The Eye of Everfell

by Bard Constantine

  The knight did not answer. His eyes glistened, but his face was stone, hardened in the mask of a warrior ready to die. Valdemar turned and strode back onto the dais. "You are a highly valued prisoner, and some of my councilors have advised me to keep you alive. Should things turn badly, I could ransom you or use you for leverage."

  He lifted a bottle of aged Epanos red from the nearby table and poured into a dragon-engraved chalice. "But what value do you have when your king has gone through such lengths to be rid of you? You are worthless as a prisoner. I have had a thought to relieve you of your hands and feet, garb you in motley and display you as a trophy of war. Imagine the reaction of the lesser kingdoms. They would flock to my banner all the more just to catch a sight of the Champion of Kaerleon so miserably humiliated."

  He sipped the wine, gazing at Marcellus over the rim of the chalice. The knight betrayed no emotion, just stared into the beyond with unblinking eyes. Valdemar shook his head. "You cannot hear me, can you? Still lost in the despair of your betrayal? Do not worry. Your pain will end soon. It occurs to me that you can serve me best by dying. After all, such great pains were taken to cast you into my hand. So you will die, Sir Admorran. In full view of my people, you will receive the glory that you deserve. And what better glory than to be slain by the Lord of Bruallia himself?"

  Valdemar tugged on the thick cord beside his throne that would alert his guard. He spared Marcellus a final glance. "Farewell, Sir Admorran. Tomorrow will be a momentous day for the both of us."

  The chamber swiftly became a place of shifting shadows when the sun sank behind the mountains. When the guards came for Marcellus, they had to drag him away, deep into the belly of the fortress where in the darkness his heart could break in silence.

  Valdemar waited until the room was empty before he turned to the only witness of his triumph, the harpist who continued to pluck his instrument, this time a melody of supreme triumph.

  "A crucial victory, wouldn't you say?"

  The question was a mocking one. The harpist had not been able to speak ever since his tongue was removed. The man had once been a lord himself, the former ruler of Ravynna. He had held Valdemar prisoner as a lad, using him as leverage against Darroth Basilis, Valdemar's lordly father. In time Valdemar escaped. When he returned, it was with an army at his back and vengeance in his heart.

  Valdemar had personally cut out his former captor's tongue and blinded him with a branding iron. From that point on the ex-king was trained to play the harp. His once clumsy fingers now soared across the strings with the skill of a master harpist. He would play until his fingers bled. Agonizing experience had taught him the folly of doing otherwise. Strangely enough, Valdemar had forgotten the man's name.

  He raised his chalice in mock salute. Better to die in glory than to live as a forgotten slave. Marcellus Admorran was fortunate. His execution would be one for the ages.

  And with his death, the storm will break. Deis has favored me with this victory. The war that I have been longing for has finally arrived.

  Valdemar smiled as he savored the wine's robust flavor, viewing his city from the window. The shadow of the castle slowly smothered the buildings and streets, casting its darkness like gathering clouds.

  Chapter 11: Nyori

  Nyori had fallen asleep in darkness, cold and alone in the great abandoned temple. She awoke to the same surroundings, but in place of decaying and crumbling stones, grand and lofty marble pillars gleamed as if just erected. Instead of the gloom of darkness, she basked in the light as though the sun visited within the walls and painted them burnished gold. The cracked and pitted flagstones that she had slept on transformed into intricately embossed glazed tiles.

  Autumn leaves drifted across the floor, impossibly slow.

  Her heart pounded as she slowly stood. Impossible as it seemed, somehow she must have unconsciously Shifted to her Inner mind and returned to Everfell. Drifted to a time where the temple had never fallen, had never been abandoned by the Aelon hands that created it.

  A flicker of movement caught her eye.

  An enormous lion padded ghostlike past the pillars. It turned its massive head to gaze at Nyori with serene eyes. Nyori knew she should have been scared witless, but somehow she knew it would not harm her. The lion gave a small shake of its shaggy head. Sparkling motes lifted, golden stardust that hung in the air as the lion turned and went deeper into the temple. Nyori was sure it wanted her to follow as if it had spoken. It was an easy decision. She had been alone for hours, and even a silent animal was a better choice of company than the more of the same.

  When she turned and entered the rounded chamber, she gasped aloud. It was not the intricacies of the scrollwork that covered the walls, nor the complimentary stained-glass windows that blushed in multihued glimmers. A figure sat in a high-backed stonewood chair on a dais in the center of the room. Nyori immediately recognized the woman who sat at his feet.

  Mistress Ayna.

  A beam of light shone down upon them from an aperture in the high ceiling, creating a scene so fragile it seemed that it would dissipate at the slightest stirring of a breeze. The lion climbed the short steps and sat on the opposite side of Ayna. Woman and beast gazed at Nyori with identical eyes.

  "Welcome, Nyori of Halladen." The man's voice carried the wind in its notes, and his irises were deep and black, the color of the night sky if every star winked out of existence. "It has been long since any have walked the halls of Asfrior."

  She could not tell if he was young or old. His soft blue and gold tunic was simple, which only served to contrast his splendor. His shoulder-length hair glinted like threads of golden silk in sunlight. The structure of his face was delicate yet strong, and his skin glimmered almost metallically. She did not have to ask if he was an Aelon. She could not if she had tried; her mouth was a dusty, abandoned well. She respectfully knelt with downcast eyes to cover her muteness, surprised the flagstones did not shatter from the reverberations of her wildly beating heart.

  The Aelon spoke gently. "Do not be afraid. I have drawn you away from your sleeping form, and you will return to it unharmed. My name has not been spoken in many ages, but men have called me Riodran in times past, so it suits me to keep that name now. My friend here," he indicated the lion, "is Kusagra. Among the Aelon I am a voroar–a warden. My wards include the Sha among others. Few and gifted are those who make their way here. You are not yet ready, but yours is a special case, my young Shama."

  "Why?" She did not mean to speak, but the words poured out her throat before she could help it. "Nando and Ironhide–they died because they tried to protect me. If I hadn't gone into Everfell, this never would have happened." Her voice was thick from the thoughts of her fallen protectors, her eyes blurred with tears. "If this was a test, my failure cost them their lives."

  Mistress Ayna's eyes glimmered with sympathy. "Nyori. You must not blame yourself for what happened. It was not your fault."

  "It was ours." Riodran's voice tolled like a bell of mourning. "When we left your world, it was necessary to remove as much traces of our presence as possible, reducing our influence to only legend and fable in your memories. Much of your past was lost because of that act. Perhaps that was an even greater crime than exposing you to our presence."

  His eyes became inky wells of melancholy. "We left the Eye for the few with the talent and desire to discover the truth and might learn from the mistakes we made." His head lowered, the chamber filled with his sigh. "Yet we did not foresee that the Eye could be used against you. Someone manipulated its energies to transfer you physically into Everfell. The fusorbs were hidden from your world for a reason. It was not our will that you reclaimed Eymunder."

  "Someone? If it was not you, then–?"

  "The identity of the individual remains to be discovered." Riodran stood. A thin line creased the center of his forehead, the only evidence of his consternation. "I have my suspicions, but until they are made evident, I cannot share them just yet." His obsidian eyes swept the
hall before settling on her. "The only secret is the one unspoken. There are eyes and ears everywhere."

  She shivered from the fear that rippled through her. "There is no safety anywhere, is there?"

  Emotion abandoned his voice when he answered. "No. No longer. Your world is shrouded now; a curtain of shadow cloaks its future. We can only offer counsel, for our return is forbidden, even in the face of this threat. The security of a human world lies in human hands, no matter how we may wish otherwise."

  Nyori wanted to protest, but it was all she could do to stand before Riodran and not tremble. The stories could not describe the feeling of inadequacy that she felt, like a fleck of sand placed beside a glittering diamond. But he loved her anyway. She could tell when he smiled. "And now, Nyori Sharlin of the Northern Steppes, what can I do for you?"

  "Tell me what I need to do." She wet her lips nervously. "Please. I am alone here, and the akhkharu wait for me outside the doors."

  "They cannot. Asfrior has more safeguards than Banestone, and those that hunt you will have turned away by now if they still live."

  "You will have to make your way back to the Steppes," Ayna said. "I have friends that are searching for you even as we speak. If they don't find you first, you must make your way to the closest caste of Mandru. Any will aid a Sha in need. I know it will be difficult, but you can do it, Nyori. Remember that we trained you in more than just academics. You know how to live off the land and survive until help arrives. Trust your instincts; you will be fine."

  Riodran sat on the steps in between Kusagra and Ayna, who appeared diminutive next to the tall, willowy Aelon. He raised his eyes to Nyori. "You have other questions, I know. Make them swift, for you cannot remain long."

  "Is this Everfell?"

  "Yes."

  Nyori frowned in confusion. "I thought that Leilavin was in control here."

  Riodran's face seemed amused. "Can one control the ocean or command the stars in the sky? Leilavin styles herself a master of Everfell, but in truth she only controls her Threshold, the small apportionment that she claims for her own. Everfell itself is as vast as every dream of every being in every world."

  Nyori tried to grasp the concept. "I thought Everfell was a world of visions. But if I could enter physically, then—"

  Riodran leaned forward, holding Nyori fast with his gaze. "It is a plane of existence where many minds touch to shape its landscape. You must realize that your Inner mind is much more powerful and less restricted than your Outer mind. Most of humanity cannot touch Everfell save for dreaming, when the Inner mind is less restricted. They are safe in their dreams, but to enter physically exposes one to many dangers. Yes, it is an actual location. A world between worlds where the unfettered mind can encounter endless possibilities. Time holds no sway here, so the past can be observed. Slivers of the future revealed. All of what you call visions are simply reflections of this place.

  "Once we traversed it freely, but we had to abandon it when we departed from your world. Leilavin reconstructed her Threshold so no one could enter without her knowledge. Physical access to Everfell has been barred for ages. It was only through a cunningly placed loophole that you were able to enter. The trap lay inside of the Eye, waiting all this time to be sprung."

  Nyori lowered her head "I did not mean to."

  His expression was gentle. "Of course not. Never believe that you are to blame for actions beyond your control."

  Something in his voice fed her, ridding her of her doubts. "So is Everfell where your people reside then?"

  "Again, no. This is not Nolavani, where my people dwell. There are several places of convergence in Everfell where mentors can communicate with their charges. Ayna assisted me in drawing you here, but in time you may be able to focus the Discipline yourself."

  Nyori's questions continued to surface. "I've been trying to understand what happened. I know that time ceases to exist here, but outside of Everfell it continues. If I took Eymunder from Alaric in the past, then history was altered by my actions. But nothing seems different. Why is the world still unchanged?"

  Riodran gently stroked Kusagra's heavy mane. "Because time does not change, dear Nyori. Only yourselves. What you call history is simply a remembrance of events that have transpired, and a faulty remembrance at that when it comes to human perspective. When you touched the past, you altered time, true enough. But individuals are mere pebbles, Nyori. Time is a raging river. Were you to shift or remove a pebble, does the river change its flow?

  "No, but—"

  "But more than one pebble was affected, is what you were about to say." He smiled. "And in that you are correct. Subtle changes. The river of time still flows despite many subtle changes, which is why your world is still recognizable. But at the same time, it has been changed, noticeably altered if you know where to look."

  Nyori wet her lips. She finally arrived at the question she was afraid to ask. "Mistress Ayna said that Alaric...the Pale Lord wanted Eymunder more than anything. Enough to kill for it. Why?"

  Riodran eyed the tubular container at her waist as though the thick leather was no bar for him to see it. "You have been taught of the two energies that all Crafts and Disciplines siphon from."

  "Yes. Eler, the energy from living things. And Aether, the energy from the heavens."

  Riodran nodded. "Heavenly bodies, to be sure. What you call the sun and the stars, although that is a very simple translation. Eymunder is an elemental fusorb that harnesses Eler, the living energy. It can amplify the talents of one trained in Apokrypy, and is useful for the arts of healing and amplifying physical gifts. Alaric believes that Eymunder is the only thing that can cure him and his people of their curse to feed on humans to live."

  Nyori shivered. "Can it?"

  The light dimmed as Riodran frowned in thought. "I cannot say. Much remains in shadow at the moment, as though a game is being played outside of immediate events." His eyes shimmered as he looked beyond. "I fear that Stygan manipulates events somehow."

  Nyori gasped. The chamber span about in dizzy blurs. She would have fallen had not Ayna caught her. Nyori leaned against her mentor as though her bones were feathers.

  "She has been here too long." Anya's voice was muffled as though she spoke from a distance. Nyori clung to her for fear she would float away like chaff in the wind.

  A bright presence she knew to be Riodran approached, and she felt his hand upon her brow. Heat rippled through her, soothing as the sun upon rose petals. "I am sending you back now, dear Nyori, for you were unprepared for this journey. I am sorry for that. But not all is lost, for you have Eymunder to protect you, and I have unlocked it so that you can access its secrets.

  "Know this: Stygan is imprisoned, but he can touch this world through his Acolytes–fingers of his hand who serve him devotedly. You have already met one of them: Leilavin. She no longer serves him, but that makes her all the more dangerous. The last time she emerged from Everfell she created the Reavers to burn the world of the akhkharu, for they rebelled against her authority and overthrew her station of power. Now they stir anew, and thunder sounds on the wind as the Night Mare approaches. The Reaver stands at the center of the maelstrom. And now, my dear one, so do you."

  "AND NOW, MY DEAR ONE, so do you..."

  Nyori's eyes opened to glowing specks of light. For a moment she was unsure if she was awake or dreaming. She remembered the tiny Glyphs and realized she was back in the ruins of Asfrior. At once she felt the stifling sensation of isolation and the sorrowful remembrance of Nando and Ironhide.

  A humming noise interrupted her grief. It emanated from Eymunder, which vibrated slightly in her open hand. Nyori awkwardly rose, flexing muscles tender from sleeping on the shattered floor. The shadows of the ancient pillars nearly swallowed her as she examined the glassy wand closer.

  She almost dropped the rod when it abruptly vibrated and effused with pale, bluish light. It waned and stretched, growing in length until it morphed into a staff as tall as she. The golden orb glowed, s
hoving shadows across the colossal chamber.

  "The staff of Eymunder is yours to wield, Nyori Sharlin. But you have little time to learn its uses." The masculine voice seemed to come from all around, echoing among the pillars in the massive chamber. The orb pulsed with every spoken word, animating the surrounding shadows. Nyori realized the voice came from Eymunder itself.

  "How is it that you can speak?"

  The orb pulsated. "The sphere of amber that tops the staff is a well of preservation. Riodran has unlocked it. I have stored information inside that will aid you in understanding the use of Eymunder."

  Nyori brought the staff closer, bathing her face in the golden light. "Who are you?"

  "Who I was is the more pertinent question. I was Teranse, called the Reader, although Theurgist would be a more accurate description since Theurgy is the study of Apokrypy. As one of the Five Sages, I was the last wielder of Eymunder. I infused Eymunder with basic knowledge of Apokrypy, the language of power. It is yours to serve as a foundation for your time as Eymunder's bearer."

  "I don't understand—"

  The light rippled. "You will, Nyori. Open your Inner mind."

  Nyori hesitated for only a moment before Shifting. The orb atop of Eymunder flashed blindingly. Startled shadows scattered as the cavern flooded with light. Her vision danced in hues of violet and blue as serpentine strands sprang from the orb, glimmering golden mesh that slowly settled upon her. She felt the threads burrow into her skull, electric gossamer that laced across her mind. The web-like strands tightened as they sank in. She clutched her head in anticipation of pain, but there was only warmth, a swell of heat that tingled from head to toe.

  Thoughts. Feelings. Memories. They flickered through her mind like rapid blinks of the eye. The life of Teranse the Theurgist whirred by, a windstorm of images impossible to take in as they settled into her subconscious. Impossible buildings of glass and steel shimmered, strange metallic constructions shot across the sky. A malevolent man's face opened into a doorway, and creatures of light emerged with baleful eyes. A dark-haired girl younger than Nyori rode a serpentine creature with a mane more magnificent than a lion. A powerfully built youth raised the very sword that Nyori saw in the Pale Lord's hands. A book filled her vision, fluttering pages filled with Glyphs that effused with golden light. Instead of unrecognizable runes, they distorted and became ordinary letters to her eyes.