“What of the orb?” Dax demanded.
“The situation has changed,” the lead warrior answered. “The orb is still carving into the mountainside, its pace unchanged, but it has now traveled far enough so that the entrance to the pass may be seen. In my opinion you should view it for yourself, sir. No words of mine could do it justice.”
Dax nodded his approval. “Very well. Take your warriors to the camp. Eat, drink, and rest. I will return shortly.”
Grateful for the respite, the tired warriors clicked their heels, then turned and walked the short distance back to camp.
“Are you game for a little sightseeing?” Dax asked Rufio. A teasing smile crossed his face. “It would do you good!”
Still trying to clear his head, Rufio pulled on his beard. He knew he hadn’t really been asked a question; he had been given an order. He clicked his boots.
“As you wish, Captain,” he answered. At Dax’s order, he picked up two of the torches the others had left behind.
Taking a few quick steps, Dax snapped open his wings and he launched himself into the air. Rufio followed.
They headed northwest, toward the place where the ruptured orb had first made contact with the forest. They soon found themselves over the steaming canyon. Trying to avoid the stench, Dax took them higher.
Steaming water still filled the ugly gouge in the earth. Thousands of bloated animal carcasses bobbed aimlessly, making the flooded canyon seem even more crowded than before. Scavenger birds circled above, banking to descend and collect their next meal.
The two warriors landed at the edge of the decimated forest at the base of the Tolenkas. In every direction, vast areas of timberland had burned to the ground. The smoldering soil that had once sustained the trees was as black as night. Here and there wisps of dark smoke rose lazily into the sky. Devoid of both animal life and the majestic forest, the entire area was eerily quiet. Taking to the sky, the two warriors flew west again, climbing up the rising sides of the mountains.
As they went higher, the charred remains of the forest gradually disappeared to reveal the stone base of the Tolenkas. Following the darkest part of the destruction left by the orb, Dax’s gaze soon fell upon another canyon, this one carved out of the rock.
He and Rufio descended carefully. Just as the patrol leader had told them, the pass was magnificent. Its floor was jagged, uneven, and at least thirty meters wide. Its scarred walls rose vertically, their tops lost somewhere in the ever-present fog. Hissing steam poured from jagged cracks in the walls and floor. The warriors could soon feel the heat beginning to seep into the soles of their boots, and rivulets of sweat crept down beneath their body armor.
A limited amount of sunlight filtered through the fog. As Dax looked down the length of the canyon, he could see no end to it. Great explosions of rock could be heard in the distance, testament to the orb’s continued success at the task that humanity had never been able to accomplish. The ground shook slightly, causing the occasional rockslide. This was a dangerous, evolving place, and Dax knew they would have to be very careful if they were to stay alive.
The Minion captain slid his dreggan from its scabbard. Rufio followed suit, then handed Dax one of the torches. Their senses alert, the two warriors began walking into the passageway.
The interior of the pass was darker than it had seemed from the outside. Dax ordered Rufio to light the torches, and shortly they were able to continue on, bright lights held high.
The deeper in they went, the hotter it became. Sweat ran freely down their bodies, and the soles of their boots were almost too hot to stand upon. Dax took to the air, and Rufio followed.
Dax realized that the heat would soon force them to turn back. Even so he pushed forward, trying to learn as much as he could. From the moment he had entered the pass, something told him that exploring it could be even more important than viewing the orb.
Dense smoke gathered, irritating their eyes and lungs. The heat was nearly unbearable; the sounds of the screaming orb and falling rocks were deafening. The canyon floor and walls shook much more violently now, and the warriors had to watch carefully for constantly falling shards of rock.
As Dax was about to order Rufio to turn back, the sounds and tremors calmed. The smoke began to lift, and the ground finally stopped shaking. Suddenly the way forward had become a bit clearer.
Holding his torch in one hand and his dreggan in the other, Dax stopped to hover in the air. Rufio came up alongside, and both gazed intently down the length of the canyon.
Through the gloom, Dax thought he saw a pinprick of light. As if it had a life of its own, its sparkling radiance started coming closer. It grew quickly, and with its speedy approach the deep, rumbling sounds started again. Faster and faster it raced toward them.
Dax suddenly realized that it wasn’t a pinprick of light at all, it was a wall of glowing azure, and it was barreling straight at them. It stretched from one side of the pass to the other, and when Dax looked up, he saw that its top was lost in the fog above.
Dax knew little of magic, but his instincts told him that the thing was lethal. “Fly!” he screamed to Rufio. “Fly for your life!”
Without knowing how deep the pass was, they had no choice but to turn around and fly back in the direction from which they had come. They immediately dropped their torches and sheathed their dreggans. Pulling on their wings with all their strength, Dax and Rufio frantically made for the exit.
They didn’t dare turn and look, for that would only slow them down. But even without checking, Dax could sense that they were losing ground.
The sides and floors of the canyon shook violently with its approach. The noise had grown so all-encompassing that the fleeing warriors thought their eardrums might burst. Great chunks of rock tore loose and plummeted from the walls, threatening to strike them down at any moment. As Dax and Rufio finally neared the exit, they redoubled their efforts and prayed for speed and safety.
The azure wall now only meters behind, Dax plunged through the exit first. Hoping that the wall would stay on a linear path as its energy exploded from the canyon, he veered to the right.
Always the slower, Rufio had not been able to keep up with Dax’s blistering pace. Dax heard him scream and turned to look.
When the azure wall reached the exit, it came to an abrupt, unexpected stop. As it did, the entire mountain range seemed to shake. The exit was blocked by an azure barrier, which pressed against the walls of the pass, sending shards of granite falling in every direction. The earth shook for a few moments more, and then everything fell silent.
Rufio screamed again. Dax’s jaw fell open.
Rufio was trapped in the azure barrier. He had been caught while flying through; only his head, shoulders, and arms protruded. Eyes bulging, the warrior struggled desperately, crying out in pain as the azure wall slowly sucked him backward. With no thought for his own safety, Dax flew to him.
Screaming, Rufio reached toward Dax. Dax took Rufio’s wrists and pulled as hard as he could. But to no avail: Rufio was being engulfed.
Out of sheer desperation, Dax let go and drew his dreggan. He hacked at the azure wall. To his horror, his blows had no effect. His blade simply disappeared into the wall, much as if he had been striking at the surface of a pond. Each time his dreggan left the barrier, the wound it left behind immediately sealed itself.
The azure had pulled Rufio in up to his shoulders now. Grabbing Rufio’s wrists again, Dax pulled with all of his might, but there was no resisting the power of the craft.
With a bloodcurdling scream, Rufio’s head was finally sucked into oblivion. Straining mightily, trying to fly backward, Dax did his best to keep hold of his friend. Only when his own fingers were nearly touching the deadly wall did he finally let go.
Rufio’s hands disappeared, and the wall sealed itself after them.
Stunned, Dax hovered there. The azure barri
er had made no sound, had given no quarter. And now Dax’s best friend was gone. For several long moments Dax lowered his head in mourning.
The exhausted Minion slowly drifted to the ground. He now believed that if he didn’t touch the wall, it wouldn’t harm him. But he was no fool. He didn’t trust his theory enough to put it to the test.
Had the circumstances been different, Dax would have thought the wall incredibly beautiful. Smooth as glass and stretching toward the heavens, the azure light was shot through with white flashes of energy. It made no sound as it shimmered there, nor did it advance or retreat, but the light it emitted surged powerfully back and forth, as though it were begging to be unleashed.
Dax knew that there was nothing more he could do. Another party of warriors would have to be sent out immediately to watch this deadly new phenomenon, and a message would have to be sent to the Jin’Sai at once.
Sadly he turned his gaze to the spot where Rufio had disappeared. The wall showed no trace of having engulfed him. With no body to immolate, it had been the worst possible of Minion deaths.
Launching himself into the sky, Dax turned toward the campsite. As his wings pulled him through the air, he did not look back.
CHAPTER XLVIII
_____
“IT’S TRUE, DAUGHTER,” WIGG SAID, HIS VOICE CRACKING.
“You are dying, and we must return to Eutracia as soon as possible. It is now even more important that we make Tristan’s blood whole again—not only to heal the orb, but to save your life.” Wigg looked at Jessamay, who nodded.
“Jessamay believes that only another physical union with Tristan—after his blood is healed—might reverse this process,” the wizard said. “After examining your blood signature, I agree. I wish things were different.”
It was early evening in Parthalon. Wigg, Jessamay, Tristan, and Celeste were sitting quietly on the balcony of Jessamay’s quarters in the Recluse. Three tension-filled days had passed since Wigg had learned the terrible news.
His first instinct had been to return everyone to Eutracia immediately. But Jessamay had been too weak to risk taking her through Faegan’s portal. Now, at last, she finally felt well enough. Tomorrow they would travel back to the place where Faegan’s portal opened each day at noon, and they would go home.
Tristan sat holding Celeste. His face was grief-stricken as she sobbed, her head buried against his shoulder.
Wigg had just broken the terrible news. He had put that task off until he could examine Celeste’s blood signature for himself. Two days earlier he had obtained a drop of his daughter’s blood under the weak pretext of checking to see that her Forestallment remained intact after the scorching of her fingertips. When he had examined her blood through Failee’s signature scope, his world had fallen apart.
Nearly one-third of Celeste’s blood signature was already gone. Glowing, azure bits—traces of Tristan’s blood—coursed ominously within the bloodlines of the signature. Wigg had never seen anything like it. It was almost as if the azure bits were devouring his daughter’s signature little by little.
Frustrated, Wigg shook his head. In truth, the only reason he hadn’t told Tristan and Celeste right then and there was simple—he hadn’t known how. It had taken all his courage to finally speak.
Tristan’s eyes were red and shiny, and he pulled Celeste a bit closer to him.
“This can’t be happening,” he said. His voice shook with every word.
“Please tell us that this has all been some kind of mistake!”
With a heavy sigh, Wigg placed his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe. “I wish I could. But everything I have just told you is true. As her signature disappears, her aging will accelerate. When the signature is finally gone, there will be nothing left to sustain her time enchantments. Remember, despite how she looks to us, and how much we may love her, she is nearly three hundred years old.”
Celeste looked at her father. Trying to collect herself, she wiped away her tears. “Isn’t there anything we can do?” she asked. Her voice sounded very small.
Jessamay went to sit beside Celeste and took her hands. “There is hope,” she said. “But first we must return to Eutracia. Our answers lie there.”
The effects of Failee’s magic now gone, Jessamay looked like a different person. After she had bathed and washed her hair, she had gratefully donned a spare dress of Failee’s. It hung a bit loosely, but it would do for now.
Tristan guessed that Wigg must have granted Jessamay the time enchantments when she had been somewhere around thirty-five Seasons of New Life. She was pretty, with blue eyes and a seductive figure—a far cry from the chained, cowering wretch they had seen found trapped in Failee’s research chambers. Her long blond hair was naturally curly and fell to her shoulders. Her color had returned, and with it much of her strength. There was a kind, candid demeanor about her that the prince found comforting.
Still, none of these things told him how powerful a sorceress Jessamay might be. Nor did he fully understand the ramifications of her having a blood signature that showed no appreciable lean. But since Wigg seemed to trust Jessamay implicitly, Tristan decided to put away his misgivings, at least for the time being. Right now, Celeste was his most immediate concern.
“How long does she have?” he asked the wizard.
Wigg shook his head. “I can’t answer that. All we can do is monitor her condition through regular examinations of her blood.”
Tristan looked back at Celeste, and a terrible memory struck him. When his son Nicholas had been draining the Paragon of its power, Wigg and Faegan had begun to age prematurely and lose their gifts. Had they not been able to stop Nicholas when they did, the wizards would have turned to dust.
Beside himself with grief, he lowered his head. After a few moments he looked back at Celeste. When he searched her face this time, he could see the truth of it.
Her appearance was already changing.
He had noticed it before, but had simply chalked it up to the immense stress they had all been under. She was still beautiful, but slight crow’s-feet had appeared at the corners of her eyes, and lines had formed around her mouth. While they had walked to the Recluse stables two nights before, he had noticed that her gait was a bit slower, and that one of her ankles seemed to bother her. And he had assumed that the dark circles beneath her eyes were simply from lack of sleep. But now he knew differently.
His heart breaking, he stood and went to the balcony railing. Celeste followed. Summoning her composure as best she could, she laced one arm through his.
“I did this to you,” he said after a long silence. “You have every right to hate me for it. Your life has always been difficult, and loving me has only added to your burdens. I’m so sorry.”
Reaching out, she turned his face to hers. “You didn’t know. It’s as much my fault as anyone’s.” Then she let go and turned to look out over the balcony.
“I’ve changed already, haven’t I?” she asked. “I’m aging. Don’t tell me tales, my love. I’ve seen what is happening to me.”
Her tears came again, and then she blurted, “Will you still love me?”
Her question broke his heart. He gently placed his forehead against hers. He could smell the lovely, familiar scent of myrrh in her hair. He pulled her closer.
“Always,” he answered.
After thinking to himself for a moment, he finally made a decision. Squaring his shoulders, he turned to leave.
Celeste was puzzled. “What are you doing?”
“Something I should have done long ago,” he answered.
Walking across the room, he went to the door and opened it. The two warriors standing on the other side immediately came to attention. Tristan whispered something to one of them. After clicking his heels, the warrior left his post. Tristan shut the door.
As the prince walked back to the balcony, Wigg and Jessama
y gave him curious looks, but he ignored them. Returning to Celeste, he went to one knee and looked up into her face.
“Will you marry me?” he asked simply.
Celeste’s face exploded with joy. “Yes,” she answered, her voice cracking with emotion. “A thousand times, yes!”
Coming to his feet, Tristan turned to Wigg. “As Lead Wizard of the Directorate, you were empowered to perform marriages, were you not?” he asked.
Tears glistened in Wigg’s eyes. “Indeed I was.”
“Good,” Tristan said, “because I respectfully request your daughter’s hand.”
It took Wigg several moments to find his voice. “Granted,” he said.
Wigg and Jessamay came to hug them both. Only moments later, there was a knock at the door. Tristan nodded to Wigg, and the wizard went to answer it. The warrior had returned. He held a box in his arms.
Tristan beckoned him inside. The warrior walked to the prince and handed him the box.
“Is it all here?” Tristan asked.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then you are dismissed.”
With another click of his heels, the Minion left the room.
“What is it?” Jessamay asked.
Tristan opened the box. It contained several finger rings and two freshly wound crowns of laurel leaves. He smiled at Celeste.
“These rings belonged to your mother,” he said. “I guessed that if her wardrobe was still here, her jewelry might be, too.”
Celeste looked at her father. Wigg’s eyes were wet, but he smiled as he nodded back.
The ring Celeste chose was a deep blue square-cut sapphire surrounded by Parthalonian diamonds. Tristan took it from her and put it in his pocket. Then he removed the laurel wreaths. He placed one on Celeste’s head, and he put the other on his own. He removed his weapons and placed them on the balcony floor, then took Celeste’s hand. As he did, he felt it tremble slightly.
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