by D. T. Kane
And then Ferrin had shared the incredible revelation that he could channel all five elements; that he had the potential to become like Devan. An Angel. After that, it had only been a matter of time until she’d put together what had happened.
“I was killed by Shinzar,” she says to him. Said to him. Time was getting difficult to track. Past and future seemed irrelevant. She could feel it all streaming along simultaneously, like a great mural you wanted to take in all at once, but never could.
“No,” he responded. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this exchange and she heard the faintest hint of annoyance in his voice. “I shoved you away at the last moment. Wouldn’t you know if I was lying?”
“You’re not lying. But you’re not telling the whole truth, either. You reversed time somehow. With the new powers you discovered. Incredibly romantic I suppose.”
She’d hoped to make him laugh, but Ferrin’s face was like stone. Any other time she’d have felt bad. In some ways, her condition was hurting him more than her. But now she just went on, accepting his anger and worry without deeper consideration.
“You thought to protect me. But it hasn’t stopped me from remembering my own death. You weren’t able to save all of me.”
She couldn’t explain how she knew that. Not exactly. A combination of her dreams and intuition, maybe.
Ferrin hadn’t responded for a long time. Or was it just a moment? Time. Its passage seemed ambiguous somehow. Ferrin is staring out her window, gripping her hand all the while.
“Oh, here,” he said, turning back to her. “The Angel made this for you.”
The Angel had made her something? That seemed odd. They’d never even really met.
Ferrin produced a ring that seemed carved of wood, though it was from no tree she’d ever seen. Dark brown, nearly black, with even darker veins running through it. If she didn’t look directly at it, the ring seemed to give off a feint, amethyst glow. Ferrin slipped it onto her finger.
She gasped as the ring contacted her skin, eyelids fluttering. The room, her bed, Ferrin, were all gone. In their place was the Angel. He was sitting on the edge of a plush, green armchair. He was stooped over a reading table, towers of books pushed out of the way, threatening to topple from its surface. He held a knife in one hand. Several of his fingers were bleeding, as if he were unaccustomed to working with a blade and it kept slipping. In his other hand he held a necklace fashioned of the same wood as the ring Ferrin had given her. He cried as he worked.
“You know I’d do anything for you,” Ferrin said.
She opened her eyes. The ring was on her finger, her hand laying idly at her side. How long had it been since Ferrin had given it to her? It could have been a few moments, or a few hours. Or days.
“And now, with this new ability,” Ferrin went on, oblivious to her loss of time, “I’ll make sure you get well, make sure nothing ever happens to you again.”
She’d chided him for saying similar things in the past.
“Ferrin, you’re so kind to me. But if you really are to become an Angel—”
“Don’t call me that. If you must call me something other than just Ferrin, refer to me as a Time Smith. I won’t include myself in the same group as Devan.”
“Fine,” she sighed. This was another disagreement they’d already had. Ferrin just couldn’t look past short-term tragedy to see the wider considerations that drove the Angel’s actions. “If you’re to become a Time Smith, that’s an awesome responsibility. Particularly if what you’ve told me is true, that all the others besides Devan are dead. You have to use your power for the good of all, not just for personal gain.”
He didn’t respond, his silence leaving a knot in her stomach.
“Jenzara?” Ferrin says, urgency creeping into his tone. He nudged her.
She opens her eyes. Had she drifted off? The line between dream and reality is blurring.
“Yes, I’m here,” she murmurs.
“Sorry, I just get worried when you grow still like that.”
“Tell me about the training you’ve been doing with Devan.”
A smile threatens to overtake his somber expression.
“It’s been....” He pauses, searching for words. “It’s been enlightening. I don’t like the Angel—you heard what he did to that girl. Valdin’s lover. But he’s taught me more about channeling in a few days than I’ve learned in the past ten years. I’ll have a surprise or two up my cloak for whatever’s waiting for us at Ral Falar, that’s for sure.”
She smiles, even as tears well in her eyes. She wants to turn away, but has trouble figuring out which direction is away.
“What is it?”
She shakes her head. “What is what?”
“You’re crying.”
“No I’m...” She is. “I don’t know. Something from the other time I suppose.”
“Don’t speak like that,” he snaps. She doesn’t have to look at him to know the anger in his eyes. “I told you, we just have to succeed at Ral Falar, and everything will be well. We’ll destroy the rogue strand of time and it will be as if nothing ever happened to you. You’ll be well again. You must.”
She doesn’t really understand what he’s saying. And she understands perfectly. But reversing time once hasn’t helped her. Reversing time? What does that even mean?
“And if we aren’t successful at Ral Falar, well it won’t be long before Devan will have taught me how to peregrinate. And then I’ll go back and save you.”
“No,” she says, voice suddenly strong, insistent; her mind clear. She raises her head from the pillow. “Ferrin, listen to me. You can’t use your ability like that. I might not know much about this whole peregrination thing, but I’ve heard what Devan has said about Valdin, how he’s risking destruction of all time and place over the loss of a single person. You can’t become like that.”
“I won’t let you—”
“We all die, Ferrin,” she whispers, the power of her voice already fading, head falling back to the bed. “In a way, I’m glad it was me. The world needs you and the Grand Master. If it had to be one of us three, the Path’s fortunate it was me.”
She feels the rage this statement stokes in her friend. But before he can respond, the Grand Master Keeper’s voice cuts in.
“Pardon me, but it’s time for us to depart, Ferrin.”
Ferrin lets out a heavy sigh, at least partially regaining control over himself.
“I’ll be back soon, Jenzara. And when I return, all will be well.” He stands, looking down at her, eyes a stew of emotion. “I love you.”
He’s been saying that since their kiss in the Temple dungeons. She’d enjoyed that, no doubt. All her worry and fear had come pouring out in that kiss. And she certainly cares for Ferrin. But she’s had so little time to sort out her feelings. He has always been her closest friend, but a lover? And the way he seems to obsess over her well-being.
“I love you too,” she responds, because that’s what he needs to hear. “Remember what I told you.”
He bends down, kissing her on the cheek, then leaves the room without another word. She lets out a breath and closes her eyes.
“Jenzara,” the Grand Master says. “May I have a moment?”
She turns to look at him, surprised he’s still there. It already seems like such a long time since Ferrin left. Or perhaps it was only a moment ago.
“Of course. Please.” She motioned at the chair Ferrin had vacated, her focus seeming to solidify as the Grand Master approached. Time seemed to slip less. He sat and remained silent. If she didn’t know better, she’d have said he was uncomfortable.
“I see you’ve lost the solar specs,” she said to break the silence, smiling at him. “That’s good. You shouldn’t be ashamed of what you are. I see that now.”
He nodded to her, edges of his mouth twitching. “Thank you. That means more to me than you know.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. But, well. I didn’t know what I�
�d say when I did come. I’m thankful for what you did, rescuing us. That was a brave thing. It’s important you know that.”
“It was the least I could do after what I did to you.”
The Grand Master made that characteristic sound at the back of his throat. “Please don’t be hard on yourself for that. You had every reason to believe I was a traitor and a murderer, and that if you gave Valdin what he wanted then he wouldn’t kill Ferrin. Anyone in your position would have done the same.”
“I was a coward.”
“No,” he said, the conviction in his voice startling in its fervency. “Cowards run when faced with an impossible decision. You acted. That is not cowardice.”
She tried to squeeze a smile out of her face.
“You know,” she said. “I once heard someone say that wisdom is merely listening and telling others what they need to hear. I think you’re being quite wise with me now.”
The Grand Master stared at her for a long while, to the point where she began to wonder if she’d offended him. But finally he nodded, a true smile overcoming his face.
“You never cease to amaze me, Jenzara. But I believe what I said. And it was no wisdom, just simple truth. Besides, plenty of men have wisdom to share. There’s no great skill in it. Bravery is where most fall short. Often, all it requires is listening to wisdom and then having the strength to act. Yet most are incapable of this. But you aren’t. Don’t forget that.”
His smile remained another few seconds, but then his face grew somber, smile evaporating. “If anyone needs to apologize it’s me. I have failed you so many ways. I couldn’t protect your mother, or Raldon, or even you.” He turned away from her to stare out the window.
She placed a hand on his knee. “Shush. Ferrin and I would be long dead if not for you. You protected us far more than any other man could have.”
He turned back, at least part of his smile having returned. The expression made his dark eyes seem far less imposing.
“You are so much like your mother,” he said.
Her smile fades. She tries to think back to those early days at Tragnè City. Her mother carrying her in her arms. Her father. He... She shivers. The memory she sees doesn’t make sense. She must be worse off than she thought.
“I’m sorry,” the Grand Master says. His voice seems to be coming from far away. Sleep seeks to take her once more. “I know it’s hard to think of her. But rest assured that she would have been very proud of you. She was a...” His voice tightens. “Well, she would have been proud.” He looks as if he wants to say more on the topic, but instead he rises.
“It is time for me to leave,” he says. “I won’t make any promises like I’m sure the boy has made you. We’ll face great odds at Ral Falar. Truth be told, I’ve no idea if what the Angel says is true, that our success will heal you. But—and don’t ever let these words leave this room—the blasted Angel is more often right than not. And I can promise you this: I will do everything I can to ensure we succeed. And I hope desperately that will be enough to see you through this.”
He puts a callused hand atop her own.
“Agar be with you, Taul,” she says, eyes shutting.
He bows to her, lingers a moment, then leaves.
Later, she wakes to the gates below her window creaking open, the pounding of many feet as the small army departs. Her eyes slide shut again, time slipping over her like a wave. Once more, the Path is like a great mural, all possibilities spread out before her. If she could only take it all in with a single glance, she would know all. But as she looks towards the mural’s far horizon, all turns black. Nothing is certain. Somewhere, her body shudders.
57
Ferrin
What happened to Agar at the final battle of the Shadow War? Most assume he suffered a fatal blow at Ralmos’s hands before shutting the breach that had opened between the Path and the Elsewhere. But I think this explanation far too simplistic, and far too disrespecting of Agar’s talents. It seems to me that when Agar entered the breach at the Valley of Ancients he must have entered the Elsewhere, a journey no mere Linear could hope to survive. Moreover, it seems he must have known this would happen, for the Breach was the origin of the creatures that Ralmos had led into battle. Thus, Agar’s final act was not merely one of bravery, but knowing sacrifice.
- From the preface to the Millennial Printing of Tragnè’s Oral Histories, written by Rikar Bladesong
THE ROAR OF POUNDING paws filled his ears. A constant cloud of dust hung about them, casting their surroundings in a reddish haze that stung the eyes. Not that there was much to see. The jagged landscape of the eastern Darkerland stretched out in every direction, rusty gray stone undulating about them like a frozen sea.
It was late morning of the third day since they’d left Glofar Stronghold. They’d pushed hard, riding long into the first night, only stopping for a few hours before continuing on prior to daybreak, then repeating the cycle the next day. It had not been an enjoyable journey. The thirty Northerners who’d joined them supported Bladesorrow unconditionally, but that didn’t mean they weren’t apprehensive about what lay ahead. “Shadow fiends and worse,” Bladesorrow had told them all before departing. A briefing similar to that which he’d given Ferrin that night back at the cottage when they’d first faced shades together. Bladesorrow hadn’t come right out and said the Seven were involved, but he’d told them all enough that everyone understood the evil that awaited them at Ral Falar. Nerves were strung tight, no one wished to talk, and the general lack of sleep only served to raise tensions higher.
Their fervent pace had finally slowed this morning as they approached the outskirts of the ruins. No buildings had yet become visible, but every now and again they passed a half-buried foundation or the skeleton of a long-abandoned wagon. There was still a road, but it was in disrepair, as few ever traveled it. Both North and South had their tales of Ral Falar that kept them far from the place—Northerners their religious superstitions about a battlefield where the fate of time itself had been determined; Southerners their legends of an impossible ruined city—how could such ruins exist if there had been no civilization in Agarsfar prior to the Leveande’s escape from Sykt a thousand years prior? If what Bladesorrow and the Angel had told him about Stephan Falconwing and the Cataclysm was true, both schools of thought weren’t far from the mark.
But despite their obvious ill-ease, the men and women riding towards Ral Falar made for an imposing sight, sitting upon their gigantic beasts. They were adorned in matching breast plates and helms, lacquered in black with red trim—the colors of House Glofar. Over these, they wore Symposium tabards, the golden lion’s head centered on a field of blue. Each man and woman carried an assortment of weapons, mostly long axes and hammers, similarly lacquered and trimmed. Ferrin had claimed a new blade for himself, as the Parents had taken the old blade of Grand Master Bladesong that he’d taken from Raldon’s study.
“Ferrin.”
Bladesorrow pulled up alongside him. The man rode his panther as if he’d been born riding cats, though that was impossible, as there were none in the South. None of riding size anyway. For his part, Ferrin was still adjusting to riding a beast the size of a horse that was much lower to the ground.
The man was dressed plainly in comparison to the regalia Ferrin had seen him don during his testimony about Riverdale. An unadorned mail shirt covered by a faded brown cloak. A bracer strapped to his left wrist was his only other armor. Unlike the other men from Glofar Stronghold, he had not donned the blue and gold tabard of the Keepers.
Nellis had also gifted Bladesorrow his own personal sword. It was a simple affair compared to the lion-hilted Friend Slayer, which had been left behind at Tragnè City, but it was still a fine blade. Elemental steel from the Symposium forges, golden hilt wrapped in blue leather, and a rounded pommel large enough to do some damage of its own.
“Grand Master,” Ferrin replied, then paused. It surprised him to realize that he’d used the man’s title. But it was nearly impos
sible not to be caught up in the atmosphere created by the Northerners. No, not just Northerners, but true Keepers. How strange that sounded after a lifetime of the Disbanding being accepted truth. Yet for them there’d never been a Disbanding. They’d gone right on running the Second Symposium after the South declared war, never believing the Temple’s lies, and now they were vindicated by Bladesorrow’s return. Nellis had been their de facto leader in Bladesorrow’s absence, but the dwarf had been quick to stand aside for him.
Ferrin kept his head forward to watch the uneven road, eyeing Bladesorrow askance. The man certainly brought confidence to the others, though Ferrin continued to hold his doubts. He was the only one here who’d personally seen action with Bladesorrow, and the Crossing had been nothing short of a disaster.
“What do you want?” Ferrin finally said, perhaps with more of an edge to his tone than was warranted. There was a twitch in Bladesorrow’s face that might have been the cousin of a smile.
“Your candor, actually. One thing you’ve never resisted giving me.”
Ferrin had to give a begrudging chuckle at that, turning to look at the man full on.
“I’d have thought you could get some honesty from one of your fellow Keepers.”
Whatever hint of a smile there may have been on Bladesorrow’s face faded, but there was no anger in his tone as he spoke.
“Oh, they’re an honest bunch, every last one. And far more loyal than I deserve after all these years.” Bladesorrow broke eye contact, turning to look at the Keepers riding before them before he continued. “But honesty and candor aren’t always one and the same. They treat me as a glass vase, as if one negative word will send me shattering, lost once more. I can’t get a useful assessment of my plan for the coming battle out of any of them.”
Ferrin frowned. He had seen how the others looked at Bladesorrow. They were hard men and dwarfs, one and all. One didn’t live in the North without a certain callus to his constitution. But there was ardor in their eyes, too. As if Bladesorrow was something more than a man, incapable of doing wrong. Ferrin had seen what happened when men treated a leader so. Never anything good.
