The Riftwar Saga

by Raymond E. Feist

  Then the universe rocks. The very fabric of reality is rent. Energies impossible to fathom explode about him, violent beyond his ability to apprehend, and he –

  Pug opened his eyes. He felt a strange dislocation about him and for a moment his vision blurred. Tomas came to stand beside him and said, ‘Are you all right?’

  Pug blinked and said, ‘Something out there … changed.’

  Tomas looked skyward. ‘There’s something happening.’

  Macros regarded the heavens. Odd patterns of energies whirled madly across the firmament while stars wobbled in the course. ‘If we watch, we’ll see things calm down in time. We’re seeing this from back to front, remember.’

  ‘Seeing what?’ asked Pug.

  Tomas answered, ‘The Chaos Wars.’ There was a haunted look in his eyes, as if something in what occurred touched him deeply in a place he had not expected. But his face remained a mask while he watched the mad skies above.

  Macros nodded. Standing up, he pointed heavenward. ‘See, even now we are passing into an epoch before the Chaos Wars, the Days of the Mad Gods’ Rage, the Time of Star Death, and whatever other colourful names myth and lore have conjured up for that period.’

  Pug closed his eyes and felt his mind cold and numb, his head throbbing with a dull ache.

  Macros said, ‘It appears we are moving at the rate of three, four hundred years a second in reverse time.’ Pug nodded. ‘So for every three seconds, about a millennium passes.’ He calculated. ‘That’s a good start.’

  ‘Start?’ questioned Pug. ‘How fast need we move?’

  ‘By my best calculation, billions of years. At a thousand years per second, we’ll get back to the beginning in our lifetime. But just barely. We need better.’

  Pug nodded, clearly fatigued, but he closed his eyes. Tomas looked skyward. The stars could now be seen to move, though, given their vast distances, it was still a slow movement. But even seeing this much motion was disquieting. Then their movement seemed to accelerate, and soon it was noticeably faster. Then Pug was again with them.

  ‘I’ve created a second spell within the structure of the trap. Each minute the rate will double without my intervention. We’re now moving at a rate in excess of two thousand years per second. In a minute it will be four. Then eight, sixteen, and so forth.’

  Macros’s expression was one of approval. ‘Good. That gives us a few hours.’

  Tomas said, ‘I think it’s time for some questions, then.’

  Macros smiled, his dark eyes piercing, as he said, ‘What you mean is you think it’s time for some answers.’

  Tomas said, ‘Yes, that is exactly what I mean. Years ago you coerced me into betraying the Tsurani peace treaty and on that night you told me you were the author of my current existence. You said you gave me all. Everywhere I look, I see signs of your handiwork. I would know more, Macros.’

  Macros sat again. ‘Well then, as we have some time to spend, why not? We are reaching a point in this unfolding drama where knowledge will no longer hurt you. What would you know?’ He looked from Tomas to Pug.

  Pug glanced at his friend, then looked hard at the sorcerer. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I?’ Macros seemed amused by the question. ‘I’m … who am I?’ The question seemed almost rhetorical. ‘I’ve had so many names I can’t recall every one.’ He sighed in remembrance. ‘But the one given at my birth translates into the King’s Tongue simply as Hawk.’ With a smile he said, ‘My mother’s people were a little primitive.’ He pondered. ‘I’m not sure where to begin. Perhaps with the place and time where I was born.

  ‘On a distant world, a vast empire once ruled, at its height a match for Great Kesh and even Tsuranuanni. This empire was undistinguished in most ways – no artists, philosophers, or leaders of genius, save one or two who popped up at odd moments over the centuries. But it endured. And the one noteworthy thing it did was inflict peace upon its dominion.

  ‘My father was a merchant, undistinguished in all ways, save he was thrifty, and held loan papers on many of the most powerful men in his community. This I tell you so you’ll understand: my father was not someone about whom great sagas are composed. He was a most unremarkable, common man.

  ‘Then, in the land of my father’s birth, another common man appeared, but one with the ability of spellbinding oratory and an irritating habit of making people think. He raised questions that made those in power nervous, for while he was a peaceful man, he gathered followers, and some of them tended toward the radical and violent. So those who ruled levelled a false charge against him. He was brought to closed trial, where no man could raise a voice on his behalf. In the most extreme and harsh verdict, it was accounted he spoke treason – which was patently false – and he was ordered executed.

  ‘His execution was to be public, in the fashion of that time, so many of the populace were there, including my father. That poor merchant of few gifts was there with some of his highly placed countrymen, and to please his rulers – who owed him money – he participated in mocking and ridiculing the condemned man upon his way to his death.

  ‘For whatever reason, fate’s whim or the gods’ dry sense of humour, the condemned man paused in his walk to the place of execution and faced my father. Of all those about who were tormenting and berating him, he cast his eyes upon this one simple merchant. It may have been this man was a magician, or it could simply have been a dying man’s curse. But out of all there upon the boulevard, he cursed my father. It was a strange curse, which my father dismissed as the ravings of a man gone mad with terror.

  ‘But after the man had died and the years passed, my father noticed he wasn’t getting any older. His neighbours and business associates were showing the ravages of the years, but my father looked much as he always did, a merchant of about forty years.

  ‘When the differences became pronounced, my father fled his homeland, lest he be branded a companion of dark powers. He travelled for years. At first he put his time to good purpose, becoming a fair scholar. Then he learned the curse for what it really was. A serious accident occurred, leaving him bedridden for most of a year. He discovered death was denied him. Should he be wounded unto death, he would heal eventually.

  ‘He began to long for the release of death, an end to the endless days. He returned to his homeland, to seek knowledge of this man who had cursed him.

  ‘He discovered that myth now shrouded the truth and that the man now stood at the centre of religious debate. He was seen by some as a charlatan, by others as a messenger of the gods, by a few as a god himself, and by still others as a demon herald of damnation. That debate conspired to generate some strife within the empire. Religious wars are never pretty. But one story kept surfacing: that three magic artifacts associated with the dead man had the power to cure, to bring peace, and finally, remove curses. As I understand it, they were a wand, a cloak, and a cup. My father began at once seeking those artifacts.

  ‘Centuries passed, and at last my father came to a tiny nation at the frontier of this empire, where it was supposed the last of the three artifacts could be found – the other two being counted lost beyond recovery. The empire was at last dissolving, as all such things do, and this land was a wild place. Upon reaching that nation, my father was beset by brigands, who wounded him severely, leaving him for dead. But of course my father simply lay in mute agony, waiting to heal.

  ‘A woman found him. Her husband had died in a fishing mishap, leaving her without resources. My father was of an ancient race, steeped in culture and history, but my mother’s people, called the People of the Lizard, were barely more than savages. A widow was to be shunned, for any who gave to her assumed responsibility for her. So this woman of nearly nonexistent means nursed my father to health, then lay with him, for she was without a man of her own and my father was, by then, an obviously well learned man, and possibly an important one. The long and short of it was I was conceived.

  ‘My father made his intent known to my mother, who professed no k
nowledge of the artifact my father sought, though it was a common enough legend even in that far land. I suspect she simply wished to keep her second husband close to home.

  ‘So, for a time, my father stayed with my mother. In the canon of my father’s people, it is said that the child will inherit the sins of the father, but whatever the cause, it is from this legacy I sprang. My father remained long enough to teach me his language and his history, and the rudiments of reading and writing. A rumour made its way to our land, a hint of the lost artifact, and my father resumed his quest, heading westward across a vast ocean. I never saw him again. For all I know, he quests still. So my mother packed me up and returned to the village of her birth.

  ‘My mother was left with a son and no reasonable explanation from where he sprang, as far as her people were concerned, so she concocted some nonsense about mating with a demon. Because of my father’s teachings, I was far more educated than the wisest elder among them, so my knowledge gave some credibility to these stories.

  ‘In short, Mother gained significant influence in the community. She became a seer, though her abilities were more in the area of theatrics than divination. But I, well, I began seeing visions as a child.

  ‘I left my mother when I was fourteen, wandering to where an ancient order of priests abided, in a land that seemed distant from my home at the time – a mere hop, step, and jump compared to the travelling I’ve done since. They trained me, vesting in me a dying lore. When I took my place within that brotherhood, I was transported in spirit.

  ‘I was … taken somewhere, and some agency, perhaps the gods themselves, spoke to me. I was judged one among multitudes, a special vessel for rare powers. But there would be a price in taking that power for my own. I was given a choice. I might remain a simple mumbler of prayers, without much importance in the order of things, but I would have a safe and comfortable life, or I might truly learn magic arts. But it was clear there would be pain and danger along that path. I hesitated, but much as I wished for the peaceful existence of the monastic life, the lure of knowledge was too strong to resist. I chose the power, and the price was twofold. I was doomed, like my father, to live without hope of death, and was also given the gift – or curse – of foreknowledge. As I needed to know things, in order to act my part, that knowledge came to me. And from that day forward, I have lived my life in concert with that foreknowledge. I am destined to serve forces that work to bring sanity into the universes, and they are opposed by equally powerful agencies of destruction.’

  Macros sat back. ‘In short, I am a man who inherited a curse and gained some gifts.’

  Pug said, ‘I think I understand what you’re saying. We have considered you the master behind some dark game, but the truth is you are the biggest pawn in the contest.’

  Macros nodded. ‘I alone have not had free will, or at least lacked the courage to challenge my foreknowledge. I have known from the day I left that priesthood that I would live for centuries and that many times I would be required to manipulate the lives of others, toward what ends I am only now beginning to understand.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Tomas.

  Macros looked about. ‘If things proceed as I suspect, we shall bear witness to that which no other mortal being in the universe, or even the gods themselves, have seen. If we survive, we will spend some time returning home. I think we can learn all we need during that time. For now, I am tired, as is Pug. I think I will sleep. Wake me.’

  ‘When?’ asked Tomas.

  Macros smiled enigmatically. ‘You’ll know when.’

  ‘Macros!’

  Macros’s eyes opened and he looked to where Tomas pointed. He stretched and rose, saying, ‘Yes, it’s time.’

  Pug also awoke and his eyes widened. Above them the stars raced backward in flight as time ran counter to its normal course at furious speed. The skies were ablaze with fiery beauty, as rampaging energies were released in colours of splendid intensity. And light was more concentrated, as if everything seemed to be drawing together. At the centre of this loomed an utter void. It appeared they were rushing down a long, glittering, brightly streaked tunnel toward the darkest hole imaginable.

  ‘This should prove interesting,’ observed the sorcerer. ‘I know you’ll think this odd, but I find it strangely exhilarating not knowing what’s coming next. I mean, I know what’s likely to happen, but I haven’t seen it.’

  Pug said, ‘That’s fine, but what is this?’

  ‘The beginning, Pug.’ Even as he spoke, it appeared the matter about them was rushing faster and faster toward that total blackness. Now the colours were blending together to a pure white light almost painful to observe.

  ‘Look behind!’ said Tomas.

  They did so, and where real space had been, now the utter grey of rift-space was seen. Macros applauded in obvious delight. ‘Wonderful! It is as I thought. We shall elude this trap, my friends. We are approaching that place where time has no meaning. Watch!’

  In a final rush of stunning majesty, all about them collapsed downward, as if being sucked into the maw of that black nothing. Macros said, ‘Pug, halt our flight before we are pulled into all that.’ Pug closed his eyes and did as he was bid. Faster and faster the last stuff of the universe was devoured by the giant thing before them, until the last vestige, the last mote of matter, vanished into the hole. Then Pug clutched at his temples and cried out in pain.

  Macros and Tomas moved toward him as his legs buckled, and helped him to sit. After a moment he said, ‘I’m all right.’ His face was ashen and his brow was covered in sweat. ‘It’s just when the time trap ended, the spell of acceleration ended; it was painful.’

  Macros said, ‘Sorry. I should have anticipated that.’ Almost to himself he added, ‘But little of what we know will have any validity here and now.’

  Macros pointed upward, where a vast and utter darkness could be seen. It seemed to curve, along a limitless line that moved off beyond the ability of the eye to apprehend. And the Garden and the City Forever hovered at the edge of that boundary.

  Macros said, ‘Fascinating. Now we know the City does exist outside of the normal order of the universe.’ Macros regarded the massive thing above, counting silently to himself. ‘I think it’s about time, given how long ago Pug’s spells were cancelled.’

  ‘What is this?’ asked Tomas, pointing to the impossible black orb against the grey.

  ‘The sum of the universes, Tomas,’ answered the sorcerer. ‘The primal stuff everything else stems from. It is everything – except this little jot of land we stand on and the City itself. There is so much there that size and distance have no meaning. We are millions of times more distant from the surface of that matter than Midkemia is from its sun, but look how large it looms before us, blotting out more than half the sky. It’s staggering to contemplate. Even light cannot escape it, for light has not been created. We are back before time, before the beginning. We are witnesses to the start of all things. Ryath, attend this!’ The dragon woke from her torpor and stretched. She approached to stand behind the three men. Macros said, ‘Keep watching.’

  All turned to regard the utter darkness. For several minutes nothing occurred. As if no air moved in the Garden, there was a profound silence. The observers were acutely aware of their own being, feeling each sensation down to the rhythm of the blood coursing through their bodies. But no sound save their own breathing could they apprehend. Then came the note.

  Each was transported, though they moved not a step. A filling joy, a profound sense of perfect rightness, washed over them, beauty too terrible to comprehend. It was as if music, a single flawless note, sounded and was felt rather than heard. Colours more vivid than any pigment were seen, yet only the dark void hung before their eyes. They felt crushed under the weight of indescribable wonder and terror. They were rendered so insignificant in an instant that each of them despaired and felt alone, yet in that crystalline instant each experienced exaltation, touched by something so wonderful it brought tears
of joy flowing without stint.

  It was impossible to comprehend. There was only a flickering, as if a million lines of force sprang across the surface of the void, but they were gone so quickly the watchers could not apprehend their passage. One instant all was black and formless, then a latticework of countless glowing lines spread across the magnificent void, and light filled the skies, staggering in its purity and strength. All were forced to avert their eyes from that blinding display for a moment. A blaze of stunning energies poured forth, as seen before, but now flowing outward. A strange emotion swept through Pug and his companions, one of completeness, as if what they had experienced was now at an end. All continued to weep in joy at the perfect beauty of the display.

  ‘Macros, what was that?’ asked Tomas softly, in awe.

  ‘The Hand of God,’ he whispered, his eyes wide with wonder. ‘The Prime Urge. The First Cause. The Ultimate. I don’t know what to call it. I know only this: one moment, there was nothing, the next, all existed. It is the First Mystery, and even now that I’ve seen it, I do not pretend to understand it.’ The sorcerer laughed, a loud joyous sound, and did a little dance.