Song of Time (magic the gathering)

by Teri Mclaren

  Rotapan shut his eyes and screamed, crawling backward across the prickly ground like a cornered spider. Rafek raised the club.

  It would have been over instantly had Rotapan not touched a piece of wood. He snatched the thick pole from behind and blocked Rafek's angry blow, then dodged the next two as he came to his feet. The wolf pup wove in and out, trying for the half-ore's throat, but Rotapan swung the makeshift weapon around himself madly, keeping the pup at bay. Rafek charged at Rotapan again and again, their staves clashing loudly over the river's rising voice, until Rotapan noticed that the staff he held was actually half of his broken scepter, the brass serpent's head still adorning one end.

  He yowled in rage and swung the heavy ornament at Rafek's head with all his might, his sudden attack catching the Neffian on his blind side as the slave raised his club again. Rafek stood for a moment, the club poised over his shoulder, a look of amazement on his bloodied face. Then he dropped over backward, the weight of the club taking him off balance. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  The wolf pup leapt viciously at Rotapan, but the half-ore hooked his broken staff over a low-hanging limb and swung himself up the tree, making his way high into the tall pine. Q'Tarin tried to climb after him, falling back time after time, barking, finally settling into a low keen for Rafek. But in the dense forest, with the rush of the river nearby, his requiem went unheard.

  Up the tree, Rotapan sat hunkered over, nursing his scratches and bruises, his hands wandering over the broken staff's ornament, the serpent's third eye now just a dark pit above its long, bared fangs.

  The girl had laughed. The staff was broken and the ajada gone. But his tower, faintly visible in the dawning day, still partially stood. Mighty Chelydrus would have his sacrifice of poison yet.

  "Riolla has Claria? What do you mean?" Cheyne looked at the bedraggled songmage incredulously.

  "Well, um, Naruq came into Riolla's camp with her, that's all I know. Needless to say, I was very surprised to see her. You, too," Og added.

  Cheyne grimaced. "So she'll be wanting to trade Claria's life for the treasure under the Clock, is that it?"

  "That would be what Naruq hinted at. He said you had some kind of book…"

  "What we have is a sick man who won't live the rest of the night without help," said Cheyne. "Let's go! Dunsan, will you tell Wiggulf what has happened?"

  "I will. He will be distressed about Naruq. They were very old friends. Come with me, orcess. You need some help with that cut."

  She had awakened, but the loss of blood was telling on Womba. Though it meant leaving Og, she did not protest when Dunsan turned her toward the lodge and fell in behind her. Cheyne gave Doulos the signal to raise Javin, but Og raised his.

  "Wait. As I said, I can do that at least. I still have the stones. Join hands."

  Og took a breath and summoned his strength, bent over the two gemstones and began to sing, concentrating hard on the Sarrazan forest.

  A place he had never been.

  Naruq felt the surge of the curtain when Og took his party through. The elf stopped in his tracks and began to run back toward Riolla's camp. A quick check told him they had moved on and why: three feet of mud now covered the camp and clogged the spring. Naruq took to the trees, running the arboreal highways with greater speed and ease than the uneven ground of the forest road could provide. He caught up with Riolla just as she came to the edge of the curtain.

  "Stop!" Naruq jumped down lightly in front of Saelin, who had his dagger drawn and ready. "Put that away, assassin. You were about to lose yourselves." The elf glowered.

  "Where?" said Riolla, looking all around. "I don't see anything but trees, and the road goes straight through the forest."

  "Watch," said Naruq, as he walked a few yards down the overgrown road. Riolla's jaw dropped as the elf shimmered into nothingness, then stepped back toward her, appearing to be solid again.

  "The curtain parts over there. Come on."

  Naruq motioned them off the road. A quarter mile later, they stepped through the invisible curtain, the air around them charged with unseen power. Where there had been only forest and sky before, Mount Sarrazan loomed over them, the sunrise glinting off a sparkling crystal mirror high upon its rocky slopes. Claria breathed in the pure air and felt her strength return. Riolla and Saelin exchanged looks of triumph.

  "Yes. That's Mount Sarrazan. Beautiful isn't it? Wait here until I return. And remember, Saelin. We need the girl." Naruq vanished before Saelin had risen from his mock bow.

  Og set them down in a bramble, but he knew they had passed through the curtain. So did the elves.

  From every tree above them, the silver-haired Sarrazans dropped down, some carrying bows, others armed with blow pipes and darts fletched with tiny, brilliant feathers. All of them wore shades of green and brown, blending perfectly with the summer-clad forest. In fact, Cheyne had a hard time finding them if they stood still for any length of time. He raised his hand in greeting, while Doulos and Og shook off their dizziness. Javin remained unconscious.

  His bow drawn, one of the elves stepped forward, looked at Cheyne carefully, then smiled. "The Treefather is expecting you. But where is Naruq? He was supposed to bring you in at one of the portals." The elf s voice seemed to carry toward them on the breeze.

  "Naruq is a traitor to you. I'll be happy to tell you about that after we get this man to your healer," said Cheyne, climbing out of the thorn bushes.

  The elf bent, holding his hand over}avin, but not touching him. He frowned his concern, motioned to the others, and they came forward quickly to lift Javin lightly between them.

  "It's not far. Just follow. And only believe. He clings to life yet."

  Cheyne did not notice anything special about the next two or three miles. Then suddenly the trees parted before them, leaving a clear view of a gleaming wooden causeway leading up to a massive living fortress.

  Cheyne caught his breath at the sight. A wide ring of trees taller than Rotapan's temple rose against the backdrop of the dawn sky. The trees all bore peculiar markings, softly limned in the clear, red light. Curious animals twirled upon themselves and grasped their tails with hooked mouths. Ribbons of intricate scrollwork wrapped around the trunks in thirty-foot-high bands, and several of the trees appeared to have words carved into them.

  Words in the language of Old High Sumifan.

  19

  The digger had told the elves about him now, so it was only a little more difficult moving in and out of the fortress. But long in the service of the Raptor and his Ninnites, Naruq was an expert at such things and rather enjoyed the challenge, when he thought about it. He settled himself into his hiding place in the meditative cell nearest the door just as Cheyne and his party entered the Treefather's chambers through a series of connected portals, their iacy roofs covered in wild rose and berrybramble. Yob waited outside, positioning himself, as usual, by the doorway.

  "Place him here before the stone," said a warm voice, compassion seeming to carry in every word.

  Cheyne looked up and around as he helped Doulos position Javin on a long table, the central feature in the large, airy room. Behind the table, a small glass container held a white gemstone suspended in water.

  "That's the firebane. They keep it in the water so the power accumulates around it. When it was set in the center of the ring, the other stones did that," said Og quietly.

  Cheyne nodded and looked around. Rising to the vaulted ceiling, columns carved from whiter wood than Cheyne had seen outside braced forty or fifty intricate, curving ribs that met high overhead in an elaborate filial of stylized leaves and acoms. Pale light filtered down from a few high windows, and as his eyes adjusted, Cheyne realized that the columns were carved to look like tall, thin trees themselves. Cheyne could find no break in their grain, no beginning or end to them, and with a shock, he realized that he was standing in the hollowed interior of the biggest tree in the fortress.

  In calm efficiency, the Treefather rose from his praye
rs and stood to greet them, going immediately to javin. "Hello to all of you, and be welcome here in the sanctuary of our forest home. I am Luquin."

  He smiled as he worked over Javin, checking his pulse and his pupils, his breathing, the several new gashes the canistas had given him, and finally the site of the scorpion's sting. After they had passed through the curtain, Javin had begun to stir in his fever, to thrash and jerk and mutter. He seemed worse than ever now, but Cheyne held his tongue, watching the Treefather carefully.

  Luquin was taller than most of the elves they had seen in and around the fortress. His face shone with an inner light, and his gray eyes crinkled at the edges only a little when he smiled, which seemed to be often. Luquin, seen anywhere other than his home, would cause almost anyone to stop and stare, to wonder about his every feature, to become mesmerized by his movements and the sound of his voice. Here, Cheyne thought, he seemed to be just another part of the transcendent beauty, the towering majesty of the forest and the fortress. Here, it was his hands that pulled Cheyne's eyes to them as though they had a power of their own. They were not the hands of a person who spent his time in soft work. Luquin's hands were rugged and knotted, their many white scars testament to far more than a life of contemplation.

  As the Treefather touched the swollen area around the sting, Javin began to stiffen and contort in bone-breaking spasms, and Doulos cried out. Luquin did not seem distressed and did not stop, but called for two of his assistants to hold Javin on the table. Cheyne and Og drew Doulos away, soothing both him and themselves with low words of assurance.

  At length, Luquin looked up at them and told them the truth.

  "It is very bad. His spirit has already left his body. It wanders, but we will dance." He smiled, "Prepare the stone," he said to his assistants, who bowed and removed themselves from the room.

  Still hiding in the cell near the Treefather's chambers, Naruq frowned his impatience behind the door, waited for them all to leave, then slipped out of the narrow doorway and faded into the green depths of the fortress hedges.

  Moments later, the silent call had gone forth, and in the center of the fortress common the elves had gathered from their work, many still with clay upon their clothing, some with wooden tools in their hands, and others with farm implements strapped across their backs. They stood together in a loose circle, the Treefather in the center, with Javin, still unconscious, stretched across the same finely carved table. In his gnarled hands, the Treefather held the firebane, now dry and glowing in white brilliance, its inner flames flashing rainbows.

  "He'll chant for awhile in the old language, then the lightning will come. Best move back," warned Og, but neither Cheyne nor Doulos stepped away.

  "All right, then," Og pronounced, and held his own ground, too. Yob, a little disturbed at the sight of so many elves, waited a few paces behind them.

  The Treefather held the firebane high and began his prayer. His voice magnified with every syllable, until it became so loud that Cheyne could not distinguish the words any longer and thought he heard only the roar of many waters, or the sound of thunder. When it became almost unbearable, the wind bore down on them, the elves linked hands and began to stamp their feet in a quick, complicated rhythm, and the firebane flashed its light into the sky above Javin's contorting body.

  Cheyne had to shield his eyes and he could feel the crackle of the power on his skin. The Treefather quickly stepped back just as the bolt of lightning struck Javin's chest, lifting him off the table and into the air several inches, then dropping him hard back onto the wooden surface. Immediately, the light disappeared, the noise ceased, and the Treefather collapsed as the two attendants moved to catch him. The elves continued their dance until he rose, holding the firebane, then stopped in unison with a quick double stamp.

  Cheyne let go of the breath he had been holding.

  "The work is finished," announced Luquin shakily, and the elves broke the circle, quietly departing the common, leaving Cheyne, Og, and Doulos with Javin, who lay still now on the carved table, his face deadly pale, but the scorpion's sting completely gone.

  "Is he…?" Cheyne began. The Treefather held up one hand.

  "He lives," said Luquin, then he bowed and left them alone with Javin.

  All that day, Cheyne waited for Javin to wake up. Cheyne spent the time looking at the little bronze-bound book, thinking, and running his ringers across the glyphs on the totem's smooth face. When the elves brought Javin inside the Treefather's chambers at the middle hour, Cheyne sent Yob and Og to eat, but Doulos would not leave. When the Treefather entered for his afternoon prayers, Cheyne and the slave jumped to their feet, a hundred questions on their lips.

  "He lives, and I believe he is healed. But I cannot tell you when he will awaken. It could be anytime. Or it could be much longer. But here, we pay little attention to time…" said Luquin, smiling.

  "But I need to know that he's all right. And I need to know what he wanted to tell me in the forest." Cheyne put the book down, picked up the totem, and turned it over and over in his hands.

  "Muje?" said Doulos. "Remember that you have many other things to ask."

  "What does that matter if Javin doesn't wake up? I… I got him into this mess by leaving before he could find the Collector. He told me to wait. 1 should have."

  "But Muje, he came because he wanted to. And you came back for him, leaving what you thought was your only chance to see the Treefather, just as he left his work to look for you. If you do not ask about the Clock, all that he cared about will be as dust."

  There was time, not many days ago, that Cheyne would have answered that all Javin cared about was dust anyway. Old dry, dead things that had nothing to do with the living people around him. But not now. Cheyne knew Doulos was right, but it didn't ease the pain of guilt in his chest.

  The Treefather looked long into Cheyne's troubled eyes, then gently took the book from him.

  "I know what you seek, Cheyne. And I will tell you what I can."

  He turned through the fragile pages of the little book, shaking his head at first, then stopping at the last several leaves. Finally he took the totem and held it to the light. Luquin's brow creased as he studied the last glyph. Cheyne waited patiently, but his eyes were on Javin.

  "The last glyph is a woman's name. The marker- that fingerprint is feminine-but I cannot read the letters. It's inscribed with magic." he finished.

  "A woman's name," breathed Cheyne, hardly believing his ears. "Then that means the totem…"

  "Is a woman's totem, yes," said Luquin gently, his eyes full of compassion. "But it's much more than that, Cheyne."

  "What? What do you mean?"

  "It's the key to the Armageddon Clock."

  "The-"

  The Treefather nodded. "Your book says so, at least. Cheyne, do you know why Javin sought the Collector?"

  "Only so that he could find the Clock. It was his… great quest."

  "Yes. Because the Collector was the one who invented the Clock. Let me read something to you."

  He began slowly, pronouncing the words first in the old language, then repeating in the modern tongue. "The Clock shall have a key. It shall be the totem of my daughter Claria, to whom I bequeath all my knowledge, and all my possessions, and to all of her line successively shall it be so-"

  "Did you say Claria?" asked Cheyne before Luquin could translate. Og mirrored his startled response.

  The Treefather raised his eyes and nodded. "Yes. It's an uncommon name, even in the Collector's time. May I go on?" Cheyne nodded, a peculiar smile lifting his lips.

  "The key shall fit the twelfth spire, the tallest, I believe, from the edge of the middlemost part of the valley the elves call the Chimes. When it is inserted into the cleft in this spire, and the spire is made to be whole once again, the slightest breeze will cause the other spires, in their peculiar properties, to sing until they shatter, and the void they leave shall summon the godscream from the erg, and the ensuing power of its voice shall break the cr
ystal door."

  And $ve up its treasure to me, thought Naruq, eavesdropping again from his hiding place. This was going to be far easier than he thought.

  "Want to make a trade, digger?" Naruq stepped out into the shadows of the chamber, still hidden but for the light that sparkled from his silver cloakpin.

  "Ah, Naruq. We have been looking for you," said the Treefather, unperturbed. "It seems you have found employment outside the colony."

  "And your skills are yet sharp, ancient one. But not as sharp as mine. What about it, digger? The girl for the totem?"

  "I don't think so, Naruq."

  "Too bad, since that beast Riolla employs seems hardly able to keep his hands off her. Appears he has some kind of professional score to settle with her. And with you." Naruq chuckled. "Care to think again?"

  Cheyne looked helplessly at the Treefather, who only nodded and smiled.

  "You must do what you must," said Luquin, his long finger gently tapping the book. There is more, said his eyes.

  "Then I will set the terms," said Cheyne. "You will meet us at the Chimes before dark, alone. When I see the girl is well and unharmed, I will give you the key."

  Naruq cocked a silver brow at him and laughed. "We will be there." He stepped backward, seeming to melt into the shadows.

  "Are you sunstruck, man?" shouted Og.

  "No, I am trying to buy some time to think of a way to bring Claria to safety without giving him the key to the Clock, Og," replied Cheyne.

  The Treefather eyed Cheyne curiously. "There is more here that you should know. Naruq is very bright and a talented woodsman, but he has never learned to consider the entire forest before he chooses his trail. Here is the rest of what the Collector wrote. 'The beast is pure evil, a thing of terrible beauty and the bringer of terrible fear. I have looked upon it and lived, and that is a horrible blessing. I have put it to sleep with a common spell, amplified by my brothers in the Circle. It is all we could do…'"