by Awert, Wolf
Ambrosimas had just been demonstrating the folding of an aura with complicated hand movements when he stopped for breath, and Nill could hold himself no longer. “Please, master, how do I get into the library? The door is shut and unwilling to open for me.”
Ambrosimas’ pause grew longer out of surprise. This question had nothing to do with an arcanist’s aura. A more observant person than Nill might have noticed a shadow of displeasure flitting across Ambrosimas’ face, after which he quickly rearranged his features. For the briefest fraction of a second the mentor’s good-natured face had vanished, giving way to the careful, mistrustful and ever prepared guide of Pentamuria’s powers.
“So,” he began after an almost indecently long pause. “You’ve found one of the portals to the library. You do keep surprising me. The library is reserved for mages only, and even they need the key. It is a stone that you have to move in a special way to unlock the door. This is what it looks like.”
Nill found himself looking at an elongated, polished pebble that seemed to change color in the light.
“All the elements and the three spheres are woven into the lock. The key contains the answers to the eight questions the lock asks.”
“Where do I get a key?” Nill inquired.
“You don’t. Even fully trained sorcerers with long years of experience have no access to the library. But don’t fret, there is nothing there for you to learn or understand.”
“You mean the scrolls kept there might be dangerous for me?” Nill was wary. He did not want to ruin his chance by pushing the subject too fast.
“Perhaps.” Ambrosimas tilted his head slightly. “A few of them. But most of it would be gobbledygook to you. No, the protection offered the door is not to shield you from the dangers of the library. It is to protect the scripts, the knowledge that lies within, from the prying hands of those without permission. You must have patience if you want to enter. Finish your education; gather experience in the world outside Ringwall. Then you may return and survive the tournament, and that’s all it takes to enter.”
Nill felt as though his patron was making fun of him, but as he glanced up at him and saw that the smile had left his face, he realized that the Archmage was thinking in terms of a completely different scheme of time. What were a few winters to him? But Nill did not have that kind of time. He was thinking in days, months at the very most. Certainly not winters or harvests. “So all I need is a key, and I can enter?”
“Indeed, and you’ll need someone to show you how to use it.”
“And you could show me?”
“Yes, I could. I won’t, though.”
Nill knew when he had lost and any further attempts were futile, but he was himself, after all. The library was too important, so he persisted in spite of his better judgment. “Why not?”
“Because there is no point to it; and you always want too much, too quickly.”
Nill had not expected that. “But what does have a point for me?” He knew that he was starting to become annoying, and that his stubbornness was breaking all rules of politeness, but to his surprise Ambrosimas’ face had lightened.
“Maybe I’m wrong, maybe you don’t want too much too quickly. But you have to admit that nobody in the whole city has as much happening to them as you do. Your injury, for example. Tiriwi claimed that you stabbed yourself to practice your self-healing. It was a lie, but with a grain of truth. Tiriwi was very convincing, but it takes more than that to fool the Archmage of Thought. I see you’re still covering it with my dressing. You can take it off; it’s got no healing properties.”
Nill was baffled. “But why did you dress my hand if there was no point to it? And put a spell on it on top of that?”
“I just wanted nobody to get a closer look at the wound. There’s a hint of magic about it that doesn’t belong in Ringwall. It changed your aura. Once again, you discovered or did something far beyond the range of what normal Neophytes ought to. What was it this time?”
Nill gulped. “Forgive me, but I can’t tell. It happened while I was hiding my amulet, and nobody can know where it is.”
“So you don’t even trust your own mentor.”
It broke Nill’s heart to see the Archmage looking at him like that. No trust, betrayal of a good heart, no emotions, no gratefulness, no remorse. A torrent of feelings crashed through him, and he felt as mean and pathetic as he never had before. But then he held his head high like a free man.
“Don’t,” Nill said. “Please don’t do that. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me, but if you don’t find out where I hid my amulet, then I can rest easy knowing that it’s safe from everyone looking for it.”
Ambrosimas chuckled. “You’ve grown strong, Nill. I know a lot of older, more experienced sorcerers would have just given me whatever I wanted. You didn’t. You might just be a cold-hearted person by nature.”
Nill laughed out loud. He felt light and unburdened for the first time in ages.
“Master, I’ve had to endure your attacks on my mind and heart quite a few times. You prepared me for this, not me.”
“Probably too well,” Ambrosimas growled. “But maybe now you can see why I don’t want you going to the library. I have no idea what you plan to do in there, and you probably don’t either. Besides, the change to your aura unsettles me.”
“Me too,” Nill admitted. “I can’t see it myself, of course, but Tiriwi said something similar, and I feel clouded but at the same time clearer than ever. Something happened to my magic, and I don’t know what.”
“You’re not going to tell me what or who bit you?” Ambrosimas asked again.
Nill shook his head. “Apologies, master, but no. I will not.”
“Very well,” the Archmage said. “I do not wish to badger you. Let’s hope that you’ve made the right decision. But remember: no information, no key.”
Ambrosimas had, like Nill himself, made an irreversible decision. Nill had to come to terms with the fact that he could not expect help from his mentor. But he knew that pebble. Those lay by the Sanctuary. He wondered whether Ambrosimas knew that he knew this, and had shown him the pebble on purpose. He did not know what to expect of him – but then again, who did? He was an Archmage.
He thanked his mentor for the lesson, gave a polite bow and bade him farewell. He was in a hurry to get away. Although the chance of finding out something about the key to the library at the Sanctuary was miniscule, it was the next step he had to walk.
Nill had not visited the Sanctuary for a long time. His memories were those of his arrival, when Ringwall had still been unknown to him. Today, as it was then, he could feel how special the place was, but the timidness of those days had given way to the joy of recognition. The five elements were strong and clear, and the purity of their auras washed over him like warm water. The colors were so vibrant and full. And then there was the Nothing. The mysterious magic in the middle of the five elements, whose power he could feel but whose aura he could not see. Nill felt strangely connected to it.
“You gave me my name,” he whispered, and a shiver went down his spine.
Behind the crystal that represented Metal Nill noticed a small gate in the wall. He could not remember having seen it before. The gate was ornately forged, the iron burnished to a matte sheen. He opened the gate and found himself looking into a small garden where a White Mage stood motionless in front of a tree. Nill did not want to intrude on his time and decided to retreat when the mage addressed him. “Come in and wonder with me.”
“What is it?” Nill asked, stepping closer.
“We call it the Tree of Truth in our conversation with the ever-present change.”
Nill saw a small tree with gnarled branches and few leaves. It was similar to the symbol of Wood in the pentagram, but somehow it was very different. There was no Wood magic there, and its aura was not green but light gold. Tiny raindrops danced with the sun rays in a sparkling display. The tree’s roots were wrapped around a large rock, cracking it and p
iercing through, growing outside of it and sinking into the soft earth.
“It’s a very small tree. Considering it’s for the truth,” Nill said.
“The Tree of Truth reaches to the heavens with its branches, and to the core of the world with its roots. And the everlasting change surrounds it. This is the laughing well with its raindrops which you can hear, but never see. As always the largest part of the truth is obscured. The tree does not grow, and it does not bloom.”
Nill listened to the dancing droplets and let the sound envelope him. Then he saw that on one of the upper branches of the Tree of Truth a single bud was hiding, its resinous cover melding with the shiny black bark.
“What happens if it does bloom?” he asked the mage.
The mage laughed. “That can’t happen. It would mean that the truth loses all validity, replaced by a new, stronger truth. But that is a philosopher’s business, not mine.”
Nill said nothing. The singular bud seemed suddenly threatening, and Nill returned to the pentagram and the Nothing. His gaze sought the polished pebbles he remembered so well. They lay beneath the bowl that held the small fountain. Elongated, flat with rounded edges and light colors, they contrasted with the green grass. Nill kneeled down and picked up one of the pretty pebbles. It was a nice feeling, holding it in his hand. But there was nothing magical about it. Not a trace. The proximity to the Water had covered even the Earth energy he was born with so completely that he could barely discern it.
“Looking for something?”
Nill turned around and saw the White Mage, who was just closing the gate. He nodded.
“I was looking at the stones; they’re very similar to the keystones for the library. Are the keys made of these pebbles?”
The mage gave a friendly smile. “So you’ve found out about the library. Yes, those are the keystones. But the library is off-limits to anyone below the rank of mage.”
“I thought so, but I would still like to take a look at it.”
“You should speak to your mentor about that.”
“I have, and he doesn’t want to help.”
“So you’re looking for another way.” The smile had turned back into a laugh. “I understand perfectly. I always looked for my own way and took some shortcuts that were forbidden, but sadly I can’t help you.” He paused. “But perhaps I can lend you my aid in another matter.”
“What matter?” Nill was intrigued.
“I can tell you how the archmages regenerate their strength after using too much on difficult tasks.”
Nill looked skeptical.
“It’s no big secret. It’s not only the archmages who have to replenish their strength, us normal mages do it too. It’s just kept from the Neophytes.”
“So it’s basically secret knowledge?”
“Not even. You need diligence and discipline for it to work and you need to be at the right place.”
“And the right place is…?”
The mage chuckled. “Here, of course! The pure magic of the elements is here, and if you give yourself away to it and dive down into it, you’ll come out with far more energy. But you only really gain strength by using the Nothing.”
Nill gaped. “You’ve studied the Nothing?”
“You can’t study something that doesn’t exist. It’s an unsolvable mystery, yet so simple.”
“But if it’s so simple, why does nobody master the magic of Nothing; and why does it help sorcerers regain their strength?”
Anything to do with the Nothing was enough to grab Nill’s full attention.
“The Nothing contains the primordial magic. It takes no shape and has no contents. A spell using the magic of Nothing may create, but that destroys Nothing in itself. The Nothing cannot be controlled.”
“But the Archmage of Nothing can.” Nill decided to steer the conversation firmly in the direction he had planned.
“There is no Archmage of Nothing!”
“What of the empty chair?”
“A symbol, to show that there are always unsolved riddles out there.”
“A difficult and dangerous task, I’m sure.”
“Difficult yes, but dangerous? Not so much. There is nothing as safe as, well, Nothing. You need only think a single thought and you leave the Nothing again. But excuse me, I have to go. I have matters to attend to. Just try entering the Nothing sometime. You’ll hardly succeed on your first attempt, but someday you’ll manage you then you’ll have the one experience that matters in a mage’s life.”
The mage raised his hand in farewell and disappeared.
Nill did not think for long. He sat down on the colorless grass, looked around at his surroundings and imagined entering the Nothing. His thoughts slowed to a halt, leaving the thousand things of the world around him, retreating back inside his mind. He felt his heartbeat, a distant rumble somewhere in his stomach, then only his breathing and then – nothing. Nill left his shell. The lessons with Ambrosimas were about to show their merit. He had not only learned to open himself completely to the elements, he was also able to do the same for the Nothing. It was all much easier than he had imagined; the Nothing welcomed him with open arms, pulling him into its embrace. He felt himself dissolving, the rigidity of his body melting away, and the melted remains becoming steam that rose into the air before being caught by a gust of wind, dispersing and then vanishing. All that remained was his self.
Nill enjoyed this state of peace until he noticed that his self, that which made him Nill, began to come apart. A wave of panic crashed over him and he tried to return. “I am!” he screamed, but his dissolving had gone so far that the scream was never a sound; he did not even have the strength to truly think the thought behind the scream. Nothing was left but for his will, and even that began to fade.
The panic attempted to launch a desperate attack against the pull of the Nothing with what was left of his will, but panic is a bad leader. Panic will lash out in every direction. And so the last remnants of his body, personality and will were forced apart from within. Nill was falling apart into unimportant components, each of which on its own had no meaning. The feeling of losing his unity was worse than the feeling of disappearing. But the realization came too late, dissolving with the last fibers of will. All that was left was the Nothing.
But in the same manner that the Nothing is the end of all things, it was also the beginning of all magic. One did not need to think a thought to leave the Nothing; something new was made of what had given itself up and dispersed. Nill felt a clarity about him that he had never felt before. He was a pure spirit, seeing himself in a bright, flickering light. Shadows were black as the night, the usually yellow sun was blindingly white. The feeling of understanding not only himself but the entire world was overwhelming. And the other thing he understood was the Nothing. Its magic could never be mastered, for it resisted influence, evaded control. But something about it stayed with him; not strength, but memory.
And another thing was certain, Nill knew. The White Mage had never been to the Nothing, for the Nothing was not a source of energy at all. Nill wondered why the mage had claimed such. Those were his first thoughts in his new, old body.
Nill did not know whether the magic of Nothing was more or less powerful than the elemental magic he learned here, but the fact that it was different was enough to ignite his desire to understand it. He now knew the path he had to follow. He closed his eyes again and sank into the Nothing.
The skies above Ringwall darkened. The torches and watch-fires were no more than small warm dots in a place where the clouds hid the moon and stars. During the short twilight the black silhouette of Ringwall stood against the darkening sky, but soon there was no difference between the blackness of the stones and of the clouds.
Prince Sergor-Don had dismissed his servant and opened the door to his chamber. It was small, but it was certainly magnificent enough to be appropriate for the budding monarch. The prince leaned against the door, listening through the gap. Somewhere someone was laughing, a do
or was slammed. Not many voices were about. They were so quiet they were barely discernible as speaking, but more closely resembled a distant fire crackling.
The prince edged through the door, closed it behind him and quickly stepped out of the light cast by a flickering torch. He melded into the shadows of the stones, breathing as shallowly as he could so that his breath might not betray him. He had swapped his red-black leather harness for a short cloak that fell to around his waist. Over it he wore a dark gray cowl, similar to those of the white mages who had not spent many winters in Ringwall. Once he was absolutely certain that he was alone, he broke away from the stones and glided along the corridor.
It was not easy to comply with his mentor’s wish of absolute secrecy when he was the center of his classmates’ attention every day. He was forced, therefore, to wait until everyone had gone to sleep, and only then could he move silently and secretly through Ringwall. It had been later than usual tonight.
Sergor moved quickly, but quietly, in the direction of Metal. Twenty light steps later he stopped, counted to three, and then took another twenty steps towards Metal. He stopped again, and waited. It did not take long for a similarly-clothed figure to appear out of the shadows. The arrival embraced the prince and laid his arm around his shoulder. They moved together for a few steps, then they parted ways again. An onlooker would have seen nothing more than two old friends sharing ideas during a night-time stroll. Sergor-Don despised these familiarities, although they were just an act. Every time it was someone else; he had long since given up his attempts at recognizing every face. The mages who received him atop the ramparts were unimportant. What was important was the place they were to lead him to, but it, too, changed every time. This time he was led to a part of Ringwall he had never visited before. The last steps downward, deep under Ringwall’s foundations, were stamped into the earth, with gray slate slabs for firmness. Most of them had cracked over the course of hundreds of winters. His guide pushed him against a door and walked straight onwards. The prince stumbled through the door, cursed, and swayed wildly trying to find his balance. He stared around in the half-darkness.
