“I hope he falls down that hole in his cellar and breaks his neck,” growled Jute.
The old man smiled sourly. “If you have to eat, you steal, right?”
“Of course.”
“It is said that life—and by that I mean all of everything that exists—is like a mosaic made of countless tiny stones. Each person’s life comprises a part of the mosaic, and each person can only see their part of the mosaic. Birth, death, love, and hate—all the pain, sweat, and grief that are the lot of every man—those are the stones man is given power to place. Our choices dictate how our own few stones are laid into the larger pattern of the mosaic.”
“But if each person can only see their own part,” said Jute, frowning, “then surely the whole mosaic would end up in a mess.”
“Perhaps,” said Severan. “But if enough people seek to do what is right and true, then the mosaic of their lives is in harmony with the mosaics of all those who choose in like fashion. Some people, however, choose the darkness, even though they do not realize what they have done. There are only two colors of the mosaic: darkness and that which is not darkness, and the two can never exist in harmony.”
“Has anyone ever seen the whole mosaic?”
“I’ve read that it stands in a room within the house of dreams, where no man has ever been, where no man has ever set foot. At least, I hope it’s there, for if it isn’t, then it is nowhere and life has no meaning.”
He paused and eyed the boy for a moment before continuing.
“No one has seen it,” he repeated, “but there are those who fly higher than others. The heights afford a better view, and I think such people can see a great deal of the mosaic. Much more than an old man like myself.”
“Someone else said that to me recently.”
“Who?” said Severan sharply.
“The hawk,” said Jute, and then he stopped, appalled at his own words.
“The hawk?”
But Jute would say nothing more. The candle slowly burned down. The wax ran and pooled on the table. Outside, the wind blew through the starry night, smelling of selia blossoms and the sea.
“I’ve been thinking,” said Severan. “For several days I’ve been wondering. Up until now, I dismissed it as the uneasy dreams of an old man. It began when I first saw you, lying unconscious in Nio’s house with him pacing the floor, maddened and muttering, for he had lost something of terrible value in the box you stole. He never said what was in the box, and though he claimed he never could open the thing, I suspect he had a good idea what it contained.”
“Did you know also?”
“From what he let slip in unguarded moments, I had a suspicion. As the days went by, I began to think that perhaps what was in the box was no longer there. And now I am more sure of it.”
Severan paused, as if expecting a reply from Jute, but the boy said nothing. The old man sighed and continued.
“When I was a boy, I studied at a school far up on the Thule coast. It was a desolate place. A school for scholars and, at times, wizards. The Stone Tower. In the library there I once read an old book. It discussed the existence of the Gerecednes, the book written by Staer Gemyndes long ago. He was the first wizard in Tormay. At least, he was the first wizard known in our histories.”
“You spoke about him before,” said Jute. “That’s the book you’re trying to find, right?”
“Aye, that I did, and I’ll probably speak of him again, for he of all wizards is the least known and it is he that we most desperately need to know better. He and the book he wrote.”
“Why?”
“Because the Dark is abroad in Tormay,” said Severan. He stood and paced back and forth. “Because the Dark crept back into the land like the fog creeps in upon the shore in the early morning, while folk are sleeping still. It came on silent feet, and no one heard the sound of its passage. This is a terrible thing, for man thinks of war as being won with the loud, sudden violence of swords and battle, but the slow, quiet wars can be lost in peace. It is as if the whole land sleeps. I fear we will awake one day and find that the Dark has crept so close that its face is the face of our neighbor, our loved one, ourselves.
“The most terrible thing of all is that the anbeorun seem to have fallen asleep. The anbeorun are the four great guardians of sea and earth, wind and fire. They are our first and best bulwark against the Dark, but they’ve vanished out of sight and time these past hundred years. It’s almost as if they've ceased to exist. No one knows what happened to them. Perhaps they were taken by death and so returned to the house of dreams from whence they came. Whatever the riddle’s answer, their absence is a wound that might prove fatal to Tormay.
“According to all the histories written, Staer Gemyndes possessed a great deal of knowledge about the Dark, for he and his king were at war with it all the days of their lives. Yet no one knows how they succeeded in the struggle. That’s what we must discover, and that’s why we came to these ruins. That’s why we must find his book.”
“Maybe he didn’t.”
“What’s that?”
“Maybe he didn’t succeed in the struggle.”
“Avert,” said Severan, frowning. “Of course he did.”
“How do you know?” said Jute. “I thought you said you don’t know much about him, that most of his writings—that book, whatever it’s called—have been lost.”
“Aye, the Gerecednes was lost, but others wrote of him. Also, some writings of his did survive. I read several pages of his while a student in the Stone Tower. And in those pages, Jute, in those pages. . .”
Severan trailed off into silence.
“It’s getting late,” said Jute uncomfortably. He wished he hadn’t mentioned the hawk. He hadn’t meant to. Jute started to get up but Severan stopped him. He had a strange look on his face.
“Sit, sit,” he said. “You’re right—it is late. I wish I’d said this days ago. Listen—the few pages of Staer Gemyndes I read began with the phrase there are those that fly higher than others.”
“What?”
“‘There are those that fly higher than others, but none so high as he that is called the wind. The anbeorun of the wind. None so high as the wind and, of course, the hawk at his side.’”
“A hawk?”
“The wind’s a chancy, uncertain thing,” said Severan. “One moment stronger than iron, the next moment soft as a child’s breath. Strange, but in these last few days I have smelled the sands of Harth, the gardens of Vo, the heathered hills of Dolan, and even my cold stone land of Harlech. I’ve smelled them all in the wind, as if it has gathered itself from all those far-off places. It’s as if the wind’s searching for something here.”
“It’s fall now,” said Jute. “It always gets windier in the fall. Winter’ll come fast, I reckon.”
“Hmm. Perhaps.”
Jute did not fall asleep easily that night. His mind would not let him rest. He sat up in bed, not sure if he was dreaming or sleeping. Something stirred in the darkness out of the corner of his eye, and he went to the window, needing to breathe and tasting only dust in his mouth. The casement creaked open and he leaned out. Stars drifted overhead.
“Where are you, hawk?” he said.
There was no answer, of course.
He could hear the faint sounds of the city quieting into night. Beyond Hearne, however, was a deeper silence. It was the silence of the sky, and he realized in that instant that it was also the silence inside of him. He had used that silence for years, wrapping himself up in it to fool wards and to burgle houses. As far back as he could remember, the silence had been there.
The stars continued their slow wheel in the sky overhead. He gazed up at them. They drifted through the night and regarded him with the glitter of their icy stares.
“Have you seen a hawk in your heights?” he said. “A hawk with feathers as black as your sky?”
Thou presumes, said a star.
Aye, said another.
Two questions at such a tender age
, while we wait eons to ask even one.
Or perhaps none at all.
Even if none, we shall bide on our paths, content still.
But the stars did not speak unkindly. Rather, there was interest in the sound of their voices. They chimed in the air like the wind passing through bells. Some were light and tinkling like a child’s silver bell, some quick and hard like the bells that rang in the harbor buoys swaying on the tide, and others deep and slow, booming like iron bells set in some far-off, ancient tower.
“May I ask only one question?”
Ah, but that is thy third.
“Then I will ask only one: whether you have seen a hawk in your heights. Please.”
Aye, that we have.
We have.
Fear not, murmured a star.
Fear not, echoed another.
Their voices chimed in the stillness of the night, calling to Jute in a chorus that rang clear in the darkness.
When the world was still young
When the boundaries of the sea were inscribed upon the shore,
Here and no farther shall thy proud waves come.
When the mountains were raised from the earth
And the valleys cast down to their green depths,
When the flame was kindled in the heart of the mountains
And set to burn in the silence of the earth,
When the winds were unleashed from the house of dreams,
When the winds came rushing to their appointed place,
When the world was still young,
A hawk came flying with feathers black as night.
A hawk came flying through the sky
With wings as black as night,
Though they were like fire in the darkness,
Lightning falling through the darkness
When the world was still young.
The ringing of their voices subsided into stillness. Silence reclaimed the sky. The stars gazed down on him from their remote height.
“But what of now?” said Jute. “Surely the world is old now.”
No one answered him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE HEALING OF THE SEA
Someone spoke near his ear. The girl. Ronan wished she would go away. She had her book. What more could she want? Someone else could take her to the regent’s ball. The town was full of able men. Anyone. As long as it wasn’t him. He just wanted to sleep.
Her voice forced his eyes open. She was saying something, but it was only meaningless sound. It could have been the noise of water on rocks, the creak of rigging, a gull’s skirling cry. She spoke again.
“You don’t have much time left.”
Her face was calm, as if his death meant nothing to her. He did not speak. He could not have if he wanted to. A tremendous weight pressed down on his chest. Sunlight shimmered around her hair. She turned to glance over her shoulder.
“It is an ebb tide. Things recede, and that which is already distant drifts even further.” Her face turned back, hovering above him. “But the tide is mine, and though your life is ebbing away, I can bring you back. If you wish.”
Her eyes gazed down into his. Darkness crept in on the edge of his sight. He could not speak. He could not breathe. The weight was unbearable.
So this is what it’s like, he thought. How many lives have I ushered past this point with the edge of my knife? My father never spoke of this. Maybe he did not know. I wish I could speak with him again. I wish I could see his face again.
Ronan stared up at the girl. He could not speak, but there was enough appeal in his eyes for her to read. She took the comb from her hair that held the thick sheaf back and unclasped the pin. A jab at her fingertip and a drop of blood welled out. He felt a touch on his lips and tasted salt in his mouth. A roaring filled his ears as if of the sea pounding on the beach, the crashing of waves rising higher and higher. All the world was drowning, unmade in the fury of the sea, and then he knew no more.
Sometime later, awareness returned to him. The darkness receded until he drifted in a fog. It had a comforting quality of nothingness to it. There was no sound or feel, no cold or heat, only the grayness. He wished it would continue and cradle him there forever.
Wake.
No. Let me drift here.
Wake.
Ronan opened his eyes to a sun-drenched room. Turning his head, he could see the long, thin line of blue that was ocean, past the rooftops of the city and the stone and wood fingers of the docks. And then he realized where he was. There clearly were advantages to living up on the heights of Highneck Rise.
“Rest. You are not yet yourself.”
She was sitting on his other side, a book open in her hands. The book.
“You took a grievous hurt, more than I realized at first. You were wounded by a ward, but you also carried a taint on you of something fell, a creature of the Dark that had come close to you. But you are well now, though more sleep will serve you.”
“I am well?” he said, beginning to remember.
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“I will have more than thanks out of you,” she said calmly, “for you’ve my blood in you now, and that’s something that hasn’t been said for over three hundred years.”
“What?”
“I had need of you, as I remarked the other day, Ronan of Aum, or whatever name you choose to call yourself. But things have changed more swiftly than I foresaw, and so my plans changed as well. Hence, your rash decision to enter that house and take the book.”
She looked down at the book in her hands and a frown crossed her face.
“I confess myself surprised at what you found there. I can only blame it on my rusty knowledge of humans. It has been a long time since I’ve come to these shores, and I’ve forgotten much. This book is a thing of great evil. It promises the key to immense power. Men fall prey to such things. Someone has read this book, and thus another door has been opened for the Dark, opened through the greed and ambition of one man’s soul.”
“Are you telling me you made me enter that house? Who are you?” His voice rose.
She regarded him impassively for a moment and then shut the book. “There’s much in the telling and I doubt it can be properly said in the language of man. I doubt much of anything can be said properly in that language. Long ago, when the Dark first fell from the house of dreams, it roved across the fields of heaven. It sought what it might devour, for the first principle of the Dark is hunger. A hunger that can never be sated. But then those that were called the Aro came, and the Dark fled. It came to the world of man. And the Dark held sway there.
“But then the Aro came hunting. So was fought the first great war, when the mountains were broken and the world wept for pain. The Dark was overthrown, but at great cost. Then Anue stood on the threshold of the house of dreams and spoke four words. They fell like shining jewels, down through the heights beyond the night until they came to their resting place. There, the four eldest of the Aro took hold of the jewels. And so they became the anbeorun: four mighty beings set to guard the paths of the world of men and keep watch against the darkness. To each of them was assigned one of the great feorh, the four essences of this world. To the first was given the sea, the waves and all her creatures, the rivers and streams, the lakes and ponds and all that find shelter therein. To the second was given the earth, the green and growing things, mountains, hills and valleys, and all creatures great and small that live under the sun. To the third was given the wind, the storm and lightning, the torrent and blast that beat up against the edges of heaven itself, and every creature on the wing. To the fourth was given the fire, the deep, dark, secret places of the earth where heat and molten rock live to work their magic in gems and gold, and where strange, eyeless creatures breathe their days.
“The anbeorun walked the world and kept watch against the Dark. Centuries passed. There was peace; oh, perhaps not in the world of men, for your kind are ever given to war and the Dark has always left its shadow i
n your hearts—but in the realms of the anbeorun, there was peace. But the Dark is patient and time means nothing to it. The four anbeorun wandered far and no longer remembered each other, though they had sprang into being together, brothers and sisters. They walked their own separate ways and so disappeared.”
She fell silent. The room was warm with sunlight, but Ronan shivered under his blankets. Fear gripped him. This was only the beginning of the story and, no matter how strange and fantastic it sounded, he knew for a certainty it was true.
“How do you know all this?” he said. “What has this to do with you?”
She turned blank eyes on him.
“I am the sea.”
She stared out the window, looking past the rooftops and houses, gazing at the sea shimmering in the afternoon light. When she spoke again, it was almost in a whisper.
“I fell asleep. I fell asleep and did not wake for I do not know how long. Hundreds of years, I think. But a nightmare came and shook me from my sleep. For in my dream I saw that the Dark, though far from the world, had worked its will and slain one of my brothers. This could not be, but my dreams do not lie. If they lie, then I am untrue, and I cannot be untrue, for I am the sea. I rose from my sleep, troubled and wondering, for if one could be slain, then all could be slain. What terrible magic could have wrought such a thing? And so my path led me from my beloved sea here, to the world of men, to your world. An answer is here in this city and I will find it.”
“But surely there’s nothing here to stop you,” he said. “The wizards are all dead.”
She wrinkled her brow dismissively, a slim girl who looked light enough for him to lift with one hand. “You speak of things you know nothing of,” she said. “The wizards are not all dead, but they are irrelevant. However, there’re other things in this world. Things that hearken back to the times when the Dark walked in openness. Something has come that can lay a hand even on the four anbeorun—on wind, earth, and fire. And on me. It is because of this that I am reluctant to show my hand in this city, for I am not sure who my enemy is. Hence, my need of you.”
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