“Tell me of your plans. Surely you mean to do more than just hold on to the power you’ve stolen. After all, when you die, it will return to Lord Sundinka’s heir. It is a temporary thing.”
“Not if I claim all the power.”
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. You mean to claim all the Lords’ powers?”
“What if I do? The Lords have abused their power. I have watched it my entire life.”
Curasir picked up the fallen camp chair and sat on it. He pointed at Volraag. “And what makes you any better than them?”
“I will not use the power for myself!” Volraag felt heat rising in his face. “I will help everyone!”
“How? You’ve already started a fight in which people will die.”
“It’s a means to an end.”
“What end? What is your goal?”
Volraag raised his fist to eye level, then released it. A burst of power shook the roof of the tent. “I will return the power to the land itself. No more Lords.”
Curasir steepled his fingers together. “Fantastic. As I said in the beginning: we have similar goals.”
“What do you care of the Lords? Or humans at all?”
“I care because the power, as you call it, should return to the land. In fact, we would like all things to return to the way they were before you Lords changed everything.”
“You wish to help me?”
“I wish us to help each other.” Curasir stood and strode across the room again. Volraag had to turn rapidly to keep him in sight. “You think the power of all six Lords will be enough for your purpose. I tell you it is not. You will need more. And I can tell you how to get it.”
“How?”
Curasir pointed outside. “This spot you’re… quarreling over.”
“It’s a war, not a quarrel.”
Curasir snorted. “Please. This is not a war. It’s a skirmish at best. You know nothing of real war. But the spot itself. Do you know what is there?”
“I know it is one of three spots of power. Legend tells of many things related to them. Strange creatures. Men who wander into another world. Wild magic of all kinds.”
“It is more than that. It is a portal.”
“To where?”
Curasir pointed toward his right eye. “Do you know what I see with this?”
Volraag shook his head.
“I see another world. We call it the Starlit Realm. The portal opens the way to it. Well, one of the ways.”
“What good will that do me?”
“First, if you open it, as you can do with a Lord’s power, then I will bring you another source of power.”
“Another source?”
“You didn’t really think your Lords and Mages held all the ‘magic’ of two worlds, did you?”
Volraag didn’t answer. Until now, he hadn’t been sure of the existence of a second world.
“After that,” Curasir went on, “I ask only that you open the other two portals.”
“Why?”
“When the gates between the worlds are fully open, then anyone and anything may travel through. Those who have been denied for so long may return.”
Volraag blinked. The conversation had started out strange, then moved into making perfect sense. Now it veered in another new direction.
“Who are you talking about?”
“That is the part where you help me. I can promise you, however, that if you accomplish all this, you will have enough power to do as you desire, and more.”
Volraag considered. “You seem to know a great deal about a great many things, Curasir,” he said at last. “I want one more thing.”
“And that is?”
“Where is my half-brother?”
“Far closer than you think. Less of a threat than you imagine. Yet more dangerous than you’ve guessed.”
“I don’t like being spoken to in riddles.”
“Regardless. I actually don’t know where your half-brother is, at the moment. He has eluded my sources, and seems to be hiding his power somehow. Yet he cannot be far. I suspect the portal will be drawing him, as well.”
“Drawing him?”
“Just as it draws Lord Tyrr and you, and your father before you.”
“That makes no sense. Then every Lord throughout history would have come here.”
“But things are different now. Everything is changing.”
“Why is that?”
“Didn’t you hear? A curse was lifted. Two, in fact.” Curasir took a step toward the door and began to fade. “I will see you at the portal.” Another step and he turned grey and indistinct, a shadowy figure. And then he vanished completely.
“A curse? What do you mean?” Volraag stared at the spot where Curasir had been. An uneasy feeling grew in his stomach, as his mind connected several events. A lifted curse. The destroyed temple. Marshal.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DRAVID STARED AT the trees on either side of the road. Someone had carved complicated patterns into the bark on two large oaks. He had never seen anything so elaborate on such a scale.
“We must be close!” Junia said, excitement in her voice.
Seri reached a hand out and caressed one of the patterns. “These were carved by magic,” she said. “I’m not sure how, but I can feel it.” She looked at Dravid. “Can you?”
He frowned and stepped up beside her. His fingers traced one of the lines engraved into the bark. This close, it looked almost like it had been burned. But he could feel a faint vibration within each one of the lines. “Barely,” he admitted. “But…” He peered closer, then stepped back for a wider view. “I think I’ve seen this one before.”
“On Zes Sivas?”
“No… back home. In Kuktarma.” He struggled to remember. A book cover. That’s it. He had seen it decorating a leather book cover in his parents’ library.
Ixchel pointed to one of the patterns on the opposite tree. “This one is from Ch’olan,” she said.
“There are six!” Seri said. She hurried to the other tree. “This one! Definitely from Arazu. I remember seeing it at the university, though I can’t remember what it means. It’s ancient.”
Dravid looked from one tree to the other. Each held three patterns, now that he could tell them apart. Each one stretched at least a couple of feet square. One for each of the six lands of Antises?
“Do either of you recognize any of the other ones?” he asked Cato and Junia. They shook their heads.
“One of them has to be from Varioch,” Seri said. She furrowed her brow.
Dravid leaned in close. “I don’t think our two friends here are likely to be well-versed in ancient lore,” he whispered.
“Oh.” She moved back to the other tree and ran her hands over the different patterns. “What do you suppose it all means?”
“We must be near the Forerunner!” Junia insisted.
“What makes you say that?” Dravid asked.
“Why else would these be here? You said they were magic! And it has symbols from all six lands!”
“Because all are welcome?” Cato guessed.
Ixchel looked down the road. “How far to the next settlement?” she asked.
“Settlement?”
“Town. Village. City.”
Cato frowned. “If I remember right, there is not another town of any size for many miles along here. This isn’t the most populated area.”
“He wishes to attract a following, yes? Why make his home so far from the population?” Ixchel asked.
“Maybe he doesn’t want a following,” Dravid said.
“Or maybe he only wants those who are willing to make the journey,” Cato suggested.
“That must be it!” Junia bounced on her heels. “Only those who are worthy can be in his presence! Our journey will show our worthiness!”
Dravid rolled his eyes. “By that logic, I’ll be the most worthy, since I’ve come the furthest.”
Junia scampered to his side and put a hand on his crutch. “And you’ve had the
most difficult journey!” she said. “Oh, perhaps he will reward you greatly for your sacrifice!”
Dravid found it hard to maintain his cynicism. Junia’s excitement, lack of inhibitions, and joy of life brought a smile to his face.
“Someone comes,” Ixchel warned.
Dravid looked up and saw four figures approaching from the western road. From this distance, he could only make out white robes on three of them, an odd choice for traveling clothes.
As they drew near, he saw the three in white were all female, all with wheat-colored skin like other natives of Varioch, but three different hair colorings: blonde like Junia, brown like Seri, and a third whose hair shone like fire. But the fourth figure commanded their attention. Without any words spoken, Dravid knew this must be the mysterious Forerunner.
As he approached, he moved through shadows and light, the morning sun’s rays piercing through the oak canopy in patches. The inconsistent light made it difficult to make out some of his appearance. His skin color at times appeared as light as the women around him, and other moments as dark as Dravid’s own. As he drew near, Dravid grew more confused. The man’s skin color appeared to change depending on how he looked at it, fluctuating with every blink or shift in lighting. His hair, at least, could be discerned: long and pale, almost like the whitest of rice. Yet his face lacked any hair growth, save pale eyebrows. He did not appear to be old, nor did he seem very young.
His clothing portrayed a mixture of practical elegance and bizarre touches. While his beige trousers appeared simple enough, his tunic flaunted multiple colors, mostly shades of blue. The sleeves grew ever wider from shoulders to wrist, hanging from his hands as he raised them in greeting. Four piercings held multi-colored earrings in his left ear, while the right remained bare. A lengthy purple cape, trimmed with crimson, hung from his broad shoulders.
His appearance did not proclaim his identity so much as the magic that radiated from him. Dravid could feel its vibrations growing stronger and stronger as he approached, yet it felt nothing like the power he knew from Zes Sivas, the Masters, or even the Lords. Whereas the Lords’ power felt like it could burst forth at any time, this man’s power seemed more contained, as if under greater control. Yet it did not vibrate the same, almost like an entirely different kind of power. But that made no sense.
“Like the Lady’s power,” Seri whispered beside him.
The Lady? Was she referring to Lady Lilitu, from her homeland? Seri did not know any other great ladies, that he recalled. And he didn’t remember anything about Lady Lilitu having her own power. Dravid wanted to ask, but things happened too fast.
Ixchel moved beside Seri. Cato and Junia stepped forward, their eyes fixed on the amazing figure who stopped a few steps before them. He bowed. Cato and Junia returned his bow in elaborate but smooth motions.
“Welcome, children! Welcome to our sanctuary!” His voice resonated throughout Dravid’s body. Instinctively, he knew: magic permeated that voice. But how? How did one project magic through the voice, and why? Theoretically, it made sense, but the purpose eluded him.
“I am Forerunner, and I am here to restore that which was lost.” He placed a hand on Cato and Junia’s shoulders. “You have each lost something, something dear to you. I tell you that it is not the end. What was lost can be found. What is gone can return.” He looked from one face to the other. “And what has been taken can be restored.”
Junia abruptly burst into tears and put her face in her hands. Cato started to reach for her, but Forerunner stepped between them. He placed a hand under Junia’s chin and lifted her face to look into her eyes. “Do not weep, daughter. Your brother, even now, has left the Lord’s army and is on his way back to your parents’ estate. He will be there before another night falls.”
Dravid felt a chill. The words could be false, but how would Forerunner even know of Junia’s brother? This defied everything he knew of magic.
Forerunner turned to Cato. “Your loss is minor in the grand scheme, but no less important to you, I am sure. Rest assured that it will trouble you no more.” Cato nodded, his eyes alight. He took Junia’s hand and the women in white surrounded them. Forerunner turned to the others.
“I am Seri, mage of Arazu,” Seri said with confidence. “Who are you, Forerunner? Are you a mage or Lord?”
Forerunner’s smile could have been patronizing, yet it seemed sincere. “I am neither, child. I am Forerunner. I am. That is all that is needed for now.” He leaned closer to look into her eyes. “Ah, your loss is recent. It pains you to be without it. Come. Stay in my sanctuary, and it will be restored to you. I can promise you that.” He lifted a finger and tapped beside his own eye.
Seri trembled. Dravid reached a hand out to steady her. But just as he had done with Junia and Cato, Forerunner pivoted in between them. So smoothly had he done so, Dravid didn’t even realize it until his hand touched Forerunner’s shoulder. He felt the power beneath tight muscles, calling to him, like the constant pull from the power of Zes Sivas. Instinctively, he reached out to it, attempting to draw some of the power toward him.
Forerunner took Dravid’s hand and removed it. He grasped his forearm in some form of greeting. Dravid’s connection to the power vanished.
“Oh, my friend. You have lost so much,” Forerunner said. Dravid looked up and saw Forerunner’s eyes for the first time. He wavered in shock. Forerunner’s eyes were green with gold flecks deep within… and two pinpricks of light on either side of each pupil. Like the star no longer in Seri’s eye. No wonder she had been trembling.
“Anyone can see your obvious loss,” Forerunner went on. As he spoke, Dravid could feel the slight vibrations from the magic in each word. “But you have lost something greater. You have lost your purpose. Your entire life revolved around one goal, one purpose, and now it is gone.”
Dravid’s mind whirled. He fought with wondering how Forerunner could know all this, the strangeness of his appearance, and more shockingly, whether Forerunner had the power to do all that he promised. Because if he did…
“I do. I can. I am here to restore that which was lost, and to prepare the way. Come. Spend some time in my sanctuary. You must decide what is most important to you. And that is what I will restore. You have my word.”
Dravid wavered. If not for Forerunner’s grip on his arm, he would have fallen. He took a deep breath and steadied himself.
“What is all this?” Ixchel’s suspicious voice broke into the confusion.
Forerunner looked into Dravid’s eyes once more and then released him. He turned to Ixchel, his expression never wavering.
“Greetings to you, daughter of Ch’olan, Holcan of the Lady.”
“How do you know me?”
“I know… oh, so much. I know your struggles. I know the depth of your pain, your loss.”
“You do not.”
“Oh, but I do. Your loss happened so long ago, when you were so small. You believe that all hope is lost completely. But…” Forerunner reached toward her and put his thumb and forefinger together as if taking hold of something tiny. “A tiny strand of hope remains, buried deep within you. I will show you the truth of it.”
Forerunner motioned as if he pulled a thread with his small grip. Ixchel gasped, and the stony demeanor melted from her face. In that moment, Dravid thought, she was truly beautiful, more so than he had ever realized.
Forerunner stepped toward Ixchel and gently pushed her shield aside. “That strand of hope would not exist if it were not anchored to something real,” he said. “It will take time, but that which you have lost will also be restored. In time.” He leaned in and gave her a hug.
Prior to this moment, Dravid could not imagine anyone hugging Ixchel. In fact, if anyone had made such an attempt, he would have expected them to be lying flat on their backs in seconds. Yet Ixchel did not resist Forerunner. Her eyes, over his shoulder, sought out Dravid and then Seri. “It cannot be,” she whispered.
Forerunner stepped away from her and backed a few step
s away. He spread his arms to encompass them all.
“Come! The sanctuary awaits! Let us be filled with life, celebrate hope rekindled, and look forward to your restorations! Come!”
And they did.
Dravid recalled little of the walk to Forerunner’s sanctuary. They left the road soon after the marked trees, and followed a narrow path up a steep hill. Once they crested the top, they saw a plateau surrounded by three higher hills. From a central building, a narrow creek flowed out beside the main path and then down the hill behind them. Two larger, round buildings lay to either side.
“Rest from your journeys,” Forerunner proclaimed. “We shall speak again soon.”
The red-haired woman led Dravid and Cato to the right building. The girls were led to the left. None of them had anything to say as they were separated. Everything seemed to be as it should be.
Inside, the women gave Dravid his own spacious room. The red-haired woman took his crutch and assisted him in climbing into a bed more comfortable than those back home in his parents’ estate. Sleep claimed him within a few moments, a deep sleep without difficulty from his leg.
When he woke, he felt disoriented. Where was he? How had he gotten here? His vision took a few moments to clear before he could look around the room.
His bed, tall and heavily cushioned, stood in the tip of a wedge-shaped room. Behind the bed, the room ended in a wooden wall. Dravid noted the Kuktarman symbol he had seen on the tree earlier decorated the wall as well. The two angled walls appeared to be only curtains, albeit very heavy curtains, both dyed a deep crimson.
The far end of the wedge drew his attention. A stone wall reached about two-thirds the height of the ceiling, letting sunlight pour in. Water also flowed over the top of the wall, down into an inviting pool, lined with paving stones. The sunlight struck the pool just right, casting dazzling reflections around the room. To his dismay, Dravid saw his crutch lying beside the pool, quite some distance from the bed.
He considered hopping all the way, but decided to crawl instead. It might not be dignified, but no one saw him. The pool of water beckoned him, reminding him how long since he last bathed. In fact, it seemed intentional, as his crutch rested on top of a couple of neatly-folded towels.
Until All Bonds Are Broken Page 8
