Second Sight: Second Tale of the Lifesong

by Greg Hamerton

  “Mystery, no!” exclaimed the Riddler. “He has played you for a fool!”

  The Warlock spoke over his head. “You understand what I must do, then?”

  “I do. I would see it end differently, but I’ll walk your way for a while.”

  “Then you know what must be done here.”

  “Yes. She must sing him to life.”

  “Why would I do that?” Tabitha cried out from where the Sorcerer held her against a boulder.

  “Because I have your ruling crown,” the Mystery answered, “and I can compel you.”

  “No!” exclaimed Tabitha. Bevn knew she would refuse, whatever the Mystery thought to do.

  “Raise your arms,” commanded the Mystery.

  Tabitha’s arms lifted to the sky. She forced them down again, but they didn’t stay down.

  “You see, because you have power, you are more sensitive to it than most,” explained the Mystery. “The bond of this crown is in your blood, it goes beyond what you can consciously control. You are an Eyrian, and this compels you to obey the commands of the ruling bloodline of Eyri.”

  “But Miss Twit, how can you wear it?” exclaimed the Riddler. “It is not meant for us!”

  “I carry the bloodline now,” she answered him coolly.

  Bevn knew, because the Warlock had explained it to him. “You are the hell-hag!” he exclaimed. “You took my seed! But…you can’t be!”

  “Yes, Bevn Mellar, I carry your child and I will make sure it inherits none of your limited intelligence.”

  The Riddler’s eyebrows disappeared under his hat.

  “But why didn’t you appear as you are now?” wailed Bevn. “I would have enjoyed… I would have… You could have just asked.”

  “Why should you have enjoyed it? I didn’t.” She regarded him regally. “Now be silent.”

  And he was, because he was an Eyrian. He couldn’t move his lips. She was utterly compelling. He realised he hadn’t begun to use the full powers of that crown. The wizard tapped into all of the Kingsrim. Bevn wanted that kind of power. He wanted his crown back. If he had it, he could compel the Mystery too.

  The Mystery turned away from him and faced the Sorcerer and Tabitha. “I will make her sing, and you will keep your mayhem at bay.”

  The Warlock had originally planned for Bevn to be the one who would compel Tabitha Serannon to do his bidding. It was supposed to be his power, and the slag had stolen it.

  “I am the king!” Bevn lunged at the Mystery. The others would be so impressed with his bravery. He dived through the air and stretched out his hand.

  _____

  Tabitha saw the prince leap, and she prepared herself for the moment when the Mystery would be distracted. The Kingsrim was affecting her so badly. It was like having a clamp on her mind. The Mystery could play her like a puppet and she was terrified about what she might be forced to do. She would have only an instant; she could try to fight the Mystery or escape using her song. She tried to anticipate what would happen if she chose to flee. Her right eye engaged and the world flared and shimmered, as if the figures burned in clear essence. They were all as insubstantial as wisps of smoke, when compared to the dark wind that was coming, the foe lurking beneath the surface of reality. His presence rose and rose, she could feel him in her blood. She could see his power. All these figures would be swept away in the Apocalypse, but she could be free.

  She escaped using the song, dissolving her body into clear essence, travelling on the music in the way she had moved from the Sanctuary—gone—away through the vastness. The people screamed as the fires flared and Ametheus led the chant, and the Destroyer’s influence whipped them into a frenzy of devotion. They died on the pyre, between the red flames from below and the silver fire from above. The Sorcerer’s foul magic changed them into a single body, yet his art could not gift the life he wanted to bring. The Destroyer raged against his failure and he punished the Sorcerer for it. In his madness, Ametheus continued collecting people, and Oldenworld was covered in the smoking statues of sacrifices, a forest of coalesced corpses, until every corner of Oldenworld was burnt, wasted, destroyed. The world was spared from the Destroyer in the flesh, yet the apocalypse had come to pass nonetheless. She saw it and knew it to be true.

  She snapped back to the present, where any choice she made would affect the future in a different way. Tabitha couldn’t flee—that much was clear. She had to try something else.

  She sang the stanza of destruction, stole the air from the fires and began to dismantle the sacrifice, freeing the people, but the Mystery recovered her command and compelled her to change her tune, to fan the flames, to ensnare the people once again, to create the Destroyer. The fires burst, Chaos streaked in from the sky and wrapped the Wicker Man in silver, and she screamed life into the effigy. The Destroyer arose, his body a flickering mass of smoke, blackened flesh and fire. The singular eye spiralled at her, and His dreadful voice rose in her mind and, as He came to being, the world became fragile, and his first breath shattered the wooden bonds of the statue. His second breath blew flame across all the worshippers, yea it did so, and in his third he breathed in as if gathering the power of all of the world. Then He grasped the Sorcerer and He drew him into his body. And so Tabitha saw what the Mystery was planning.

  The Destroyer would destroy Ametheus first. Ametheus was an aspect of the Destroyer; Ethan bore the eye of the Apocalypse. The Destroyer would take it back; the son and the father would become one. In that moment, the Warlock spoke the words of banishment, and the Destroyer’s great body fell, as his spirit was compelled to return to the prime dimension, according to the law of the ancient invocation Ametheus had begun. So the Gyre would be rid of its enemy; the source of all Chaos would be ended.

  It was a diabolical plan, but Tabitha was gripped by the realisation that it could work. She watched the shimmering forms of the future play out before her altered eye. The Chaos had allowed her to extend her sight beyond the moment. Order allowed her to understand what she was seeing.

  She was almost paralysed by what she saw. In the last instant, before the Destroyer was compelled to disperse on the winds, He exploded in silver fire, a flash of such awesome power it incinerated the universe. The Warlock and The Mystery had forgotten to take account of the Destroyer’s nature. Even as he died, the Destroyer would kill, and the closing of the invocation would be the last word in the world. Chaos would endure, everywhere. The Warlock would die, the Mystery, everything would end. It all happened in a split second before the Destroyer was gone. It was pure Chaos, and then… Nothing. She couldn’t see beyond her own end.

  She rewound the future, dragging her eye to the left and watching the world reverse, to the point where Ametheus was still separate from his father. Tabitha paused, considering the options. There was another way. If the Sorcerer fought for his own life, the Warlock’s plan might work. Ametheus had to fight for just long enough to distract the Destroyer. Oh! Ethan, this is all so unfair, but you and your brothers have brought it upon all of us. She could see a better future as she scrolled slowly forward in time along the thread where Ametheus fought his father, one with eventual renewal, one with song—one with life.

  If the Sorcerer could fight. She had to be out of the Mystery’s control, she was leading the future on the wrong path. Tabitha needed the Kingsrim. Time was pressing against her, pulling, demanding. She couldn’t hold onto the foresight for much longer. The moment she stepped out of the future, the present would dictate reality, unless she could choose her action. She searched among the possibilities for the way. If she cried out to the Mystery, Bevn wouldn’t grasp the crown. He would knock it from her head instead and it would fall, and bounce.

  _____

  Bevn got his hand to the crown. Something strange happened to the girl, Tabitha. For the briefest instant, he saw five of her, then one version of her shone bright and the others faded. She screamed, the Mystery jerked her head aside, his hand knocked the Kingsrim off the Mystery’s head, and he could
n’t catch it in time. It fell and bounced away, toward Tabitha and the Sorcerer who held her.

  He landed in front of the Warlock, which was a very bad place to land. Despite the bearded man whom the Warlock wrestled with, he was able to sweep Bevn from his feet and stomp a boot down on his chest, cracking ribs and pinning him to the ground.

  “We need that!” the Warlock shouted to the Sorcerer over his shoulder. “Take it up!”

  The world tensed with a sound like a tightening cable.

  The Warlock looked down. “I have had enough of you! It is time for you to die.”

  “You crack that whip and you’ll lose your grip,” quipped the bearded Riddler.

  The Mystery put her hand on the Warlock’s arm. “He must go, but why don’t you simply send him home? They won’t see him as a hero. He is the thief who has cost Eyri everything. His father can punish him, like a bad boy.”

  Was she trying to save him, or doom him? It would be a miserable fate to be returned to Eyri without the crown, without magic, without anything.

  “Hmh!” The Warlock nodded. “You see the future in that, no doubt.” He released the Riddler, who danced away. He leant over Bevn, as if inspecting a grounded animal after a hunt, considering how best to execute it. “I doubt he’ll survive the transition anyway. His mind is too feeble for great ideas.”

  “Goodbye, dear boy,” the Mystery said, a faint smile on her lips. She flicked him with a green spark.

  “But I’ve come all this way!” he howled. “It isn’t fair!”

  “I don’t have to play fair anymore!” shouted Saladon, and slapped his hands against Bevn’s head. “Infinity.”

  _____

  Zarost could see Tabitha had miscalculated. She was playing the future threads! By the light of the sun and moon, she was an adept! But the Sorcerer had got his hand on the Kingsrim, instead of her. That was the consequence of using chaos—random motion, and a loss of control. The Sorcerer’s grip had loosened on Tabitha as he turned the crown over and over. A sound like a tightening cable filled the air.

  The Mystery asked for the crown, but Ametheus ignored her. He was fascinated by it.

  Tabitha multiplied as she tried to see into the future again.

  “Tabitha!” Zarost cried out. “Tabitha! I won’t mess with your game, but I can make it simpler. The Warlock doesn’t understand. If you don’t succeed, we are in a pickle indeed. He hasn’t considered the hidden factor.”

  “And what is that, Riddler?” Saladon turned to face Twardy Zarost again, his hands held low.

  “The best outcome often rides upon the back of the worst; triumph is often the closest thing to failure.”

  “Riddler! I have planned this through to the seventeenth degree of separation. It is a true plan. It leads to Order.”

  “At what expense? I am prepared to risk my life to hear the Lifesong succeed.”

  “No, Riddler! Don’t waste yourself so! I can use you. Join me. Come, Riddler, you can see we are doomed here against the might of the Sorcerer, with four of the Gyre dead. He must be supported in his gambit. There is more you do not see.”

  “How many more will you kill to reach your goal?”

  Zarost leapt forward, under the Warlock’s defences, and he touched the black wizard; his Deathduel spell threaded into him like a deadly rose thorn. It was a contact spell. He hoped it would not call the wildfire. The Warlock grabbed Zarost by the shirt front, though it was unnecessary with the strength of the prevailing spell. He could predict what Saladon would do next. He would pull them both out of Turmodin, to a place where his magic was more powerful, more controllable—deadly precise. “I accept!” boomed the Warlock.

  Zarost didn’t bother to fight. He wasn’t that stupid. He would lose in combat against the Warlock. Anyone would, on their own. It was more important what could be done here, while the Warlock was engaged elsewhere.

  “You must work with the Mystery, Tabitha!” he called past the Warlock. “You must find another end.”

  “You will not subvert the future! You transfer with my leader, or I’ll sunder you across infinity!” the Warlock warned. “A moment, Mystery! Let me be rid of this pest.” They spread their awareness outward through the worlds and stars, and into the beyond. With the word, they were dispersed, and they ceased to be in Turmodin. Stars and blackness, but no cold. It was a race for time now, for seconds. The longer he could delay the Warlock, the longer Tabitha would have, to succeed.

  The Warlock led, dragging Zarost with his compelling grip through the vastness of the eternal cosmos. Zarost resigned himself to the journey, knowing the Warlock would choose a place of calm where his martial power would be at its peak, somewhere dry and deserted, where no traces of the Sorcerer’s influence could interfere. He would not strip Zarost to pieces in infinity as he had threatened. That was not dramatic enough for the Warlock’s sensibilities. The Warlock would wait until they had transferred somewhere like the Great Deserts of the south before he did that. He braced himself. He prayed Tabitha triumphed at Turmodin. If she didn’t succeed, they were all dead.

  There! He had played his own Chaos card.

  The desert sands stretched to the horizon. The dry, hot wind blew against his face. Never a footprint here; never a soul to interrupt his peace. He liked the desert. It made him feel big. He turned to face the Warlock and felt small again.

  “What are those mirrors for?” demanded the Warlock, towering over him.

  “You don’t recognise these? You helped put them there.” Zarost pierced his hands with the shards. They bit, and the blood created the bridge for the trapped wizards.

  “No!” the Warlock cried out. “No you cannot bring them out here, fool. It will tip the scales the wrong way!”

  The Warlock swung at him, but it was too late. The Cosmologer and the Mentalist tumbled to the ground.

  “Ah, for pity’s sake!” exclaimed the Warlock, leaping away. He understood the danger at once, and he would need to restrategise carefully. Two wizards would be balanced against him; three together might overwhelm him. Because of the blood, they were united in this battle, against him. He was going to have to do some quick talking. That was to the Riddler’s advantage, because no one could talk quicker than the Riddler.

  “Thanks Riddler, but by the blazes you could have pulled us sooner!” said the Mentalist. “A second later and I’d have been dust!”

  “Sorry, sorry, to bring you out before was a bit of a worry. I was so close to the Pillar you would have been flux-hole filler.”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  Zarost didn’t answer. He glanced at the Cosmologer instead. She was in a bad way, a mess of blood, her clothing ripped to tatters and tears streaked her soot-smeared face. However, when she took in her surroundings, and the essence winding through the air, she was instantly furious.

  “You have brought us out into a death duel!” she screeched at Zarost. “A death duel! With him!”

  “Good grief, Riddler!” exclaimed the Mentalist, his hair writhing out around him. “Good grief!”

  “This was not my idea, Renetta,” said the Warlock, already looking for allies among his adversaries. Renetta? That was a name he’d never heard used for the Cosmologer.

  “Ask who betrayed you to the shattered world in the first place,” said Zarost. “It was not I, Cosmologer, it was he!”

  She turned slowly, very slowly, toward the Warlock, her face becoming an unreadable mask, but that displayed her emotion more than anything. When the Cosmologer had gone beyond screeching senility, when the Cosmologer had gone calm, there would be hell to pay.

  The Warlock began his fast-talking. “Everything I’ve done is to gain the Sorcerer’s trust, and I have it! He sees the future. He would not have believed me if I could not have made the events that have passed real for him to see. Release me from this diversion, Riddler, or I will have to kill you all to end it. Ametheus must call the Destroyer into being, because it will be the end of him! Don’t you see? With his magic he
is the biggest threat to the Destroyer. He will be the first to be destroyed.”

  “He is calling the Destroyer?” asked the Mentalist, incredulous.

  “You have helped the Sorcerer to bring about the Apocalypse?” asked the Cosmologer, with an acid tone.

  “We haven’t beaten Ametheus because he could never be beaten, because half of him was a God,” replied the Warlock. “With Apocalypse manifest, Ametheus will be ended and then I can banish the God. I have the words. They are fundamentals. They cannot be ignored once spoken.”

  “No, Warlock, you are mistaken. Those words would not work. He would have killed you before you completed them.”

  The Warlock ignored him. “I have devised the ultimate spell! He would not have lived here longer than a few heartbeats! You have already jeopardised so much, Riddler, I had the plan to end the Sorcerer and send the Apocalypse to the end of Time. Think of it! We would have seen Order established forever.”

  “Why did you hide the words of release from the rest of us then?” demanded the Mentalist. “Why not tell the Gyre long ago?”

  “Ach! None of you fools had enough courage to take this risk. I had to hide the words of release to prevent someone releasing the Goddess Ethea. She was always a stepping-stone, to progress the plan to where we are now, or where we were until you interfered. The Destroyer must come through, or there will be no end to Ametheus.”

  Zarost took a moment. Could it be true? No, the Warlock was playing a desperate gambit, hoping to confuse him. He wouldn’t have been able to dodge the Destroyer; his plan would have failed.

  “Why would we want Order unending?” asked Zarost. “It is as bad as the Chaos.”

  “What?” cried the Cosmologer.

  “But Riddler! You have fought for Order for so long. Are you a traitor to our cause?”

  A rich accusation, coming from the Warlock, but maybe the Warlock had been preparing Ametheus for failure, all this time. He was making him doubt his own doubt.

  “My oath to the Gyre was the same as yours, to fight for Order. While Chaos is so unbalanced and so strong, I am compelled to fight for Order. When the balance comes, the need to fight the Chaos will diminish, and so, I will leave the Gyre.”