“Just what we need; more trouble.”
Slurr turned to his friend and smiled. “Come on, Kern! We’re already locked in mortal combat with the minions of the demon spawn of an evil goddess. A city full of people welcoming them shouldn’t concern us any further!”
Kern looked at the lad, not for the first time amazed by him. Kern alone had known that Slurr was in fact an intelligent, sensitive young man, even when the Passel’s and everyone else in the Softer thought him a dullard. And how much more depth of character had he revealed since the fall of Kamara! But Kern knew that Slurr’s heart had been torn asunder by the disappearance of Cerah. He knew that every fiber of the boy’s being was frayed and tattered. And here he sat, on the back of the queen of dragons, joking with him.
“I love you, boy,” he said.
“Ha! And I you, you rascal. Fly on!” And with that Slurr nudged Tressida’s sides, spurring her on to soar even faster.
3
Ban
As soon as she was sure that she was truly free of the Under Plane, Cerah sat and attempted to rally her composure. The time she had spent with the girl-shadow Therra had sent her mind spinning, especially that final moment when she saw her standing beside Pilka. That the evil goddess might reappear at Cerah’s last moment in the dark Plane might in itself not be that unexpected. But for her to be with the girl who claimed to be Cerah’s distant ancestor, and for them to share the same fiendish smile… that was another thing altogether.
I can think of nothing good coming from that encounter. It makes me even doubt the wisdom of moving to this place, she thought.
What of this place? She looked around her. Unlike the Under Plane, it was somehow dimly illuminated. Cerah did not have to use inner sight to examine her surroundings. She did not clearly see the source of the murky glow and it reminded her of Onesperus. Much of the lighting in the sacred cave also came from a hidden origin. Onesperus was comfortably lit, however. Here it was like being constantly on the edge of shadow and light. It was unsettling.
But for all of that, Cerah could see what surrounded her. Not that there was much. The place that Therra had called Between was flat, as had been the Under Plane, at least in appearance. But this place had a visible ground to it. Cerah looked down at it. It was composed of cracked, hard-packed mud, extending in every direction. Here and there small saplings sprouted from the ground, the tallest reaching maybe five feet. However, they all appeared to be dead, as if the place had once known water which flowed no more. Cerah rested for a moment longer, then stood and walked to the nearest of these.
As she approached it, she saw that it bore some similarities to the Sarquahn, the plant sacred to the wizards, which had died during her final encounter with it. There were differences as well. These were more tree-like, where the Sarquahn appeared to be a large bush. But the bark of these trees had the same fleshy appearance that characterized the former source of the wizards’ remote vision. Neither had any leaves, but the Sarquahn had been dotted with small flames in their stead. The trees were simply bare.
Cerah was not inclined to touch them. If there were in any way related to the sacred plant, contact was not wise. She kept walking.
How does one chose a direction in these ethereal realms? she wondered. All ways look the same! And even though she could not justify the course she had taken, she stuck to it, seeing no cogent argument for choosing any other.
Once or twice she thought she saw shimmering areas, like the tear in the Under Plane that had led her here. These she avoided, not knowing if they would drag her back into that forsaken place. Still, she thought, it appears there are many portals from Between. That much of Therra’s story appears to be true enough.
After walking for a very long time, Cerah stopped short. She had heard a distant sound, like thunder and laughter and broken things. She could not hear it clearly, but her Spark told her at once that she was again hearing Surok. Instinctively she crouched to the ground. She remained so positioned for several minutes. During that time the sound was repeated twice, though in neither instance did it seem any closer. After the second time, she began to feel foolish. There was nothing in this place to hide behind. Crouching gave her no advantage. Silly girl, she chided herself. Rising once more, she waited to see if she could hear her enemy again. When she did not after several moments, she began to walk once more.
So then is he is also in Between? When I heard his voice in the Under Plane it seemed as though he was not actually there, as though he was speaking from beyond that realm. Was it from here that he spoke? Perhaps it is by traveling here that he can remain unseen, even when his foul presence is indicated by those damnable clouds. Perhaps that is why we did not see him until the end of the battle in Sejira. She pictured the hulking demon popping between the Green Lands and this demi-plane, doing so at will and to her chagrin. But now I am here as well, she thought. So, is it still to his advantage to linger in this place? Should I encounter him, might he be unprepared? Then she looked at her empty hand. The weapon that had been forged specifically to combat the monster was not with her. It had fallen to the ground when Pilka’s magic had transported her from Thresh. Perhaps Slurr recovered Isurra, she thought. Then: Slurr! How he must be suffering! He does not know if I live or am dead. When he did not return from the Frozen South, I was at first sure that I would perish myself, until the Spark of Ma’uzzi within me assured me he was alive. He does not possess the Greater Spark to guide him. He cannot know for certain. She brought the image of her husband to her mind. Immediately she was comforted, so clearly could she see his handsome face, his unruly hair, his chiseled body. But then again, he is a stubborn, amazing boy. He will not give up on me easily. Presented with the choice to despair or to have hope, he will always choose hope.
An instant after this thought formed, Cerah thought that she heard another sound. This one was in no way fearsome, however. It seemed to her, at first, to be like distant wind chimes in a gentle summer breeze. Then she realized that it was a woman’s voice. Distant it was, as had been the demon’s, but as she stood still and strained to hear it, the sound seemed to be drawing nearer.
She squelched the urge to squat once again, realizing there had been no point in doing so before. But beyond that, her Spark told her this was not a voice to be feared. When she heard it again it was still coming from a way off, but she could make out what it was saying. It was calling her name.
“Cerah! I know you are here! I’m coming to you. Can you hear me? Can you come to the sound of my voice?”
Cerah literally leapt for joy. “Mother!” she answered. “Mother, I am here!” For indeed she was now certain she was hearing the spirit-voice of Jul Passel. Cerah had heard her mother speak in the Hall of Whispers, but even if she hadn’t lived through that wonderful experience, she could never mistake her mother’s sweet voice. Before encountering her in Onesperus it had been many years since that sound had blessed her ears, yet she’d recognized it at once. She did again now.
“Mother!” she called again.
“I’m coming, Angel!” Jul exclaimed in reply.
Now Cerah could actually see something approaching. She moved toward it, knowing as she did that she was probably being incautious. She knew very little about this place. Could Pilka be tricking her somehow? But no! Surely, she could never mistake that voice. As the figure came closer she could see that it was, indeed, her mother. A wraith-like, misty version of her, well-formed in her head and body, but dissolving into shimmering steam near her feet. But most definitely this was Jul. Her mother’s face beamed as she looked upon her daughter.
In the Hall of Whispers, Cerah had had to content herself with hearing her mother only. She had not seen her spirit there. Now Jul stood clearly before her. She wanted to run into her arms.
But Jul held up a hand in warning. “We cannot touch, my darling, though I desire it as much as anything I have ever wanted. Still the spirit and the quick cannot have contact. You would not survive it.”
; Cerah stopped a few feet from her mother’s ghost, smiling like a child on her birthday. “Mother. I cannot believe I am seeing your face! Hearing you voice when I was on Melsa was a dream I never dared dream. But this is so much better!”
“Yes, sweet Cerah. It is. But we do not have the luxury of time to spend adoring one another now. I can only stay Between for a brief moment.”
“How are you here? Why are you here?”
“One question at a time!” he mother said, laughing. The sound of her laughter melted Cerah’s heart. “I am here because Ma’uzzi sent me. That is how. Why? Because you need to do some things while you remain here, and you need to do them quickly. Please, sit with me and listen carefully. It is vital you understand everything I tell you.”
They sat facing one another, Jul’s faintly shimmering form seemingly clothed in white mist, and hovering just above the cracked floor. Cerah would have been happy just to stare at her and say nothing, but within her the Greater Spark seemed to be calling her to focus upon what she was being told.
“I do not know how to help you escape this place. That was not revealed to me, nor is it the reason Ma’uzzi sent me. I pray you will discover that for yourself. Rather what I have to tell you is the full story of my finding Slurr that day in the rocks.”
“You’ve already told me. How he was wrapped in rags. How the name ‘Jacasta’ was pinned to them.”
“Yes, you know that much. But there is more. For when I read the name scrawled upon that tiny scrap of parchment I recognized it at once.”
“You did?” Cerah asked. “How? What did it mean to you?”
“Jacasta was the name of the wealthiest family in Gazaj, the capital city of Pydgia. Hurood Jacasta was, in fact, Premier of Gazaj and the most influential man on the continent.”
“What does a ruling family on Pydgia have to do with Slurr in the dumping grounds of Kamara?” Cerah asked, struggling to follow.
“I had no idea. But the moment I saw him, I knew I had to bring him home. I had to raise him and keep him safe. I did not know if the Jacastas, or some agent of theirs, might come looking for him. It is for that reason that I named him Slurr. It was the lowliest name I could think of. Surely no high born would ever think a milk hauler named Slurr could be their kin.”
“Why was it so important to you to keep him? Our family really didn’t need any more mouths to feed.”
“My spark told me I must,” Jul said. “I did not, while living, know of our wizard ancestor and I do not claim to have the connection with the Creator that you possess within you. But there was not a place in my soul that did not clearly tell me I had to take this boy, and keep him alive. Even then he was a hardy, robust little thing, but I knew that if he were left in that place he would not survive for long. So, I nursed him at my breast, and, six months later, you on the other.
“It was only after my death, when I was reunited with my great ancestor, and allowed to mingle with the spirits of the wizards that I was told what I am telling you now. Slurr’s mother was Preena Jacasta, the daughter of Hurood. When Slurr was born, she was only fourteen years old. She had fallen in love with a boy far beneath her station and became pregnant with his child. In Gazaj, girls do not marry as young as we in Kamara, though even in the softer a girl of fourteen is still in the final year of her childhood. So, for Hurood’s daughter to be carrying a child, especially that of a low-born father, was a situation that he was not going to abide. He sent her away, indeed contacting an associate in Kamara. But it was not to the Jewel that Preena was sent. She was not even permitted to come to term in the relative safety of the Softer. No, her cruel father hid her in the Rocks, and when the child was born his agent whisked Preena away, sending her in secret back to Pydgia, and leaving the child to die in the dumping grounds.”
Cerah was astounded at this news. Her beloved Lug was the son of nobility!
“Mother this is all very fascinating, but I still do not understand its relevance. Should I find my way back to Slurr, it will make for a wonderful story to tell as we sit by the fire, but I can see no more significance.”
“Let me finish. When Preena returned to Gazaj she learned that her lover had disappeared. She did not need to be told that this was her father’s doing. Nor did she dare hope she would ever see the lad again. When she was twenty, the age at which most women took a spouse in that city, she married a proper suitor, a merchant named Olnar Krit. It was a marriage arranged by her father, and it was not based upon love. It was simply another of Hurood’s business transactions. She soon gave birth to another child, again a son. His name is Ban.”
“Then Slurr has a brother!” Cerah exclaimed, a trickle of understanding awakening in her.
“A half-brother, yes. Not long after the boy was born the Jacasta family was ousted from power, as other families looked to take their place at the top of the ladder in Gazaj. Hurood himself was assassinated as was his son-in-law Olnar Krit, though Preena escaped and went into hiding with her child. She found her way to Tarteel, where she lived in anonymity in the poorer quarters of that port city, changing her name once more to avoid association with either the Jacastas or the Krits. Her son was raised bearing the name Alawar, which had been the name of her first child’s father.”
“So somewhere in Tarteel Slurr’s brother lives today? Does Ban Alawar know anything of his half-brother?”
“Preena has not told him. She felt it best to keep the past secret in every regard. But just as she surreptitiously managed to pin the name ‘Jacasta’ on Slurr’s swaddle, in hope that her child might somehow, someday reconnect with her, she has never given up hope that her children might meet one another.”
Cerah shook her head. “Again, mother, this is fascinating. But what bearing does it have on my escaping this place? And when I do, what bearing on the war against Surok?”
“Ma’uzzi has work for the boy,” Jul said.
“Work?”
“He is to be an integral part of your effort.”
“But, he can be no more than twelve.”
“He is twelve. That is irrelevant. Ma’uzzi has work for him.”
“Mother, I am lost. Both figuratively and literally. Is there something I must do?”
“Ma’uzzi would have you project to the boy,” Jul said emphatically. “Send him his brother’s image. Impel him to find Slurr.”
“There are many young people who have taken up our cause, but none that tender have been allowed to fight.”
“Regardless. Ma’uzzi has…”
“Work for him. Yes. You’ve said that.” Cerah could not actually become frustrated as that was yet another emotion to which she was immune. But she was certainly not seeing the point in all of this. What could a twelve-year-old boy, brother of her husband or not, possibly do to help her cause?
“My time with you is at an end,” Jul said, sadness filling her voice. “I must return to the Next Plane, and I will not be able to come to you again. Heed my words, Cerah. Reach this boy’s mind. Send him to Slurr.”
“I don’t even know where Slurr is,” Cerah protested.
“He has flown on your dragon’s back to Illyria. Get the boy to our homeland. Tell him to find Slurr Jacasta, General of the Army of Quadar. If Ma’uzzi has faith in the child, who are you to question?”
“Who indeed?” Cerah replied. She had learned that anything less than full compliance with the will of the Creator was not acceptable. And now she was receiving a charge from Him, directly from the spectral lips of her beloved mother. “Very well. I will project the call. I wish you could stay longer, mother.”
“I wish I could be with you longer as well, darling. But Ma’uzzi calls me back to the Next Plane. Be brave. Your ascendance to the role of Chosen One has given hope to all who watch you from above. Do not falter.” As she spoke her form became more and more unsubstantial, finally dispersing completely, the last wisps of her blowing away in an unseen breeze. But even as she vanished, Cerah heard her say, “I love you with all my heart, precious
flower!”
Cerah stood and called to her. “I have always and will always love you!”
Then she was alone.
Before she took another step, Cerah began to prepare herself to project a message to Ban Alawar. For all her mastery of the wizard’s craft, she had never projected to a person she had not at least had passing contact with. This boy, (her brother-in-law!), was a complete unknown to her. In answer to this concern, a boy’s image flashed into her mind. Clearly a communique from the heart of Ma’uzzi to her, to give her focus. Just as clearly as she had seen Slurr’s image earlier, she now saw this lad. The similarity was unmistakable. He was not as muscular as Slurr, even as he’d been at Ban’s age, but their faces could have been drawn by the same quill. Very well, Mother. Very well, Father-God, she thought. Taking the deep breath that she used to center herself, she focused on the boy’s image in her mind and sent the words “Go to the General of the Army of Quadar. He is somewhere on Illyria. You must find him. You must go today.” Then she formed an image of Slurr for the boy. She pushed the projection across continents, across oceans… across Planes… and prayed that it found its mark.
The street urchin was hiding inside a pallet of baskets, bound up (though not very well, allowing him to find refuge among them), and ready to be loaded into a small cargo ship. The city of Tarteel, like most other cities of Quadar, was a city which had prepared itself for war. The wizards of Melsa had appeared from the murk of legend into the light of day, and had convinced the populace that an ancient evil had awoken and would soon sweep across the land.
When he heard all this, the boy had scoffed. He could not deny that these were indeed wizards. Who else would come from the sky on the back of a giant dragon? And while they had not flaunted their craft, neither had they hidden it. No, these were wizards. But an evil demon leading an army of monsters? In his twelve years of hardscrabble life, Ban Alawar had learned to believe in that which he could touch, not in the fables of the wizards. After all, though these magicians may not be fairytales, as he once believed, they had in the boy’s opinion and in that of many others, certainly turned their backs on humankind for a long, long time. Why trust them now?
A Single Candle (Cerah of Quadar Book 3) Page 4
