A Child of Great Promise: An Altearth Tale

by Ellis L. Knox

  “Oh, Talysse,” he cried, “I am so sorry.” His voice was dry as the dust on the shelves.

  She rushed over to him and knelt. She took his hands into hers. “Are you hurt?”

  “Mortally,” he said, the word creaking. “From a wound that will never heal.”

  All her questions crowded forward, but it was an accusation that emerged first.

  “You lied to me,” she said.

  He looked down at his hands and said, “I did.”

  “He lied about many things,” Saveric said. She looked around. He was standing uncomfortably close. She took a grip on the Stave.

  “Pick one,” the wizard said. “Your parents. How you came to Saldemer. Why he bribed Trumbert. Where he has been. Lies weave through all of it. Pick any one.”

  “My parents.” She barely managed a whisper.

  “It was only a story,” Remigius pleaded. “Ah, I am so sorry, my girl. You were too young to understand.”

  “I’m not young now,” Talysse said.

  Saveric snorted. Talysse shot him an angry look.

  “Don’t pretend concern, old man,” Saveric said. “I have brought her here despite your best efforts.”

  Remigius began to speak, but the words gurgled into nonsense in his throat. He tried again.

  “I never wanted you here. It is all my fault. None of it. Go and stay.”

  She tugged at his arm. “What’s wrong? You aren’t making sense. Are you ill?”

  “The wizard has put a spell on him,” Gonsallo said.

  “Sorry… sorry… sorry…” were the only words that made it out of Remigius’ mouth.

  She pitied his condition, but not the man. So she said the words only to herself: You lied to me and kept me in that prison, under the hand of that awful man. What else have you done to me?

  “Let him speak freely,” she said to Saveric. “Please.”

  “I will give him words, but not movement,” Saveric said. “He’s still dangerous.” The black staff moved and Remigius gasped.

  “You must run, at once. Get away from here, Talysse. Everything he says is a lie.”

  But the hurt was too deep. “I’ll judge for myself,” she said evenly.

  “Talysse, I want you to know how sorry I am. How ashamed.”

  “Tell me what this staff has to do with me,” Talysse said, her voice firm and cold. She did not care whether or not he felt shame.

  Remigius nodded in a kind of surrender. “This staff,” he said, “is extraordinary in every way. When I came to possess it—how is not important—I knew at once what I had. I became obsessed with exploring all its potential. It has many strengths.”

  Remigius paused. He chewed on his lip, looked uneasily from Talysse to Saveric and back.

  “Do not try to conceal or deceive,” Saveric said in a harsh tone. “What the girl does not notice, I will.”

  “I know,” Remigius said, “probably better than you. Too much is at stake now, for lies to help.”

  “I don’t see what any of this has to do with me,” Talysse said. “Can’t you get to the point?”

  “I can,” Remigius said, “though I dread its sharpness.”

  He adjusted himself.

  “One of its many powers is that of creation. Some of the rooms of this tower are its creation.”

  Again he hesitated.

  “Even the plants.”

  Another pause.

  “I became… especially interested in this power of creation. I used it to make flowers and trees. Not by the staff alone, but using also various philtres, extracts, and reductions along with it. I made dozens of living things. Even animals.”

  “So it’s true,” Saveric broke in. “Turpin did create a dragon?”

  “I believe so. Certain writings I found here lead in that direction. I tried it myself, but produced only a grotesque.”

  Gonsallo hissed. “Lo tarrasco.”

  “Yes, the tarrasque. The beast yet lives within the mountain.”

  “And brings terror to all the folk for miles around.”

  “I regret that.”

  “You regret many things, senyor.”

  “Quiet, singer,” Saveric commanded. “Lodge your complaints some other day. My colleague is about to make a confession.” His eyes all but gleamed as he leaned forward. He looked at Talysse but spoke to the wizard. “Aren’t you, colleague?”

  Remigius remained silent for so long, Talysse wondered if Saveric had put a spell on him. Or if the old wizard had fallen asleep.

  “A confession? An admission.” He sighed noisily, with a shudder through it. “The truth, at least.”

  Remigius looked at last directly at Talysse.

  “Why didn’t you come to me?” she asked. “You could have found me, after I left Saldemer.”

  “I wanted to,” Remigius said, “but Saveric found me first. I fought him, but in the end he bested me and bound me within the tower.”

  “You’ve been powerless?”

  Remigius hung his head.

  “Then…”

  “Oh, gods above and below,” Saveric burst out impatiently. “Then those were my men who pursued you and yes, I hired the dwarf to betray you, and I’ve lied to you often. But I have also told you truths no one else would. You have spent your life under the hand of this man. Has that made you happy?”

  Lies were everywhere around her, stacked as high as the ceiling.

  “My dear girl…” Remigius began.

  “Gah,” Saveric said in disgust. “Enough of this puling. He is mired in his own apologies and will never get out. You deserve better than this.

  “Hear me, Talysse of Saldemer. You have no father and no mother. You are not human, you are not elf. You were created, right here in this tower, by an old man using a power he could not understand and could never master.”

  “The Stave,” Talysse said.

  “Indeed. Plus who knows what other precious objects he found here in Turpin’s fortress, objects which he chose to hide from me and from the Syndicat. Remigius hoped to make himself the equal of the ancients, and thus gain control of the Syndicat.”

  “Never!” Remigius cried, his voice cracking, but Saveric spoke over him.

  “His first try was for a dragon. That’s what the Archmage had created, and he had left his notes. But you got it wrong, didn’t you, colleague? All you could manage was a grotesque beast that so frightened you, you turned it loose in the mountains.”

  “A monster,” Gonsallo muttered.

  “The tarrasque. The work of a fool. And, like a fool, he tried again. This time, he wanted a human. Someone who would expand upon his power. He wanted to replace me! For that is what I would have been. I saw how he wished to subjugate me, exploit me, and I refused. That’s when we became enemies. I have always wondered why he gave up so easily. It was because he had someone else in mind.”

  “You were never a colleague,” Remigius said.

  “You wound me, Remigius.” Saveric put a hand over his breast. “Do you see, Talysse? He is full of poison, this man.”

  Talysse blinked, struggling not so much to understand as to accept.

  “He created me?”

  “Oh, not he. Remigius is a learned man but it was the Stave and the potions and the ancient learning of the Archmage Turpin that made you. My colleague”—he sneered the word—“was simply another reagent in the mix.

  “I said before that he wanted an assistant, an acolyte, even a partner. What he envisioned a man, full of wisdom and power. You didn’t think he had in mind a little girl, do you? No, you were a surprise. And a disappointment.”

  She was tumbling down a cold, deep well.

  “Stop,” Detta pleaded. “You mustn’t. It’s cruel.”

  “It is cruel,” Saveric agreed, “but not so cruel as what he did next.

  There you were, Talysse, an extraordinary creation, but a mere girl for all that. How useless! He couldn’t keep you around, so he got rid of you. And now comes the part I did not expect, and it
put me off the track for a long time.

  “Remigius was kind. The maker of monsters showed tenderness. Or so he says; I still harbor doubt. I wonder if he feared you more than loved you, and that’s why he gave you to the cenobites. Perhaps it was some of both. He hid you because if the Syndicat learned of you, there would be questions he did not choose to answer. He did not kill you because he was curious—that was it, was it not, colleague?”

  He turned his attention to Remigius, who sat flushed and trembling.

  “So you made Trumbert your hired dog, to see how she developed. You fancied you might yet make use of your creation, if she showed promise.”

  Slowly her thoughts ordered themselves. Conflicting emotions began to die down. The lies were still there, but they had become thin, flimsy, in the face of something more important. She felt a door opening through them.

  “I knew the Redoubt housed something powerful. Remigius and I had explored the place completely after we discovered it. I thought it was just another fortification from ancient days. Then, as my suspicions grew, I began to ask questions that made him nervous. He began to withdraw. Then I found out about you, Talysse, and gradually I saw the whole truth.”

  He looked to Talysse. She stood up and stepped back a little. She held the Stave across her body in a defensive pose, feet apart. Saveric took no notice.

  “Twice I have offered you Paris,” he said. “I do so a final time. Come with me and let me show you how to walk among the mighty.”

  “Lyssie, don’t go!” Detta reached out with both hands. Tears started in her round eyes.

  Saveric’s glance flicked to Detta then back again. “Bring your servant, if you wish.”

  “She is not my servant,” Talysse said, her voice steady and strong. “Ardetta and I are compagnons, and we will never go with you.”

  Saveric knew he’d made a mistake. She saw the arrogance falter, succeeded by controlled anger.

  “I expected you to be a fool. Everything you have done has been nothing but a sad chain of bad choices. Perhaps you reflect the flaws of your maker.”

  Talysse stood perfectly still. The Stave was easy in her hands, like it was a part of her. Well-balanced, she noted. Her mind was as clear as the waters at Puig Balabor. Saveric had erred twice: first by insulting Detta, second by sounding too much like Prevôt Trumbert. She was on familiar ground—she was angry.

  “You’re wrong,” she said.

  “About what?” he sneered.

  “About everything.” She smiled back. “Obviously.”

  She intended to strike quickly, catch him by surprise, but Saveric anticipated her. Something struck her brutally, across her whole body at once. She flew backward and crashed to the floor, gasping for breath, but she managed to keep hold of the Stave.

  Saveric pressed his attack. More blows fell on her like giant stones.

  Flat on her back, she held the Stave across her chest. She felt the weight, but the blows did no harm. She saw Saveric turn away, distracted by something.

  The pressure was suddenly gone. There was a cry and a crash. Talysse scrambled up. Even as she did so, she heard a sharp crack followed by Jehan’s furious cursing. She gained her feet and looked around.

  Gonsallo lay on one side of the room, groaning. Jehan was on the other, staggered. At his feet, the shattered remains of his quarterstaff. He was drawing his sword. Detta crouched near the center of the room, unmoving.

  Choices froze Talysse for three heartbeats. Then she gestured with Turpin’s Stave and Remigius was able to stand.

  “Saveric!” he roared.

  The old wizard was himself again. Talysse—or the Stave—had broken the final bonds.

  The cry disrupted Saveric’s attack on Jehan. Even so, the elf’s sword glowed red and he dropped it to the floor with a cry of pain. Saveric whirled to face Remigius. The old wizard spared a single word for Talysse.

  “Go.”

  Then Saveric leaped on him like a panther.

  From the moment she had taken it, the stone staff had spoken to her—not in words or thoughts, or even images, but as a flow that she followed effortlessly. It was much like flying. Now she did not hesitate. She pointed the Stave at a spot between two bookcases where bare wall showed. She had only to think a thing to make it so. A doorway formed where there had been wall.

  “Gonsallo,” she shouted, “go!” The Catalan was the closest.

  He climbed to his feet. His head was bleeding.

  “Where?”

  “There!” She jabbed the Stave at the wall. He took a few uncertain steps. “To the wall?”

  “Detta,” Talysse called, gentling her voice. “Run straight through. Quickly.”

  Detta stood and ran directly at the wall—and through it. Gonsallo cried out in astonishment. Talysse gestured again, insistently. He took a breath and plunged through.

  Behind her came the cries of two wizards locked in combat. Odors of sulfur and hot metal burned her nose. The air crackled. Her attention did not waver.

  “Let me stay and fight,” Jehan said, now at her side. He had retrieved his sword, which no longer glowed.

  “Go,” Talysse commanded. “I will not lose you.” She pushed the elf roughly and he too disappeared into the stone wall.

  She saw the opening the Stave had made perfectly clearly, saw all three of her friends, small, as from a great distance. She took a step toward them, then turned.

  Two wizards strove amid fire and lightning. Weird colors coruscated around them like twisting demons. Explosions shook the room. The wizards leaned toward each other as if both struggled against powerful winds. A howl swirled around the room, loud as banshees.

  Saveric was winning. She saw Remigius weakening by the moment, stepping back and back. One whole wall of books burst into flame. Black smoke wreathed him.

  She wanted him to look, to bid him goodbye, even to forgive him. But he staggered and fell, and it was Saveric who looked her in the eye, just long enough for her to see clearly the threat and the promise. She would be next.

  Never.

  She turned on that thought, stepped through the opening, and slammed it shut behind her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Lo Tarrasco

  The stone sang to her.

  Different from what the wind sang, like two songs by the same voice. This new one was resonant and booming, like breakers against a cliff, a sound that could overwhelm her, if she were not careful, and sweep her away into deep waters. At the same time, it fortified her. She felt every sinew in her body grow strong. Her thoughts flowed like flames fed by dark oils. She could taste it and smell it. All her senses had been struck by thunder, yet her eyes told her nothing had changed. There stood her friends, unchanged, save that they were all looking at her with worry.

  “Lyssie? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, tante,” Talysse answered, her voice nearly lost in the song. She wondered that they could not hear it. At least it was better than the hum.

  “We should go,” Jehan said.

  “Before the wizard can break through,” Gonsallo said, pointing at the wall.

  Talysse looked behind her, at gray stone. She had slammed nothing, for there was no door. She had gone through solid stone, then restored it without conscious thought. She held the staff out in front of her, staring as if it might be a snake she held.

  Only now did she take in her surroundings. They were no longer in the castle. They stood in an irregular space of rough stone that might be a tunnel or a cavern. It was too dark to tell. A faint light came tumbling down through a crack high above.

  “Which way, Lyssie?” Detta’s question sounded like a plea.

  “I can’t see very far,” Gonsallo added, and his voice, too, held a plaintive note.

  Light, Talysse thought, and the song replied. Bright light, yellow as the sun, blazed from the gemstone.

  “That helps,” Gonsallo said.

  “Ooh,” Detta said, hands clasped to her chest.

  They st
ood in a room with only one exit.

  “Good,” Jehan said. “I dislike a maze. Keep that light, Talysse, as long as you are able.”

  Talysse nodded. Light streamed from the gem, but she did not feel she was causing it. The song, the steady drone that rose and fell in waves, produced the light. All came from that source, and the source was inside her and inside the gem, and the staff shook with power. She held a fire within her. A wrong step and she might vanish like smoke.

  She started walking and tried to keep her thoughts at bay. If she thought about it too much, the power would swallow her whole. Every step she took was along the edge of a precipice.

  The room fed into a tunnel.

  “What is this place?” Gonsallo asked after a time.

  “We are in the mountain,” Jehan said.

  “I had guessed that, from all the rock,” Gonsallo said. “I ought to have asked, who made this tunnel? Not dwarves, I’ll wager.”

  “No,” Jehan said. “This is not dwarf-built.”

  “Not built at all, I should say. So, a natural tunnel, but…” Gonsallo broke off. He walked near one wall, running his hand over the stone.

  “But what?” Jehan prompted.

  “See here, how the stone is smooth. And just here, a groove has been worn.”

  Jehan came back to examine the wall where Gonsallo stood. Talysse leaned in and the light grew brighter, as if the staff would see as well.

  “It is what I was noticing also,” the elf said. “Scraped by something?”

  “Earthquake?”

  “Oh, no, no,” Detta said anxiously, “don’t say that. Not down here.”

  “Could be an earthquake made the fissure,” Jehan said, “but not these marks.”

  “Scrapes,” Gonsallo said.

  “Scrapes,” Jehan agreed.

  Gonsallo ran his hand over the stone again. “Something large. I think I’d rather it be an earthquake.” He shrugged. “We have to keep going, though, unless the demoiselle can wish up a new door.”

  Talysse shook her head. “This thing is not a tool or a weapon,” she said, “I don’t know what it is.” Nor, she added to herself, do I know what I am.

  Jehan stopped suddenly and cursed.

  “What do you see?” Gonsallo asked.