Second Sight: Second Tale of the Lifesong

by Greg Hamerton

  The words had the underlying solidity she could recognise as truth. “I-I don’t mean to threaten anyone,” Tabitha said. An awkward moment of silence followed. The Senior was the first to speak. “Yes. Well. I believe the matter of her power is undisputed now.” He looked around the circle of wizards, ending on the Cosmologer. The Cosmologer opened and shut her mouth without making a sound. The Senior’s expression darkened. “Riddler! Have you taken the words out of her mouth again!”

  “I just sent them somewhere where they wouldn’t be heard.” He looked as innocent as a boy with stolen sweets in his pocket.

  “Let them out,” the Senior instructed.

  The Riddler reached reluctantly for his hat. As he lifted the brim, a babble of sounds tumbled out, like a crowd of petulant children all speaking at once. The Cosmologer coloured, but didn’t launch into a tirade against Zarost. Perhaps she was surprised at the petulant tone of her own voice. When heard in that strange manner, all jumbled together, it sounded particularly silly.

  “Now. Would you join us, Lifesinger?” The Senior pointed to an empty place between Zarost and the Mystery. Tabitha noticed that each seat in the Chamber was surrounded with inscriptions, and each had a distinct colour. There were only two empty seats—the unadorned one the Senior offered, and another, placed between the Senior and the Mentalist, marked with barbed script and red-bordered symbols. She guessed that was usually the Warlock’s chair. Her seat was blank, just a curved outline cut into the stone, with nothing inscribed upon it except the twinned wizard’s rune she recognised from Eyri, the heart rune.

  “The ninth seat in the Gyre,” said the Senior. “We hope to find that you will take a permanent place in the Gyre. You have caught us a bit unawares. We shall have a… ceremony, yes! And an inauguration, with the oaths and odes and awards, but such things take time to prepare properly, and we had not quite expected… Anyway, I hope you’ll stay with us, now that you have reached the Sanctuary. Now your training can begin in earnest.”

  Stay with them? Tabitha didn’t know if she’d understood the old wizard correctly, but she wasn’t going to stay in the Sanctuary. She’d promised Garyll she’d return to him as soon as she could. Tabitha didn’t know what to say, so she just smiled at the Senior and eased into her seat. It gave slightly under her weight. The stone was pliable and resilient. She guessed that it wasn’t stone after all, but some magical composite.

  “So tell us of the Warlock, Riddler,” began the Senior. “Why do you suspect such a failure? He has been a cornerstone of our Gyre. I find it hard to believe that he has fallen!”

  Zarost held up his hands. “That story begins with the Lifesinger’s account. Let her tell how she came to be in the Hunterslands, and then I shall tell you what we discovered there.”

  So Tabitha began her account. She told them of how she’d been summoned by the ailing King Mellar, and how she’d tracked the thieving prince and his consort through the Penitent’s pass and into the wastelands beyond Eyri. She spoke of the terrifying passage across the silver desert, of meeting the Lûk and hearing of their bitter experience with Prince Bevn, of the blood debt he owed for the Lûk men he’d caused to die. Finally she told them of their march westward through the forest, and the battlefield in the bloodbelt, and how she’d tried to lift the stain of hatred from the men’s hearts.

  “Then I made a terrible mistake. I called out his name. The Sorcerer. The wildfire came upon us, so much I knew we’d never run away. I believed we were going to die. That was when the Riddler appeared and turned it away.”

  “Afterward I asked a Hunter if he had seen the Eyrian Prince, Prince Bevn,” Zarost added hastily. “He knew of the boy, he’d seen the crown, and he knew who had taken them onward from the Hunter settlement at Bradach Hide. Though he tried to hide the truth from me, I fished out the details soon enough. He had seen Black Saladon. The Warlock.”

  Stunned silence filled the chamber.

  “What is he doing with the Kingsrim?” said the Mentalist. Then understanding dawned upon his face. “Oh no! No, no, no!”

  “Yes,” said Zarost. “He is heading north with the Kingsrim. He’ll hand it over to the Sorcerer, I’ll bet my best boots he will! And if you think about it a little longer, you’ll see that he must have planted the idea in the boy’s head in the first place, for there is no other explanation for the prince’s journey through the Shield than that he was told there was something beyond it to strive for. Saladon has made a pact with the prince, and he is using the boy to further his own plans. Why would he do such a thing, you ask? The Warlock must be allied with Ametheus. He is working to spread Chaos. He is taking the Kingsrim to Turmodin as a gift, in exchange for some kind of amnesty.”

  “Eyri will be lost!”

  “More to the point, Spiritist, we’ll be lost! You of all wizards should know how deep those soul-threads go into that crown. Oh, we never considered this! We can’t let this happen! We can’t!”

  “How can it be that none of us were aware of this?” asked the Senior. “How can the crown have moved so far from Eyri without even one of us knowing of it?”

  “It is by its nature invisible to sensing,” said the Lorewarden.

  “I know that!” snapped the Senior. “And we have deliberately kept our eyes averted from Eyri. No, I aimed that challenge at the Riddler, because that is why we placed you there. Why did you let this happen, Riddler? Where were you?”

  Zarost didn’t look up when he spoke. “I was chasing a trail of clues in Oldenworld. Oh, the Warlock set this up very well.”

  “And most of us were recuperating from the damage the Writhe did to us,” added the Mystery. “Little thought was given to other matters, but can we be certain of the Warlock’s intentions? All we know is that the Kingsrim is abroad in Oldenworld, and that the Warlock was seen travelling with the crown thief. Maybe he intends to mislead him.”

  “Yet when he was here yesterday, he mentioned nothing of it,” said the Mentalist.

  “He’s as guilty as sin!” exclaimed Zarost. “Why do you think he didn’t stay here?”

  “I think we should all remember who was entrusted with the preservation of Eyri in the first place.” The Cosmologer looked directly at Twardy Zarost. “You’re very keen to shift the blame away from your own head, Riddler. The Kingsrim is lost, you say, and you think the Warlock took it? Why would the Warlock have risked coming to the Sanctuary, if he were guilty of such traitorous deeds?”

  Zarost threw his hands in the air. “He must have come here to see if anyone had spied him out! He can travel faster if he knows he is not being watched. Already, the threads of the Shield scatter on the winds. Soon Eyri will be defenceless. How can you believe what he has done is anything but betrayal? He has fooled us all, and were it not for the Lifesinger, we would not have known until it was too late.”

  “But where is your proof that it is the Warlock who works for Chaos?”

  “Who else could it be?”

  The Mentalist cocked his head to one side. His eyes glittered dangerously. “Tell me, Riddler, the rescue that the Lifesinger mentioned, the spell you used to avert the wildfire strike, that wouldn’t happen to be a Reflection spell, would it?”

  Zarost picked at a fraying thread on the brim of his hat.

  “We condemned the use of reflection, Riddler!” the Senior barked.

  “That is a Chaos-spell!” declared the Cosmologer. “Clearly it is!”

  “More particles in motion does mean more disorder,” the Lorewarden agreed.

  “And by that logic a sneeze would be a Chaos-spell!” objected Zarost. “Reflection is not always Chaos—it depends on where the energy has been taken from, or what has been avoided by its use.”

  “What was avoided, then?” demanded the Cosmologer. “Surely not the Lifesinger’s death? If you were there to cast the reflection, you could have used transference at once.”

  “There were others involved,” admitted Zarost. “Others I couldn’t transfer. I had to save them.”


  “Save them? How many others have you condemned?”

  The Gyre members looked hostile. Tabitha hadn’t realised Zarost had risked anything to save the ones who had stood beside her in the forest. He had saved Mulrano. He had saved Garyll. She wanted to jump up and hug him.

  “Well, Riddler, it is now noted that you have wielded a megaflux of Chaos. Time will tell if you can swing the balance, but for now, I’d consider you more of a threat to Order than the Warlock.”

  “I hate you!” screeched the Cosmologer. “I’m going to be chasing outbound trajectories with their squared random velocity for months!”

  “Be careful, when you do, my dear Cosmologer. The Sorcerer is too lucid for you, right now.”

  “How can you know that?” Her cheeks coloured dangerously. “Are you trying to make fun of me?”

  “We met him on the way, lurking near the crossing point of infinity,” Zarost replied in an off-handed manner.

  “And you came here? You fool! He will track you. He will find us!” The Cosmologer was spitting fury.

  “He will not find us. I zagged and zigged all over the thirteenth meridian.”

  “Our Sanctuary is too fundamental to jeopardise with your games!”

  “Maybe you should begin chasing those reflected threads now,” suggested Zarost quietly. “Every moment you wait, the Chaos will spread, and you’ll be running out tracers until you are dead.”

  The Cosmologer didn’t appreciate the limerick. She was on her feet in an instant. The air crackled with power as she swept across the intervening space. She didn’t even bother to walk around the pool—her power supported her in the air, so tight was her grip on the matter in the chamber. The air became thick and violet-tinged. Tabitha felt herself bound in the magnetic weave, even though the Cosmologer’s attention was upon Zarost. The Cosmologer’s eyes were narrow slits, her eyes like chips of stone.

  “Are you playing the fool, Riddler? Are you trying to anger me just for fun? Because if you are, you miserable rotter, I shall invoke an execution myself.”

  Zarost sat quite still, and didn’t answer. He was lifted from his chair.

  The Cosmologer swung around to face the others. “I demand a trial of this member!” she spat. “He does not answer my charge, and so admits his guilt!”

  “I am true to my oath,” Zarost said simply from behind and slightly above her.

  The Cosmologer came closer to him, so close her face was right up against his feet. Her magnetic presence intensified throughout the room. Tabitha gasped. It was like being crushed from all sides at once. Twardy Zarost hung in the air, forced by the Cosmologer’s ire to swing slowly around, until his face was level with hers—level, but upside down.

  “Liar!” the Cosmologer shouted into his face. “You have been dismantling things, haven’t you, taking out your strand of the weave, now that you know the crown is in jeopardy? Trying to extricate yourself from the mess you’ve led us all into!”

  “I have never worked against the Gyre,” answered Zarost.

  “You lie!” she screeched.

  “I cannot lie and be the Riddler.”

  “I am not sure that you are, any more. I question your ability to follow your oath!”

  “If it is just a question, then you must accept the answer. I have kept my oath.”

  “You stretch my tolerance of you past its limit!” She brought her fist down as if pulling against some invisible resistance. Zarost was drawn through the air and over the pool. Then he was plunged beneath the waters and held there. He kicked and writhed, churning the water around him, but he seemed unable to break free of the mad woman’s grip. His hat floated to the surface amid a froth of bubbles.

  “Enough, Cosmologer!” boomed the Lorewarden. He spoke seldom, but it seemed when he spoke, he was listened to. The Cosmologer turned, uncertain. The Lorewarden continued. “We have already lost one member from our octad, and see how that has unbalanced us? We are divided against each other. Chaos has even begun to drive into the heart of the Gyre.”

  “But we don’t need the Riddler!” The Cosmologer’s chest heaved. “I vote that he goes!”

  “No, Cosmologer,” the Senior cut in. “You cannot deny the Riddler his place in the Gyre. For our structure to work, we must all be free to do our work, each to our own talent. You cannot hold two positions in the cube alone. It shall fall in upon itself.”

  “But why does he have to be so contrary!”

  “He must be different to you, that is our strength. We are all vastly different but our goal is common—to put an end to Chaos. The Riddler is just as valuable as you are—remember that when you allow your frustrations to rule your judgement.”

  “But what he does affects us all! He taints all of our efforts with his frivolity. How can there ever be Order, with his disruptions? When are we going to recognise his danger and banish him from the collective?”

  “When he sides with Chaos, and not before. Until then, we support each other.”

  Tabitha couldn’t stand to watch Zarost fighting for the surface any longer. “Take him out! Take him out, you wicked witch! Take him out!”

  The Cosmologer turned on her. “How dare you, you little brat! I am dispensing discipline here!”

  “Then why are you trying to drown him? That’s not discipline. It’s murder! He can’t breathe!”

  “Yours is not to question us,” the Cosmologer retorted. “He is a wizard. He has many ways to survive. Until you understand how the Gyre works, you will keep silent!”

  “If you don’t let him go this instant, I will never join the Gyre.” Tabitha held the angry woman’s eye. “I will never use the Lifesong to help the Gyre.”

  “But you must join us, you must take the oath! The skills that you have are due to our work. Your entire realm was created by us. You owe us your allegiance.”

  “You expect me to use my power according to your demands?”

  “My demands are those of the Gyre! The will of the Gyre will rule you. It rules us all.”

  “I will only consider it once you release him! Release him!”

  “You have no choice!” exclaimed the Cosmologer. “You were grown to serve us!”

  “Not so, Cosmologer,” said the Senior, as if he had all the time in the world, and his voice seemed to make it so, to make a space in time. “She is a wizard, and an equal. You all know that the offering must be of her own free will, or the skills will not be pooled. Your negotiations raise an interesting question. Will you link with us, Lifesinger, and complete our circle? Because if you won’t become the ninth then you have nothing to bargain with.”

  No bubbles came up from Twardy Zarost anymore. Tabitha became desperate.

  “What is wrong with you? He’s dying!

  “I doubt it—”

  “This is not a negotiation, it is an assassination!”

  “The oath,” stated the Senior in a strong voice, “is to fight Chaos, in every form, forever. We are sworn to Order.”

  “If I swear your oath will you release him?”

  “Yes. Swear it. Now!” screamed the Cosmologer.

  Rage flared in Tabitha, filling her with its Dark extremes, with strength, with hate.

  “You torture Twardy to compel me? You are evil! Damn you!”

  “How dare you!” screeched the Cosmologer. The air became horrendously tight around Tabitha, and she was crushed and lifted at the same time. “You can not deny us! You are what you are only because of our work. We have the rights to your talents!”

  “Cosmologer! That is enough!” barked the elder. A whip of twisted blue light split the air, striking the Cosmologer with a crack across her back. She yelped, and Tabitha fell to the floor. Tabitha’s ears popped with the sudden drop in pressure.

  “How dare you strike me!” cried the Cosmologer. She faced the elder. “Old man! You are unjust!” She raised her arms, but the others reacted instantly, drawing together in a united front, facing the Cosmologer down. They seemed to move over the floor wit
hout walking.

  Twardy Zarost broke the surface, spluttering and gasping for breath.

  “Enough!” the Lorewarden warned the Cosmologer. “Now is not the time to separate the Gyre.”

  “Find yourself, Cosmologer,” the Senior reprimanded. “Find yourself.”

  The tension crackled through the air. The six wizards seemed to be poised on the brink of a cataclysmic show-down. So much power waited to be released. Tabitha had no doubt the Cosmologer would be the primary target, but she might be caught in the crossfire. She didn’t know how to protect herself. The silence was painful as the wizards stared each other down.

  Zarost hauled himself from the pool. He didn’t look so chirpy anymore.

  “Riddler! Have you lost your mind?” asked the Mentalist.

  “Why? Have you found a spare one lying around?” He sloshed over to his seat.

  So this is the Gyre—the legendary union of wizards. They were not at all the serene figures she had imagined. At last the Cosmologer turned away, a disgusted look on her face. “You tempt ruin, all of you. I am not at fault.”

  “Cosmologer,” warned the Senior.

  “The Gyre is only useful if it is wise. Look at the evidence before you!”

  “Cosmologer.”

  The Cosmologer looked as if she was chewing on a lemon rind. She took a slow breath. “The dratted girl insulted me. I shall reserve my judgement upon the Riddler until you have all had a chance to come to the inevitable conclusion. In the meantime, I must attend to the mess he has left behind him with his reckless Reflection.”

  She strode from the Chamber, taking a good portion of the tense atmosphere with her.

  The Mentalist blew his cheeks out with a long sigh. “Well, that was a crackler.”

  The Spiritist shook her head and returned to her seat. “Do you have to push so hard, Riddler? You practically dared her to drown you.”

  “It is my task in the Gyre to stir things about. It is hers to take the sediment out.”

  “You were a little too enthusiastic in your duty,” said the Mystery. “She is still badly shaken by the Writhe. It damaged her confidence. She feels vulnerable and on edge.”