by Greg Curtis
“I think there was one original world,” he continued. “Prima I would guess. And then other worlds got built out of it. Smaller worlds.”
“When you play with a puzzle box, you do something similar. First you break up the image. You scatter the pieces over the table. Then you find the pieces that seem to fit together first and make them up into small pictures. Pieces of the whole. And often you begin with the pieces that have the straight sides. The edges of the picture. After that you put the other pieces together to make the little sections that you recognise. And finally you place those smaller pictures inside the edges that were the first part you assembled, to complete the puzzle.”
“Prima is I think the edges of the puzzle box. The other worlds, the shadow worlds as you call them, are the little pieces of it that were removed and mixed up, but which are now being put back together. That's why the endless forest is endless. It's not. It's just part of a far bigger, original world. One so much larger that it seems endless to us. The one that contained all the others. Now those smaller worlds are being put back together more or less as they were and eventually they will be placed back in Prima.”
Elodie would have said that that was madness. Because it obviously was. He was talking about the gods, playing with pieces of worlds as if they were toys. But then she had to look at a mountain of ice in front of her that had just somehow been inserted into the world, and wonder. It was all madness. And what mattered was that this crisis at least didn't seem to be a complete disaster compared to the other ones Chy had been telling her about. The disasters he was being forced to deal with almost every day.
She was stronger now. Speaking with Chy had helped. Time had helped too. Maybe, she dared to think, that was why the perfect elves as she thought of them, had sent her to him. Time and distance and a friendly hand had returned her to the woman she was and not the broken wretch she had been. She had finally been able to get past what had happened. Mostly. It still brought her nightmares and troubled her in the quiet times when she wasn't really thinking about anything at all. But she could get past it now.
It helped having someone around who was immensely strong. And Chy was that. He was kind and he felt for others. He could be light of heart. But most of all he was tough. He could get through anything, she suspected, simply because he was that sort of man. He just carried on because somewhere deep inside of him he knew that that was all he could do. Dwelling on things didn't help. Maybe that was the true lesson that he had learned from sitting on the thrones for so many years. Pain went away.
And this, whatever it was, would go away too. The ice – the very mountain – would go away. It would melt, and in time she suspected there would be a bare patch of land, maybe a crater, where it had been. And then life could return to how it had been. Hopefully. At least until the next disaster arrived.
But how long until there was nothing left? Until the worlds ended? Or became one? Because if he was right – and she feared he was – this was a sign that another world was already heading down that path. Losing pieces of itself. Sooner or later this world, Althern would do the same. And so would Thiessen. Her home would be destroyed. Perhaps rearranged into something else and then nailed into Prima. But even if it was, not much would survive. Her family would be killed. Everything would end.
His theory, even if it was right, did not help. Reluctantly she pointed that out, then stood there and hoped he might have an answer for that. One that brought some hope. But he didn't.
“I know. But I didn't say it helped. Only that it made more sense. And there was another thing I was thinking,” Chy interrupted her doubts.
“Always a troubling sign,” she commented wryly. But she was actually glad for the way he interrupted her doubts. Her thoughts were heading into darkness again.
“Probably.” He smiled. “But it's sometimes useful,” he replied. “And in this case a question struck me a while back. You have all these books of magic in your Temple?”
“Yes. We have a library,” she agreed, not understanding what he was suggesting. But she had told him about the Temple and its many wonders including the library. It hadn't seemed particularly important at the time. Mostly she had just been babbling about all the wonders that the world had lost when the Temple had been taken. Mourning them.
“But why?” He stared at her, his eyes suddenly wide with a question. “I mean we have books. Books on engineering and architecture and mechanical things. Books with diagrams and instructions and recipes and whatever. But we don't have books of magic.”
“There's not a lot of magic here,” she pointed out, wondering what he was suggesting.
“No. But you still don't need those sorts of books for magic. Not for the magic of the Heartfire Temple anyway. You sit on the throne, receive the knowledge, and over time the understanding flowers in your brain. You don't need books for that.”
“True.” Elodie thought about that for a bit. And it occurred to her that he was right. They had a library, but she'd never really explored it. Why would she? Mostly what she read were books from her own world. From Thiessen, the home of the copper elves. Mostly the works of the great historians of her home. Sometimes a bit of fiction. Books that they purchased as part of their duties and then left in the dining hall when they were done with them for the other guardians to enjoy. In fact she wasn't actually sure what was in the library in the Temple. She'd never really explored it. It was left locked. But what did it matter?
“Then there was one of the things you mentioned about the perfect people. A question you heard them ask one another about the sprites. How had they learned that magic?”
Elodie shuddered a little when he mentioned the perfect elves. She had, for a moment, almost forgotten about them and what they'd done. But still she knew he had a reason for mentioning them as she put the two things together. The library and the question.
“You think that knowledge was in the library?” It was obviously what he was suggesting. She thought about that for a few moments. And the more she thought about it, the more she began to think he might be right. It still didn't explain how the sprites could have got hold of those books. But it made sense.
“Not only that, but I think those books are old. Very old.”
“Old?” Elodie wasn't quite certain what he was getting at.
“From before the shadow worlds were formed.”
“What?”
“So old that they came from a time before the Heartfire Temple was built. Before the thrones were carved.”
“How could you know such a thing?” She returned her gaze to the mountain of ice in front of them. It was beautiful, she thought. Peaceful. And despite everything, it didn't confuse her. Nor threaten her calm. It just stood there. Majestic and calm. As if time itself didn't mean anything to it.
“You told me. You and the other guardians.”
“We did? By the gods we did not! I did not!” And that she was certain of.
“When I first came to the Temple. The first time I laid eyes upon it.” He paused for a moment to clear his throat. “I was young. Curious. And I had questions. Naturally I asked them. The first of them of course, after learning about what would happen, was when I walked into the Temple. When I set eyes upon the huge entrance. And I saw the great carvings that surrounded it. I asked what they were. What they meant.” He turned back to her. “Do you know what the answer I got was?”
“That we don't know.” She shrugged. They had no idea what those carvings meant. No one did.
“Exactly. There is writing, runes and pictures, all over the Temple walls. Carvings so old that they have worn smooth over the centuries. From a time long before your people first found the Temple. And more of that writing runs right through the Temple. More writing along the bases of the thrones.”
He was right about that, she realised. The Temple was filled with ancient script on the walls. And it too had worn smooth with the passage of time. She had never really thought about it before. It was simply part of the T
emple.
“Then you tell me there is a library,” he continued. “A place filled with books. Endless shelves of them. Books that you cannot read. As you cannot read the script on the walls. And the books do not fade with age. They do not gather dust. The leather bindings do not crack or perish. And it becomes clear to me that they are the same. Ancient. From a time long before the Darisen found the Temple. Before the guardians took up their station in it a thousand years ago.”
“Yes?” She still didn't see what he was getting at.
“Together, these things paint a picture. A picture of a Temple older than time. Or at least history. With a library also older than history. In the very heart of a land itself older than time. A Temple that was built, if the sylph are to be believed, around a volcano where the magic burst naturally from the ground.”
Were the sylph to be believed though? Elodie didn't think so. They were surely honest – painfully so. But their pointed heads denied so much that was obvious. They refused to accept the existence of the gods. They would certainly never bow their heads in prayer to any of them. The closest they came to ever worshipping anything was in their adherence to the laws of logic. And they believed that the Temple was in its own way akin to fire. The oldest peoples so they claimed had worshipped fire, whether it was on the ground or flying across the skies in the form of a sun, as a god. The Temple was simply another form of fire to be worshipped by those who did not understand that it was simply a natural part of the world.
“And your picture?” she asked.
“The same as the sylph's. That there was a volcano long ago where magic erupted from the ground for whatever reason. That when it was first found, the oldest peoples of the world, realised its importance. So they built a Temple around it, and then they started writing about it. On the Temple walls and in books. And such was its importance that they made sure that those books would never perish. Though of course, over time as the tongues changed, people were no longer able to read them.”
“But there was still writing however long ago that was. But later someone created the thrones, and the writing was forgotten. Script was no longer necessary. The thrones replaced it. So they shelved the books and forgot about them.”
“Hmm.” Elodie thought about what he'd said for a couple of moments, considering. And it did make sense as much as she didn't like it. Or perhaps what she didn't like was the arrogance of the sylph. “I've never seen anyone take a book down from any of those shelves. And I've never heard of anyone adding a book to the library either.” Whether that was proof of anything, she wasn't sure. She'd only been a guardian for a dozen years. But still it was something.
“No. But I think someone has. And,” he abruptly stepped forwards and took her hand in his, “I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but since the sprites don't have access to the library, it has to be one of the guardians.”
“What?!” She pulled her hand back suddenly. “That can't be!”
“But I think it is,” he told her quietly. “You said it yourself. The Temple has defences. You can't use hostile magic in it against the guardians. But they did. And someone is always on watch. The sprites could not have arrived in numbers without someone giving the warning. But again they did. And somehow they had to get the information contained within those books. And they had that knowledge.”
“No guardian would ever sell the Temple's secrets!” She defended her fellow companions. But was that true? Suddenly Elodie wasn't sure. It was hard to be sure of much just then. He was answering so many questions she hadn't even thought to ask.
“Sell? No. Probably not,” he replied. “But look over there.” He nodded at the nearly deserted town of Stonely in the distance. “That's a town I know, full of people I know. Friends. And it could just as easily have been Charlton that the sprites raided. The town where my family live.”
“Your point?”
“A question only. What would I give, if the sprites had some of my family? What would I do? And you've said that some of your people have been enslaved by them just as mine have.”
Darkness unexpectedly descended upon her, as she heard his question. Because that was a question they had asked themselves many times before. It was one of the reasons why guardians did not take partners. They did not have families. So that there would be none who could be taken and used as hostages against them. And the sprites were one people who did use hostages. It was a valued tactic for them in their war of cunning against the other races. Taking hostages and using them against the leaders of other peoples. They were small people facing those who were surely giants to them. It was one way to bring the others down to their level.
It could be, Elodie realised. Though she'd never imagined the possibility. No one had. And they were so careful. But a guardian held in sway to the sprites? A lot of things could be possible if that happened. And she had no doubt that the sprites would use hostages against them if they could catch any. But how would they catch them? There shouldn't be any.
“And then what? The sprites simply decided to end the worlds?” That didn't make sense to her. The sprites were a dangerous, immoral people, but they weren't crazy.
“No. I doubt it. But maybe they thought they could survive whatever they've unleashed? Or maybe they didn't quite get things right?” He shrugged. “When we find them, we can ask them.”
“They would never admit to anything.”
“That depends. If they are as deep in the pig pond as we are and expecting to drown along with the rest of us, they might. And I think they probably are. Lady Lialle De Clara told me that there were stories of sprites ending up in their world. In Lall. I don't think that was intentional. She said they too were wandering the land. Lost and confused. I think that whatever they've unleashed has caught them up in it as well.”
“For the moment though we need to know what books they stole. What enchantment they cast or tried to cast. And whether there's any way to stop it. And some of that is going to have to be your work.”
“Me?”
“You're a guardian. Maybe the only one left. You know things about magic that the rest of us don't. Things about portals. Portals like the one you use to do your sendings.”
“I know the structure of the portals,” she admitted cautiously, realising he had some sort of plan in mind and worried what it might be. But she did know the portals. She had studied them carefully as a part of her duties. Learning every whorl and twist of them. Every line. Feeling the magic within them. The way it was shaped. She had a gift for them. “What of it?”
“We need a way of speaking to every other caster in the world – in all the worlds.”
“Why?”
“Because it's obvious that none of us are going to survive unless we can combine our gifts. Organise ourselves into some sort of army to battle the calamities that seem to be descending on us all. We need to become something greater than a bunch of casters fighting on our own. And we need to get the sprites to talk. To tell us what they've done.”
“We're also going to need a way of getting back into the Temple – and since you were sent out of it there must be a way back in. We need to learn what else is in that library. It may hold the knowledge we need.”
“That's dangerous,” she told him immediately, knowing who would be there – and that she never wanted to see them again. But she wasn't going to deny that it was possible. Not any more. Because he had to be right. There had to be a way.
“I know. But I don't think it's quite as dangerous as you think. I don't think your perfect people want to kill us.”
“And how do you know that?” she asked suspiciously. “We're nothing to them. Limited. Mortals.”
“It's a guess,” he admitted. “But I keep thinking – they sent you away. They could have killed you with a thought. Or sent you somewhere else where you'd never get back from again. They didn't. Instead they sifted through what they learned from your memories, and sent you to somewhere that they thought you might get help. Maybe they felt guilty
for what they'd done. Or ashamed. Maybe they had a mere moment of sympathy. Or maybe they thought you'd actually done the right thing in sending out the Heartfire, and they owed you.”
“They aren't like that,” Elodie told him. And they weren't. They were monsters!
“Maybe. But even if they are nothing more than monsters, it can't be much more dangerous running in to them than it is to simply do nothing and wait to die.”
That was true actually. Elodie couldn't deny that. Even if she couldn't stand the thought of going anywhere near them ever again.
“And at some point we may need to speak to them.”
“No!” Her voice rose in horror when he suggested the last.
“Yes.” He nodded. “But I'll do that. Or one of the others who's more powerful in the magics of the mind. You don't have to be around.”
