The Last Talisman

by Licia Troisi

  When Ido woke, the rain was still coming down. He polished his sword in the cool dawn. It was an eerily calm morning, as always before an important moment.

  He shined his mud-spattered armor thoroughly, then leaped up to pay his students a visit.

  When he reached his troops, everything was exactly as it had been the day before. It was as if nothing had happened at all in the last twenty-four hours: the same battle lines, the same thin rain coursing down their armor and muddying the field. Only now a deep sadness pervaded the Army of the Free Lands. The king’s death had taken its toll on their morale.

  Ido fixed his gaze on Deinforo, standing at the fore of his troops, just as he had the day before.

  Then came the call to attack. Ido and his men took off. Deinforo, too, spurred his dragon, joining the battle without delay this time. Momentum shifted immediately. The Army of the Free Lands struggled to hold off their enemy, and the first few soldiers fell victim to the ghosts and Fammin.

  Deinforo was everywhere at once, raiding the battlefield from on high.

  This time, Ido didn’t waste a moment. He knew exactly what he wanted, and nothing could stop him. A swarm of fire-breathing birds stood between him and his enemy, but he could handle them easily enough, and he had support behind him. Inch by inch he gained ground, his eyes locked on Deinforo, tracing the black dragon’s wide circles in the sky.

  Ido had all but forgotten his men fighting below. Now and then he swooped down to encourage them or relay a command, but the thought of Deinforo consumed his mind. Soon he felt isolated, a lone figure above the battlefield, as he had long ago.

  “Dammit, Ido, your soldiers!” he heard someone shout from afar, but he paid no mind.

  He was tired of waiting, tired of fending off those damned annoying birds. Nosing Vesa upward, he shot directly at his enemy, no more questions asked. Just as he’d done on their first encounter, he roused the knight’s attention with an immediate jab.

  Deinforo blocked the attack, turning toward his enemy. “I see you’ve made it your little mission to face me.”

  Ido said nothing. A muffled, metallic moan came from beneath Deinforo’s helmet. He was laughing.

  “Truth is, you’re a worthy opponent, even if you are a coward,” the knight chuckled.

  Without any further pleasantries, Ido launched his attack. Deinforo was prepared and defended himself easily. And so began the cacophony of clashing swords, while their dragons clawed at each other from below.

  Ido was furious, but even still, he kept control, never once missing his mark. So exactly did he predict each of his enemy’s movements, it was as if he were observing the duel from a distance. The match was a dead tie—two identical methods of attack and the same, ice-cold sense of composure.

  The two split off—nothing lost, nothing gained—their dragons gasping for air.

  “Now that I think about it, I have some unfinished business with you, too,” said Deinforo, laboring ever so slightly to catch his breath. “You betrayed my Lord. You joined the cause of all those vermin down below.”

  Ido laughed. “It’s not called betrayal, what I did; it’s called renewal. It’s called coming back to my senses.”

  The battle resumed, just as precise and impeccable as before. Their rhythm accelerated, their swords crossing rapidly in the rain. But neither of the two warriors could land a blow: Each attack was met with the opponent’s ready defense.

  They split off once again, though this time Ido tried something new. Even as he backed away, the dwarf shifted his weight and spurred his dragon forward. Vesa launched himself at the black beast, clamping his jaws around one of the enemy dragon’s arms. Pressed close to his opponent, Ido surprised the knight with an ever more violent attack.

  His saddle, meanwhile, was coming loose from Vesa’s back, and Ido struggled to keep his balance.

  Dammit! How in tarnation does Nihal manage bareback?

  In the end, Vesa was forced to loosen his jaws, tearing off a strip of the black dragon’s skin.

  “Do you think you achieved anything with that little surprise attack of yours, Ido?” Deinforo taunted.

  There, before Ido’s eyes, the dragon’s wound healed itself.

  For a moment, they eyed one another, breathing heavily. They were both running out of energy, and yet neither had managed to land a single blow. Ido could feel his sword trembling in his hands.

  I have to end this now!

  Ido roared, lunging at his enemy, and the duel resumed its monotonous, enervating rhythm. Below them the battle raged on, though neither took notice.

  Their movements slackened, their defenses grew less measured. Here and there, a jab broke through the opponent’s guard. But still, neither managed to wound the other. Their dragons advanced and retreated in an endless dance, until Deinforo’s blade sliced through one of the latches of Ido’s breastplate, and the dwarf backed away.

  “So the duel begins,” the knight snickered.

  I have to end this. … I’m running out of steam.

  Ido examined his enemy’s armor carefully, but not an inch of skin was left vulnerable. He’d have to somehow penetrate Deinforo’s enchanted armor, as Nihal had done with Dola. Breaking from his usual habit, the dwarf decided to play his final card: brute strength. He gripped his sword in both hands.

  Deinforo launched into attack and Ido met him with every ounce of strength he had left. Wherever he struck his enemy’s armor, the metal gleamed with a strange light.

  By now, both warriors were exhausted, their skill level fast declining. Deinforo lunged forward. Ido attempted to fend him off, but the knight’s sword quickly changed direction.

  The dwarf watched as the blade approached, coming straight for his head, slicing through the air toward his eyes. Out of instinct, he took a swing at his enemy’s hand.

  A sudden flash of light, an inhuman cry—his sword, slashing through muscle, bone, tendon. At the same time he felt a head-splitting pain, an indescribable torment. He couldn’t breathe.

  A burst of red light filled his field of vision, as if the entire world were stained with blood, only to be canceled out a moment later with dense black nothingness. He tried opening his eyes. Something was pulling him, dragging him toward a void. From the corner of his eye, he saw a red hand tumbling through the air, still clutching a sword. Then the pain in his head got the better of him, and he slipped from consciousness.

  23

  Through the Water in the Dark

  Even before she opened her eyes, Nihal could feel the dark coiling around her, seeping into her mouth and down her throat. A sharp pain gripped her abdomen, rousing her back to her senses. She wondered where she was.

  When she opened her eyes, her hunch was confirmed: darkness. Just when they thought their month without sunlight was over. She touched her waist and felt a hand. After groping around for few moments, she came across a ruffled mop of hair. Sennar.

  “Sennar,” she called out lightly. She shook him. “Sennar …”

  He shifted beneath her hand.

  “Everything okay?” the sorcerer muttered wearily.

  “I’m fine. You?”

  Sennar’s hand moved, and she heard his clothes rustling in the dark. “Everything’s okay, I think,” he answered. “Any idea of where we are?” he asked a few moments later.

  “How about you give us a little light and we’ll find out.”

  Sennar leaned on the rocky wall. “If my memory serves me well, didn’t you used to know a little magic? Between the Flying Spell and that sprint, I’m at the end of my strength. … Why don’t you take care of the light this time?”

  Nihal conjured a frail blue flame. She kindled the fire in her hand, and a faint glow surrounded them for a few feet in each direction. They were in a sort of tunnel, and they must have tumbled a good ways during the fall, for the dirt surrounding them had been dis
turbed. The tunnel had such a low ceiling and was so narrow that it was clear they’d be forced to crawl on all fours to fit through. And it certainly wasn’t the work of Mother Nature: spade and chisel marks riddled the walls.

  “It must be one of the canals linked to the underground water network,” said Sennar.

  “I don’t hear any water. …”

  “Ido hasn’t stepped foot in his native land in over twenty years. A few things might have changed since then. Maybe some of the canals dried up.”

  Nihal turned toward Sennar. His face was pale and worn. “Maybe it’s best if we rest here for today. What do you think? We’ll get moving again when we have our strength back,” she proposed. The sorcerer accepted without protest.

  But Nihal only managed to stay still for but an hour or so before she decided to do some reconnaissance. Leaving Sennar to his well-earned sleep, she went exploring. She didn’t have to travel very far to find her way to the surface. After only ten yards or so, the tunnel floor turned sharply upward and she saw the hole they’d fallen through. The light pouring down stung her eyes.

  For a few moments, Nihal stared at the beam of light. Then she retraced her steps and explored the tunnel in the other direction. As she walked, the passage grew more and more narrow, increasingly difficult to traverse. At the first fork in the road, she stopped, fearing she’d lose her way, and pricked her ears. Far off she heard a sound, rhythmic, like water trickling through a fountain. Her spirits lifted. They’d made it to the canals.

  Sennar woke feeling better and insisted they get moving despite Nihal’s objections. The sooner they left, the sooner they’d see daylight again.

  At first, they were forced to crouch down and travel on all fours. When they came to the first fork, they followed the sound of the water. On and on they crawled, and soon their exhaustion was coupled with worry—they still hadn’t reached the water. They could hear it flowing nearby and were doing all they could to follow it, but even after two hours they hadn’t found a single trace of its existence. The walls were dry, and it seemed as if the passage itself were toying with them, leading them to within an inch of their goal, only to round a corner and push it farther back. They crawled for what seemed like an eternity, climbing up one slope, descending another, but none of their efforts were rewarded. For the entire rest of the day, the water remained a distant mirage.

  “We can’t just keep crawling randomly along like this. At least if we could find the water, we could follow the current,” Nihal lamented, after they’d stopped to rest.

  Once again, their perception of time had vanished. Just as in the Land of Night, neither of the two could figure the hour, or even how long they’d been traveling through the canal.

  For the next two days, their search continued, the two of them crawling over the rocky surface on all fours. The weak flame Nihal was able to conjure wasn’t bright enough to properly light the way, and with each stretch of tunnel identical to the last, they were in constant fear of getting lost.

  Suddenly, one of Nihal’s hands slipped, and Sennar heard her shriek as she plunged through the air. He hurried to where she’d fallen from and leaned over the edge. When he heard her land with a splash, he couldn’t help but smile. Water, at last. Without a second thought, Sennar leaped after her, and when he came to the surface, Nihal was beside him, laughing.

  They’d landed in a giant, circular room, completely filled with water apart from a small platform along one of the walls and the few steps leading up to it. The water poured in from an opening nearly thirty feet above their heads, cascading down into a sort of cistern before splitting off into five canals like the five points of a star around the room. Nihal and Sennar climbed up onto the platform to rest.

  They were short on rations, and the few roots they’d brought along from the Land of Night were soaked through. All the same, they ate something, though taking care not to make too big a dent in their provisions. For the time being, at least, they’d have no trouble finding water, but finding food could be a problem.

  They’d have to proceed through one of the five canals, that much was clear. But which one? They were all identical and where they led was anyone’s guess. Nihal consulted the talisman, but all she saw was a mass of water and a small island. There was no clear indication as to the direction they should take; perhaps they should head west?

  Sennar tried using his magic to find their bearings. He pulled the knife he’d won from Nihal on the day they’d first met out of his cloak and recited a brief litany. A bright ray of light shot from the knife’s point, heading toward the west. The beam, however, landed right at the mid-point between two canals, and they were forced to choose one at random.

  They decided to take turns lighting the way. After three days of rest from magic, Sennar was back at full strength, and his flame provided a better view of their surroundings.

  That they were traveling through a marvelous construction was beyond question. There were miles and miles of canals, all of varying widths, and the water rushed along, clear and fresh. Each canal had its own small walkway. In the past, the aqueduct must have been rigorously maintained and highly functional. Large cisterns were spaced at regular intervals. Some of them were tall and grand, carved with decorative patterns and bas-reliefs. The largest were furnished with wells, which rose up to the surface and let in a little air and light, much to Nihal’s and Sennar’s relief.

  When they reached yet another of these structures and saw a thick beam of light streaming down and playing fancifully upon the water’s surface, they decided to stop and rest. Together, they stretched out on the platform and basked in the warm sunlight.

  After a short while, Nihal sprang to her feet. “What I really need is a good swim,” she said. “Close your eyes.”

  The sorcerer stared back up at her, motionless.

  “Did you not hear me? Snap to it,” she said, and Sennar noticed a reddish hue spread over her cheeks.

  He smiled shyly and covered his eyes with his hands. He could hear the soft rustle of Nihal’s clothes: the cold sound of her leather bodice, her straps loosening, the ruffle of her pants falling to the floor, her cloak sliding down off her shoulders. With every sound he pressed his hands tighter over his eyes. He remembered eating raspberries, leaning in to kiss her, only a few nights ago. The sound of her bare footsteps against the rock bewildered him. They seemed to belong to someone else, so different were they than her usual, stern gait. They were the footsteps of a woman.

  Slowly, involuntarily his fingers spread apart. But he didn’t want to look. He heard the sound of the water opening to greet her body and closing again around her shoulders. Sennar stood and dropped his hands. Nihal was swimming, lithe and light. She seemed thin, thinner than he’d imagined. It was the first time he’d seen her like that.

  Nihal swam until she reached the waterfall at the back of the cistern, climbed up on to its base, and sat for a long while beneath the stream. It was then that Sennar noticed her back. Something black covered almost half of it.

  “What did you do?” he asked, though he immediately regretted the question. Nihal turned her head and flashed him a look of anger before slipping back into the water.

  “I told you not to look!”

  Sennar brought his hands back up to his eyes.

  “It makes no difference, now.”

  Sennar could hear her body still moving through the water, but with less ease than before. “I thought you were under water. … How was I supposed to know …” His cheeks, he could tell, were bright red, and he only hoped his hands were enough to shield them.

  “There’s nothing to see now, anyway,” said Nihal.

  Sennar removed his hands. “What’s on your back?” he asked.

  This time she was the one to hide her eyes. “They’re dragon wings. It’s a tattoo.”

  “When did you get a tattoo?”

  “When I becam
e a knight. It’s tradition. Every knight has a tattoo,” she explained, swimming along casually. “Why, don’t you like it?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “They’re so big. They cover almost your entire back.”

  “Turn around,” Nihal said. As gracefully as she’d entered the water, she slid out. “When I turned eighteen, I gave myself two gifts: a real dress and this tattoo. You can look now if you want.”

  Sennar opened his eyes and saw she’d wrapped herself in her cloak. Only her face, her pointed ears, and her blue hair peeked out from beneath the black cloth.

  Still wrapped in her cloak, Nihal stretched out beside Sennar in the beam of sunlight. “I never told you I wanted to fly away?”

  “No, but I always knew,” Sennar replied.

  Nihal turned to him and smiled. “Well, that’s why I got the wings. Dragon wings because of Oarf, because we share the same destiny. And they’re closed because I still haven’t taken flight. One day I’ll find my true path and my wings will open wide. Then I can fly away.”

  For some reason, her words filled Sennar with sadness.

  “Laio liked them. He always said it was the perfect tattoo for me,” Nihal recalled.

  The painful memory of their friend swept over them, and the two lay there in silence.

  Their enthusiasm at having at last discovered water faded quickly. They’d assumed that once they found the current it’d be a straightforward journey, but that was far from the case. There were hundreds of passageways in the network, all identical, and all intersecting at the oddest of angles to form an impossible web.

  Sennar and Nihal traveled for a few miles and came to a cistern; then they traveled another few miles and came to another cistern. After a while they couldn’t tell if they were moving forward or traveling in circles. The water seemed to lead nowhere but in wide loops, never once running off in a new direction.