by Dorian Hart
“Or maybe I have no Gods-damned idea,” he grumbled in his bed. “If Aravia can’t figure this out, how am I supposed to? All this magic business is far beyond me.”
The bells had rung midnight before he finally drifted into an uneasy slumber. The Eyes of Moirel moved in and out of his dreams like colored phantoms. He dreamt of a grandfather he had never met and the earth whispering to him of its pain, of a splinter lodged in its heart. He dreamt that he held the purple Eye in one hand and the green Eye in the other.
“There will be consequences,” said one.
“All the stones know your name,” said the other.
And both Eyes glowed so brightly and with such heat that they melted his bones, and he poured through cracks into the ground until his being had merged with the molten fire at the center of the world.
He woke, sweaty, and heard a noise from downstairs, a sound of splintered wood. He knew immediately: the Eyes had found their vigor. Something momentous had happened, and it terrified him. Through his window the sun was just beginning to rise. Kibi swung out of bed and lurched into the hall, then hammered on the doors of the others.
“Wake up! All of you, wake up!”
Soon the six of them stood in the upstairs hall, dressed in their nightclothes.
“This had better be the best surprise breakfast in history,” Dranko grumbled.
Kibi didn’t bother to hide his fear. “It’s the Eyes. I don’t want to go down there alone.”
The others must have seen how scared he was; they all followed him without question. Together they crept down the stairs, through the foyer, and into the living room.
Eddings stood by the fireplace, looking at them.
His right eye was a green ball of fire.
His mouth opened, and he spoke with a sharp, crystalline voice that was not his own.
THE VENTIFACT COLOSSUS WAKES FROM ITS SLEEP. THE WORLD IS AT A CROSSROADS.
His left eye burned with a purple radiance.
THE GREAT SAND TURTLE ARISES EVEN NOW FROM ITS SLUMBER, AND TODAY DESTINIES WILL SCATTER LIKE GRAINS OF SAND TUMBLING FROM ITS SHELL.
Living green crystal crept down the right side of Eddings’ face as he spoke, covering it like a fast-spreading algae. A skin of amethyst did likewise on the left side. The green and purple Eyes spoke through the butler, alternating which had control.
HEED WELL MY WARNING. THE CHELONIAN HORN MUST BE SOUNDED ELSE THOUSANDS WILL PERISH IN WAR. IF IT IS SILENT, THE FUTURE WILL BE THROWN TO CHAOS TO SAVE AN EPHEMERAL PRESENT.
HEED WELL MY WARNING. THE CHELONIAN HORN MUST NOT BE SOUNDED ELSE THOUSANDS WILL PERISH IN WAR. SHOULD IT BE WINDED, THE PRESENT WILL BE SACRIFICED TO SAVE AN UNKNOWABLE FUTURE.
MY BROTHER IS CORRECT. THE COLOSSUS WILL RISE AND WREAK HAVOC. BUT ITS DEATH WILL OPEN THE GATEWAY TO SALVATION.
MY BROTHER IS CORRECT. THE COLOSSUS WILL SLUMBER AND THE WORLDS WILL BE JOINED. BUT IN WAKING IT YOU ONLY TRADE CONFLICT FOR CONFLICT, AND FOR THIS PAY WITH TERRIBLE DESTRUCTION.
YOU WILL STOP AKTALLIAN. THE FUTURE IS CARVED IN DIAMOND THAT NONE MAY ERASE OR CHANGE. YOU WILL INTERVENE.
NO. THE FUTURE IS WRITTEN ON WATER, AND YOU ARE ITS AUTHORS.
Eddings’ two-colored harlequin mask was expressionless; it was impossible to tell if the butler was awake or even aware of what was happening. But if the Eyes of Moirel were indeed embedded in Eddings’ sockets, his real eyes must have been burned away.
No one spoke. No one moved. Eddings stood stock still. But just when Kibi was sure they were done delivering their cryptic and contradictory messages, both Eyes flared and their light mixed. They had more to say, and now their voice became doubled, talking in an almost-unison.
YOU HAVE THE FOCUS, IN WHOSE VEINS RUNS THE BLOOD OF SANTO, AND YOU HAVE THE TALISMAN TO PRESERVE YOUR INTEGRITY. BUT THERE IS ONE MORE THING.
OUR CREATOR DID NOT FULLY UNDERSTAND US. WE ARE NOT ALL REQUIRED. TO TRAVEL NOWHERE, YOU WILL NEED ONLY THREE WHO ARE WILLING. TO TRAVEL NOWHERE, WE WILL NEED OUR LAST REMAINING BROTHER.
HE IS IN THE HOUSE OF HET BRANOI, BEYOND THE ARCH OF FIRE, AND HE CANNOT RETURN ON HIS OWN. THE CANARY HAS ENCIRCLED THE CAT. WHEN THE TIME IS RIGHT AND THE WORLD IS WRONG, RETURN HIM TO US, SO YOU MIGHT WALK IN THE FOOTPRINTS OF MOIREL.
CONTINUE TO KEEP US SAFE, KIBILHATHUR.
And with that final utterance, Eddings fell heavily to his knees. The two Eyes of Moirel popped gruesomely from his head and landed on the carpet, leaving the butler’s eye sockets smooth but empty. The bi-colored crystal retreated from his face.
Eddings shook his head as if to clear it, and looked—no, rather, he pointed his face at them.
“Why am I on the floor?” he asked, his voice betraying embarrassment at the lack of decorum. “And why are all of you looking at me with such horrified expressions? What is going on?”
For a moment none of them could bring themselves to answer. Kibi had no idea what to say.
“Eddings, can you see us?” asked Ernie.
“Of course, Master Roundhill. Is there some reason that I shouldn’t?”
“Because you have no eyeballs!” Tor blurted.
“Nonsense. If I had no eyeballs, I wouldn’t be able to see you all standing there, looking as though I were a ghost. And I still await an explanation for what I’m doing here at all. Did I sleepwalk?”
“Not exactly,” said Aravia in a small voice. “But…Eddings, we’re delighted that you can still see, but…your eyes…”
Eddings’ brows shot up as if he were rolling his eyes, which of course he wasn’t, and he brought his hands to his face. He paled as his fingertips explored the unblemished depressions where his eyes had been.
“Oh, dear me. But if I have no eyes, then…”
Kibi stepped forward and picked up the Eyes of Moirel from the ground.
“I guess our friends here decided Bumbly weren’t up to the job this time ’round.”
“I see,” said Eddings, immediately wincing at his turn of phrase. “Am I…am I likely to retain my sight? Aravia?”
“I don’t know,” said Aravia. “I think so. I hope so.”
Eddings walked slowly to a mirror that hung on the wall.
“Oh, dear me,” he repeated. “I am likely to cause a stir when I go into town, aren’t I? No matter. If it all proves too much for people, I shall wear a translucent blindfold.”
“I’m impressed how you’re takin’ it,” said Kibi.
“Master Abernathy did warn me when he hired me that my life would become more…unusual. More unpredictable. Since this episode has had only cosmetic consequences, I shall simply count my blessings and move on. Now, shall I prepare breakfast?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
DRANKO WOLFED DOWN his bacon. Today was shaping up to be a day for world-saving, and that wasn’t going to happen on an empty stomach. “So the Ventifact Colossus might be walking through Sand’s Edge right now, knocking over buildings?”
“The Eyes said ‘must not be sounded,’” said Morningstar. “So fifteen minutes ago, it hadn’t happened yet.”
“I think you underestimate the damage the colossus could cause,” said Aravia. Her expression was distant and troubled. “The purple Eye called it the Great Sand Turtle. Don’t you realize what that means?”
“Sure,” said Dranko. “It means the turtle lives in the Mouth of Nahalm. Maybe it’s been riding around on one of the wandering islands all this time. Or the Black Circle could have been digging up a—”
“You’re not thinking big enough.”
Dranko stopped with a forkful of scrambled eggs halfway to his mouth.
“Oh Hells,” he whispered. “The wandering islands…”
“Wait a minute,” said Morningstar. “Are you saying each of those islands is just the shell of a giant…a Ventifact Colossus? I thought there was only one!”
“Not according to Romus the Mad,” said Dranko. “Didn’t he warn that if it wasn’t killed, it would lead a turtle army to conquer the kingdom?”
�
�I doubt those islands are turtle shells,” said Aravia.
“Oh, good,” said Dranko, relieved. “For a minute there I thought you were implying that—”
“No, those are build-ups of sand that have mixed with secretions from the turtles’ shells over time. The shells are at least as big around as the bases of the wandering islands. We’re not talking about creatures the size of a house. No, something that big could flatten several houses with a single step.”
Dranko tried to picture it. “Stormknights must be stronger than they look.”
“We need to go now!” said Tor. “What’s-his-name could be blowing the horn while we’re finishing breakfast!”
“Aktallian,” said Morningstar. “The red trespasser.”
“The purple Eye seemed to think we were gonna stop him soundin’ the horn in the first place,” said Kibi. “But are we? The green Eye seemed to be sayin’ we ought to let him blow the thing.”
“We have to stop him,” said Ernie. “If the turtle gets woken up, who knows how many people it will kill before the Stormknights even have a chance at killing it? We can worry about the consequences some other time.”
“Consequences…” said Kibi, brows knitting. Dranko had learned to recognize Kibi’s thinking face.
“Kibi, what are you—”
“We should let Aktallian blow the Horn,” Kibi said. “It was the purple Eye telling us not to, but the purple Eye is damaged. It warned me. I’m guessin’ that it wasn’t talking about its physical self. It was talkin’ about its judgment.”
“Can we take that chance?” asked Ernie.
“Kibi’s right,” said Dranko. “The green Eye said letting the horn get blown will open the gateway to salvation. A gateway! The Kivian Arch! It all has to happen the way Hodge expected, so that we can go to Kivia and find the Crosser’s Maze.”
Ernie turned to Kibi. “Aren’t you always telling us you don’t believe in destiny? That’s exactly what we’re talking about now!”
Kibi shook his head. “But the purple Eye, that’s the one tellin’ us the future is carved in diamond. I don’t hold no truck with that. The green Eye now, with the future in the water stuff, that tells me we control our own fates.”
“Either way, we should go right now,” said Morningstar. “Either we’ll stop Aktallian from blowing the horn, or we’ll have to figure out how three Stormknights are going to kill a turtle the size of a village. But both of those options involve getting ourselves to Sand’s Edge as soon as we’re ready.”
Dranko had purchased a new bag of salves and ointments after buying the wine the previous day, and looking at his friends he knew he was going to need it. He had stitched up Ernie and Morningstar as best he could, but their cuts needed cleaning and fresh bandages. And if they wound up battling one of Naradawk’s elite servants, they’d be at a significant disadvantage.
“Listen up,” he told the others. “We may end up going sword to sword with Aktallian. I know I’ve channeled several times now, but that doesn’t mean I can save you if you get injured. If two of you end up mortally wounded, at best I’ll have the inner strength to save one. And if he hacks off your head with one blow…”
“We understand,” said Ernie. “We’ll be careful.”
Dranko grimaced. There was something he hadn’t told the others. His acts of channeling had cost him more than just temporary strength. Mortals were imperfect vessels of the Divine, and to serve as a conduit for Delioch’s grace, Dranko had to relinquish some part of his own life. Priests trained as channelers could restore some of that lost vitality through weeks of dedicated meditation and prayer, but Dranko didn’t foresee having that kind of luxury. Too much channeling and he’d die, his soul withered away. Would he do that for them?
I should have done it for Mrs. Horn.
That was why he had failed, why Mrs. Horn had died when he should have saved her. Only after he had healed the beggar had Dranko truly understood the price of channeling. When Mrs. Horn lay bleeding on the floor of the Shadow Chaser, a part of him, the cowardly part, the selfish part, had refused to make another sacrifice. Yes, channeling also required concentration, and Grey Wolf’s haranguing hadn’t helped, but he’d be lying if he said that was the whole of the problem.
He remembered Grey Wolf’s tirade on the way back from Sand’s Edge, when he wished it were Dranko who had died in place of Mrs. Horn. He understood the man’s anger. And as he looked around at his friends, he knew that he would do whatever was needed should they come to harm.
A more cheering thought came to him: if a giant turtle menaced a large city, and he was instrumental in killing said turtle, a certain amount of fame would unavoidably attach to him. Not that saving hundreds or thousands of lives wasn’t also a priority, but ever since Abernathy’s summons so many weeks earlier, Dranko had been hoping for this kind of unique opportunity. It was one thing to tell tales of gopher-bugs in small-town inns, but this—this was a save-the-kingdom-from-obvious-destruction sort of affair. Hero stuff.
Now they just had to go do it.
He stood up and clapped. “No time like the present. Aravia?”
* * *
Aravia teleported them to their previous landing spot by the desert. Dranko spent only a second or two marveling at the awesome magical power that could whisk a half-dozen people hundreds of miles in an eye blink. After that, he fixed his attention on the wandering island that had made its way nearly to the edge of the Mouth of Nahalm’s steep bowl.
Even at a few hundred yards’ distance, it seemed to loom over them like a leaning mountain. Though he had scrambled about atop a similar island a month earlier, it was much more daunting now when he imagined it was merely a mound of hardened sand stuck to the back of a living creature. Dranko tried to picture something capable of carrying that sort of weight on its back. He failed.
It wasn’t climbing up onto land, which was a relief, and a crowd had gathered at the lip of the Mouth not far away.
“We need to warn those people!” said Ernie. “They’ll get stepped on!”
“We also need some information from them,” said Dranko. “Come on.”
The six of them jogged over to the crowd, several dozen denizens of Sand’s Edge gazing upon the wandering island that had floated so close to shore. Dranko ran ahead and approached a young woman standing at the back of the gathering.
“Excuse me, miss. How long has that island been so close to the city?”
The woman turned and opened her mouth to answer, then drew back at the sight of his face.
“Look, miss, I’m…it’s just a disguise. Forget the tusks for a minute and answer the question. How long—”
“Why would you disguise yourself as a goblin?”
“Gods damn it! Would you—no, forget it.”
His friends were just catching up.
“Ernie, you’re looking handsome today. Would you ask one of these fine folk how long the giant turtle has been sitting there?”
A scrawny teenaged boy nearby looked up. “Sir, did you say a giant turtle?”
“How long has it been there?” asked Ernie. “The island, I mean.”
“Since yesterday afternoon. But why did you call it a turtle?”
“Yesterday,” said Aravia. “So if we take what the Eyes said as the truth, the red trespasser hasn’t blown the horn yet.”
“You have to get out of here!” said Ernie to the boy. Then, louder, “Everyone! Please, listen to me! That island is actually a huge turtle, and any minute now it’s going to climb out of the sand and step on your city. You have to flee!”
Most of the crowd didn’t seem to hear him, and the few who did regarded Ernie with nothing more than curiosity.
A rotund and elderly woman emerged from the gathering and stood before Ernie. “Shame on you, boy. Are you trying to start a riot?”
“No, ma’am. I’m very serious.” Ernie was painstakingly polite. “Underneath that island is an enormous turtle called a Ventifact Colossus, and if we don’t stop it,
today it’s going to walk over your city and smash it to bits.”
“And where did you come by such a fanciful notion, young fellow?”
“We, uh, read about it,” said Ernie, obviously realizing how ridiculous he sounded. “In a prophecy. Two prophecies, actually. Plus my friend Morningstar is an Ellish Dream-seer, and she, uh, had a vision about a giant turtle.” Ernie turned to Dranko with pleading eyes. “Help?”
“Excuse my friend here,” said Dranko. “He has sunstroke.”
“Already? The sun’s hardly risen!”
“He’s very sensitive. But you’re obviously a knowledgeable woman. Would you happen to know what is the highest tower in Sand’s Edge, and how best to reach it? We’re from out of town and would love to take a look.”
“Oh, of course,” said the woman. “Arrowshot Tower is Sand’s Edge’s most famous building. It’s popular with tourists; if you have a silver coin to pay the entry fee, the view is tremendous.”
“I’m sure I can spare a silver for that,” said Dranko. “Sounds glorious.”
“Young man, what happened to your face?”
Dranko sighed. “Hunting accident. I ran face-first into a boar.”
“We do have a small shrine to Delioch here in Sand’s Edge. Perhaps—”
“We’re in a bit of a hurry,” said Dranko. “In which part of the city will I find Arrowshot Tower?”
“Old military quarter, to the north. Anyone on the street can direct you to it.”
“Thank you, ma’am. You’ve been a great help.”
“One more thing,” said Aravia, stepping up. “Is there a Shrine of Werthis in Sand’s Edge?”
