Niltsiar sighed and shook her head, remembering times past. "The dark elves are really not what they were,” she said, mostly to herself. “This world has so much potential,” she continued, turning to look at the Maelstrom. “There is power here to make even me feel small, but they haven't the wit to use it.”
Her parents could never see it. All they wanted was to make magic safe. Safe! Nothing was ever achieved by playing safe. She briefly gazed once more upon the battlefield before returning her attention to the Maelstrom. The gulf in between was unimaginably vast in Niltsiar's eyes. This was where `safe` had brought the world, this was the world her parents wanted. Niltsiar would have no part of it. No matter, soon she would achieve Life Infinity and then once had absorbed all the magic into herself, she would use it to forge this world anew. She would be the Creator of all things. All would be her domain to do with as she wished and she would be like a god. She would drag this world into a new era in which it would achieve its full potential or be destroyed. There was no middle ground for Niltsiar, no third option: Her world, her way...or nothing at all.
At last, Niltsiar spoke again to Eilidh. “Time to leave this world behind,” she said. “Since you opened the door, I'll let you go first.”
“I want my friends with me,” she replied, boldly. Niltsiar shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. In fact, yes, you're right: I should have witnesses.” She gestured with an upturned palm, her arm in front of her. “After you.”
* * * * *
Together, then, the four companions preceded their nemesis down the corridor in the Maelstrom.
No, Eilidh realised, not merely a corridor, but a Corridor. It was just like the network of space-time tunnels that provided transport all over Mythallen. She found that interesting.
An instant later, they exited the Corridor and the entire army bore witness as the Maelstrom sealed the entrance once more and returned to its natural flow pattern.
Eilidh and her friends were on their own... ...Or maybe not, for there, sitting on a bench inside some kind of metal shelter with windows was a tall, handsome man of indeterminate age. He was dressed in a white silk shirt, which billowed out of the sleeves of his red velvet jacket. A pair of blue-green silk breeches and purple hose covered his legs. His clashing ensemble was finished off with a pair of black shoes and a brown hat with an orange feather stuck in it. Kismet, with his familiar bright orange silk handkerchief in one hand and a pocket watch in the other.
“Egad!” he exclaimed. “I thought you were never going to get here! The bus is due any minute!”
Eilidh had no idea what a bus was, but she didn't suppose it really mattered.
Niltsiar merely rolled her eyes and mocked, “Well if it isn't my father's court jester!” The Catalyst noted the reaction with interest, whilst pretending to be absorbed by their surroundings. Niltsiar had virtually ignored the entire Council of Magic, and she only acknowledged the existence of Eilidh and her friends because they were somehow useful. But Kismet actually merited a verbal assault. If he were truly nothing more than a court jester, why would she lower herself to speak to him? Eilidh was more convinced than ever that whatever Kismet was, it was something important.
As for her surroundings, Eilidh's physical senses were confused; she had to rely on her magical senses to tell her the truth and ignore the lies. Other than the shelter thing of Kismet's creation, her eyes could see a formless grey mist, but that was a lie; it wasn't mist - there was simply, literally nothing to see here and no light by which to see the empty space. There was no sound here, either sound itself didn't exist here, but her mind couldn’t accept that, so it told her that she could hear her breath. She could feel the ground beneath her feet, except that she couldn't possibly feel the ground beneath her feet because there was no ground upon which to stand. Taste wasn't much use to her - there was nothing to taste except her own fear, and even that was only a metaphor. Smell, such a transient sense at any time, told her that this place smelled dusty, which one might have considered to be perfectly reasonable for a place where no-one had ever been. If no-one had ever been there, there had been no-one to clean it and therefore it was dusty. Perfectly reasonable...so why could she smell blueberry pie, just like the ones she loved at the market stall near the Church of Life where she grew up? There was no blueberry pie and there was no dust. There was nothing to smell, so in the absence of sensory stimuli, her mind created one smell that made sense and another from her childhood that would make her happy so as to quell her fear.
But reality is rea- She interrupted her own thought. No, that doesn't work here, she realised. Or at least, this is a reality so alien, that my physical senses are not designed to cope with it. Here she had to rely on her magical senses, but they were screaming, as they had to cope with the exact opposite problem. To her magical senses, rather than a complete absence of input, there was too much far too much.
“Of course!” she admonished herself out loud. “Rochelle, you told us about this place months ago!”
“I did?” the druid wondered, hearing Eilidh not with her ears, but with her magical senses which conveniently converted it into sound in her mind because that was the input her mind expected. “Yes,” Eilidh replied. “When we were in Avidon and saw our very first Life Eddy. We were talking about how that was magic so concentrated, that it was visible even to Phaer who was, at the time, magically Dead. The rest of us - me included - thought that since the Well of Life was even more concentrated, it must be the same as a Life Eddy but so much bigger and more powerful. I was wrong - the image I had was the Central Convergence - the Maelstrom. But you, Rochelle, you got it right."
“Yes, I remember now,” she agreed. “I predicted that the Well of Life would be invisible even to a Life Gifted Catalyst. I said a Life Eddy, and by extension the Maelstrom, is the interaction of Life and air. It's the mixture of the two that makes the light. If it's absolutely pure Life with no air, it must be invisible. No air, no interaction, no light.”
“Hang on,” Phaer put in, “if there's no air, how are we breathing?”
“We're not,” Eilidh replied. “We just think we are.”
“What?” Toli tried to explain. “I think I know what Eilidh means. We’re still alive and walking and talking
and everything, so our brains figure we must be breathing. We think we can feel our lungs working and hear our breath, but it's not true.”
“The thing is, Phaer,” Rochelle put in, “I didn't go far enough with my explanation of the Well of Life: it's not just Life and air that makes a Life Eddy its magic and nature.” Eilidh took up the explanation. “The Well of Life is a place of pure magic. Here, nature doesn't exist. We can exist here only because we all have magic within us, and it is magic, not nature, that is sustaining our bodies.”
“So if I were still magically Dead,” Phaer ventured, “would I be - well dead?” He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.” It was Kismet who answered. “Actually, you'd never have got past the door. It's a bit like - remember what Loric told you about the shield that surrounds the Fire Realm? Loric could get in, because he had the right kind of magic; Callie couldn't because she didn't. When Callie tried to walk through the shield at ground level, she entered side by side with Loric, but when they got to the other side, they each discovered they were in different places. Loric was in the Fire Realm, while Callie was locked out, stuck in the Scorched Desert. Until she fooled the magic, of course.”
It was at that point that Niltsiar showed the first signs of impatience. “But now you've got what is laughingly called the Life Gift,” she scoffed at Phaer, “you're not locked out and here you are. Congratulations!” Turning back to Kismet, she demanded, “Well, can we get on with this? I take it you're Master of Ceremonies.”
The four friends glanced at each other. This was new.
So Niltsiar hasn't come here to simply grab the power she wants and get on with destroying the world, Eilidh observed. There's some kind of ceremony or ritual involved.
&
nbsp; * * * * * During the Tech Wars, some magical extremists who wanted to see an unrealistic end to all magical devices and `return to a state of pure magic` whatever that meant, started deliberately tampering with everyday Techmagic machines. Machines that washed clothes, machines that neatly pressed robes, cooking machines, public waste extraction conveniences. These machines could have no possible use as weapons, but that didn't matter to those fanatics. Especially popular was the notion of a mage violently attacking the machine with his staff, to damage its vital components and disrupt the Life Flow, leading to a breakdown. Hence the phrase `shoving a staff in the works`.
Maybe that's something I can do, Eilidh considered. Wait until a critical moment in the ritual and shove my staff in the works.
* * * * * Kismet looked at his watch again. “Sink me, dear girl,” he said in response to Niltsiar. “It's no use blaming me - the bus is running late! Held up at the Post Office, I expect. Another one's flying in by his very own familiar private jet, but he can be a difficult passenger and he's always forgetting things...his hat mostly.”
“Kismet!” Niltsiar glowered.
“Alright! Alright! Didn't your mother ever tell you? If the wind changes, your face will stick in that ghastly expression! Speaking of your mother,” he added, “here she is now!” A door of magical energy appeared in mid-air, or rather in the middle of nowhere. The frame seemed to be `drawn` first, and then the door itself was filled in, followed by three steps, leading down to the floor. The door opened and Ganieda walked regally down the steps.
“Niltsiar,” she greeted her daughter with an air of great sadness and disappointment. “Mother,” Niltsiar returned, frostily, reminding Eilidh of a rebellious teenager in need of a wake-up call that the world did not revolve around her. Sadly, the Catalyst supposed they were a bit beyond that and in this case, if Niltsiar’s plans worked out, the world really would revolve around her until she decided her new toy wasn't to her liking and simply smashed it in a fit of pique.
“Ah,Kismet,” said Ganieda with a warm, almost reverential smile. “I see the men folk are yet to arrive.” Kismet grinned. “I know the women are ready first; it's a miracle!” He said with a knowing wink. Ganieda gave him a playful shove for his trouble. Kismet substituted his handkerchief for a blue-green farseeing lens, which he extended and held up to his right eye, but then he seemed to get an idea in his head and performed an abrupt costume change. He now sported a three cornered hat, a patch over his left eye - orange, of course - a dark blue doublet with black skull and crossbones, and a pair of black breeches. His left hand was now a metal hook and his right leg from below the knee was a wooden spike. There also appeared on his right shoulder a loud squawking green bird. In short, every inch the storybook pirate cliché.
“Ahaaargh me hearties!” he declared. “Shiver me timbers and bless me soul. Here there be dragons! No doubt carryin' some lilylivered land lubber! And that ain't easy tae say after ten flagons o’ rum! Ahaaargh!”
Sure enough, a dragon was indeed approaching, and not just an ordinary dragon, but a fire dragon. Having dropped off his passenger, the fire dragon changed into the form of a sea serpent.
The next thing Eilidh knew, she was getting vigorous handshake from a familiar daft old man in golden robes and the battered remains of a tall, pointed wizard's hat.
“Ah, Eilidh my dear,” he enthused, shaking her hand vigorously. “It's so nice to see you again! Keeping well, I hope?”
“As well as can be expected, thanks,” replied a slightly bewildered Catalyst.
“Good, good. You remember my pet, don't you?” he asked, indicating the sea serpent.
“I do wish you'd stop calling me that, sir,” said the large reptile, wearily. “You’re only embarrassing yourself.”
“Really? I thought I was embarrassing you!”
The sea serpent sped away in a huff and disappeared into the void.
Moving along to the hobbit, Artisho paused for a moment as if trying to remember something. With a snap of his fingers, he cried, “Tolbrietta Hobbnobb! I'm right, aren't I?”
“Toli will be fine,” she replied, for once having not a clue what to say and the old man was gone from her side before she could think of anything. It was Rochelle's turn for an extravigorous handshake. “Rochelle! Delighted to see you here! I say, we had quite a time of it together, didn't we, hmmm? Most exciting! You should have seen your face when you ran straight into Drizdar!” he laughed. “Priceless, absolutely priceless!”
Rochelle blushed at the memory - she supposed it was quite funny, looking back on the incident. She had grown very fond of Artisho while she was with him in Merlyon and she was genuinely delighted to see him again.
Finally coming to Phaer, he said, “Look, I'm sorry about that misunderstanding back in Marina Fells. When you found me by the lake, I was meant to tell you to make sure that when you entered the mine, you took the first turnleft, not right...or was it first right, not left?” He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “Anyway, whatever it was, you're here, I'm here and goodness me!” He jumped back as if he'd been bitten, “you've got Spirit magic!” He turned to a seething Niltsiar with narrowed eyes and a sly smile. “Did somebody trip my little mageworm trap, then?” he asked. Her only response was to fold her arms. “Must have given you quite a headache!”
“Wait a minute,” Rochelle said, reeling from the realisation “You’re Artemis?”
Artisho considered that. “Yes,” he decided, scratching the back of his neck, thoughtfully. “I did go by that name once it's been so long, I've almost forgotten.”
“You seem...” Rochelle broke off, searching for a polite way to say this, “different,” she concluded, feebly. Artemis grinned. “You mean `not crazy`? Yes, well, stripping the dark elves of magic, without letting the effect spill over into their innocent cousins, wasn't easy you know. I managed it, but I'm afraid my brain got a bit addled in the process. I can break through my veil of confusion for short bursts - make myself useful from time to time, but only here in this realm of pure magic am I able to function like I used to. Better in fact - no nature means no damned allergies to make me sneeze!”
“Fascinating!” Rochelle remarked. But Eilidh was fascinated by something else. Even Artemis, apprentice to Merlyn, got no more reaction from Niltsiar than a girl might give a mildly embarrassing older brother teasing her about her childhood. Yet impatient though she was, she continued to wait for Kismet.
Who the heck are you, Kismet? The Catalyst wondered.
The third and final guest arrived then via a big red metal box on wheels that materialised a short distance away and stopped at that shelter thing of Kismet's. Eilidh guessed this was what Kismet called a bus and through the windows of this strange conveyance, she could see only one passenger: the Wise One.
Stepping down from the bus, he looked Kismet up and down. “What are you meant to be?” Kismet rolled his eyes. “Ahaaargh! And ye call yerself the Wise One!” He broke off and returned to his normal voice again. “What do you think I am a ticket inspector?” The bus rolled on, continuing its journey to who knew where, and vanished from sight.
Eilidh could add up. She knew that two plus one made three and it didn't take much more thought to put this puzzle together. Artemis - Merlyn's apprentice, plus Ganieda Merlyn’s wife, left only one person to complete the Faerie triad.
“Merlyn,” she concluded. “Well done, Eilidh,” he replied. “Very well done indeed. You listened and learned, put it all together and got all the answers right. I'm proud of you.” To Niltsiar he said, “You, on the other hand, are a grave disappointment. You never listened to anything we tried to teach you. You never wanted to learn.” Merlyn built himself up into a ball of anger and fury and rage. “All you ever wanted was more power! You took what you wanted, discarded what didn't fit your ideals and to the abyss with the consequences!” When Ganieda tried to calm him down, he smiled, grimly. “I'm sorry, my love,” he told his wife, “but it needed saying.”
“Aye
, so it did,” Ganieda agreed. “I must be such a bad mother!” she despaired. “I hate myself for saying this but I wish we'd chosen never to have children! Anything better than giving birth to...to this vile monster!” Her strength and dignity gone, she broke down and allowed Merlyn to lead her away. Artemis followed, shaking his head in sorrow. Merlyn and Ganieda had been like parents to him since coming to Majaos and they'd treated him like an adopted son. It broke his heart to see them like this.
This was a startling new perspective for the companions. To the rest of the world, it was war - a struggle for survival, trying desperately to save their world. But to the people here - the last of the Faerie - it was a family crisis that had spiralled out of control. Who could say how and why? Who could guess when the first seeds were sown? Was there a moment, in Ancient history, when the right word, the right touch, the right action might have repaired their relationship and led to a very different history for the world of Majaos? No-one would ever know. Reality was reality, as Eilidh was fond of saying. What had happened had happened and no power, no magic could ever rewrite the past. It was too late to save the child Niltsiar. The child had grown up and she stood now with the world in the palm of her hand.
“You are old, father!” Niltsiar returned. “You've always been old, I think, since the moment you came here. What changed you? Back on the old world, when you planned your Great Endeavour, you bled the Earth dry of magic to get what you wanted! That was power. That was ambition. That was actually impressive! You came here and you found there were other creatures here - elves and dwarves, gnomes and hobbits, orcs and dragons - but you didn't care! You forged a city fit for the Faerie Kings of old. You had humans to rule and control and you forced the other races to fit in or be swept away in a tidal wave of magical progress. But then suddenly it was `oooh, the magic hurts, the magic's making people sick, let's make it safe`! Pathetic. Well, you're here now so I can show you how you should have dealt with the magic of this world - the same as you did in the old world. I'll grab it in both hands! Wrestle with it! Force it to obey my will and when I've extracted every last drop of Life from the Well, I will sweep away the old Majaos and create a new one in its place! And if it hurts, then that's just the cost of the power a fair price!”
Choice Page 39
