“You shouldn’t be so presumptuous. I, of course, don’t mind. A dragon might.” He turned over some pages. “Sarcorlan was never known for his humility, even on his deathbed. Listen to this, however, for his love of the truth was equal to his pride, as he remarks. ‘What I am about to relate is true, for I am Sarcorlan of Vomaro, and all of Tormay has never known a greater wizard than I. My latter years were spent in peace, living in the mountains east of the great forest. A village nearby saw to my wants, which were few.’”
Severan paused in his reading. “I think he’s referring to the Forest of Lome, which would have placed his village in the Morn Mountains east of Dolan, though I’m not completely certain. At any rate, there’s no village there now.” He turned back to the book and continued.
“In the spring after the fall of Ancalon, when the snows had melted in the mountain passes and the roads were open, a caravan of traders came east from Hull. I walked down to the village, as was my wont. The headman valued my presence when strangers came through, and thus we had a private agreement concerning such occasions. Three traders with their horses and pack-mules crested the ridge when I came to the inn. I cast a simple knowing on them, and they were as they appeared: tired traders and overworked, overloaded animals. Something else lingered in the knowing, however—a faint hint of power. Intrigued, I waited until they had arrived at the inn and set about unloading their goods. The whole village gathered around. There was the usual array of stock: knives, axe heads, Dolani wool, sea salt from Flessoray, spices, and a jumble of oddments spilling from a wooden chest.
“While the traders bickered with the villagers over the value of the local copper and opals, I cast a stronger knowing. This time, I felt a spark centered within the wooden chest. It was like nothing I had ever encountered before, and I am, mind you, Sarcorlan of Vomaro. At the bottom of the chest, tucked away in a small sack, I found the pearl. The trader to whom it belonged was reluctant to sell the thing, protesting that he would find a higher price in the markets of Mizra. I am not ashamed to say that I put a compulsion on him, for I gave him three fire opals for the stone, which was better than any price he would have received in Mizra. He did not know what he owned. I did him a favor to take it off his hands, for he was a fool to have been carrying such a thing.
“I did not ask him how he had obtained it, as the furtive look in his eyes proclaimed his association with the Thieves Guild. Still, to be sure, I probed his memory as he cheated Wan the Miller’s wife out of several lengths of homespun cloth. There was nothing of import within his mind—just the usual, brutish thoughts typical of most men. As I suspected, he had bought the stone among an assortment of stolen goods from a member of the Guild in Damarkan. A certain Jaro Gossan. Perhaps I shall have to visit Damarkan someday and find this man?
“For thirty days and thirty nights, I studied the pearl. That is, I think it was a pearl. It resembled one, but it was harder and heavier than any pearl should have been. In color, it was dark blue with wisps of green in it that drifted upon the surface of the blue, but only if I were not gazing at the thing. Power lay bound within the pearl, bound in some strange fashion that kept it, I think, sleeping. The peculiar thing about the binding enchantment was that it seemed to be one and the same with that which it bound—a balance I had never encountered before. Despite all my skill, however, I was unable to unlock the enchantment.
“Had it not been for my leaky roof, I would have never discovered the secret of the pearl. A storm arose in the night, and water dripped down onto my table as I sat staring at the pearl. Several drops splashed on the pearl, and it was then I heard the sound of the sea. The surge of surf. The crash of waves on rock. At that moment a geas took hold of me, compelling me up from my chair. I could not muster the necessary strength to fight the compulsion. If truth be told, I was curious enough to see the matter out and where I would go. Pearl in hand, I left my abode and set off into the night in a westerly direction. At first, the geas was content enough to allow me to walk, but after several hours it grew so strong that I took to the winds in the form of a gray kestrel, pearl clutched in one claw.
“I did not wonder at the time why I chose the form of a kestrel, but it made sense after I thought on the whole affair, days later. Gray kestrels are lovers of the sea and do their hunting over the deep. I flew west for two days, over the mountains and across the plain of Scarpe. I crossed the hills of the Mearh Dun and then turned north, following the cliffs along the coast of Thule to the country of Harlech. It was at the bay of Flessoray that the geas pulled me out to sea, toward the islands. The waves were white with foam and the sea looked a cold gray, gray to match the sky and the feathers in my wings. On the barren rocks of Lesser Tor, I settled to the sand and retook my human form. The geas was gentle on my mind, bidding me stand and wait. In my hand, however, the pearl warmed.
“A wind sprang up and whipped the waves into a frenzy of spray. And out of the breakers the girl walked. She was formed of water and foam and shadows. Her skin was shell white, and seaweed twined within her dark hair in glistening strands of purple. A garment of water flowed about her limbs. Her eyes were a blue so dark that I could not discern a pupil within them. It was the unlined face of a child, one who has just woken from slumber and blinks sleepily in the sunlight. But I would not presume to guess her age, for her body was formed of the sea and the sea has existed from the earliest days. She was more beautiful than anything I had ever seen in my life, yet I feared her greatly. She smiled at me and the geas vanished from my mind.
“‘Thank you for bringing back my name,’ she said, and her voice was like the sighing of the waves. She reached out one pale, foam-colored hand and I placed the pearl within her grasp. I could do nothing else. She smiled again and turned to go, but I found my voice and desperately called after her to wait. At the edge of the waves, she looked back.
“‘What is your name?’ I said. A frown crossed her face and an ominous calm fell on the sea. Later, thinking back, I realize that the tide had stilled, but I did not recognize it then, so intent was I on her face. She spoke then, and the word was in a language I had never heard nor have ever heard since. I was almost unmade in the sound of that single word she voiced. For in the uttering was all the power and form of the sea itself. The sea roared back in response, waves rising and pounding in an exuberant fury of existence on the shoreline. At my feet, the rocks trembled and instantly became roiling sea. The island was melting away. She had vanished. And my body was dissolving into water. I flung myself skyward, taking the form of a hawk and frantic to escape. It was all I could do to keep that shape, for the word she had spoken still battered and grasped at my being. I strove onward, east, and so arrived on the coast of Harlech, exhausted and spent.
“Never in my life have I been so near death. And not just death. This was unmaking and a way of power long denied to those of us who are wizards, for we cannot tamper with the fabric of life. To unravel one small portion might mean the unraveling of all.
“I made my way back home, still in hawk’s form. In my mind was the memory of the word she had spoken. I examined the remembrance. I was able to inscribe the barest hint of the word into good serviceable letters, but I soon discovered that if I delved into the memory deeper to retrieve the complete word, objects around me began to turn into water. Books, my furniture, my cooking pot, the clothes on my back, and, at one point, my entire left arm melted into a puddle of seawater before I was able to wrest it back into flesh.
“I resolved, then, to press the matter no further and sealed the memory with the strongest binding I could muster. I pray it does not reawaken some unexpected hour as I dream on my bed and so change me forever.
“The hint of the word I had already written, however, and this I set about studying. As summer faded into a rainy fall, I came to discover the ancient feorh of water woven within the word. As you know, there is a way to command the simple feorh, or essence, of what water is: vatn. This is known and used by most wizards. The girl’s word (I
only use the term “girl” because I am not sure what she was), however, was proof of a language older than existence itself. The word also indicated the existence of three additional words, as if the four together completed each other as do the sides of a square.
“At this point, I closed my books and stood in the doorway. It was a gloomy afternoon. Rain fell, blown by the wind from an iron-colored sky onto the soggy earth. Behind me, within the cottage, a fire burned on the hearth. Understanding bloomed in my mind. I had read the Lurian Codex when I was an apprentice, thinking it merely an entertaining collection of questionable history and quaint fables—the old tale of four words spoken in the darkness: wind, earth, sea, and fire. The four stillpoints that encompass existence. The four wanderers. The anbeorun. As I stood in my doorway, a sudden fear came to me. Fire, for example, is an amoral thing that can be used just as readily for good as it can for evil. A home can be warmed by fire or be destroyed by the same. The power I had seen unleashed at the isle of Lesser Tor could easily unmake the world. Her eyes, though, had been free of guile. They had been the serene eyes of a child. But if her power was turned toward evil, then there was no wizard, no creature in my knowledge, no army that would be able to stand against such might. Even worse, if there are four stillpoints that encompass all that is, then the danger is much greater. For though one might not turn to the shadow, there would still be three others that might fall.
“I am an old man as I set this ink to paper, but she still walks through my dreams.”
Severan stopped reading and closed the book. The night sky outside the window was studded with stars. The boy stirred the brazier into flame. They were both silent for a while as they stared into the coals.
“Sometimes,” said Jute, “I would run away from working the street and go down to the beach, sit on the rocks, and stare at the sea. I could sit there for hours. The waves going and coming back endlessly. She would have been out there all the time, wouldn’t she?”
“If Sarcorlan is to be believed, and I think he is. I’d wager he encountered the anbeorun of the sea. Of water.”
“And then the Juggler would beat me for not bringing in enough for the day.” The boy shrugged and forced a laugh. “I’d always go back, sooner or later.” He looked up. “But what has all of that, words and power and wizards, have to do with me doing my job?”
The old man sighed. “I’m afraid what was a simple job to you interfered with years of work done by Nio. He always was asking questions about the anbeorun. He told us some of his knowledge, grudgingly, for he needed our help in searching the university. We helped him, though we were all looking for different things. Books, words, bits of knowledge hidden in the ruins. He knew what he was looking for. A small wooden box. I daresay he spent years searching for it. I think he had some idea the box contained something to do with the anbeorun.”
“You mean no one ever opened it?” the boy asked.
“No. When Nio found the box, he couldn’t open it. The spell binding it shut was too strong. And he, mind you, is the strongest of us all. He didn’t say anything at first. Later, though, he told us. Reluctantly. He thought, I suppose, that one of us might have some insight he had not divined. The thing’s presence drove the servants mad and he’s lived in that house, alone, for the past two years, with the box secreted in his tower. We lost interest in it after a while, for we all hoped to find the Gerecednes manuscript of Staer Gemyndes. That was always our real goal. Not an old box.”
“But I don’t understand,” said Jute. “How could someone like him not be able to open a little box?”
“Just because someone’s a wizard, it doesn’t mean you can wave your hands and have pigs fly about. Though it would probably be simpler to sprout wings on a pig than to open that box.”
“I’m sure someone’ll figure it out someday,” mumbled Jute.
Severan looked at him curiously, but the boy would not meet his glance. Outside, the wind rattled at the window, as if it wanted to get inside the room.
CHAPTER FORTY: THE CONTENTS OF THE BOX
“Tonight’s the night, my good Dreccan.”
The Silentman rubbed his hands together.
“Not until the gold’s safely in our coffers,” said Dreccan Gor.
“Always the cautious one,” said the Silentman.
“I’m a Gor, and Gors are always cautious. I’d be that way even if you weren’t paying me.”
The Silentman and his advisor were hurrying along through the passage leading to the Guild court. Their shadows trailed behind them, for Dreccan was carrying a burning torch in his hand.
“The job’s good as done,” said the Silentman. “And there’s nothing I like more than finishing a job. Unless it be gold. And the gold’ll be plentiful for this job. Plenty for everyone. At least for you and me.”
“Less a few coins here and there.”
“How’s that?” said the Silentman.
“Ronan will need his share, as will the Juggler. And Smede, of course.”
“I don’t grudge Ronan, he’s a faithful dog, and we can’t do without Smede to manage the books, curse his smelly little soul, but why’s that fat oaf getting a cut?”
“Because,” said Dreccan, trying to stay patient, “It was one of his boys that did the job in the first place. And then, of course, we had the little fellow done away with.”
“Pity we can’t do away with the Juggler as well. Why can’t we do that? Have Ronan cut his throat.”
“The Juggler, as you doubtlessly know, my lord, has proven to bring a consistent profit for us. His children sustain a steady stream of money into our coffers—”
“Then just have the children—”
“—and without his fatherly hand, I suspect that stream would dry up.”
“Right, right,” said the Silentman irritably. “This person needs that person to tell them what to do, and that other person needs someone else telling them how to do their job. Can’t any of our people think for themselves? Perhaps we should have a few murdered, just to keep the rest of ‘em on their toes.”
They came to the end of the passage. An iron door was set in the wall. It bore a knocker fashioned in the likeness of a horse’s head. There was no handle. Dreccan let the knocker fall. A deep bell-like tone rang out and echoed away. It sounded like a funeral knell. The door swung open for them.
“He should be here soon,” said Dreccan.
The Court of the Guild was dark and empty, but the lamps high on the walls winked on, one by one, at their entrance. The light slanted across carvings etched into the stone walls and filled them with shadow. The footsteps of the two men were the only sound in the court. The Silentman shivered, and it seemed to Dreccan that the man’s face trembled beneath the blur of his obscuring charm.
“Some days, old friend,” said the Silentman, “I miss the sunlight. We spend too much time down here in the dark.”
“Sunlight’s nice,” said Dreccan. “But gold is better.”
The Silentman sat down in his stone chair on the dais and drew his cloak about his knees. “The cold in this place gets into my bones and aches. I’m getting old. Damn the man, where is he?”
“If our client is a man,” said his advisor, frowning.
“What is he? A woman? An under-sized ogre? I don’t care what he is, as long as his gold’s good. Judging by the down payment, it’s very good.”
“I’d like to know,” said Dreccan. “There was something unnerving about the fellow. Put me off my supper for days afterward.”
“Who cares? Hand it to me.” The Silentman turned the box over in his hands. “Strange, that such a little thing would command so much money. Have we ever gotten such a price, Dreccan? Never in my memory. It can’t be the box itself our client is interested in. Look at this ugly carving. No, it’s definitely what’s in the box that matters. I wonder what it is? At that price, I can’t imagine what it is.”
“Magic,” said Dreccan. “I’m sure of it. A book, or some object full of spells and power
. These scholars and wizards, such as the old fools searching the university ruins, they’ll spend their whole lives in search of one word from older days. Whatever’s in that box is probably worth a lot more than just one word.”
“Dreccan?”
“Yes?”
“You didn’t try to open the thing, did you? Because this box won’t open. See here? It won’t open.”
“My lord!”
“I can’t help it. I had to try. Ever since I was a boy, I’ve never seen something locked that I didn’t want to open. At any rate, no harm done because this thing won’t open. Funny thing is, I can’t sense anything magic about this box at all.”
“It must have a locking spell on it. That’s magic enough for me.”
“Not necessarily so,” said the Silentman. “Might be a lever built into the wood. Push on the hawk’s beak or the like. Ingenious, some of these carpenter sorts. Though I’d have had the fellow whipped for making such ugly carvings.”
At that moment, the knocker on the door tolled. Both men jumped. The tone echoed through the empty court and then died away into silence.
“Welcome to the Court of the Guild!” said the Silentman.
There was no answer. The lamps seemed to dim and the room grew even colder than it was. The Silentman shivered and pulled his cloak tightly around his shoulders. The little box was heavy in his lap. He strained his eyes but he could not see anything in the gloom. But then he blinked and there was the figure. Just like before. It stood in front of the dais. He could have sworn, a second before, nothing had been there. Damn Dreccan! The advisor’s words had slipped into his mind and taken root. The figure was short and thin, shrouded in a cloak. The face was hooded and covered in shadow.
“Welcome to my court,” said the Silentman.
The figure bowed its head but said nothing.
“I trust you’ve found your visit to Hearne profitable—that is, if you’re not from our city? I hope you haven’t minded the wait. These jobs can be difficult, you know, arranging all the details and—”
Metal and Magic: A Fantasy Journey Page 141
