by Awert, Wolf
XX
“Dakh, you spoke of a point where the lines of time converge. Is this that point?” Nill asked the druid when they all gathered at the lake’s shore the next morning, waiting for the light copper of the sky to be fully lit by the sun. “We are all here together, even Sedramon-Per. I know who my parents are, how the Nothing arrived in Pentamuria and much more.”
Dakh looked across them all. “You could almost think that, if there wasn’t still King Sergor-Don. He is the Changer who destroyed Ringwall. At least, that is how it looks. But King Sergor-Don has nothing to do with us except for the fact that he studied at the same time as you, Brolok and Tiriwi. Perhaps you will find your answer in the Book of Kypt, the only one left to read.”
“I’ve heard of the legend of the Changer,” AnaNakara said. “It’s not an Oa tale. We know the Green Man, and the Oas of the Waterways tell his story. He stands in a small boat and steers it through the silent waters of the moors. When the time has come and you need him, he will take his boat down the river and out to sea. The waves before him retreat and it is as if he is gliding on a lake. He disappears into the rising sun and comes back the next morning, with the next sunrise. When he goes back into the swamps, all the worries are over.”
“Is there any Water spell potent enough to freeze the sea? And I just can’t imagine poking a stick in the water to steer out there. The longest tree wouldn’t be long enough; besides, the strongest man in the world couldn’t hold it.” Nill was not convinced.
“You can’t take these legends literally,” AnaNakara laughed and ruffled his hair. But Nill remained thoughtful. Too many truths were lost in the old legends if you did not also take them at face value. The mages had considered every detail vital in the legend of the figure from the mist, so why not here?
“You said it yourself,” AnaNakara said soothingly. “No oar would be long enough and no spell strong enough to calm the sea.”
“I’ve got a completely unrelated question,” Brolok piped up. “Do you think I’ll ever see Galvan again? There’s this unfinished dream that keeps popping up every now and again. Well,” he elaborated as he noticed Dakh’s curious glance, “it’s a sort of fight. Not sure about the details, but Galvan is there, holding the left side of my shield.”
“You are a great blacksmith,” the druid replied. “Where else but in Metal World would a blacksmith like you work? Your father lives there, he still has much to teach you. Yet harmony has not returned to Metal World in the matter between you and the court. You will find out, I trust.”
“‘Harmony has not returned.’ You phrased that prettily. If I show my face in Fugman’s Refuge, they’ll have me forge them magical blades just so they can test them on me,” Brolok growled.
“Look,” Sedramon-Per interrupted him. “The sun rises.”
If the sun wants to light up the swampland, it must first ask the mist politely for permission. Sometimes – only sometimes – the mist will acquiesce, but not without a discussion. Often, it does not. And so, every morning dresses in its silvery-gray coat, pouring fresh silver onto every body of water in the open. The lake in front of them was one of many such lakes where streams ran together when they felt like a rest.
The lake was like lead this morning. Nothing moved in those magical moments of the early day.
“This is the Book of Mun’s place, then?” Dakh said in a tone somewhere between question and satisfied assertion. “Here in this shallow lake. I think I could have spent another uncountable number of winters dredging every lake in the world and I wouldn’t have found it. One lake looks like the other and once you know one hill, you know them all.”
“No,” Sedramon corrected him, “not in the lake. On it.”
Before Dakh, Morb or Nill could ask further, the golden sun lit the lake on fire and Sedramon put a hand to his lips to blow a kiss to the sun. Or was it to the mist and its generosity, or to the water below? Actually, as it turned out, none of them. Sedramon-Per had called the wind, for out of nowhere suddenly a slight breeze came along and gave the lake a few ripples.
“There you see Mun,” Sedramon said, pointing at the surface that now sparkled and gleamed like a thousand diamonds. They all saw the tiny waves distort the sun into small golden disks, sharp hooks and plump bands. Nill was the first to understand.
“Look!” he shouted. “The Book of Mun is written anew every day. The sun writes it in the water, like the spring-keeper wrote in the sand.”
It was difficult to make out the message. The symbols vanished as quickly as they came and reappeared elsewhere. Had Nill not had so much practice reading the ancient script, it would have taken more than one morning to read the book. Finally, he gave a satisfied nod.
“It’s not much.”
“Tell us or read it to us please,” Dakh requested. “You know I’m not fluent in this writing.”
“The book says nothing else than that the fourth element stops being air, that the elements reorder themselves and air becomes Fire, Water and the new element of Metal. Oh, and Wood will join it, a power that has never been in the world before. That’s it.”
“That is so little that I must wonder whether the things we found truly are the Books of Prophecy.” Dakh-Ozz-Han seemed crestfallen.
“They aren’t,” Sedramon-Per answered. “They are fragments, remnants, notes of a great mind. All that remains are the one hundred and twenty-eight stories in their eight versions. And yet I still believe that the Books of Prophecy still exist. If Eos was given a guardian of Fire, then it might be possible that next to the fire in the rock Nill told us about there is the full account of the prophecy. Perhaps it is merely more stories that are told over generations. I do not know, the Borderlands of flame are closed to me. Perhaps the books truly are long lost and we must make do with what we have found.”
“There’s something else in Mun.”
Nill gulped and hung his head. No one pressured him to say what else Mun told of, as they could see quite clearly that is was not good news.
“The end of the magic of five elements. The magic will break upon its own hubris. Those who feel untouchable will be toppled. In the end, Ringwall will fall.”
“So now we know everything except for how it ends,” Dakh-Ozz-Han said. “Sedramon and you have found everything except for the Book of Kypt.”
“Kypt is the most important of all,” Sedramon-Per claimed. “The others all interpret the future from a past so distant that their prophecies have become legends. The five books are scattered across the Five Kingdoms. The only place we haven’t found one in is Earthland, but going off on a chase without at least a hint is folly. Do you have any guesses where we might look?” Sedramon-Per looked at Nill, but before he could answer the old druid spoke.
“Why should it be in Earthland? The books were written before there were five kingdoms and five elements.”
“A remarkable insight for a druid whose world is based on those five elements,” AnaNakara teased him.
Dakh sighed. “It hurts badly enough as it is, without you throwing salt in my wounds. Instead, give me a good reason why the last, most important book would be in Earthland.”
“Because it’s the only place we haven’t found a corresponding book in. Everywhere else, in each kingdom there was one book. One.” Nill was adamant.
“Almost, my boy.” Sedramon-Per had a knowing look on his face. “There were two in the Fire Kingdom: the Book of Creation and the Book of Eos.”
“So the last book remains a mystery.”
“No, the last book, as the holy man’s stories said, lies at the center of the world. In the middle, or close to the middle, of all magic in this world.”
“Knor-il-Ank!” Nill gasped.
“Yes, in Ringwall. The Olvejin was to lead the way before it was lost, but there is no doubt. The Book of Kypt is in Ringwall.”
“Only Ringwall is destroyed,” Nill said flatly.
“Full circle again,” Dakh muttered.
“But where in Ringwall?
” Morb urged. “Sedramon, you spent many winters there.”
Nill jerked up.
“I know where to find it. I have to go back at once. Back to Ringwall. Come, Ramsker, we’re leaving early tomorrow.”
The End
Dear Reader
Dear Reader,
You have now read two thirds of the saga of Pentamuria. Again, you have my thanks. Nill’s adventure will continue, and the third volume is in the works.
Yours truly
Wolf Awert.
