DemonWars Saga Volume 1

by R. A. Salvatore

  His questions were kept private though, for it was not his place to ask anything of the masters. Only to obey, and so he was, walking as quietly as he could beside the plump man, keeping his head bowed but still stealing an occasional glance at the splendor: the gold leaf bordering every side door, the wondrous and intricate carvings on every beam of wood, the mosaic tile patterns on the floors, the tapestries, so rich in detail that Avelyn figured he could spend hours and hours lingering over but one of them. Master Jojonah talked constantly, though he said nothing of interest — slight remarks about the weather, a storm that had hit twenty years before, the passing of his favorite baker in the town of St.-Mere-Abelle, a surprisingly off-color remark about the man's "lusty" wife. None of it diverted Avelyn's attention from the wonders of the place, though he did listen somewhat, fearing to miss any questions directed his way.

  They stopped before a heavy door — and what a door! Avelyn could not help but lift his eyes at the sight of the thing, at the layers and layers of painted carvings, scenes of battles, of Saint Abelle being burned at the stake, of the healing hands of Mother Bastibule. Scenes of angels conquering demons, of the mighty demon dactyl screaming in agony as its own lava poured over it, consuming it. Scenes of the Halo, the heavenly gift, enwrapping all the others, an oval because of the angle at which it was portrayed. It started, if such a complete thing could be said to start, at the bottom left corner of the door, and led the observer's eye upward across the portal to the top right. And on the way, as Avelyn's eyes scanned, it seemed to him as if the history of the world, of the faith, unfolded to him, the images packed so that one led to another easily, with enough distinction so that each made an impact, however brief, like the flowing of time.

  He wanted to kneel and pray; he wanted to ask who the artist — or artists; for certainly no one man could have created all of this — might be, but realized before the words left his mouth that any name would be inconsequential, for certainly the carvers and illuminators who had done this had done so at the explicit intervention of God. He alone, who called all the men and women of the world His children, might have done this.

  "You know of the Ring Stones?" Master Jojonah asked abruptly, and the words sounded sharp and out of place to Avelyn. He nearly jumped, and turned with a start, surprised that a master would be so foolish as to speak in the presence of such beauty.

  Then the impact of the question hit him fully.

  "You know?" Jojonah asked again.

  Avelyn swallowed hard, trying to discern his best response. Of course he knew of the Ring Stones, the heavenly gifts to St.-Mere-Abelle, the source of all the magic in the world. Avelyn didn't know much, though, just the common rumors about how the stones would fall from the heavens into the hands of waiting monks, to be blessed by the Father Abbot that their special powers be realized.

  "We are the Keepers of the Stones;" Master Jojonah said after a moment, Avelyn still making no move to respond.

  The young monk nodded slightly.

  "It is our most holy duty," Jojonah said, moving to the door and lifting the heavy latch that held it. Avelyn blinked; amid the wonders of the door, he hadn't even noticed the huge latch!

  "The stones are the proof of our faith," Jojonah remarked, pushing wide the door.

  Avelyn stood as if turned to stone. "The proof of our faith," he whispered under his breath, hardly believing that a master of St-Mere-Abelle had uttered those borderline blasphemous words. Faith heeded no proof — indeed the very value of faith was loyalty to beliefs without proof!

  Of course Avelyn would not protest aloud, and even his silent musings were washed away as the heavy door opened silently, on balanced and oiled hinges, to reveal the greatest splendor of all.

  The room inside was well lit, though Avelyn saw no torches and didn't smell the usual odor of burning wood. They were far below ground in one of the abbey's interior chambers, so there could be no window. But there was indeed light inside that room, such a light as to make Avelyn think of a cloudless midsummer day. It filled every corner, every crack in every stone, and reflected brilliantly off the glass covers of the many cases set about the room, and off their contents, as well, hundreds and hundreds of polished stones.

  The Ring Stones!

  Jojonah moved into the room, Avelyn practically stumbling behind him. The young monk made no pretense of keeping his gaze low now, looking left and right as they passed each case, marveling at the gems, the reds and blues, amber-colored stones and violet crystals. One case of a dozen or so smooth stones, a dark gray in hue but somehow seeming even blacker than night, caught Avelyn's attention and made him shudder, though he did not know why. In another case he saw clear stones — he recognized them as diamonds — and he paused again, and noted that Jojonah, too, had paused, allowing him to linger.

  Avelyn studied the way the light worked off the many facets of the diamonds, how it seemed to delve within the stone itself, swirling down to crystalline depths. Then he realized the truth.

  "The diamonds are the source of the light," he said, and he bit his lip immediately when he realized that he had spoken out of turn.

  "Well done," Master Jojonah congratulated, and Avelyn relaxed somewhat.

  "What do you know of the Ring Stones?"

  "They are the source of all the magic in the world," Avelyn recited.

  Jojonah nodded but said, "Not exactly true."

  Avelyn stared at him hard.

  "The Ring Stones are the source of all goodly magic," Master Jojonah explained.

  "God-given magic," Avelyn dared to put in.

  Jojonah hesitated — a pause not consciously caught by Avelyn, but one that he would recall in years to come — then nodded. "But there are, too, the Earth Stones, the source of evil magic, the power of the dactyls," said Jojonah.

  "They are not numerous, by God's grace, and can only be used by those demons —

  who, by God's grace, are even less numerous!" He ended with a chuckle, but Avelyn was hard-pressed to see any humor in a discussion of the demon dactyls.

  Jojonah cleared his throat uncomfortably. "And there is magic in the Touel'alfar, as well," he said. "In their melodious singing, so it is said, and in the metal their gardens `grow' from the soil."

  "Grow?" Avelyn asked.

  Master Jojonah shrugged; it was not important. "Tell me of the Ring Stones," he prompted. "Who gathers them?"

  "The brothers of St.-Mere-Abelle," Avelyn answered immediately.

  "From where?"

  "They fall from the sky, from the Halo, into the waiting hands of —"

  Jojonah's chuckle stopped him short. "They fall with a speed greater than that of an arrow in flight," the master explained. "And they are hot, my novice friend, so hot as to burn the flesh and the bone beneath it!" Jojonah chuckled again as he described to Avelyn an image of a young monk standing in a field, as holed as the cheese of Alpinador, an incredulous look on his face, a group of glowing rocks on the ground behind him.

  Avelyn bit hard on his lip. He realized that Jojonah wasn't mocking him, but could not understand why he was being told these things.

  "Where do we get them?" Jojonah asked suddenly.

  Avelyn started to say, "The Halo," but stopped short, realizing that that ground had already been covered. His expression blank, he merely shrugged.

  "Pimaninicuit," Jojonah said.

  Avelyn's expression did not change.

  "An island," the master explained. "Pimaninicuit. That is the only place where the sacred stones may be collected."

  Avelyn had never heard such a thing.

  "If you ever utter that name to any who do not know it, without the express permission — no, the express instruction — of the presiding father abbot of St.-Mere-Abelle, all of the powers of the abbey will be put into focus to bring about your execution."

  Avelyn knew why he had never heard the name before.

  "When do we get them?" Jojonah asked, changing the subject so abruptly that he had Avelyn thoroughly flust
ered. Again the young monk could only shrug helplessly, wanting to know but afraid to know. There was something most sacred, yet particularly unmysterious, and thus unholy, in all of this, a tingling of ecstasy combined with a slightly foul taste that Avelyn Desbris could not ignore.

  "The stones do not come to ground often," Jojonah explained, sounding more like a scholar than a priest. "They do not fall frequently, but they do fall regularly." He led the way to the left-hand wall of the large chamber, and as they neared, Avelyn could see that the murals carved there were, in fact, charts, astronomical charts. Avelyn, who had often spent hours at a time gazing at the wondrous night sky, recognized some of the points. He noted the four-starred girdle of Progos-Behemoth the Warrior, the most prominent constellation in the northern sky, and the arcing stars that marked the handle of the Farmer's Bucket, the one he had to walk away from his parent's back door in order to see, for it always lingered right above their roof. Corona, with its Halo, was certainly evident, and prominent, being the center of it all, as Corona was the center of the universe.

  Looking closer, Avelyn noted grooves in the wall. At first he thought them the borders of the known spheres, for he had heard theories of the universe as a series of overlapping, interlocking heavenly spheres, the invisible bubbles that held the layers of stars in place. When he realized that most of the grooves were near Corona, connecting the sun and the moon, and the five planets, he came to understand the truth. Those grooves were of a practical and not aesthetic nature, serving the mechanics of the chart so that the heavenly bodies could be kept in motion. Avelyn carefully noted the position of Sheila, the moon, and stared at it long enough to realize that it was indeed moving, ever so slightly, along its path about Corona.

  "Six generations," Master Jojonah explained, after he had given Avelyn several quiet minutes' in which to study the fabulous chart. "Or nearly," he added when Avelyn turned to him. "A hundred and seventy-three years will pass between each of the offerings."

  "Offerings?"

  "The stone showers," Jojonah explained. "Consider yourself blessed, my novice friend, for you live in a time of the showers."

  Avelyn breathed hard and stared again at the chart, as if expecting little lines of falling stones to appear between the Halo and Corona.

  "Have you ever witnessed one of the stones at work?" Jojonah asked suddenly, drawing Avelyn from his contemplations. The young man stared at him wide-eyed with hope and eagerness, his hands clenching and opening at his sides.

  Jojonah pointed to a case near to the middle of the room, and motioned for Avelyn to approach it. As soon as his back was turned to the master, Avelyn heard a click from the wall and suspected that Jojonah had thrown some sort of lever, probably hidden within the tapestry of the star charts, to unlock the case. The master soon joined him at the case and slowly slid back the glass top.

  There were several various stones within, all smooth and polished.

  Jojonah's hand reached for one of two of the shiny gray stones. "The soul stones," he explained. "Hematite, by name." He held the stone tightly in his right hand, then reached back in with his left and took out a different gem, mostly clear, but with a slight shading of yellow-green. "Chrysoberyl," he said.

  "A stone of protection, in this clear form. Always a wise choice when dealing with the dark hematite!"

  Avelyn didn't really understand, but he was too overwhelmed by all of this to think of interrupting with a question.

  Jojonah dropped the chrysoberyl into the pocket of his thick robe and moved far from Avelyn, facing the younger man directly. "Count to ten," he instructed, "that I might have time to cast the enchantment. Then place your hands behind your back and raise your fingers, however many you choose, in a slow and clear sequence of seven distinct numbers. Take care, to remember your sequence!"

  The master closed his eyes and began to softly chant. Avelyn hesitated for a moment, trying to digest the newest information. He collected himself quickly and did as instructed, alternating the number of raised fingers behind his back.

  Through it all, Master Jojonah continued his soft chant, his eyes never fluttering, all of his body seeming locked in place.

  A moment later, the master opened his eyes. "Seven, three, six, five, five, two, and eight," Jojonah said, seeming quite pleased with himself.

  "You heard what was within my mind!" Avelyn gasped.

  "No," Jojonah quickly corrected. "I left my physical body and ventured behind you. I merely watched as you raised your fingers."

  Avelyn started to respond but held the thought private, though his labored breath and incredulous expression revealed volumes.

  "Not so hard a task!" Master Jojonah said suddenly, exploding with delight. "The hematite is a powerful tool, among the most powerful stones of all. Using it to walk out of body barely touches at the edge of its true magic.

  Anyone trained in the stones could do it. Why even you . . ." Jojonah's voice trailed off, a tease that anxious Avelyn could not ignore.

  "Brother Avelyn," the master said in all seriousness a moment later,

  "would you care to try?"

  Before he could even begin to consider the offer, Avelyn nodded so forcefully that he was sure he must have looked incredibly simple. His feet, too, were moving before his conscious thought could stop them, as if he were being drawn to the stone.

  Jojonah nearly laughed aloud at the spectacle, and held forth the hematite. Avelyn reached for it, but the master pulled it back.

  "It is a powerful stone," the master said somberly, "one that could put you somewhere you do not belong. Take care in your travels, my young friend, for you may soon be lost!"

  Avelyn retracted his hand a few inches, wondering if he was being a bit foolish here. The temptation was too strong, though, and he reached out again, and this time, Jojonah let him take the hematite.

  Its feel was impossibly smooth, almost liquid. It was heavier than Avelyn had expected, quite solid and dense. He ran his fingers over it repeatedly, felt something deeper within it, a place of mystery, of magic. He looked to Jojonah and saw that the master was clutching the chrysoberyl close to his heart.

  "It will prevent our spirits from crossing," Jojonah explained. "That would not be a wise choice."

  Avelyn nodded and backed off a few steps. Jojonah put his free hand behind his back. "All in your due time," he said softly. "I will know when you are in the hold of the magic, and then I will begin."

  Avelyn hardly heard him. Already the young monk was falling into the depths of the stone. To his rubbing fingers, the hematite felt truly liquid then, and inviting. Avelyn stared at it for a long while, then closed his eyes, but saw it still. It was expanding before him, engulfing his hands, then his arms. Then he was falling, falling.

  He resisted, and the hematite receded dramatically, almost forcing him from the trance. But Avelyn caught his fears in time and started the journey once more.

  His hands were gone, then his arms. Then all was gray, then black.

  Avelyn stepped out of his body. He looked back and saw himself standing there, holding the stone. He turned back to Jojonah, saw most distinctly the chrysoberyl, fiercely glowing and encasing all of the master in a thin white bubble, a ward that Avelyn knew his spirit could not pass.

  He started toward Jojonah, giving the man a wide berth. He felt incredibly light, felt as if by will alone he could rise from the ground and fly.

  Behind the master, Avelyn watched the sequence of fingers: one, three, two, one, five.

  "Go higher," he heard Master Jojonah prompt.

  Avelyn was surprised that he could even hear the voice in this state. He understood the command and willed himself off the ground, drifting effortlessly toward the ceiling.

  "There is no physical barrier that can stop you," Jojonah remarked. "No barriers at all. Have you seen the roof? There is something on the roof that you should know."

  Despite the thrill, Avelyn flinched as he drifted through the room's ceiling. He marveled at the loose str
ucture of the wood, at the density of the higher room's tile floor.

  There were several monks, men a few years Avelyn's senior, in the chamber above. Avelyn felt himself grinning, felt his physical form in the lower room grinning, as he passed, the men totally oblivious of him.

  Then the grin was gone. Something tugged hard at the young monk, some dark temptation that he should enter one of these men, that he could push out the host spirit and possess the body!

  He was beyond them before that dangerous notion fully registered, drifting higher, through the next ceiling into an empty room, then through that ceiling and the next and the next and the next, this last one much thicker. Then he was outside, though he felt none of the physical sensations, the warmth of the sun or the chill of the ocean breeze. He saw that he was rising above one of the highest spots of St.-Mere-Abelle, coming right out of the roof. Still he went higher, and Avelyn feared that he would never stop the ascent, that he would drift through the clouds, out to the Halo, the stars. Perhaps he would shine in the heavens above, a fifth light on the girdle of Progos-Behemoth!

  He dismissed that ridiculous notion and turned his spirit about, looking at the roof of the abbey. From up here: St.-Mere-Abelle appeared as a thick and stretched snake, winding its way along the top of the sea cliff. Avelyn saw a commotion in the courtyard, far to the side, as a group of young monks labored at the well and with the abbey's horses and mules.

  "Come back," bade a distant voice, Master Jojonah's voice, reaching Avelyn through his physical form. The disconnection was not complete, the young monk realized, and he shuddered to think of what a complete break from his own physical form might mean.

  Shocked back to his senses, Avelyn turned his attention to the high roof directly below him. He had seen this roof before, from one of the higher points of the abbey, but looking on it from this vantage point revealed a most clever design, an image that could not be seen from a lower angle. Carved into the roof were four arms, two sets, hands lifted high, palms open and holding stones.