“Her name was Elena. She was very old. Her twin brother had been killed defending the Vigors. She had also failed in her destiny, and her life was ending. A war was raging, just as another is about to begin now. Darkness ruled, and few practitioners of the Vigors remained. The dire circumstances of her times dictated that she hide the book and the stone while she still could. Ever since the appearance of the first Jin’Sai and Jin’Saiou, the Tome and the Paragon have been passed down from one trusted practitioner of the Vigors to the next. Elena was the first and only one to hide them. She knew she was taking a terrible chance, but there was no other way.
“It was indeed fortuitous that it was Wigg who found them, many centuries later. Had it been a servant of the Vagaries, our lives would be very different now. During all of this time, the Vigors and the Vagaries have been at odds, with no clear victor. We can only hope that you and Shailiha finally succeed. And not all of the previous Jin’Sais and Jin’Saious are represented here. For you see, the art of Forestallments was lost for centuries before it was revived by Failee.”
Stunned by what he had just heard, Tristan suddenly needed to move. He walked away. The Scroll Master did not follow. The prince found all of this too mind-numbing to grasp. It was as if his entire world had suddenly been turned upside down.
After a time, he walked back to the Scroll Master, one question plaguing him.
“I want to know something,” he said. “Were Nicholas and Morganna really our parents, or were they simply the vessels the Ones worked through to place us both here upon the earth?”
“Even I do not possess the answer to such a puzzle,” the boy answered. “You are both of Morganna’s womb. Even so, given the complex nature of the craft and the seemingly infinite powers of the Ones, that may mean nothing. But it is said that if you are successful in joining the two sides of the craft, you and Shailiha shall finally have all the answers you seek. We all hope for that day. I cannot answer all of your questions, but the Ones left others like me behind who may prove helpful—such as the watchwoman of the floating gardens who helped your wizards. Each of us was placed here for a specific purpose—to employ our particular skills to help the Jin’Sais and Jin’Saious as best we could, should they come to us.”
“How do I find the others?” Tristan asked.
“I cannot help you with that. The Ones dictated that we may commune with one another, but that we may never divulge our locations to each other. You will find them the same way you found the watchwoman and me—by way of careful research. Their existences are far too valuable to entrust to any other form of detection.”
Taken up with all of this as he had been, Tristan suddenly remembered Celeste. “We must hurry!” he said. “Celeste is dying as we speak. My blood must be healed, so that I can go to her. I fear that we might already be too late.”
“You are correct, Jin’Sai,” the boy said. “But not for the reasons that you believe. We must hurry, but the greatest reason for doing so is that Wulfgar has landed, and his forces are on the move. He has already breached the pass in the Tolenkas and unleashed the Heretic hordes. They make their way toward Tammerland as I speak. But the Ones dictated that I show you this room and make the proper explanations before I tried to heal your blood.”
The thought of Wulfgar’s return to Eutracian soil made Tristan’s blood run cold.
“How can you know all this?” he asked.
“I commune with the Ones, just as I’m sure Wulfgar now does with the Heretics. In many ways, Jin’Sai, the fatal chess match between good and evil has only just begun.”
“And Celeste?” Tristan asked anxiously. “Do you know whether she still lives?”
“Yes, although she is fading quickly. But there is something else about Celeste that I have been empowered by the Ones to tell you. It is not something that you will wish to hear.”
His face darkening, Tristan walked closer. “What is it?” he demanded.
“I know how much you love her, and we will save her if we can,” the boy said. “But in the great adventure that is to be your life, in the end she is not to be your destiny. If Celeste survives, for both your sakes you must leave her. Another shall have the honor of being by your side. You will know her when you see her, and she will not be what you expect.”
“You’re lying!” Tristan exploded. He took another aggressive step toward the Scroll Master.
The boy raised one hand and the reigning Jin’Sai lapsed into unconsciousness. Before he hit the marble floor, the boy levitated his body. Keeping Tristan hovering by his side, he looked into the prince’s face.
“No, Jin’Sai,” the boy said softly. “I have told you the truth. But of all the Jin’Sais who have walked this earth in the pursuit of uniting the two sides of the craft, you may have the journey that shall prove the most difficult of all.”
Another azure haze began to form, and the prince and the Scroll Master vanished.
CHAPTER LXXX
_____
AS TRAAX RAISED HIS BLOODIED SWORD ARM, HIS DREGGAN flashed in the moonlight. The blade came down and split one of the awful thing’s skulls. He watched his lifeless enemy tumble to the ground far below. Swiveling in the air, Traax looked for another opponent. With so many of the monsters surrounding him, it didn’t take long.
It was well after midnight, the three Eutracian moons providing ample light as the airborne battle raged on. When Traax and his group had first seen the lone Black Ship sailing toward them, he and Ancaeus had thought their superior numbers would give them at least a fighting chance. But the Minions had no way of knowing that Wulfgar had already breached the azure pass and loosed the Heretic hordes.
This Minion attack was exactly what Wulfgar had been hoping for. Sure that the Jin’Sai would send the bulk of his forces north from the palace to try to stop him, he had ordered the K’tons to fly well behind the Black Ship as she traveled south. The K’tons’ dark forms blended perfectly into the night sky. When the Minion warriors flying northward first saw the lone ship, they attacked immediately. The trap had been sprung.
At first Traax hoped that they might gain the upper hand, despite Wulfgar and Cathmore’s azure bolts raining down on them with maniacal fury. But then the K’tons had caught up to the fighting, and the Minions quickly found themselves in dire straits. Even Traax, with all his battle experience, had never expected such a devastating onslaught.
The K’tons outnumbered the Minions, and they were proving as capable at dealing death as any warrior who ever lived. Those Minions who fought their way through the K’tons to land upon the ship’s decks were cut down by the surging slavers or vaporized by azure bolts. The decks were slick with blood.
As the battle raged, Traax became sickened by what he saw. The Minions had been bred to be savage, ruthless warriors who would gladly die in the service of their lord. But there was no glory or honor in what he saw in this killing zone so high above the ground.
Some of the more confident K’tons actually paused in their fighting to consume a Minion conquest—whether the victim was alive or dead. Minion blood ran red down their chins and chests. More flew to the ground to pounce upon the corpses of both the Minions and the demonslavers littering the fields of Farplain. In their deep desire to feed, they saw no distinction between the corpses.
Bloodcurdling screams rang through the night air as the butchery and gorging went on. Traax was quickly becoming worried about his forces’ ability to survive.
Looking around, he found the Black Ship. She hovered safely above the fray, allowing Wulfgar and Cathmore to shower the Minion forces with azure bolts. He watched in horror as two more deadly shafts streaked down to tear into a group of struggling warriors not fifty meters from him. Amid their awful screams, some were vaporized instantly. Others caught fire and lost arms, wings, or legs to the bolts as they crashed to the ground.
Traax suddenly realized that Wulfgar and his skele
tal captain didn’t care whether their bolts occasionally struck their own awful forces. He has more of these twisted servants than he will ever need to take Tammerland, Traax thought. If he has to purposely waste some of them in order to smash my troops in a single battle, then he will. But not before I try to kill him myself. I owe that much to the Jin’Sai.
Traax was about to soar up to try to board the Black Ship when Ancaeus flew up by his side. His second in command was wounded in one wing and was having trouble staying aloft. His hands and chest were covered with K’ton blood. Then Traax saw another K’ton coming straight at him. As it approached, its teeth flashed in the moonlight.
Traax twisted in the air and lifted his sword. As the monster soared by, he pushed the button on the dreggan’s hilt and the blade jumped its extra foot, piercing the beast’s wing and exiting the opposite side.
Gripping the dreggan with both hands, Traax used all his strength to hold it still as the K’ton soared by. The razor-sharp blade tore though the length of the K’ton’s wing, sending it head over heels toward the ground. Satisfied for the moment, Traax shot a quick, questioning glance at Ancaeus.
“Battle status!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, but his voice was drowned out by the screams of friends and foes all around him.
“Ancaeus!” he yelled again. “What is our battle status!”
Ancaeus heard him this time and flew closer. As he did, another K’ton struck at him with a massive club. He dodged the blow. He was about to strike back when a warrior came up from behind the K’ton and took off one of the thing’s wings with a single sword stroke. The K’ton screamed in agony. Ancaeus watched it tumble to the ground, smashing into Minions and K’tons alike on the way down. Safe for the moment, he turned to Traax.
“We are being defeated, my lord!” he shouted. Traax could barely hear him. “We must retreat! We cannot win; there are simply too many of them! We must save what forces we can for the defense of Tammerland!”
As the battle raged all around him, Traax tried to collect himself and decide what to do. His forces were dwindling, while the enemy seemed to keep coming and coming. If this kept up for very much longer, his army would be obliterated.
His blood boiling, he looked up at the imperious Black Ship. More azure bolts rained down. Wulfgar would have to wait, he realized. He looked back at Ancaeus and nodded.
“Sound the retreat!” he shouted. “We fly for home! But if they follow and we cannot outrun them, we shall turn to fight them again—no matter the cost!”
Ancaeus grabbed the battle bugle hanging around his neck and blew the retreat. Other buglers took up the call. Traax gnashed his teeth and turned for home. One by one, his bloodied warriors reluctantly broke off their fighting to follow him.
Looking down from the deck of the Black Ship, Cathmore smiled. He turned toward Wulfgar.
“They are in retreat, my lord,” he said. “Shall I order the K’tons to pursue them?”
Wulfgar shook his head. “The Minions are of little importance now,” he said. “We fought them this night only because we were forced to. We need to travel farther, so that I might call forth the orb before my dear half brother has a chance to intervene. When my business with the orb is concluded, we shall sail on to Tammerland, and the K’tons can gorge themselves on as many Minions and soft-fleshed civilians as they wish. Make our course south-southeast,” he ordered. “I have unfinished business with the craft.”
CHAPTER LXXXI
_____
TRISTAN SLOWLY OPENED HIS EYES. AS HIS VISION CLEARED he realized that he was still in the Well of Forestallments, but he had been moved to another area of the massive room. The Scroll Master hovered by his side.
Tristan shook his head. The chamber was even larger than he had first imagined. The huge distances covered by the bookcases made the angles between them so slight that he hadn’t realized that the room was actually a great circle, as was the Abyss of Lost Souls. Like the hallways of the Redoubt, the cases were laid out like the spokes of a wagon wheel, with Tristan and the boy now standing at the hub.
“We are finally at the center of the Well of Forestallments,” the boy said. “I used the craft to transport us here, because if we had walked, it would have taken several days. This is where I shall endeavor to change your blood back to red, should you still wish to endure the process. But before we begin, there is something else you must know.”
“And what is that?” Tristan asked. He was desperately impatient to get on with it and hurry back to Celeste.
The Scroll Master raised one arm. “Behold,” he said.
The glow of the craft appeared in the center of the circle. It slowly grew brighter and denser, then abruptly vanished, to reveal a shimmering, pure white marble altar.
Tristan shuddered. It was very much like the altar upon which Succiu had raped him and imbued his blood with Forestallments. Taking a deep breath, he did his best to push away the awful memories.
“What is it?” he asked. “Why is it here?”
“I told you that the Scrolls of the Ancients hold the spells for nearly every Forestallment in creation,” the boy said.
“Yes.”
The boy ran one hand lovingly over its polished surface, then looked back at Tristan.
“This structure contains the rest of them,” he said, “those that are not contained in the Scroll of the Vigors. They are the most powerful of all Forestallments. Only the descendants of Queen Morganna might have blood strong enough to accept them. Unfortunately, Wulfgar carries two of them already, gleaned from the Scroll of the Vagaries.”
“One of them must be the ability to summon the orbs and to move them about at will,” Tristan mused. “But what is the other?”
“The second Forestallment allows him to commune with the Heretics,” the boy answered. “This has been of great advantage to him as he has pursued his most recent plans.”
“These potent spells of the Vigors were placed here in safekeeping by the Ones, in hope that their Jin’Sais and Jin’Saious would find me and make use of them. They considered these spells too valuable and powerful to be loosed upon the world, but the Heretics did not. The Heretics believe that chaos, not compassion, is the overriding principle of the craft. They placed all of their spells into the Scroll of the Vagaries, regardless of how powerful or destructive they might be. That scroll remains in Wulfgar’s possession. Once identified, any number of Forestallment calculations may be imbued in his blood by his consuls. If you are successful in stopping the Enseterat, your next duty must be to recover the other scroll for the good of mankind. Our world will depend upon it.”
“But Wigg and Faegan can also summon the orbs,” Tristan countered. “And neither of them has visited this place before today. How can that be?”
“Your wizards unraveled the necessary calculations themselves,” the boy said. “Despite their other errors, this was truly a great accomplishment. The wizard Faegan is particularly adept at such things, especially with his gift of Consummate Recollection. But they still have not deciphered the entire spell. They can call the orbs, but their lesser blood cannot move them at will. That was clear when you and Wigg nearly died in that litter as the Orb of the Vigors destroyed Brook Hollow, remember?”
Tristan nodded. Many things that had long puzzled him were beginning to make sense.
“You’re going to do more than simply heal my blood, aren’t you?” Tristan asked. He looked over at the altar once more. “You’re going to rid me of my present Forestallments—the ones Succiu forced on me. Then you will replace them with others gleaned from within the altar.” He looked back at the Scroll Master.
“I’m right, aren’t I? And if my present Forestallments do not successfully transfer to these shelves, then my soul shall forever reside in the Abyss.”
“Yes,” the boy answered. “The Ones have said that it should be so. Still, unlike the Heretics,
they also recognize and respect your free will. You have the right to refuse. Without you, your wizards and Minions stand no chance of defeating Wulfgar’s forces. And Celeste’s blood signature is now all but gone. When it finally vanishes, so shall her time enchantments. You know what that means. But even if successful, the process will invariably take a toll upon your body and your mind—and you may carry these burdens forever.
“And remember that of all the Jin’Sais and Jin’Saious who have walked the earth, only you possess azure blood. What I shall attempt in your name has never been done before. The chances of failure are very high.”
He looked at Tristan. “It is time to decide, Jin’Sai.”
“There is no decision to be made,” Tristan said harshly. “This is one of the reasons I was placed upon the earth. We have to go forward. Our world requires it, no matter what happens to me.” Pausing for a moment, he took a deep breath. “Do what you must,” he said.
“Very well.”
The boy pointed at the altar. A thin beam of light shot from his hand to strike its top. The boy moved his hand slowly. As he did, the beam of light cut a long, narrow slit in the marble. The light slowly vanished, and the boy lowered his hand.
Tristan heard a scratching noise. What looked like a sheet of transparent azure glass rose from the slit. Hundreds of Old Eutracian words and symbols were finely etched into its surface. It was immensely beautiful as it twinkled in the light.
“This glass tapestry holds the Forestallments meant only for the Jin’Sai and Jin’Saiou,” the boy said. “I am not at liberty to tell you which of them will be granted to you until your blood has been healed. But what I can tell you is that one of them is the formula required to change your blood back to red, so that you may finally be trained in the ways of the craft, wear the Paragon, and read the Tome.” Looking back over at the altar, the boy paused for a moment.
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