ZYGRADON

by Michelle L. Levigne

  "Ah." Mrillis nodded and tried to look as if he understood. He did grasp a little of the concept; enough to know it would take him years to comprehend completely.

  Perhaps that was wisdom in and of itself?

  "How were the people punished, when they lied to the Book?" The boy leaned closer, eyes wider.

  "The Book is made of star-metal," Tathal said with a hush in his voice.

  "How? Star-metal destroys anything that comes close to it."

  "Not everything," Breylon said, and fine lines appeared around his mouth and eyes, revealing that something troubled him. He shook his head, like their horses shook off flies, and tried to smile. "Lygroes is pitted with star-metal, just as Moerta is, but the Rey'kil are not killed. I do believe our presence makes the land safe. That is why the Noveni live among us, even though they resent our charity.

  "But Tathal is right. The Book of Stars and Beginnings is made of star-metal. The Estall tamed its destructive powers and put it in a place where all the imbrose of Lygroes gathers, like streams running to a low spot in a valley to form a lake. The book is fed by magic, and gives out magic for healing and knowledge. In the same way, we Rey'kil are fed and sustained, so we can perform healing and speak to each other in our thoughts."

  "There should be a way we can tame star-metal, so we can use it, and it will stop destroying Moerta," Mrillis said, thinking aloud again.

  "That would be a blessing," Kathal muttered. "We could send the Noveni back where they belong. Lygroes is too crowded by half."

  "Lygroes could well be the only land any of us can live on," Breylon said, his tone gently chiding. "We must learn now to share it, or we will have another war like the one that just finished."

  "But is it finished, Master?" Tathal asked. "The Nameless One could have foreseen his downfall and he's on the other side of the world, on a continent we know nothing about, plotting more evil." He spat into the dust beyond his horse's feet.

  "Does the star-metal draw the magic in, for the book to use?" Mrillis knew he had crossed another threshold in learning when Breylon's eyes widened and the man paused before nodding. "If star-metal doesn't hurt Lygroes, because the Rey'kil are here, maybe we could learn to use star-metal to gather imbrose in other pools and make it stronger?"

  "If anyone can learn to do such a thing, it will probably be you, lad," Kathal said, and reached across the circle to tousle the boy's hair.

  He scowled at the man, hating the feeling of being patronized. Then a moment later, Mrillis laughed at himself. He was barely ten years old--who was he to worry about his dignity?

  The four left their resting place soon after that and continued on their way. Mrillis found he was more eager every day to reach the Stronghold. This winter he would turn ten. He would be halfway to adulthood. Halfway to the first step of his journey of destiny.

  What great things had the Estall intended when he was formed in his mother's womb? Mrillis couldn't wait to find out.

  * * * *

  After the fourth day of the journey, Mrillis' flood of questions slowed to a trickle. He had been scolded often by his teachers, on Wynystrys and in the Stronghold, to pause and observe and study his surroundings before bursting forth with questions. Now was as good a time as any to increase his powers of observation, he reasoned. No one fascinated him more than Breylon, so the boy studied the High Scholar.

  After mimicking how his adored teacher sat his big-boned gelding, so every step seemed like a gentle, rolling glide, Mrillis noticed other things that had escaped him. To his delight, the longer he sat still and focused all his attention on Breylon, the stronger the sense of some subtle humming of power grew. After hours of watching and listening, trying to reach out from the place inside him that had lunged to rescue Ceera, he sensed a not-quite-musical note that was specifically Breylon and no one else. After that discovery, no matter how long his attention shifted to something else on the trail--the discussion between the riders, stopping to eat or sleep--Mrillis only had to think of that note and he heard it and felt the tingling of magic in his fingertips.

  He sensed that if he could only stretch his senses a little harder, he could feel the imbrose as it spilled into Breylon. Or was it more like the threads of a spider's web, feeding into the old man?

  Mrillis nearly laughed aloud when an image filled his mind, of threads gleaming silver and gold, emerald and blue, radiating through the air above the landscape of Lygroes. When those threads touched Breylon as their party of four rode along the trade road, they changed color. No matter what color they had been before, the threads turned pure white, almost transparent, until Breylon passed them by. Then slowly, like color returned to a room at dawn, their original tints appeared.

  It occurred to the boy that perhaps the Rey'kil who couldn't draw on the imbrose as they needed it were the ones who couldn't see, couldn't touch the threads filling the air everywhere. They even went through trees and the sides of hills, across streams, slicing through their horses and saddles, without doing them a flicker of harm.

  "What's so amusing, lad?" Breylon asked, when Mrillis' speculations ran so wild he snorted, trying to hold back a burst of triumphant laughter.

  "Are the threads more solid than we are, and we're only mist?" he said without thinking. "Or are they made of light, so they don't hurt us when we walk through them?"

  "Threads?" The High Scholar tugged abruptly on the reins, making his horse snort and toss its head as it halted. "Oh, my dear boy..." He shook his head, and a crooked grin lit his face. "Le'esha isn't going to be happy. Not at all." His grin widened, assuring Mrillis he wasn't in trouble in the slightest.

  "What did I do, Master?"

  "You found Le'esha's birthing day gift." The High Scholar chortled, the sound echoed by the twin warriors. "Well, let's see how clever you are, then. What colors can you see? How many Threads do you see around us, eh? And how, by the blessings of the Estall, did you find them in the first place?"

  "You lost your wager with the Lady, didn't you?" Kathal said with a smirk.

  "Wager?" Mrillis glanced between the three men and wondered if he should be pleased or dismayed.

  "Most Rey'kil don't learn to find and tap the Threads that feed the imbrose until we're old enough for beards and breasts," Tathal said, and swatted at his twin to stop his snickering. "Our Master was sure you'd find them on your own before your voice started to change. The Lady was sure, with your penchant for mischief, you'd see the Threads much sooner. She wanted to start training you sooner than most, so you wouldn't wreak havoc on the whole land. They couldn't agree, so they wagered on it."

  "My best harp, too," Breylon said. He sighed, but by the sparkle in his eyes, Mrillis guessed he wasn't disappointed to lose the wager. The two grinned at each other for a moment. Then Breylon nudged his horse to get moving again, and beckoned for Mrillis to ride next to him, instead of next to Tathal. "Come, lad, you've earned yourself more lessons."

  Breylon taught him exercises for the mind, so he could find the Threads to feed him strength and healing, and even gain an image of the landscape ahead of him. The High Scholar was impressed that Mrillis could differentiate colors, and see the changes when a Rey'kil tapped them for strength.

  Spider's web was a better image, Mrillis discovered after several days of lessons. With each exercise and test Breylon set for him, his sensitivity grew, and he learned to sense where different lines intersected. Where did all the lines come from, he wondered, and where did they go when they crossed the sea and over the known continents? Even Breylon couldn't answer that question. The two spent many happy hours discussing theories, piling one impossibility upon another until they made themselves and the twins laugh with the absurdity.

  "Maybe, Master, there really aren't that many Threads," Mrillis speculated two evenings later, when they were only a day away from the Warhawk's winter quarters. He curled up in his blanket and watched the dancing flames of their small campfire. "Maybe it's like a huge spider's web but the lines just keep going, wrap
ping around and around the World, so everything is connected. Maybe, if somebody is strong enough and lives long enough to touch them all...he could know everything to know in the World, and touch every place," he finished on a yawn.

  Tathal and Breylon exchanged long looks, mixed pride in and worry for the boy, who thought of things that scholars five times his age had never imagined. Kathal stepped out of the shadows of the forest where he kept watch, and waited until the boy's eyes drifted close and he went limp into sleep.

  "If anybody could, lad, I think you will," the warrior whispered. "He's destined to live forever, isn't he, Master?"

  "Only the Estall knows. If that will be a good thing for our lad, or a bad thing...only the Estall knows." Breylon went down on one knee from his perch on a fallen log, and tugged the blanket up higher around Mrillis.

  * * * *

  Webs filled Mrillis' dreams. To his surprise, he discovered that another web arched up high over the landscape, halfway between the stars and the trees.

  He watched a sentinel stationed in the watchtower along the coast that faced Flintan. The sentinel wrote on a long scroll, but instead of rolling it up, sealing it and giving it to a courier, he pressed the scroll against his head. The scroll vanished and the sentinel went to the top of the watchtower and reached up into the sky. A Thread shot down from the web and the stars and touched his head. The Thread thickened in one bulge and pulsed with light. The bulge moved along the Thread, shooting out into the night.

  Mrillis flew through the night sky, following that thicker Thread, reaching out with his hands to touch the pulses of light. Before he could quite reach it, the Thread shot down and touched the silver-white head of a Rey'kil woman standing on the top of another tower, with vast armies camped all around it. She wore the blue and silver livery of the Warhawk. The scroll fell out of her forehead, she caught it and hurried down the steps of the tower. The Warhawk waited on a high throne at the bottom of the tower and she gave the scroll to him.

  So that was how the strongest Rey'kil enchanters and healers communicated! Mrillis laughed at the discovery. He nearly woke himself. His eyes flickered and he drifted near the edge of sleep. He saw the campfire and Kathal feeding the flames. Then darkness closed around him again.

  When his dreams returned, he found a thick blue Thread close to the ground. The Thread thickened as he followed it and grew brighter, until he almost couldn't see. Mrillis shaded his eyes with his hands and peered out between his fingers. He cringed back from what he saw, not quite sure what it was, and flew away, through the night.

  A red, thicker Thread caught his attention. Shivering, he followed it as it grew brighter and thicker. The light didn't hurt his eyes so much, and he clenched his fists, refusing to run away until he was sure. He pressed closer to the near-blinding source of the light, the place where Threads were born. A force like the current around Wynystrys pushed at him, trying to shove him backwards. Mrillis reached out and snatched at the red Thread, nearly as thick as his wrist, to stay put.

  Screaming woke him. He rolled away from his blankets, sure they were on fire. His hands ached where he pressed down to push himself upright. The ground felt as if thick grains of sand as sharp as blades covered it. Mrillis curled up and tried to block his ears with his arms pressed against his head.

  "Enough, boy!" Kathal roared, and slapped a hand over Mrillis' mouth.

  The screaming stopped. Mrillis gulped in surprise and his throat hurt and he realized he had been screaming. Kathal swore and released him, jerking away as if scorched.

  "Mischief indeed." Breylon got down on one knee in front of Mrillis. "What did you do, lad?" He held out his hands, clearly commanding Mrillis to give his hands into his grasp.

  "They hurt, Master," he whimpered, and didn't care that he sounded like a dirty-diapered baby.

  "I don't doubt it. Look at yourself. With your spirit eyes, as we discussed yesterday," the High Scholar added.

  Mrillis gasped, seeing flickers of blue and red writhing around his hands and up his arms, like snakes encircling his limbs. Shaking, he put his hands into Breylon's grasp.

  A sizzling sound filled his ears. He sighed, feeling the shriveling heat leave his hands. The blue and red flickers danced across Breylon's hands and up his arms and soaked into his robes, like raindrops.

  "Now, what did you do?" Breylon said when the last burst of light had vanished and he released Mrillis' hands.

  Chapter Ten

  Tathal warmed spiced wine for them. Mrillis was glad to sip the healing brew as he struggled to remember every detail of his dreams and describe them. He had to hold the leather travel cup with both shaking hands, to keep from dropping it as he reached the end of his dream, just before he screamed.

  "What did you see, lad?" Tathal said. He pressed his hands around Mrillis' and guided the cup to his lips to ensure the boy downed the last mouthful of wine.

  "Star-metal." Mrillis stared into the depths of the cup. He could hardly believe what fell from his lips. "The Threads come from star-metal. In the ground."

  "Ah." Breylon nodded and stared, frowning, into the fire for such a long time, both warriors grew impatient.

  "Just 'ah,' Master?" Kathal said. He picked up the kettle that still held the warmed wine and offered it around. Though Mrillis shook his head, declining, the warrior filled his cup anyway and frowned at him until he drank several swallows.

  "This stays just among the four of us," Breylon said at last. He looked weary, new lines etched around his eyes by the seriousness of his thoughts. "For nearly thirty years now, we have suspected that our power does indeed come from the star-metal. No one has ever followed the Threads to their source before, yet it is well-documented that the Threads are thicker, brighter, the magic stronger around the places where star-metal has fallen. Stories from the beginning time, when our three races first came to the World, claim that the Estall gave us star-metal as a gift."

  "I've never heard that," Mrillis muttered around the lip of his cup.

  "For very good reason." He smiled at the two warriors. "How would you like to hear that something which is killing you is actually a gift, and it is meant to help you?"

  "It's all well and good to have that mystery solved," Kathal said, "but what good does the knowledge do us?"

  "It answers a question or two," his twin said. Tathal settled down next to Mrillis and guided the cup back to the boy's mouth again. "Lygroes isn't poisoned by star-metal because we suck the fire out of it when we use our imbrose. That's the difference between Lygroes and Moerta. We protect ourselves."

  "Say rather, the Estall gave us the ability to protect the whole world with the imbrose born into our flesh," Breylon said.

  "The Noveni aren't going to like it if we tell them they have to let us live in their land," Kathal said.

  "That was tried, generations ago. The poison is so prevalent, so concentrated, the Rey'kil who tried to settle there were overwhelmed." Breylon reached over, took one of Mrillis' hands and opened his clenched fist, so they all could see the streaks like burns across the skin. "Burned from the inside." He sighed. "The task that lies ahead of us is to discover how to tap the power of all that star-metal without burning ourselves. It's like reaching into a blacksmith's furnace with our bare hands. We have to find the right tools to handle the molten metal, the molten power, and move it where it is cool enough to use without killing us."

  "Perhaps you're the one to do it, lad," Kathal said. He rested a hand on Mrillis' head.

  "Perhaps." Breylon nodded and turned to look into the fire again. "And perhaps that destiny is left for another. The lad has accomplished enough in his short life to more than fulfill Le'esha's vision. Don't torment him, expecting more."

  * * * *

  Queen Elysion met their party on the steps of the main doorway of the fortress, when the four riders reached the Warhawk's winter quarters. The daughter of a Rey'kil scholar with only enough imbrose to sense when people lied, she was a black-haired, gray-eyed, tiny beauty who
had helped build a much-needed bridge between the two allied races. She was also a distant cousin to the warrior twins and greeted them with laughter and hugs when Kathal and Tathal dismounted.

  She curtsied low to Breylon and offered Mrillis her hand when they were introduced to her. The three girls behind her watched with big gray eyes and whispered and giggled among themselves. Mrillis prayed the girls were servants and not the princesses, and he wouldn't be expected to spend time with them. He wanted to sit at the table with the adults and listen to talk of all the interesting things happening on Lygroes.

  He compared their wriggling excitement to the girls at the Stronghold. Rey'kil girls had better manners, he decided. At least, they stood still and wouldn't say anything about visitors until they were in their rooms.

  The girls' long red hair meant they were half-bloods, which made the odds good they were indeed the Warhawk's daughters. Mrillis hung back when Elysion turned to introduce the four visitors to the princesses. He forgot their names immediately. The Warhawk had a son, but the little prince was barely a year old and probably with his nurse. Mrillis almost wished he had gone through the tunnel to the Stronghold instead of enjoying the privilege of riding with Breylon. At least he would be home right now.

  "Please, Mama, can we take the boy with us?" the oldest girl said. She didn't tug on her mother's sleeve, but her voice tended toward whining.

  "I think not," a familiar, deep voice called. Lyon strode out through the wide, double doors and grinned broadly at Mrillis. "I promised him a tour of the fortress when he came to visit, and we barely have enough time before dinner."

  The girls' protests sounded like a cross between chattering birds and snarling cats. Mrillis glared at the twins when they just grinned at him. Lyon clapped a hand on his shoulder and led him away.

  "Enough!" Queen Elysion smiled, making a lie of her sharp tone. "What sort of manners do you have, my dears? You'll see enough of our young warrior before he leaves. Right now, your Uncle Lyon needs him. Now, back to your room. Nurse is waiting with your dinner."