked at the child with more than her eyes; she looked with
telecy
. To her eyes there was a dirty child. To her mind there wa
s…
nothing. This could only mean one thing. The child was an illusion, but how could that be? Long ago, Ari
té
had warded her home against such things. The wards were not light things either; they were strong enough to keep a whole nation of
telecers
at bay. They did
n’
t even know of the wards existence. Instinctively, Ari
té
checked her wards and found them well. How was the child here?

“
It hurts, mommy, it hurts
.”
The illusion child moaned.

“
What hurts
?”
Ari
té
asked as she surrounded the child with mental walls. No ordinary
telecer
could force an illusion through such things. Only the strong ones could and even they would have problems getting though her walls.

“
The fires of the past
.”
The child stated, wiping eyes on a dirty sleeve
.“
Why do they hate themselves? Do
n’
t they know they make themselves bleed
?”
The child pouted.

“
Who
?”
Ari
té
asked, keeping the child talking so she could find the mind that was behind it. Since the illusion got past her wards, then there must be a great mind, or many behind it. The thought concerned her. How could anyone know she was here?

The child cocked its head as if wondering how slow Ari
té
must be
.“
The Brothers, mommy. The Brothers. The ones who were split by fire and earth. The ones who forgot themselves and met again in deceit. Mommy should know of them
.”
The child accused.

There was no trace of where the illusion came from.  No string that tied it to its origin. That could only happen if the illusion touched its origin. But there was no one there to touch the chil
d…
no on
e…
unles
s
…

The illusion frowned for a second at Ari
té
. Then to Ari
t
é
’
s great shock, took a step forward.  Ari
té
gasped as she felt the walls shatter. She backed from the child. This could not be. It was not possible.

“
Mommy! Why do you retreat from me?
!”
The child demanded.
 “
I must tell you something
!
”

“
What
?”
Ari
té
stopped backing a yard from the child.

“
I have a secret
.
”

After a pause Ari
té
asked
.“
Well
?
”

“
Secret
.”
The child repeated
.“
I can only whisper it or others will hear
.
”

“
There are no others here
.”
Ari
té
gestured about her home
.“
There have
n’
t been for many, many years. What is it your master wants to tell me
?
”

The child looked confused
.“
Master? I have no master but you. You wanted to know i
f
…
”
It blinked and looked around with a scared expression
.“
I can tell only you
.”
its voice had turned plaintive, then outright anxious.
 “
The raging will hear it and will strike me! Please let me whisper it in your ear?
!”
Before Ari
té
could respond the child was before her on tiptoes. The illusio
n’
s voice whispered into old Ari
t
é
’
s ear
.“
The Sword of Tiva was awakened when the Star of Mar was born
.”
The whispered voice slipped into Ari
t
é
’
s mind.
A sword is double edged so to cut both ways. One way to destruction; the other to Salvation
.
”
Ari
t
é
’
s eyes widened at the line of the verse
.
“
The Sword rests in Night; teeters upon its own edge. It needs the Sta
r’
s fire to light its path. This is the last chance to heal tortured wound
s
…
The illusion backed away, a smile spreading on its face
.“
Mommy, a Brother goes to
see his sibling in the south
.”
In Ari
t
é
’
s mind she heard the voice whisper.
The sword flies.
Aloud, the child continued.
 “
He flies now. You should recognize him
.”
And as Ari
té
watched, the child dissolved into a glowing nimbus that shattered into many ribbons that snaked to spots of bare mountain. There, it vanished.

***

Ari
té
stared. She had never seen such a thing in her many, many long years living here. The illusion came from no living mind. The child had come from the Niram
i’
s Grave itself. The mountain chain itsel
f
…

After a relatively short time, Ari
té
was able to wade out of her shock. She could have kicked herself. She should have kicked herself. If Jewel were here, she would have provided the butt kicking. Jewel may have even suspected that the child was the Niram
i’
s new way of communicating. But Jewel had left for the Golden Coast a week ago on one of her usual trips. Ari
té
did
n’
t like leaving the mountains. She could
n’
t take the pain of how things had changed. So she stayed with her mountains.