The stone attempted to twist the mind of any creature that remained too long in its presence, even as it offered the promise of real power. It opened new vistas of perception and possibility with skin-on-stone contact, but they were only reflexive responses, part and parcel of the Dreamheart’s alien nature.
Japheth’s task required that he reach deeper and find a spark of sentience with whom he could bargain. Taking advantage of the surface energy that boiled off the Dreamheart would grant potent abilities, as the kuo-toa Nogah had demonstrated. But without the strictures of a pact to protect the wielder, such power would eventually corrupt and control the holder of the stone. And the stone would always be required in order to call upon the abilities so gained.
Japheth knew how to avoid that outcome for himself. He hoped.
He turned the relic around and looked into its eye. The lid slowly pulled back to the accompaniment of grating stone. The unmasked pupil revealed an unblinking regard. Within its darkness, Japheth discerned tiny, dancing shapes.
He squinted, trying to understand what he was seeing. Little diamonds shining amid blackness … were they stars?
Yes. He observed a swathe of stars burning in unthinkable multitudes beyond the world.
Japheth had thought the world vast, but the stars he saw in the Dreamheart reached as far beyond the sky’s illusory vault as a millennium stretched beyond an hour.
His gaze was absorbed by the delicate, twinkling points. His mind flashed out into the emptiness between them.
First euphoria washed through him. The stars were like jewels. Many of them shone in costly colors, and he floated in their treasury. Existence stretched away past all imagination, yet he felt—at least in that instant—as if he might have some inkling of its vastness.
Then he noticed a few stars were not like their sisters. They wavered and danced, as if their place in the heavens was unfixed. Seeing the inconstant lamps reminded Japheth of his purpose.
When he realized the irregular pinpricks of light were less like stars and more like windows piercing the sky, a tendril of nausea touched him. A fell radiance leaked from the portholes, and behind them, dread silhouettes huddled close, peering down into reality.
Somehow, perhaps by mediation of the Dreamheart, he knew the names of the stars.
There was Acamar the corpse star whose immense size sent other stars spiraling to their doom.
Caiphon was the purple star, appearing in the guise of a guide point, but he viscerally knew it was capable of betraying those who relied upon it too much.
There was Delban with its ice white glare, cruel and bitter.
Khirad was a star of piercing blue light that burned over apocalypses wherever they occurred.
These stars and many more Japheth saw and recognized.
The warlock blanched. He saw where he had to go if he was to swear a new pact to the nameless entities whose lineage included the Eldest, though he was unclear of the hierarchy. If his broken pact with the Lord of Bats could be called a fey pact because of Neifion’s home in Faerie, then he supposed the one he contemplated now could be called a star pact because the entities he courted lived far beyond the world.
He would have to steel his mind against the journey lest he emerge more a servant to his new patrons than he ever was to Neifion, even when the Lord of Bats had briefly possessed Japheth’s pact stone. It would all be for nothing if he toppled, glare-eyed and drool-speckled, into the clutch of mad gods. That outcome would be as bad as or worse than letting the crimson dust have him.
But even should the worst come to pass, he told himself it would be worth it if he could at least help Anusha. He could at least get her out of Xxiphu before the consequences of his newest spectacularly bad decision claimed his soul. Probably.
Japheth allowed his point of view to be caught in the subtle current of the closest star, whose light was red. It pulled him closer, and its name came to him unbidden. Nihal.
The other stars whose names had occurred to him each pulled at his mind, altering his trajectory somewhat through the faux heavens of his conception. But it was the star Nihal whose authority most firmly grasped him.
Nihal writhed around the fixed space it should have maintained, its influence pulling Japheth nearer and nearer. The moment before it sucked him in, the warlock screamed. The star’s image changed from a cinder red fist to that of a humanoid-shaped hole in reality filled with writhing red maggots.
He flashed into a blaring space filled with sliding worms. He lost all sense of his body—limbless and formless, Japheth was helpless in the grasp of a worm-filled, churning expanse. But he continued to move. Something drew him forward; he was actually accelerating through the horrorscape. Awful sounds smashed at his eardrums. The noise was the sound of world-sized maggots scraping against each other accompanied by a vague, atonal melody. The ghastly sound concentrated all the primal, ultimate instability that lay beneath matter and behind time. Its declaration promised an unutterable and unendurable vision. Screaming, Japheth plunged into it.
“That’s it, then,” Anusha whispered.
Yeva shrugged.
Ahead, the narrow asymmetrical tunnel opened into a larger corridor. From their vantage, the path seemed only a fifth the size of the great spiraling thoroughfare she and Yeva had trudged up after leaving the orrery. The lane was empty save for an irregularly gusting wind that rushed down its length every few moments. Purple flames burning on the crowns of stone obelisks marked the recent passage of an aboleth lamplighter.
“An important corridor, but not one frequently used by the awakened,” Anusha said. “I hope.”
Yeva didn’t even bother to lift her shoulders. She merely said, “Let’s go back and collect the warlock. We will learn how little used this way is then.”
Anusha swallowed a terse comeback. She knew the woman wasn’t trying to be cruel—she merely had little use for speculation. She just wished Yeva’s attitude toward Japheth hadn’t turned from acceptance to disdain when they learned his powers had been stripped. Yeva only cared about Japheth’s ability to fashion a new focus for her spirit.
“Yes, that’s true,” Anusha said. “Let’s hope I’m right.”
They retreated back down the meandering nest of tunnels, avoiding those with encrustations of frozen memory, quivering egg sacks, and small aboleths already squirming. Some of the little monsters were far more aggressive than their siblings—and cannibalistic. On the way up, they’d chanced across an aboleth feeding frenzy. Anusha was glad for once to have left her body behind. Otherwise she would have been violently sick.
They reached the lone tunnel that spiraled down to where the warlock rested. A glimmer of red light played up the burrow.
“Looks like the warlock got bored,” Yeva said. “If he’s not careful, he’ll draw a newly hatched clutch down on him. If he hasn’t already.”
Concern tightened Anusha’s throat. She hurried down the passage. Yeva followed.
They found Japheth sleeping at the tunnel’s dead end, right where they’d left him. Anusha could see the rise and fall of his chest as the warlock slumbered. She was relieved he wasn’t shaking as he’d been when they’d left.
“Where did the light go?” Yeva said.
The woman was right—somewhere in their rush down the tunnel, the flickering glow visible at the mouth had faded. They regarded the unmoving man only in the light of Anusha’s dream sword.
“Japheth,” Anusha said as she bent and touched the man’s shoulder. “Are you awake? We’re back.”
The man’s breathing changed and he opened his eyes. His slightly curled form unwound as he sat up.
Anusha gasped. Japheth’s gaze was as clear and dark as when she’d first met him.
“Japheth? What’s happened? The stain of the dust is gone. I didn’t think that was possible …”
The warlock looked around with bemusement written across his face. He cocked his head as if trying to recall a favorite lyric.
Seeing his dark br
own irises was wonderful. Anusha suddenly realized he couldn’t see her, especially if his vision wasn’t stained crimson.
She willed herself visible. The warlock immediately focused on her.
“Your eyes,” said Anusha, reaching for his brow. “They’re—”
The Dreamheart fell from Japheth’s hands. He’d been holding it behind an obscuring fold of his cloak.
The sphere dropped only a few inches because Japheth was sitting on the ground, but the sound it made hitting the floor was like a sarcophagus’s stone lid slamming shut.
Anusha couldn’t contain a cry of alarm. The Dreamheart bounced once, then rolled to the center of the niche and stopped dead like a piece of metal on a lodestone.
Japheth said, his voice far away, “I had a dream the stars spoke my name …”
The man’s gaze tracked down to the Dreamheart. Incredulity swept his features. He reached out and, with a fold of his cloak, encapsulated the sphere. With a shake of his hand and a flourish of the shadowy garment, the awful thing was gone.
“What were you doing with that? Were you holding it?” Anusha finally managed. The mere glimpse of the stone pained her. The psychic current flowing through Xxiphu seemed to tug and pull on her skin.
Japheth bent his head down to one hand and massaged his forehead for a moment. Then his hand dropped to his side and he said, “I found a way to reclaim my power, Anusha. A way that doesn’t rely on the Lord of Bats. My spells … well, some old and many new … are mine to cast once more.” He smiled.
Yeva said, “What was the stone you were holding? Does that have anything to do with your reclaimed powers?”
“I used it as a key to find them, yes.”
“Then you are tainted, human,” Yeva said. “Even without my body, I could smell the stink of corruption on the orb you hid in your cloak. I’m surprised the aboleths haven’t already turned you into one of their slime-fleshed servitors.”
Japheth looked uncertain, but he shook his head. “A reckoning may eventually find me, true enough. When I sought to swear a new pact …”
The man’s eyes narrowed. He shook his head as if to jar loose an unpleasant memory and said, “But that’s just one possible future. Right now, the important thing is that I have reclaimed my spells and rituals. I have power enough to release Anusha’s mind from the Eldest. And perhaps enough to tie your spirit to a body that can hold it without Anusha’s constant maintenance.”
“When?” Yeva said, hope naked in her voice.
“As soon as we free Anusha’s dream and clear out of here.”
Anusha didn’t know how to react. She regarded the revitalized warlock. His rejuvenation seemed too good to be true, like she had slipped into a daydream and just hadn’t realized it yet.
Of course, finding Japheth clutching one of the Eldest’s eyes in his sleep like a stuffed child’s toy wasn’t really the definition of too good. It was the same relic that sucked her mind into Xxiphu in the first place! She watched Japheth, trying to discern any change in him from his contact with the relic. Had he really sworn a pact with it?
The man stood up and shook out his cloak. The sick trembling that had invaded his limbs was gone, as if it had never been. The set of his shoulders was as wide and commanding as she’d thought them when she’d trailed Japheth unseen through the streets of New Sarshel so long before. And his eyes were lucid and unmistakably clear of the least residue of the terrible dust he’d indulged overlong.
“You’ve sworn a new pact,” she said. “To the Eldest?” The psychic undertow strengthened around her.
“No,” he said, his tone definitive. “I’ve sworn to entities beyond the world of men and monsters—and aboleths who’ve outlived their time like the Eldest. I have sworn a pact to the undying stars.” He looked up, and Anusha followed his gaze. The only thing above them was the blank, damp rock face of the cavity. Japheth continued to gaze at the ceiling as if he could see through the rock and all the earth between him and the empty sky over Faerûn.
“I don’t understand,” Anusha said. “How can the stars offer you power? And … how are mere points of light able to relieve you of your addiction to traveler’s dust?”
“Also,” Yeva broke in, “if you claim your spells now flow from celestial objects, why did we find you with your hands wrapped around the petrified eye of the Eldest? Are you trying to suggest there is no connection whatever?”
“Honestly, that troubles me too,” Anusha said. “I’m sorry to keep pressing you on this, but just what role did the Dreamheart play in your rejuvenation?” She ignored the invisible tide that surged all around her, willing herself to remain in place and focus on the warlock’s words.
Japheth raised his hands, a placatory smile on his face. “No need to apologize; it’s a fair concern. I’d have the same. It’s hard to explain to someone not versed in arcana, but mainly I needed a catalyst. Some arcane source of power I could use to unlock the spells I once enjoyed thanks to Neifion. The Dreamheart provided that. But to answer Yeva’s earlier question: Yes. A tiny thread of connection has been forged between myself and the master of Xxiphu.”
Anusha retreated a step. The tide seemed to froth and bubble around her. She was surprised the others couldn’t see and feel it.
“Japheth,” she said, “I—”
“Listen!” he said. “I did not give up my independence! I remain my own man. Yes, the Eldest served as the conduit for finding my new pact, but that’s all. The Eldest doesn’t even know I exist. Moreover … the tiny connection I do share will help me find your focus in the creature’s mind.” He looked at Anusha, his face beseeching. “Find it, and free you from all this. And perhaps Yeva too.”
So many battling impulses occupied Anusha, she couldn’t honestly say how she felt. And the influence pulling at her wasn’t making it any easier to think!
It horrified her that Japheth would bind himself to the very thing trying to consume her soul. But seeing him standing, clear eyed and in command of his body—and apparently flush once again with potent magic … she couldn’t deny it fueled a tiny flame of hope.
“Anusha?” he asked, and held out his hand. “Take me to the Eldest, and I will remove your focus from its mind. But we must be quick. Each hour that passes, more and more of its scattered thoughts return to it. Soon the dreaming thing will rouse, and then it’ll be too late.”
Anusha exclaimed in dismay, “The tide has me again!”
Yeva leaped for Anusha and grasped her arm. But the mottled woman’s own flesh began to steam, on the verge of falling into so many formless motes.
Japheth’s eyes widened. He lunged, but his hands passed through her. Anusha felt herself being swept away, just as she had been on the balcony.
The warlock said, “Not again!” and uttered a series of syllables, each one forming a pulse of blue light. The points of illumination spun themselves into a chain of light that snapped around her and Yeva.
The crashing blare of the undertow instantly quieted. Anusha imagined she felt the solid floor of the tunnel beneath her feet once more. Yeva’s skin and clothing ceased their dissipation.
“That …” said Japheth, “was close.”
The ephemeral cord of light faded away, but the psychic undercurrent remained bearable. However, it was not gone.
Anusha shuddered, then took a deep breath. The warlock couldn’t have shown her any more clearly that he retained his mind. If he hadn’t taken his new pact, she’d have been no more.
More than anything else, she just wanted to believe him. In the end, that moved her more than reason or odds.
She took his hand, imagining hers solid enough for him to hold. He said, “I can only hold you back for a little while.”
“Then come,” Anusha said. “Yeva and I found a route out of the nursery.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Year of the Secret (1396 DR)
Xxiphu, Lower Capital
Raidon advanced down a rounded tunnel, Angul naked in one hand. Hi
s Cerulean Sign insulated his mind against the sword’s overweening ego. Mostly.
Silvery grass filled the corridor, growing on the floor, the walls, and even the ceiling. It was like grass in shape only; the blades seemed slightly metallic. When a peculiar wind gusted down the corridor every few spans, the rustling blades made a sound like the ringing of thousands of tiny bells.
Seren and Thoster walked abreast a few feet behind the monk’s lead. Four crew brought up the rear.
Thoster absentmindedly clutched at the amulet hanging over his coat.
Seren’s fist was tight around her wand. Instead of the white sari and sandals she normally wore, the wizard was dressed in a heavy red robe and black boots.
Raidon had noted the wardrobe change, but made no comment.
When they came to an intersection, Raidon paused. He turned and said, “Let’s take a moment before we continue.”
“Sounds good,” said Thoster. The man requested a pack from one of the crew and opened it. He produced biscuits and watered wine and shared them around.
“Hey, Seren,” said the captain as everyone nibbled on their small repast, “I was meaning to ask you before … what’s with the red?”
Everyone turned to watch the wizard.
Seren said, “My regular clothes are too light for trudging into who knows what we’ll find in here. This old robe is much better suited for tunnel crawling.”
“Really? Because if I just ran into you on the street and didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a Red Wizard.”
Raidon realized Thoster was right. She was accoutred just like one of that feared arcane order.
Seren frowned. “Don’t worry about it. I happen to like the color red.”
Thoster chuckled. “Oh, that’s rich.”
Seren said, “Don’t make me regret helping you earlier, Captain.”
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