ZYGRADON
Page 26
Just as it had been with Haster, no one could see or touch the Zygradon unless Ceera or Mrillis or one of the other partners in the making of the bowl touched it and held the other person's hand at the same time. Many cried out in pain or shock in the fraction of a heartbeat that they came face-to-face with the bowl. Some claimed to be blinded by a bright, purifying light. Others heard music that made their ears ring. Others felt a wind that rushed past them and through them. Still others claimed to have touched all the green growing things in the World, as if they had become every flower, tree, bush, weed and vine.
Endor wouldn't tell them what he saw or felt or heard. He stared, as if he had been blinded, and stood perfectly still. He didn't yank his hand free as everyone else did. He stared at the Zygradon as if he could see it, but when Mrillis lowered the bowl, Endor's gaze didn't follow it. Ceera, who had insisted on being the one to 'introduce' Endor to the bowl, slowly released his hand. She said nothing, only watched him, until he finally blinked and rubbed his eyes.
Without looking at either of them, Endor gave a tiny shrug, a crooked smile, then turned and walked away.
Nothing will ever be the same again, will it? Ceera asked in the sad, ringing silence.
I wonder, right now, if the three of us were ever as good and close friends as we always believed, Mrillis said. He felt his stomach knot again in guilt. He could have done something to make sure Endor had been included in the forming of the Zygradon--why hadn't he?
What did he see? What did he hear? Why didn't he make a sound or pull away like everyone else?
* * * *
"Because Endor is like no one else in the entire world, my children," Breylon said, when they posed the question to him four days later.
They had dispersed their companions, releasing them to go to their homes and families for a long and well-deserved rest. With a sense of weary, overwhelming relief, Mrillis and Ceera rode off alone for Wynystrys. They both wanted to retreat, just for a little while, back to the comfortable position of being students. After what they had done with the Zygradon, they feared there would be no one left in the World who would dare to teach them or command them. They felt very young and yet older than the stars. They needed to be addressed as children. When Breylon did just that, they smiled at each other across the wide table in the High Scholar's private chambers.
"Just as there is not and never again will be anyone like you two," he continued. He stared at a spot on the table just short of the place where the Zygradon sat, glowing faintly, with a shifting rainbow nimbus all around it. That told Mrillis more surely than anything that even the High Scholar of the Rey'kil could not see the Zygradon.
"After each amazing thing you accomplished, Le'esha and I braced ourselves to find you had reduced yourselves to something less than you were. Each time, you came back stronger. The tests that do not kill us make us stronger," he said with a crooked smile and a shake of his head. "Endor, I am sure, saw something unlike anything anyone else saw or heard or felt. He suffers under a heavy burden of accusation and disappointment." He sighed. "I admit, I am inclined to think that it was indeed the Estall's will, perhaps a great blessing, that he was not part of the forming of the Zygradon. How he weathers this disappointment will be a more sure sign of his true spirit and character, than any great accomplishment ever could reveal."
"Do you think he killed those villagers?" Ceera whispered.
"I do not know, Little Star." He patted her hand where it rested on the table. "The older I grow, the more sure I am that I know very little. When the Estall calls me home to rest in the Eternal Bliss, I will have progressed to the point where I know that I know nothing at all. And that will be the start of true wisdom." He chuckled when they both exchanged exasperated looks. "Now, I hear that you can provide me a glimpse of this marvel. Since I cannot see it unaided, you must help me."
The first time Ceera guided his hand to touch the bowl, Breylon gasped, went pale and slumped in his chair.
"Music," he muttered, when Mrillis asked him what he experienced. "Music such as I fear I will never hear again. And such light, like no light I have ever seen before. Not light seen with the physical eyes, I do believe." He nodded, closed his eyes, took a deep breath and stared at the spot where the Zygradon rested.
Mrillis and Ceera waited, watching their beloved teacher. Finally, Breylon moved. He summoned up a crooked smile to bestow on them. Then he gripped the arms of his chair, visibly bracing himself--and held out his hand, silently asking them to give him another glimpse of the Zygradon.
"The perfumes of a thousand ages fill my lungs," he whispered, when they had repeated the process four times and the silence after each attempt lasted longer. "Without you acting as my window, I cannot sense it. However you worked it, you have done an amazing thing. And a wise thing. How can our enemies steal the Zygradon and use it against us if they cannot find it?"
The three stayed up late, talking and theorizing and wondering. Breylon confirmed what they had observed and believed, but didn't trust their weary senses to prove: the Zygradon did not interfere with the flow of power around them. They could walk through the Threads as if there were no star-metal around to warp them. Yet when he held the bowl in his hands, Mrillis felt the power waiting to be released. When he closed his eyes, he could follow the patterns of the Threads. Just like in the vision from his childhood, all the Threads in the world came to the bowl. They passed through and became stronger and continued on throughout the World, and the Zygradon held them in tight control, like the spider sitting in the center of its web.
They told Breylon how Mrillis had found Graddon. Now, only Ceera and the High Scholar knew of the discovery and the answer to the mystery. No one else would ever know. Breylon smiled, amused and awed by what his students had done so easily, had known instinctively how to do.
"The Estall prepared you for this," he said, when they finished. "Through Le'esha, through Graddon, through me, through all your teachers. Even through the nasty tricks of your friends and fellow students when you were children. Is it a blessing or a curse that I sense your tasks and labors and adventures have not ended at all?"
"Can we rest for a little while, at least?" Ceera said, her voice sharp with exasperation despite the sparkle in her eyes.
"Yes, you will rest." The High Scholar looked back and forth between them, sitting on either side of him at the long table. "I daresay you have earned some happiness and peace, and I urge you to grasp it while you can. Only half the vision is fulfilled. The bowl of healing--the sword of strength and protection."
"Swords are only used in war," Mrillis said, nodding. "When will we need to make the sword?"
"Do not hurry to make the sword, or you will bring war on us too quickly. Do not hesitate when the time comes," Breylon said softly, "or you may lose your chance to bring peace. You will know when the time comes. Only be grateful that the time of the sword is not now."
* * * *
Before the ending of all things worthwhile and strong, there will be three drops of blood born to the bloody sword.
The daughters shall walk in light and be strong, but the son shall overstep them.
One shall serve and one abominate and one will triumph.
One will sleep and one shall wait and one shall suffer.
They shall do so forever, and yet even to forever there is an ending.
The blood drawn from the third shall open the doors and smooth the road and waken the sleeper.
Protect the strong and vigilant, so that the three drops of blood may come.
Though you look for the abomination, you will not find her until she has destroyed innocence. Keep her from the blood drawn from the blood, or all is lost.
END
About the Author
Michelle Levigne has been a book addict since kindergarten, starting with Dr. Seuss and graduating to the Happy Hollisters juvenile sleuth series, then an abridged two-volume set of Rudyard Kipling found in her parents' bookshelf (fell in love with Mowgli a
nd Kim) before detouring through a flirtation with Star Trek in fifth grade (who is better, Trek's Dr. McCoy or X-Men's Dr. McCoy?) before being captured by the Black Stallion like all the other girls in her class. In junior high, she fell captive to Greco-Roman mythology and found The Odyssey after watching an old Kirk Douglas movie on rainy Sunday afternoon. (And some people still believe her when she says she read it in the original Greek.) Then in senior high, the addiction took over her life and she became a pusher--she started writing.
The Zygradon books, which are original to Uncial Press, have a firm foundation in the Mary Stewart Merlin books (The Crystal Cave, The Hollow Hills, The Last Enchantment), which she discovered in college. During a brief flirtation with fanzine publishing, influenced by a friend who wrote Fantasy Island stories (yes, that long ago!), she wrote a Fantasy Island episode where the daughter of King Arthur, awakened from an enchantment, became Mr. Roarke's ward and came to the island to find Excalibur. When will the descendant of that story show up in the Zygradon books? Be patient. There's a lot of history to explore and enjoy.
Welcome to the Zygradon series, and many thanks to Uncial for inviting me to join them at the beginning of this adventure.
We're going to have a lot of fun.
To learn about other universes and genres Michelle writes in, visit her Web site: www.Mlevigne.com.
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