“What do you mean?” Klare asked.
“You’ve read more of the accounts of the visions of kailum than I have: those I have read are usually clear and easy to understand, not jumbled the way mine were. I don’t remember one like mine.”
“I don’t recall one that is anything like yours,” Klare replied thoughtfully, “at least according to what little you have told me. You need to sit and write them all down.”
“I’m not sure I could. I can remember them now,” Klaybear said, “the scattered faces and the situations, but even as I try to formulate a narrative, I’m adding to what I was given, filling in the connective devices that seem to have been left out. Also, if I think about any image too carefully, I find myself hurled into the whirlwind that continually circles while changing directions, forward and backward, left and right, up and down, in and out, like the tide, or waves on the beach. Worse yet, I’m not sure where one image ends and the next one begins. For me to choose a point may be to impose the wrong order upon them, which in turn could lead to someone’s death.”
“I get the idea,” Klare remarked, her expression puzzled, “I think. But again, I don’t have the details of which you speak.”
Klaybear nodded. “Take the awemi, for example. In both versions, I see him trapped in the webs of some kind of giant, misshapen spider-like creature with a puri face. But in one version the monster tears him apart and eats him, while in the other version I think I see my older brother fighting the monster along with a shining kortexi who kills the monster and frees the awemi from the webs, which cannot be possible, since Delgart must surely be dead by now.” Klaybear’s face wrinkled with confusion.
Klare opened her mouth to respond, thought better of what she was going to say, and changed course. “And you say that when you saw the awemi’s face for the first time, these visions repeated?” she asked instead.
“Forward and backward, almost melting together, until I wrenched myself free.”
“And your head and hand pulsed with red light, like it did when you first looked on me?”
Klaybear nodded.
“And like the awemi you saw two versions of me: one where I died and one where I didn’t?”
He did not speak at once, seeing her again as she had appeared in his confused vision, and the thought nearly hurled him back into the gyre; he shook his head to dispel it. “No,” he finally replied, sobbing, “you were dead in both.”
Klare fell into the chair next to Klaybear. “How is that two versions?” she managed in a hollow voice.
“In the second, I think you are healed and come back to life.”
“That’s not possible!” Klare hissed. She shook her head to dispel the thought. “How?” she asked, her face white with shock.
“I saw green, white, and gold fire close your wounds and bring life into your dead eyes and a smile to your face.”
“The green fire is obviously a kailu orthek,” Klare said, “but no kailu or anyone else has ever brought anyone back once the person has died.”
“It happens twice in my visions,” he added after a moment’s silence.
“What? Twice?” Klare asked, eyebrows rising into her honey-flecked brown hair.
“You, and someone I felt I knew but cannot name. He was killed on an altar in some kind of ritual, after which the same green, white, and gold fire combined to heal the knife wound and return him to life. I was only shown one version of his death and return to life.”
“I’m not sure you should tell me any more about . . . your vision of me.” Klare looked past him, seeing nothing. They sat in silence for several silent minutes before she spoke again. “You said you saw both your brothers?”
“I think so,” Klaybear replied. “I saw Rokwolf jump between the red-haired maghi and a purgle. I saw him thrust his sword into the purgle, saw the sword explode, and saw Rokwolf and the purgle consumed by fire, like the breath of a red aperu.”
“And the second version?”
“There was no other version.”
She frowned pensively. “What about your lost brother, Delgart?”
“I think I saw him; he looked like a younger, haggard version of father, and he also looked as tall, maybe taller, than Rokwolf. In the first version I saw him dying on a wind-swept beach, stab wound in his side. In the second he was lying wounded under a tree, saved by the red-haired maghi from a gheli. But I also saw a version of the red-haired maghi slain by the gheli.” Klaybear sighed and let his head fall slowly to the table. “I can’t get the images out of my mind; every time I even close my eyes, the dream-vision restarts and replays as long as my eyes remain closed.”
Klare left her chair and stood beside Klaybear, stroking his head and neck. “Didn’t you say that you slept quietly for a while, after drinking a sleeping potion?”
“As long as I remain in deep sleep, the dreams do not trouble me. But we move in and out of deep sleep several times each night, so each time I move out of deep sleep, I will be haunted by these visions.”
Klare smiled and lifted his chin. Their eyes met. “Have you forgotten that I, also, am a kailu, and can send you into deep sleep whenever the occasion requires? Besides,” she said, her smile turning impish, “I have ways of distracting you, not available to anyone else.” She untied the sash of her robe, opened it, and wrapped it around his head. “What was that, dear? Your voice is muffled. . . .”
Chapter 7
Little is known concerning the Keeper who resides at the summit of the Mountain. . . . Rumor says he is the brother of Sir Karble, still living, but nothing in the surviving records and none among the kortexi order will confirm or deny this rumor. . . . All inquiries are met with stony silence. . . .
from The Higher Orders, written by order of the Fereghen in atno 1739
“Come, Sir Blakstar,” the keeper said, “I have waited many long ages for your arrival.” The keeper was a head shorter than Blakstar, well-built but not heavy, face and head covered with long, silver hair. He took the kortexi by the elbow and led him to a circular, stone platform, six feet across and raised about a foot above the mountain’s flat summit. The surface of the platform was covered with runes that glowed golden as soon as the keeper’s foot touched it. When both stood near the center of the stone and the keeper waved his right hand, Blakstar saw a flash of golden light and felt his stomach lurch even as his surroundings blurred. The runes on the stone flared even more brightly, filling his vision completely with the intense, golden light. When the sensation of movement, along with the golden glow, faded, he stood next to the keeper on another circle covered with softly glowing runes in a square chamber without a visible exit, the ceiling also glowing with golden light. This room contained two comfortable chairs and a couch, and a slightly larger than wethi-size stone cabinet with ornately carved pearl handles. In one corner of the room he saw a fountain of clear running water. The fountain was a simple affair: a small, round pipe protruded from the wall, the water falling steadily into a square stone catch basin set into the floor. A simple metal dipper hung from an iron pin driven into the wall. The keeper steered Blakstar toward the fountain, indicating that he should drink by taking and dipping water from the fountain with the iron ladle. The kortexi took and drank the cool water and felt as refreshed as if he had just risen from a night of undisturbed rest. This feeling began at the center of his body, cool strength surging outward until his whole being coursed with excitement.
“Oh Great God!” he shouted suddenly, “with the strength of thy holy arm, how can we fail!”
In his mind’s eye he suddenly saw himself enter the red kailu fortress and rescue the golden-haired wetha, dealing out death to all the red kailum who opposed him; he saw the adoring look on her elfin face as he carried her to freedom. He entered Kolu itself, slaying all who opposed him until he reached Kolu’s champion, a giant figure swathed in shadow swiftly killed by a single massive stroke from his flaming sword. He finally stood before Gar himself, easily destroying him with a single thrust of
his golden sword. He jerked as a firm hand touched his shoulder, and the pleasant daydream vanished like mist before the wind.
“Thus he who drinks the Waters of Life for the first time alone,” the keeper interrupted, one hand on his shoulder restraining him, “swiftly finds death.”
Blakstar looked up at the keeper surprised. “How could something so good bring about death?”
“Throughout the earth,” the keeper continued, appearing to ignore his question, “fountains of the Waters of Life may be found. They are the earth’s gift to its inhabitants. Although one has gone without food and rest many days, a sip of these waters will instantly restore one, but they are perilous to one who is unaccustomed to them. They enhance whatever inherent strengths the individual has to the point of breaking all other restraints and discipline. Then the person does something foolhardy, as you thought to do, which in nearly all cases, causes the loss of that person’s life. Part of your life’s mission is to be the bearer and finder of the Waters of Life. In the equipment I will soon give you is the only container ever created to carry the Waters, for Waters taken in any other vessel become their opposite. They bring melancholy and depression, and the one who drinks them becomes so dispirited that he takes his own life. Trust only your own inherent sense for finding true fountains of the Waters of Life. Close your eyes and turn slowly away from and then back to this fountain.”
The kortexi did as commanded and felt a tickling sensation between his eyes at the bridge of his nose, like a fly or some other small insect. As he turned away, eyes still closed, the sensation moved around his head, tickling the top of one ear, then at the back of his skull, and he knew he had turned completely away. Continuing to turn, the feeling left the back of his head, tickled the other ear, moved over his temple and forehead until he stopped when the fountain was directly before him; he opened his eyes.
“Remember that sensation,” the keeper said, “for the day will come when it just might save your life and the lives of your companions.”
The keeper moved to the stone cabinet, opening it with the touch of one finger and the word, “Karble.” Inside, Blakstar saw armor and weapons emblazoned with a symbol he immediately recognized: a tall vase with a narrow neck and an eye with its lashes stretched from top to bottom of the front of the vase.
“Those are the devices of Sir Karble, first and foremost of all kortexem!” Blakstar exclaimed in awe.
The keeper smiled and nodded once. “This is the equipment of Sir Karble eli kerdu-ghebi, which means the One’s chosen life-bearer. He was the first and until now, the only bearer of the Waters of Life. As you travel the land bearing his devices, a legend come to life, you will bring hope to the hopeless and life to the dying. Evil will mock and persecute you, for daring to wear the devices of a hero long dead. Yet in their hearts they will fear you and what you represent. Hear now the prophecy of Karble, given on his deathbed as he delivered this equipment into the hands of the keeper of the Mountain: On a day far from now, when good suffers under the oppression of evil, one will come bearing my devices and the Waters of Life, marked by evil, but chosen by the One to become like me and restore life and good to the world. As long as you remain true to the promises made as a kortexi, your life will be preserved until you fulfill the mission reserved for you. Now, gird yourself with the raiment, armor, weapons, and equipment of Sir Karble and become Sir Blakstar eli kerdu-ghebi, the One’s chosen life-bearer.”
The keeper took a strange suit from the cabinet of some light material that shimmered golden as it moved; it opened from neck to waist and would cover him from head to toe, leaving only his face exposed. The gloves and hood were removable and there were flaps convenient for natural functions.
“Remove your robe and sandals,” the keeper said. While the kortexi did as instructed, the keeper continued. “This suit will only open at the touch of your hand; slip it on and I will show you how.”
Blakstar untied the robe’s sash and started to slip it off; he noticed a tightness and slight pain across his chest that he had not felt before, not when he put the robe on. He let the robe slide onto the floor and touched his chest, feeling the lines in his skin inscribed by fire.
He looked up at the keeper, who was watching him closely, still holding the golden suit. “Why?” he asked, thinking the keeper might give him more of an answer than had the figure in white of his dream.
“You have been marked by Gar,” the keeper replied in a soft voice, “who fears and hates you and all the chosen–he has marked all of you with his sign, marked you for his particular attention: he will do all in his power to destroy you chosen, and he believes this sign will cause all to turn against you. You must keep this hidden; the damage will be repaired in time, but for now, think not on it. Instead, put on this suit,” he finished, holding the suit out for Blakstar to take.
He took it automatically, but he did not put it on. “But . . . how?” he stammered. “How did I get this mark–I have no memory of it–I saw lines of fire in a strange dream, but did not know dreams could affect the waking world like this.”
“The One has given you a gift,” the keeper replied, “a great gift. For now, it is enough for you to know that you have been marked with Gar’s sign, and you must keep it hidden from all eyes, except your fellow chosen,” he added, holding up his hand to stop Blakstar’s questions. “I will explain more about being chosen in a moment, after you get dressed.”
Blakstar nodded once and slipped into the golden suit and felt the garment cling to him like a second skin. The material was light and airy, covering him completely but without restricting his movement; it was lined with a soft cotton material that could be removed for washing.
“There are very few weapons that can penetrate this material,” the keeper noted. “Now, run your right hand along the front opening, from waist to neck.” The front of the garment closed with no sign of a seam. The keeper grabbed the front of the suit with both hands on either side of where the opening had been and pulled, failing to open it. “Now you try.”
The kortexi grabbed the front of the suit, as the keeper had, and pulled with all his might. The fabric stretched but did not open, as if it were a single piece without opening or seam.
“Now run your right hand from neck to waist where the opening was.”
The fabric opened; Blakstar smiled. “This is . . . incredible!” he exclaimed, searching a moment for a word.
The keeper nodded. “The equipment of Karble will give you the power to banish creatures of Gar from your presence,” he went on, pointing at the golden mesh, “at least temporarily. This material can be cut by certain weapons, but it will seal itself closed as quickly as it is cut. It is not completely proof against all attacks, but it will protect you from heat and cold and all sorts of unwanted intrusions.”
The keeper took a pair of tall, white boots, embossed with gold, and handed them to Blakstar, along with a pair of long, thick socks, who pulled on both socks and boots. They fit well and felt more comfortable than any boots he had ever worn. The keeper then lifted from the cabinet a mail shirt of fine, golden rings that shimmered in the light. Blakstar knelt and the keeper dropped it over his head and onto his shoulders, and he felt no weight. The golden rings reached from his neck to his knees, and from his shoulders to his wrists.
“It’s so light,” Blakstar said. “Is it enhanced by teka?” he asked, one eyebrow rising suspiciously.
“Yes,” the keeper replied, “all of your equipment is teka enhanced, but its elemental strength comes from you. As your faith, strength, will, skill, and experience grow, so will the elemental strength of your armor and weapons.”
“But I did not think we were allowed to use items powered by teka,” Blakstar protested.
The keeper sighed, shaking his head sadly. “That is a corruption of the original kortexi ideals,” he noted, “it was never part of the order as established by Karble. Also, your case is a special one, but you would be unwise, considering the current views, to broadc
ast the elementally powered nature of your armor and weaponry.”
Blakstar frowned but nodded. “Just how powerful are they?” he asked, feeling uncomfortable speaking about teka.
“At this point,” the keeper replied, “the armor will protect you against all mundane weapons and attacks, and the weapons are effective against all mundane armor and creatures. Your armor cannot be cut, but, as you have been taught, nothing can soften the blow of metal on metal. You might never be cut, but you will get many painful bruises if you use your body to stop the blow.”
Blakstar laughed, recognizing the humor in the keeper’s words, recalling the many bruises he had received under the expert hands of the kortexi weapons master.
From the cabinet the keeper took gauntlets of the same fine, golden mesh and white leather, a white cloak with a brooch shaped like a water vessel the symbol of Karble, and a golden belt with a buckle similar to the brooch. Attached to the belt was a white leather scabbard tooled with an elongated version of the same symbol, the symbol embossed in gold. There also hung from the belt two water skins.
“Can you tell,” the keeper asked after buckling the belt around Blakstar’s waist, “which is the vessel for the Waters of Life?”
Blakstar touched each vessel with his hands; he felt the familiar tingle under his right hand. “This one,” he said, removing it from his belt.
“Go and fill it in the fountain,” the keeper said.
The kortexi did as instructed, hanging the vessel from his belt. The keeper took a shining, golden sword from the cabinet.
“Here is your sword,” the keeper said. “It is more than just a weapon. You might think of it as a key to many things, some of which I will show you now, others you will learn in time. First, it will open this cabinet should you need to replace any of your equipment.” The keeper closed the cabinet and pointed to a narrow slot high on the cabinet’s right side. “Slide your sword into this slot up to the hilt,” the keeper did so, and Blakstar notice a clear, yellow gem attached to the pommel of the sword, “and it will open the cabinet.” He opened the doors and removed the sword. “Only your sword and my hand will open this closet. Next, this sword will open a door that will allow you to return to this room. Place the point of the sword on the ground to your left, draw a circle on the ground from left to right as large as whatever you wish to pass through the door. When the sword returns to the beginning point, raise the sword overhead in an arc and touch the circle’s other side. A gray shimmering archway will form, opening a doorway to whatever place you have clearly in mind. Step through the arch and you will be there. In this way you can move instantly to anyplace of which you have a clear mental picture in mind. However, it can be quite draining to those who are unused to artifacts of elemental power.”
The Redemption, Volume 1 Page 11
