by Licia Troisi
As soon as they finished the last of their soup, Sennar and Laio were overcome with exhaustion. They curled up on the straw mattresses Megisto had prepared for them.
Sennar, though, was restless. He kept thinking of the words Nihal had whispered to him in her delirium.
What am I even doing here, if I can’t help her with such a simple problem?
In the end, Sennar had to admit, he’d been unfair to Laio. He’d assumed his presence would only be a burden. Instead, Laio hadn’t complained once the entire journey to the swamp, although a couple of times Sennar had seen him massaging his lower back, no doubt sore from the long days of travel on Oarf. And though Sennar had always viewed Laio’s interest in herbal medicine with skepticism, the brownish mush had proven effective in countering Nihal’s fever.
Sennar strained to hear the half-elf’s breathing. He was worried for her. He saw in her violet eyes a willingness to sacrifice anything and everything if it meant she might complete her mission. He sensed that a wound had reopened within her, a wound like an abyss that could pull her under. Never in his life had she seemed so distant from him. He thought back to the last words he’d spoken to Ondine, down in the ocean’s depths, and cursed himself for not being able to keep his promise.
The following day went by slowly as the snow continued to fall upon the forest. When they woke, Megisto was no longer there, once again a prisoner of the stone.
He’d left three cups of ambrosia and a ration of bread. After their breakfast, Sennar and Laio took turns at Nihal’s side.
In the afternoon, while the squire was busy looking after his knight, the sorcerer took time to reflect on the mission ahead of them. The next stone was in the Land of the Sea, his native land. He couldn’t claim to know it that well. As a child, he’d seen only its battlefields. But at least they’d be traveling through relatively familiar territory.
Come evening, Nihal was still deep asleep and her fever seemed to have gone down. Megisto entered the cave after sunset, bearing bread and cheese. Sennar struck up a fire and the three of them sat down to eat.
As he bit into a piece of cheese, Sennar glanced over at Nihal, who was sleeping peacefully. Then he turned to Laio. “Your herbs have done the trick where my magic couldn’t,” he admitted.
Laio almost dropped his bread in astonishment. His eyes lit up with pride and Sennar couldn’t help but smile.
Nihal opened her eyes on the morning of their third day as Megisto’s guests. Sennar sat beside her, on the brink of dozing off.
“So, you’ve decided to wake up at last,” said the sorcerer.
With great effort, Nihal lifted her head from the mattress. “How long have we been here? We need to get moving again, there’s no—”
Sennar cut her off. “Laio has kept you from dying. So far, at least. You wouldn’t want to undo all his hard work.”
Nihal let her head fall back on the straw. “I’m starving,” she said.
“As soon as Laio gets here, we’ll eat.”
Shortly after, the squire arrived, carrying a few berries and walnuts he’d found in the woods. When he noticed Nihal’s eyes were open, he threw his arms around her neck, forgetting her wound completely. Nihal grimaced. “Oh, excuse me,” Laio bumbled as he let go of her, his cheeks red with embarrassment.
That afternoon, alone with Sennar, Nihal revealed her impatience. She said she had recovered and insisted that they’d already lost enough time as it was. They needed to get moving again.
“It’s still too soon, even you know that,” the sorcerer tried to dissuade her. “If you start traveling now, you’ll be ill again in a day or two.”
“The war won’t pause for my convenience. I can’t afford to lose any more time,” Nihal replied.
“That’s not what I’m asking you to do.”
“But it’s inevitable, if I stay here.”
“I’ll go in your place.”
Nihal stared at him in silence. “You can’t. You know that. Only I can wear the talisman and handle the stones.”
“I’m a sorcerer. I may not have my medallion anymore, but I’m still a councilor.”
“But I don’t understand how …”
Sennar turned. He couldn’t meet her gaze, fearing she’d detect the falseness in his eyes. “I know hundreds of spells capable of quarantining immense power. I have no doubt one of them will be sufficient to strip the talisman of its energy. That way, I’ll be able to transport it, at least for a little while.”
“But the guardian …”
“With the talisman in my possession, the guardian will have no reason to object.”
“You don’t know where the sanctuary is …” Nihal protested.
“So you’ll tell me.”
Sennar stopped speaking. Silence, laden with doubt, filled the cave.
“It’s too dangerous. I won’t tell you.”
Sennar knelt beside Nihal and took her hand. “I’m not going to let you leave here until you’re completely healed.” He forced his lips into a smile. “How hard could it be to enter a sanctuary? After all, I made it down to the Underworld.”
Nihal refused to return his smile. “You won’t trick me into agreeing with you.”
“I’m only trying to help you.”
For a moment, Nihal said nothing. Sennar squeezed her hand in his. “Promise me you won’t take any stupid risks; promise me you’ll come back if the spell doesn’t work.”
Sennar swallowed. “I promise,” he said, getting to his feet. “Come on, then, let’s consult this talisman of yours and see where I have to go,” he chimed, trying to seem cheerful.
Nihal hesitated for a moment, then picked up the medallion.
Sennar looked on as she closed her eyes in concentration. When the half-elf spoke, her voice sounded strange, as if emerging from a deep abyss. “In the sea, where the rocks meet the waves and the waves consume the rocks. Sea foam spraying high and wind, a terrible wind whistling through the crevices. The coast. Two tall black shadows. Two towers. No, two tall structures, two spires.” Nihal opened her eyes.
“Is that all?” Sennar asked, disappointed.
“Yes, that was all I saw.”
Sennar sighed. “Can you tell me the direction?”
Nihal closed her eyes once again, but Sennar noticed her cheeks reddening as she strained to focus. “Leave it be, if you’re tired.”
Nihal opened her eyes. “You must follow the path of the rising sun.”
“East …”
“That word, spires. I can’t shake it from my head. It must be important,” Nihal added.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sennar stood. “I’m going to the woods to collect more herbs,” he said.
He walked briskly out of the cave, as if eager to distance himself from the lie he’d just told Nihal, to escape the folly of his decision.
In the chill of twilight, Sennar sat before the stone. He needed to speak to Megisto, alone.
As he waited for night to fall, his thoughts returned to the amulet. He’d told Nihal a bold-faced lie. He didn’t know a single spell capable of holding back so much power.
Little by little, the stone came alive. Megisto didn’t seem surprised to find Sennar waiting for him. “Did you need to speak with me?” he asked, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer.
Sennar nodded and told him everything he’d just told Nihal.
Megisto listened carefully. He was silent for a moment after Sennar finished. “There’s no spell, either forbidden or permitted by the Council, capable of quarantining such great power.”
Sennar lowered his gaze. There was no lying to Megisto, that much he knew. “But I can at least slow down its effect, if I renew the spell again and again.”
“You’d be running a great risk.” Megisto did not mince words.
Sennar was annoyed. Those weren
’t the words he wanted to hear. “Will you look after her while I’m gone or not?”
“You’d like me to cover up your lie, I’m assuming, to tell her you’re okay, that there’s no risk involved?”
He sees into my soul, he can read my thoughts. …“Yes,” Sennar admitted.
“I will, for as long as I can,” said Megisto. “But know that I disapprove.”
“All that matters is that you protect her from the truth. I have no other choice.”
Megisto stood. “Be careful, at least.”
Sennar left at dawn the following day. Megisto had already turned back to stone and the three of them had a few moments alone.
Sennar had gotten everything ready. He’d tossed his meager belongings into a sack and laid a few long, fibrous strips on the ground, taken from deep green leaves. On each, in blue, he’d traced the figure of a rune. It was the most powerful containment spell he knew.
“Give me the amulet,” he said to Nihal.
She handed it to him. The moment it touched Sennar’s fingers, the stone from the Land of Water grew dark, and Sennar could feel the strength draining from his limbs. He gripped the talisman tightly in his fist and did his best to mask his weakness. Then he turned and lay the medallion on top of the leaves. The moment it left his hand, the stone regained its color.
Sennar wrapped the amulet in the leaves and began reciting a litany. When he finished, he once again picked up the amulet and, smiling, held it out for Nihal to see. “See, it’s harmless now.”
Nihal’s expression didn’t change. “Don’t do this. In two days’ time, I’ll be on my feet again.”
Sennar threw his sack over his shoulder. “Once I have the stone, I’ll send word where you can find me. Don’t worry, I know this is the right decision,” he said.
“Be careful,” Laio warned.
Nihal sat up from her bed of straw and hugged him. She kissed his cheek and, before letting him go, whispered in his ear: “Don’t die.”
Sennar turned abruptly and set off upon his journey.
4
Sennar in the Land of the Sea
After four days of trudging through the snow, Sennar entered his native land and found himself in the Maritime Forest. The salt air carried memories of his childhood.
Only on the fifth day of travel did he finally recognize the true enormity of his lie to Nihal. As he pulled something out of his sack, he noticed a strange smoke rising from his pocket. He plunged in his hand and withdrew the talisman. The medallion was eating away at the leaves and a part of the stone from the Land of Water was now visible. The sorcerer could feel his energy being sucked into the amulet, and once again the stone was a murky, menacing color.
Sennar acted quickly. He threw the medallion to the ground and gathered fresh leaves. Once the amulet was safely rewrapped, he resumed his journey.
Within a day and a half, he reached Laia, his mother’s birthplace, which he’d never seen. A village that reminded him of where he’d spent the first years of his life appeared before his eyes. It was tiny and cozy, rich with the pungent smell of sea salt. The windows of the houses were barred and there wasn’t a soul in sight.
The village overlooked one of the many fascinating peculiarities of that land, the Little Sea. From the Gulf of Barahar, water flowed inland to form a small sea. It was afternoon when Sennar arrived at the body of water, which resembled a vast salt lake. Its silvery waters reflected gray skies. The wind had picked up, and the clouds threatened a storm.
That evening, Sennar took shelter at a small inn, a wood-and-stone building that jutted out over the sea. It was a miserable, ramshackle place, nothing more than a circular lobby, a shoddy bench here and there, but the beer was good, and so was the price. As he enjoyed the night view of the Little Sea, flurries of snow falling slowly upon the mirror of water, Sennar thought about the route he’d take the next morning. Nihal had said to head east, so maybe the sanctuary was on the other side of the peninsula. He’d need to reach the coast as quickly as possible, and the most direct route would take him through Barahar, the largest port in the Land of the Sea. Once there, he’d walk the shoreline and cross his fingers.
He woke early the next morning and sought out the innkeeper, a large, ruddy woman whose skin glittered with sweat and chest burst out of her blouse. When he found her, she was busy polishing glasses with such force that Sennar was amazed they did not shatter in her hands. Without mincing words, he asked if she knew of a place of spires.
“I think I’ve heard mention of it before, a sort of cliff,” she mused.
“Do you know where?”
The innkeeper shook her head. “I haven’t the slightest idea, I’m sorry. I don’t believe it’s near here, though.”
Sennar resumed his journey. The last rooftops of Laia faded in the distance behind him. Before him stretched an immense, snow-covered plain that ran from the Little Sea to the coastline.
For three nights, Sennar slept beneath the stars, and on the morning of the fourth day, he saw Barahar materialize against the intense blue of the sea.
He lost an hour or two heading south in order to reach the bridge that crossed the strait and arrived at last at the gates of Barahar. Sculpted from one enormous block of marble, they were grand and imposing. Sennar passed through them, worn and famished. He had never felt smaller or more lost in his life.
Sennar was familiar with the Land of the Sea’s villages, suspended between land and water, lashed by waves in the winter and nourished by fish in warmer seasons. The city that now stretched before him was grand and uninviting. A thousand other odors masked the ocean’s scent. Sennar recognized the architecture, brick-and-mortar houses with thatched roofs and larger, stone buildings. But the rest of the cityscape was unfamiliar: wide orderly roads instead of the usual labyrinth of narrow streets and alleys; giant, square-shaped plazas rather than the tiny, circular churchyards so common in the smaller villages. Most unfamiliar of all were the men and women, busy and unwelcoming, unlike the polite, kind-hearted people that Sennar was used to meeting in his land.
Now that he’d finally reached the coast, Sennar was uncertain of what to do. The sanctuary might even be there, its famed spires stretching upward near Barahar, but how could he know?
For the greater part of the morning, he wandered the city streets in search of someone who might be able to point him in the right direction, but no one he met was of any help. Only one old merchant claimed to have heard of the spires and that they lay somewhere to the east, perhaps in Lome.
When Sennar entered the last inn, he was desperate for something to eat. Unfortunately, he was penniless.
The innkeeper was a squat, bald fellow with the bulging belly of a man well used to lifting mugs. He took pity on Sennar. “Come back at the end of the night and I’ll pass you some of the leftovers,” he said.
Sennar thanked him.
“I can’t promise you anything, though,” he added, immediately after. “There’s been a bit of traffic in here these days, with soldiers always coming and going.”
“Soldiers? Was there an attack?”
“No, nothing of the sort,” the innkeeper replied. “A strange group of soldiers just arrived. They docked at our port late last night. They claim to be from the Underworld, but no one really knows who they are.”
“At the port, did you say? How do I get there?”
The man eyed Sennar suspiciously. “When you go out, take a right. Then just head straight …” Before he could finish his sentence, the boy had disappeared.
So the troops had arrived at last. The long-awaited reinforcements. As he hurried toward the port, Sennar thought of all the people he’d met in Zalenia: Count Varen; the king; Nereo … Ondine. He wanted to see with his own eyes the soldiers who’d come to help and whose presence in the Overworld was the fruit of his efforts. He followed the innkeeper’s directions and soon heard
the steady sound of the waves.
He saw their ships right away, fifty of them, long and grand, with the sleek, transparent elegance characteristic of Zalenia. They stretched back in long columns along the port, sails lowered. The soldiers wore extremely light armor and carried long, thin swords and lances that hung at their sides. Though they reminded him of the less-than-sympathetic guards who’d mistreated him in Zalenia, he caught himself missing the Underworld.
A person aboard one of the ships noticed Sennar enjoying the view of the flotilla and stepped down to greet him. “I knew we’d meet again.”
Sennar swung around. He knew that voice. When he saw Count Varen standing beside him it was as if he had run into an old friend. The count still made for a robust, imposing figure, his thinning hair tied back in a ponytail, as was the way of his people, but his once snow-white skin was now amber colored. A good bit of time must have passed since they’d surfaced from Zalenia. Forgetting all ceremony, Sennar wrapped his arms around the count, who returned his hug with equal vigor.
The count invited him back to one of the ship’s cabins. It was a dimly lit room, glowing with the same azure hue that pervaded Zalenia. Varen moved with ease in the semi-dark and raised a bottle filled with a purplish liquid. Shark, Sennar thought to himself. It’d been a year since he’d last had a sip.
The count filled two glasses. “One of my soldiers brought this back for me last night. He says it’s the drink of choice around here.”
Sennar smiled. “A wise man.”
The count tossed back the contents of his glass in a single gulp. Sennar tried following his lead, but when the alcohol assaulted his throat, he had to strain to keep from coughing.
“I never imagined it’d be quite so bright up here,” said the count. “I don’t think I’ll get used to it.”
