Wolf Awert
© Wolf Awert / Smiling Wyvern Press 2020
All rights reserved
Machandel Verlag Charlotte Erpenbeck
D-49740 Haselünne
first published with Zaptos Media 2016
Cover Zaptos Media
Machandel Verlag Charlotte Erpenbeck
D-49740 Haselünne
ISBN 978-3-95959-173-7
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Find more information about the author Wolf Awert and his books on smilingwyvernpress.com .
Wolf Awert
© Wolf Awert / Smiling Wyvern Press 2020
Machandel Verlag Charlotte Erpenbeck
D-49740 Haselünne
first published with Zaptos Media 2015
Cover Zaptos Media
Pentamuria, the world of five kingdoms, is in a time of change. The power of the nobles and mages is threatened. War is upon them, although they do not know yet when or with whom. Thus, the mages are gathering in their capital, Ringwall, to prepare together against any possible enemy.
At this time, the orphan boy Nill is found by the Druids. He possesses considerable magical skills. So he is taken to Ringwall, where he is to be trained in the magical arts alongside his fellow students. Nill, who is an outsider, shows no respect for the traditions of the magical world, and challenges the ways of the mages.
Soon this mages start to ask themselves: Could this powerful stranger bring the foretold end of their reign?
If yes, Nill has to be dealt with. By whatever means....
Wolf Awert
© Wolf Awert / Smiling Wyvern Press 2020
Machandel Verlag Charlotte Erpenbeck
D-49740 Haselünne
first published with Zaptos Media 2015
Cover Zaptos Media
After being appointed Archmage, Nill finds himself in a bind.
On the one hand, he now holds the office of a powerful magician, but on the other, his actual magical abilities are weak.
Nill has no choice but to leave Ringwall and go in quest of the old magic, but the journey is perilous...
Especially because of Nill’s old rival Sergor-Don, who took up his inheritance as King of the Fire Kingdom. But the young ruler is not satisfied with his new kingdom. He wants to lead the Fire Kingdom back to its ancient strength and power with only one goal in mind:
Ringwall´s doom.
www.smilingwyvernpress.com
Five winters had passed since Nill and Bairne had returned to Ringwall. He had helped everyone learn to read the runes and glyphs, he had explained all he understood, he had shown them around the chambers and halls as best he could before leaving once again to scour Pentamuria for those Arcanists who exhibited a connection to the ancient magic. Their numbers were few, and fewer still decided to join them in Ringwall. Binja and Rinja were the first to accept, and to Nill’s surprise brown Sijem, half-Arcanist once in Sergor-Don’s inner circle and ruler of Earthland, accompanied them. Nill planned his final excursion; along the forest’s edge to Metal World. A short visit with Brolok and then straight back again. He knew why he had been putting off this journey time and time again.
‘Just follow the forest’s edge and then go right.’
By Bucyngaphos, it had been a long time since they had groaned under the weight of their stern magical education together. They had only just left the comfort of their childish innocence behind and got their first sniff of the tart, confusing scent of adulthood. They had grown up faster than they wanted to admit. Or perhaps it was only a hazy memory, and they had never really been children in the first place. He stood by the edge of the little hamlet by the forest’s edge.
Much had changed. Nill’s weary eyes followed children racing through the village. They were likely in the middle of some adventure offered by the countless dark corners, fallen trees and dense bushes; even a strangely shaped cloud could excite children.
There were boys here as well. No men, still, but boys. The Oas he had known had explained to him that their male children were given into their fathers’ care, or else abandoned. A cruel law, but now…
The world never needed a Changer. It changes on its own, thought Nill as he took a few more steps before stopping and looking around.
“Tell me”, Nill addressed the closest woman walking by, “does Tiriwi still live here?”
“Certainly, over there, just by the edge.”
“Thank you.” That was always her favorite place to be, he thought as he approached a slightly crooked door. Before he had a chance to knock it was flung open; he avoided getting smashed in the face by a hair and a voice shouted, “Can’t you just –” then cut off abruptly. “What are you doing here? Come in, come in – put your stuff away and sit down. Let me have a look at you. You look weary.”
“Oh, I am. Too much to say. You haven’t changed much, though.”
Nill was looking at a Tiriwi whose hair was still silver, still slender as a flower’s stalk, even though she had gained a little weight. Her face was still the same.
“It’s good to see you again”, said Nill, looking into those smoky gray eyes he had known since his childhood. He did not know what to do with his hands.
“You too”, said Tiriwi, and she flung her arms around him and planted a big kiss on his lips. Warmth, memory, affection were all contained in it, but no more passion.
“You’ve not aged a day”, said Nill. “I feel like I’ve lived a hundred harvests by now.”
“Harvests, springs, winters – call it what you want, the time remains the same.” Tiriwi laughed. “Once you’ve had a good rest, you’ll feel better.”
“I’m not so sure. When I look back, I begin to fear the future.”
“Sit down and eat something. In the meantime, let me tell you what the future looks like.”
“You know the future?” Nill smiled. She was definitely still the Tiriwi he knew. Always so sure of herself.
“There will be no Druids in the future, although that will hardly surprise you; any Arcanist can feel the power of the five elements waning. Dakh-Ozz-Han, whom everyone only calls Uncle Dakh now, lives in the next village over. And there will be no more Oas either. Our magic, ancient as it is, was a mistake. Heaven and earth are the ancient magic. It needs no human to bridge the two. The new Oas will grow powerful because they will learn the ancient magic with ease. If ever you need us, just ask; there are many who would go with you if you ask them. You have a good name with us. But to find their new calling, they will have to leave much behind. The first generation will feel the worst of it. And they will have to learn to work with others. But look – this is the future, right now.”
Tiriwi pointed at two boys, strong for their age, nimble and so similar to each other that only their mother could tell them apart.
“They’ll be strong fighters someday”, said Nill.
“I think so too. But they can only be fighters – never warriors. I’m just afraid they won’t listen to me anymore when they get a bit older. Much like other men I know.” She winked at him.
“They’re your sons?”
“There will be more of them soon. No one knows what they’ll do. Perhaps they’ll stay, perhaps they’ll leave – but they won’t go to their fathers any longer. And I don’t think they really want to leave and explore the world. The farthest they’ll go is the next village over. Yes, they are my sons. I have got used to them, and I love them deeply. I could never give them away. But one day they will leave me. The pain of separation will be a new one, and not one I’m keen to face.”
Nill thought the children seemed familiar. Not their faces; they merely looked like children to him, one like the other, but still… the way they squinted… and more importantly, the way they moved. They were small and stocky, but they moved smoothly. It was very familiar. Or perhaps it was only a coincidence, playing on his memories? “Who’s the father?” he asked.
Tiriwi had noted Nill’s searching look. No, she would never tell him that they were Brolok’s children. Men could be so touchy about these things, even though the boys were such splendid little lads. And so she merely stroked Nill’s cheek and said, “The father of my children is my secret. Oas do not remember their fathers, and if they do, they don’t talk about them. But perhaps that too will change…”
She’s not telling me because I know the man, Nill thought. When they grow older, when the puppy-fat leaves their faces, I will know with certainty. I have time. He grinned reluctantly and said, “You’re right. It’s none of my business really. But I had always hoped… I wished I was the father to one of your children. It would have been something to remain. I would have liked to grow old with you, but fate had different plans.”
“Oas belong with their sisters. We do not marry. You knew that.”
“Yes, I knew. But now I don’t know whether the memory of us will be enough.”
Tiriwi smiled. “Let us visit the wise woman. She will explain everything – another thing that has never changed.”
Nill saw something in Tiriwi’s eyes, a sort of hidden joy. Triumph or perhaps simply a spark of love for life, the sudden striking of an idea, or a disguised smile. Or all of them. He could not say.
He followed her. Burned out and tired, he felt heavier for Tiriwi’s words as she walked ahead with a feather-light step and a serene smile on her lips.
Women can be so cruel, Nill thought. And they don’t even notice it.
Tiriwi climbed up the steps to the stilt-house and waited for a moment for Nill to reach her. Then she knocked and, without waiting for an invitation, went inside.
“Lill? This is Lill, Nill. She is the wise woman.”
Nill gaped at her. A young girl stood before him, younger than him by far. She was of average height with long, silvery hair so fine and light that the slightest breath moved them. Her face was thin and her eyes large and dark blue, the kind of blue Nill knew from the mountain lakes in Metal World. Her slightly parted lips showed two rows of small teeth that seemed to shine brighter than the pearls of the Waterways.
Awestruck by her gentle beauty, Nill began to stutter. “I, I – I thought, I, um…”
“That all wise women have to be ugly old hags?” Tiriwi supplied sardonically.
Nill shook his head, then nodded, then shook his head again. “Old, yes, but not ugly.”
“Old women are ugly. That’s a fact.”
Only a woman would say that, thought Nill, remembering Grimala’s gentle grace and the High Lady of Ringwall, whose beauty he had always greatly admired.
“Lill is a rare name for an Oa. I thought you all had names like birdcalls.”
“Her real name is longer, but you couldn’t pronounce it.” Tiriwi made a piercing sound that ended in a short trill. It sounded like “Nii-i-hi-lill”. “Happy?” she asked.
“Nihilill?” Nill repeated ineptly.
Tiriwi ignored him.
“Lill, this is Nill, the last Archmage of Ringwall, founder of a new magic, general fool and also your father.”
Nill lifted his arms and dropped them again. He had no idea what to say, or what to do, when you suddenly found out you had a daughter.
“Lill will one day unite all the Oa tribes. Her magic is stronger by far than the bridge between heaven and earth. She gets it from you. And she understands the rhythm of life more naturally than anyone else here. And that… she doesn’t get from you.”
Lill made Nill’s heart beat so loudly he could have sworn he heard it echoing from the walls. He felt the air expanding and contracting and felt for the first time, in every heartbeat and in every breath, the hard hit and the soft yield.
Lill stepped forward and hugged her father, and Nill experienced two hearts beating in unison, two mouths breathing the air in and out at the same time, bringing the outside in and the inside out. He felt strength and softness, warmth and cold, and also – light and darkness.
He turned to look at Tiriwi.
“Yes”, she said softly. “The rhythm of life is nothing else than your ancient magic. Every hit, every beat is light. Every pause is darkness. What you had to learn, we were born with. We just didn’t know it. Lill recognized it at once. Now come with me and help me find those twins. Even though they’re not yours, they’re cheeky, pig-headed, irresponsible little beasts. You’ll see enough of yourself in them.”
Tiriwi steered him back out through the door. “If you’d like, you can stay for a while. A few days, at least.”
“I would like that”, said Nill with a smile. “A night, a day, perhaps another night. But then I must go. Lill has a half-brother and a half-sister in Ringwall. I would like to tell you about them.”
-The End-
The mists rose over the marshlands as they did every night, so that no one could tell when the day began. Perhaps it was when the trees’ silhouettes appeared blacker than the sky behind them, or perhaps when the sun’s first weak shimmer shone through the thick gray veil. Usually the sun managed to disperse the mist, but today would be one of those days that convinced people to put off important matters until a later date. But still…
Nill’s slumber had been long and deep. The last battle had been fought, the enemies of the past beaten. Even the mystery surrounding the Nothing’s origin had been solved. Sedramon-Per had brought it into the world. Or maybe it had been the Falundron; perhaps both. But did it truly matter? The only important thing was that the world could finally breathe a little easier again. Dakh, the old Druid, had once told Nill that the world holds its breath at the sounds of war and only inhales once the drums have faded away. It was a comforting thought, yet Nill feared that the recent battle was not the last, but instead the first in a long chain of battles, and that the solutions to his questions concerning the past would help little in preparing for the future.
I must return to Ringwall, he thought as he wandered through the dense fog, attempting to find wherever his friends were. Kypt lies beneath Ringwall, buried under a pile of rubble, and Kypt contains everything I need to know to understand the fate of Pentamuria. It’s somewhere in the founders’ catacombs. The Book of Kypt! Why am I wasting my time here in the marshes? Brolok did the right thing; as he returned to his father, so too must I return to Ringwall.
With this resolve in his mind and heart, Nill turned his back on the cold, damp swamp and re-entered the hut, where the warm air welcomed him, and packed his things. He did so silently and secretly, so as not to wake the others, but when he exited he found them sitting around a merrily crackling fire. Their voices were muffled by the mists.
“Good morning, Nill! Help yourself”, Sedramon-Per called out. “AnaNakara’s stew is nice and hot.”
Stew, bread and various roasted and boiled plants – the marshland meals were nutritious, but rarely varied. Nill took a bowl of stew and wrapped himself more tightly in his woolen cloak, which was glistening with a thousand tiny dew drops.
“I would like to thank all of you, my friends. For your protection, your aid, and not least for your hospitality. I have found peace and strength here with you, but my feet are itching to move; I must leave this place.”
Morb-au-Morhg raised his head. His full name was rarely spoken amongst the people of Pentamuria – they called him Morb the Mighty. In Morb’s view, it was a rather grandiose epithet. He saw nothing impressive in growing old in the wilderness. “You should at least enjoy your breakfast, Nill”, he said. “If you embark on your journey now, you will find neither path nor direction. Instead, listen to what Dakh is trying to upset us with today.”
Nill searched the gray gloom for the squat outline of his mentor. He was sitting on the opposite side of the campfire, but mist and smoke blurred his silhouette to the point of unrecognizability.
“It is good that you’re here, Nill. At least I won’t have to repeat myself. You all know that I have spent most of my life trying to understand the will of fate. Despite all my efforts, I never found the Books of Prophecy. And what hurts the most about it all is that I stood before the Book of Arun – directly before it! – and never realized what I was seeing. I was not meant to read it. But, strangely enough, I was meant to meet those who were – you, Nill, and of course Sedramon-Per.”
The heads around the fire flicked to Nill and Sedramon at their mentioning before turning back to Dakh-Ozz-Han. His message must be highly important – he was never usually a man of many words.
“You also know that I have studied the magical patterns that weave through Pentamuria. The changes in these patterns told me that all magical timelines would converge at a single point. A point where a decision will be made. We have reached that point. Perhaps even passed it… I do not know the exact moment. It might have been the destruction of Ringwall, or the battle here in the swamp that led us all together. But now…”
Dakh paused. He knew how to tell stories; he knew every trick to draw a listener’s attention. So before he spoke again, he raised a single finger and pointed at the sky. The finger’s tip shone a pale color in the fog. You old jester, Nill thought with a smile. But his gaze, like everyone else’s, was fixed firmly on the fingertip, as though it contained all the truths of the world.
“The patterns have stopped changing. Am I clear? All the timelines that have met at this one point are acting as though they are frozen. The future has vanished like a band of thieves who suddenly find themselves unmasked. I can no longer see even tomorrow before me. I wonder if there even is a future for us, for our world. And I’ll tell you this: that alone gives me more fear than a million hordes of mudmen from the Borderlands.
Worse still, I cannot even interpret it. Perhaps there never was a future beyond this one point. Maybe what lies before us is not only the end of Pentamuria, but the end of all of Haimar, of which we are only a small part. Or maybe there was a future, once, but we lost it because someone was playing around with the timelines without knowing what they were doing. I hope it is nothing more than a momentary standstill while fate decides on its next move. But as I look around and I see the leaves rustling in the wind, as the sun climbs up and down in the sky, and the moon and stars come out to light up the night for us, I can hardly believe that time has stopped. And so I ask you: what could be behind all this?”
It took a long time for anyone to react. At last, Sedramon-Per stirred. With the mists disguising his features, his long, lanky body was more akin to a ghastly hunchback pine than a human.
“If you don’t know, Dakh, who can? But I can tell you one thing. The convergence of the timelines did not occur when King Sergor-Don destroyed Ringwall, but rather when we all met here in the marshes. I know this, because I have spent many, many springs with AnaNakara in isolation, always waiting for the one decisive moment. I never knew what it would be, how it would look or feel or sound, but I knew I would recognize when it had come. And it happened. I was called, and so I came. I brought AnaNakara and Bairne with me and had only one goal: I had to protect Nill from his enemies in the Waterways. The fact that he was once entrusted to AnaNakara and myself may have played a part in it, but it was not the sole reason.”
“It was similar for me. Although, unlike you, I never knew that he even existed”, Morb recounted. “I had to stand face-to-face with him to even realize it. But I left Ringwall for only one reason: to keep the Archmage of Nothing’s ill-willed Brothers from tearing him apart. And even then, I had no idea he might be my own son.”
“Please, friends. Let’s not go over all this again”, Nill grimaced. “I’m truly done with all that Archmage nonsense. It means less than a leaf falling from a tree when the harvest comes. I never wanted the position, and I never did anything to justify it. How could I? I was never more than a neophyte trying to find my way through magic.”
“And I’m an uneducated Druid doing the exact same thing, boy”, Dakh grumbled. “Too much humility can be a trap around your ankles. Unlike you, I knew my path from the outset, until in the end I was forced to conclude that I was going around in circles. It does make me wonder how someone like myself is supposed to lead the Druids and guide them through the perilous times that lie ahead. But I was always a part, an important part, of the great patterns. And so I will keep going until I am called upon elsewhere.”
Nill shook his head. It was not what he had meant. “Humility’s got nothing to do with it. Remember our battle here. You were all fighting those who would see me dead. I couldn’t even help you. I was sitting there dreaming, wandering through the Other World. The Archmage moniker I was given is nothing more than foolery, and I cannot understand why you all set so much store by it.”
“Oh, I’ll tell you why, my boy. Even if I speak for myself alone”, Dakh said. “You call it foolery? Well, perhaps it is. But if you are to name it so, you must also understand it, my dear young friend. Would you deny that you are the last person with the legitimacy to return to Ringwall?”
“No, but –”
“No buts. And who asked of Sedramon-Per to wait until you reached the Waterways?”
“I don’t know, it’s just –”
“Where did you say the Demon came from to save us from the mudmen?”
Nill’s face was brilliantly pink.
“That’s a whole separate story, Dakh.”
“You see? This is exactly what I meant. Your entire life is one giant collection of stories. And every one of them is a story unto itself. No one can convince me that you just happen to run into extraordinary circumstances time and time again without there being some deeper meaning to it. I do not need to understand it; I am content knowing that fate seems to surround you.”
Nill got to his feet. “I must leave.” He found the constant talking about his importance almost as enjoyable as a swarm of mange-moths under his armpits. “Standing around and talking does nothing. We need the Book of Kypt and I know where it is. And once I’ve found it and told you what it says, I am going to go and find my mother. Now that I know where to look, nothing can stop me.”
He turned to Morb-au-Morhg and embraced him. “One day I will call you Father. I wish I could, so much. But I can’t do it yet.”
Then he turned to bid farewell to Sedramon-Per and AnaNakara, who had taken care of him in his earliest years, and finally he reached Bairne and held both her hands in his.
“I don’t know where you came from, or why. But you came, just in time. And I was glad for it.”
Bairne looked to the ground as though deeply ashamed, even though there was no real reason for it. Dakh observed the two youths with a look in his eyes as though he meant to ask something; but then he seemed to think better of it and merely waved encouragingly at Nill before departing to his quarters. He, too, would be leaving Sedramon and AnaNakara today, but his path did not lead to Ringwall. He had to call a gathering of the Druids, and he feared he was already too late.
He had only taken a few steps when Nill had to re-orient himself. The dense fog hid all distinguishing features from his eyes and made even familiar terrain feel unknown and alien. It took until the sun was almost at its peak for the mists to clear away enough to see farther than the next tree or bush. With Ramsker by his side, he marched first earthwards, then firewards, following the thin line between wet and dry land where the Oas of the Waterways chose to live. After several days in the gloom he enjoyed the feeling of the sun on his skin, and the view its light offered. And yet he could not feel the joyous freedom that usually accompanied a journey to a new goal. His thoughts were too murky, dark and strange just like the swampy waters he had left behind.
“I should be satisfied, should I not?” he asked Ramsker, who halted for a moment at the sudden sound of his voice. “I finally understand the existence of the Nothing, I know the ancient magic of the first Arcanists and I even know now how our magic of five elements evolved from it. And I’m on the best path to truly understanding magic as a whole. It’s what I always wanted, so tell me, Ramsker, why am I not satisfied?”
Ramsker tore some leaves from a nearby shrub and showed Nill his hindquarters.
The riddle of happiness is such a strange thought, Nill pondered. No one in his village would ever have asked such a question. If the family had food enough not to starve, if the children were healthy and no one died before their time, there was nothing to worry about – that was their happiness. And that, he reflected, was really enough to be happy. But he wanted to know whether he himself could be happy. He was well-off, better than many others. And still, something was harrying him all this time. Perhaps he had once known what it was, but if that was the case, he had long since forgotten. Would he ever remember?
Nill stroked Ramsker’s coat absentmindedly. Surprised at the sudden gentle touch, the ram twisted his neck to stare at him. “What do you think, old friend? We can do it.” Ramsker despised Nill’s moments of indecisiveness and simply trotted on. Nill was left with no other choice but to follow. The thoughts still stayed stuck in his mind, clouding his vision and hearing to all that surrounded him.
He heard not the singing of the birds, did not see the dancing leaves in the wind as the sun’s light played upon them, did not smell the fresh air that announced quite clearly that he had left the marshes behind, nor the sweet scent of the blossoms by the wayside. He knew only the path he had to walk, and he walked it with the steps of a farmer who lived off his own field. It was not Kypt that worried him, nor the impatience he felt at putting off the search for his mother yet again. He would find Kypt and read the prophecy. That would aid everyone in preparing for the dark times to come. The change would be no worse than a failed crop. Longer, yes, but survivable. He would find his mother eventually, if she still lived.
Dakh’s words of an unknown future echoed through his head. They were what disquieted him. No future at all was far worse than knowing that a catastrophe was coming; those could be prepared for, dealt with. But an even deeper fear writhed within him, something unrelated to the bizarre goings-on of late. It was old. Perhaps he had even felt it when he had first gone to Ringwall.
He made good progress and was pampered in every village with the hearty hospitality that the Oas were known for. And yet, although there were always women who wanted to catch his attention at dinner, he spent his nights in the guest houses alone. He appreciated their efforts and admired their beauty, but no one could measure up to Tiriwi in his mind. The reputation he had with the wise women of the Oas barred any intrusiveness on their part.
“It is a great honor to welcome you, Archmage”, a high-ranking Oa greeted him. Nill felt a surge of annoyance at the address, but he dismissed it, and after several deep breaths he replied, “The honor is all mine. The Oas’ magic has no equal.”
Later, in the guest house, he wondered why he was always so irate whenever someone called him Archmage. It was a show of respect, but… a spark caught in his mind.
Mah Bu. He had defeated him in combat, something no one had thought possible. Even now, he did not understand what had happened.
The Changer. That was what the Archmage of the Other World had called him, and it was as such that he had fought and lost against him. But he could not be the Changer, for it was Sergor-Don who had caused Ringwall’s demise. Nill remembered well the strange mixture of limitless elation and deep sadness when he had learned of it. The grief of losing those in Ringwall whom he had liked and befriended had not entirely blotted out the relief of freedom. But if he was not the Changer, who was he really? His friends saw in him the hand of fate, but he did not want to be a mere tool in some grand plan. He believed in free will, in finding his own path within the limits set for him. But what if he was wrong? Dakh was right in pointing out the sheer volume of strange happenings in his life – they were not so easily explained. Coincidence? He believed in chance, but not when the chances piled high to the size of a storm cloud. How free am I? he wondered. And how can I ever know?
Nill reached Woodhold at last and now turned earthwards. His path led through open lands, fertile farmland and past villages where the people had never wanted for anything. But what had become of the land itself? The farms were run-down, many acres of land unsown. Small troops of soldiers marched everywhere, harassing the inhabitants. Nill pulled over the gray cloak the Oas had woven for him from the silk of the kingspider and traveled in the dawn and dusk like an invisible ghost. It took time, but it was far safer this way. At last, he reached Raiinhir.
Radiant Raiinhir! If Ringwall had been the crown perched upon Knor-il-Ank’s head, Raiinhir was the chain of state around its neck. Not so long ago, this town had supplied Ringwall with all it needed. And Ringwall? Nill gazed in dismay upon the ruins of what had once been the most powerful city in all the five kingdoms. The crown on Knor-il-Ank’s mighty head, now hiding the setting sun from view, was no more than a pile of gray rubble. And Raiinhir had fallen with Ringwall, now a mere shadow of itself. The buildings still stood, but instead of the colorful patronage its streets had always seen, the town was now filled with warriors from the Fire Kingdom. Only the smoke rising from some chimneys told of the civilians who still remained.
Two wide circular streets led around the base of the mountain, and five roads branched off the outer one, leading to each of the kingdoms. A sixth instead led inwards, off the inner circle and up to Ringwall. Several guards were positioned there. All the other streets were narrow and left barely enough space for two carriages to pass one another. Now they lay abandoned, cloaked in the shade of the setting sun, filled with rubbish and filth. Their only inhabitants were mice and rats and other unsavory rodents. Nill waited for nightfall and the protection offered by the darkness before approaching the first houses.
He took off his gray cloak and replaced it with the black one, woven from the nightcrawler’s silk. As long as the moon was not full, he was invisible to prying eyes. Ramsker’s coat, unfortunately, was not, and his hooves clattered loudly on the plastered stone. Nill drew close to his companion and laid part of his cloak on the ram’s back, and together they vanished into one of the smaller alleyways, where they squeezed in between houses until they reached the first ring. There was still commotion here, even at this hour. The footmen carried torches, and lonesome riders made sure they stayed connected. Although the torches did not provide much light, they were enough to discern any motion that was not part of the rigid military routine.
“How in the world are we to cross the street, Ramsker?” Nill whispered, and immediately cursed himself for doing so: Ramsker responded by bowing his head low and charging across the road horns-first. A lancer barely avoided being gored by leaping to the side in fright.
As quickly as the ram had appeared, he vanished into the next darkened alley.
A rider turned his horse around. “What was that?”
“Looked like a ram”, a different voice opined.
“That’s supper for me”, the rider snarled and galloped after Ramsker.
Nill knew an opportunity when he saw one, and he used the general confusion to swiftly cross the road. The second ring was also in an uproar, and no one noticed the dark figure sweeping past them. Nill listened closely in the darkness, but Ramsker appeared to already have made it to the safe side of the city. Hoofbeats on the cobblestone close by made him freeze.
“Did you get it?”
“Last thing I saw, it was charging up the slope. No sheep is worth breaking my horse’s legs. But where there’s a ram, there’s more of them. We should comb the city. There’s always some who think they can hide things from us.” The man gave a shorty, filthy chuckle as he thought of all the tasty sheep, hiding just out of sight.
Nill slowly climbed the old mountain’s slope. He stumbled time and again, for in the darkness he could not see where his feet were going to fall. He would have to wait for the morning light to know where he was. All he needed was a camp far enough from Raiinhir to avoid the soldiers’ eyes. Nill prepared for a cold night.
With the sun’s earliest rays he rose and packed his few possessions. Raiinhir, viewed from above, a few familiar bits of rock that had broken through the earth and grass, and a handful of grooves in the mountainside that the rain ran through were enough for him to visualize his location. He had climbed up slightly off the old ascent to Ringwall and would have to circle around the mountain to find a hidden entrance to the ruined city. As his gaze wandered over Knor-il-Ank, he suddenly felt himself grasping for Dakh-Ozz-Han’s calloused hand; he saw himself, small and slight, standing beside the Druid, gazing up in amazement and wonder at the double wall that surrounded the mountain’s peak. The path up to the great gate still existed, but it no longer led anywhere. Ashes and rubble were all that remained of the ancient city. Nill sighed and continued on his way.
He entered Ringwall where he had once exited it: through the secret passageway that led from the old foundations through the mountain itself and into the open. Ramsker eyed the black hole in the mountainside warily and instead decided to stay in the warm sunlight, where he could eat to his heart’s content.
The level of destruction was shocking, although it had not reached the deepest parts of the city. The oldest part of Ringwall, the foundation upon which the Mages had built their city, had defied King Sergor-Don’s magical attack. Nill had the feeling that the stream of magical energy within Knor-il-Ank rushed all the louder for the dead silence within. At the higher levels, the desolation was complete: no stone still stood on another. As Nill ascended from the dark corridor below into the lowest floor of the city proper, he had to squeeze through a narrow slit in the caved-in ceiling. He knew his way around here. To his right was the erstwhile entrance of the great gate, and straight ahead, then left, was a stair that led down to the catacombs. The path leading there was blocked.
He began to shift the rubble with his bare hands, but gave up before long; it was pointless. He laughed. He remembered with clarity the first magic he had ever commanded. It had been in the kitchens of Ringwall; Growarth, the burly cook, had explained how to remove the earth and dirt still stuck to the vegetables. How proud he had been! Now all he needed to do was reverse the incantation. The magic was so minimal that no one would take note.
“Earth light, Air heavy”, he murmured and began his work anew. He had to tie a piece of cloth around his lower face because the dust threatened to clog up his nostrils. Shifting the rubble was much easier now.
He pushed aside rocks that threatened to fall and stabilized mighty stone blocks with others of their kind, and after half a day’s hard work he had cleared the way. A real entrance it certainly was not, but at least there were gaps among the ruins. Again and again, Nill’s clothes snagged on broken rocks, but at last, filthy from head to toe and with his clothed ragged and tattered, he reached the cave where he had once lived with Brolok and Tiriwi, a lifetime ago, as students. Everything was as they had left it. Even the jugs of water were still full.
First, he washed the grime from his body, then he checked his rations. His waterskin would last three hot days, longer if the weather was kind. As he checked the jugs again, he noticed that they were slowly refilling. Ringwall’s old magic still lived, it seemed. He did not know the spell that caused it, but he felt the connection to the inner caverns of Knor-il-Ank, where the rainfall gathered after a storm. He would not die of thirst, that much was certain, but he doubted that a full breakfast would appear on the table every morning. Food had always come from the kitchens, and they would never serve food again. Sergor-Don had seen to that. In spite of it all, Nill felt as though he had finally arrived home.
He pondered the strange thought. Home? Ringwall? Preposterous! As a student, he had been outcast, bullied by those born to higher blood, and as an Archmage his time had been torture, full of unrest and sleepless nights. And he had been afraid; Mah Bu had not been alone with his opinion that Nill was the Changer. Every day, he had feared for an attempt on his life. He had not felt truly safe since the old days, in Grovehall, Esara’s flower house, back in Earthland. And the hills, he supposed, where his herd would warn him of anything out of the ordinary. Nill sat down on the bed that had, so long ago, been his own; he buried his face in his hands and followed the strands that his feelings left for him. Where is my home? Can a foundling ever really call a place home? And the longer he sat on the disused sheets, the clearer he understood his emotions. Home was not, as was commonly said, where the heart was. Home was where one spent the earliest years of one’s life. For his physical body, that meant Earthland, Esara and the little village where he had grown up. In his mind, his magical life had begun right here, in Ringwall. Satisfied at having found an answer, he slumped sideways and fell asleep quicker than Ramsker could devour a patch of grass.
*
Bairne stared after Nill for a long time. Her gaze followed him until he disappeared into the mists. His aura still shone after his shape had vanished from sight, but before long the fog obscured that too. But she still felt his presence. Was it her heart that showed her, when her eyes and ears failed?
I need to get out of here, she thought. Nill’s final look at her had taken her by surprise. Too late, she had lowered her eyes and bowed her head. Until today, he had only ever glanced at her in passing, and never really acknowledged her. This time, it had felt different. As if he had truly seen her for the first time. And that could not happen. It must not happen!
It was stupid, letting him leave for Ringwall alone. If she was not allowed to accompany, she ought at least to have followed him. But she did not know whether she was allowed that either, or whether it was also forbidden. How could she ever repay her debt, if the master did not contact her? How was she to complete her task if He did not show her the way?
Bairne left the lake late that afternoon. As she was the last guest, Sedramon was now alone with his family.
“Why did she leave so late in the day?” asked AnaNakara.
“She’s a swamp-Witch”, answered Sedramon. “On a clear night her feet are far securer than during the day, when the mists obscure all.” He knew the explanation was as good as any other, and AnaNakara, who knew her husband better than he knew himself, asked no further questions. If there was a reason for Bairne’s rapid departure, she had kept it to herself.
Bairne followed the path they had all taken when they had come to the lake. In the murk of the battlefield she halted for a moment to find a direction. Here, the power of the Borderlands intruded into the land. The swamp was dangerous enough on its own; she did not need to fend off a diseased magic on top of it. The memory of the mudmen made her shiver.
She took a wide circle around the area and then turned towards the coast. The brooks grew wider and the ground more treacherous, but there were hidden sandbars throughout where a practiced wanderer could tread safely. It took several days, but at last Bairne reached the sea, where she set up her camp.
All she could do now was wait. She used the pure magic of the water to send her thoughts across the sea. Here, the Waterways’ power extended far beyond the solid ground of the land, as though it meant to take back what the Borderlands had stolen elsewhere. The closeness of the disturbed magic was a constant temptation. It was better to avoid it, for she did not have the power Malachiris possessed to command the mudmen. She was not strong enough to survive there on her own. She shivered. I’m waiting for You, she thought and sent her call across the waves once more as they lapped up against the shore. She stayed there for three days.
As the sun rose on the fourth, it was in no hurry to reach its zenith. Instead, it took its time spreading its light over the sea; at least, that was how Bairne felt as the sea glimmered far in the distance, and then the light began to bounce from wave to wave, seemingly racing to meet the coast. From the foam bubbling up from the waves crashing on the beach, a pillar of light rose up, connecting the earth and the sky.
“Hello, little Witch”, the Pillar said warmly.
“Nill has left the swamp and is on his way to Ringwall.”
“I know.”
“Ought I have followed him, or gone with him? Your wish was for me not to leave the Waterways, but how am I to protect him if You separate us?”
“Everything is all right as it is.”
“No, it is not all right. I want my freedom back. I promise You, I will keep watch over Nill until my debt is repaid, but I can’t do it if I’m manacled here to the Waterways.”
“Someday I will free you, little Witch. Patience is all I ask. You have one more task to fulfill, but fate only knows when the right moment will arrive. Never forget our deal; never forget all I have done for you. Your life for but a little of your time.
Your watch over Nill is not all. If your – apologies – limited magical aid was all I needed, I could call a creature from the Other World to obey me. But no, it is not all… I need someone who can speak for me at the moment of truth, who loves me and can announce to the world that I am their friend. And am I not? Do I not display love for all? Do I not profess that all I want is the best for all? Is the price for serving love itself so tall that you are not prepared to give it just a little of your time? Tell me you haven’t forgotten what you owe me.”
Bairne hung her head. He was right, of course, He only ever wanted the best for everyone, while she only thought about herself. How selfish she was.
“But… I will grant you some freedom for a limited time”, the voice announced. “You will be able to move freely throughout Pentamuria. I shall tell you when the time comes – it will be soon. And never forget: I may be able to traverse the Borderlands with ease, but one tiny slip and I would become just like them. When I found you on my way, I had to fight. For you, for myself, and for the right way, for you already half-belonged to them. You owe me so much more than you know.”
The master spoke so convincingly. How could she not serve Him?
*
How long Nill had slept, he could not say. The magical commotion that had once woken every student of Ringwall at daybreak had been silenced at the city’s destruction. Nevertheless, he felt refreshed and energetic, and immediately hurried to the great door that still bore the magical seal and led to the Walk of Weakness. He released the five elemental layers upon the lock and was relieved to see that the Falundron was still crouching there as though it was a statue.
“Your time as a guardian has come to a close, my friend”, he said loudly and clearly. “You will bear witness to the things about to come, or you will show me where the final Book of Prophecy lies hidden.”
At these words he lifted the Falundron from the bar and planted it on his shoulder before striding confidently along the Walk of Weakness. The rock before him opened without waiting for him to do or say anything. Nill unsheathed his dagger and turned the darkened side towards the light to deflect its shining strength, squeezed through the narrow crevice in the wall and entered the great hall once more.
The sheer magnificence of it still robbed him momentarily of breath; the effect it had on him would never change. Terrifying and yet at the same time beautiful, the hall seemed to touch something deep within him every time he laid eyes upon it.
One half of the hall lay in the shadows, a darkness so black it seemed to him the haven for all horrible nightmares ever dreamed. The other half belonged fully to light, shining so brightly that it threatened to blind those who beheld it. Only the middle was safe; here were visible the writings and markings that glowed in the blackness like molten rock, and in the light offered comforting reprieve from the glare. Whoever wished to read all the symbols would require a magic onto themselves if they did not want to be limited to the center, where the powers of light and darkness battled for supremacy. Nill had his dagger, but what might those people have used who had once filled the hall with their markings?
Five pillars supported the great vaulted ceiling: four arranged in a perfect square, and one exactly in the middle of the outer four. The number five was considered particularly magical in Pentamuria, but the magic of the five elements was completely unrelated to the five pillars here; the hall, and its markings, predated the formation of the elemental magic by countless lifetimes.
Nill’s gaze wandered across the dancing patterns of golden and black symbols, whose meanings he had once struggled to divine. Today, he could read the old runes as fluidly as he had learned to read the tussock-script, the symbols of the five elements, and the picture-writing employed by the Shaman. His understanding of this hall had progressed at a snail’s pace. He had battled with the runes, line by line, to make sense of them, to force the patterns into words he knew and those words into sentences, and yet he had still ended up with gibberish. Now he saw the patterns formed by the runes. There were streets and pathways, flowing waves and movements on the floor and ceiling. Something was streaming out into the eight chambers that surrounded the hall, and something else wound, snakelike, in spirals up the pillars. He had never given further thought to these things; he had been too preoccupied following the writing on the floor.
Nill read the words aloud and listened to the echo with which the hall replied. He hesitated. He understood the words, but the meaning of the sentences was still unclear to him. They belonged to a text similar to the Book of Wisdom. Dakh had been right again. All they had found so far were extracts or summaries of the original Books. And here they were, in all their omnipotence, in their entirety. The words as written by the ancients. If he was to understand it all, he would need a map of sorts, a route to follow. More importantly, he needed a starting point. Starting in the middle made no sense, but where ought he look? Here, in the great hall, or in one of the side chambers? Or further still into the mountain, where the rooms were the smallest?
Nill walked into the brightest chamber, holding his dagger aloft to soften the light; else the radiance might have burned his eyes out. The walls here gave advice on handling the magic of light. Two more rooms branched off of this chamber, and again Nill chose the brighter one. The advice was continued in here, and thus it was until he reached the final room. Even with his dagger held high, absorbing as much of the light as possible, he could barely keep his eyes open. He glanced fleetingly at what was written here. Having had enough of clever words on the magic of light, he made to leave, but something caught his eye. He made a double-take and started over. What was written here was not advice, but a story. A legend, perhaps, but if so, he had never heard of it before. And following the first story was a second, identical in many ways but different in small parts. And a third, then a fourth… there were eight variations written here.