Chapter VII: A Glimpse Down the Path
The dreams came back that night. The first part of the dreams was comfortably familiar….
He was in a bedchamber. In the air, what was that? Deleriance-laced perfume.
No, it was more than a bedchamber; it was … a boudoir.
He turned over. Rustling smoothly below him was – could it be? Yes, silk.
Where were his clothes?
Another rustling. A milky-skinned elwen slithered over to him demurely. Who was she? He should know, but….
He reeled as his dream scene shifted….
Now he hovered outside the villa containing the boudoir. Trees towered in a continuous canopy. An enormous anaconda – a fence of serpentine flesh – wrapped itself in a loop at the edge of the clearing around the villa.
A thatched hovel squatted amidst the jungle undergrowth beyond the snake. Its humble exterior contrasted sharply with the interior. The instruments of thaumaturgy crowded every shelf, ledge, or workbench within the hut.
Workbenches wrapped around the interior walls. A brightly stained table stretched down the middle of the hut. At a tall stool before a workbench at the back wall sat an ancient elf on a tall stool. He studied an age-yellowed tome, running his fingers over the columns of runes, searching for something….
Again he felt the disorientation of his dream reality as his subconscience dropped his psyche elsewhere – into a scene he had never experienced in his waking life….
He looked out the eyes of a cat. He sampled the new sensory input of the whiskers extending from his jowls. His other senses were similarly intensified.
He was hunting for a creature. There it lay, stretched out on its side, facing away. It was one of those two-legged beings with long hair – the pointed ear variety. His nose informed him that the two-leg was a female. She wore only a small piece of the removable skins that the two-legs used.
Yes, she was the one he was seeking. His cat’s mind couldn’t remember how he’d known her before, just that he had known her thoroughly. Even now he could appreciate her extraordinary beauty, her almost feline grace.
Slinking up on her, he caught her unaware. The metal claw she had strapped to her side would be useless now. He mauled her thoroughly and carefully, leaving her with just a whisker of life.
Then he ran through the woods, finding many of the female two-legs. They darted out at him as he ran. He swiped at them with a foreclaw as he passed….
Next, he was in a cave. The sweet odor of fish and the feared sea battered his olfactory senses. He found the next one wriggling onto the sand of a beach. She too was striking, although it seemed for an instant that she possessed a fish-like tail where her two legs should be. The hunt must have wearied his senses. She stood, taking careful steps as if she were uncomfortable ashore. As she walked further from the water, he struck. Again, he was careful to leave her life. He went about the cave, scratching many more of the females….
Now he lay in a den of the two-legs, the rounded-ear variety this time. Nearby a pool of water glistened. Why did these creatures find water so compelling? As he watched, females with round ears waded into and out of the pool. As they left, they filed past him, and he slashed at them lazily….
His psyche pulled from the cat, a particularly large lynx, he sensed. The lynx continued to rake a claw at the passing women, as he withdrew into the waking world.
He awoke, shivering from the cold. He knew that he had dreamed, as he did almost every night, and he remembered them if he tried hard enough. But they never made any sense. He would never hurt a female, so why did he dream of maiming them? He thought he understood where the lynx came from, at least. The veils of his lost memory kept him from recognizing anyone in the dreams, although he had the feeling he should know some of them.
He concentrated, closing his eyes to preserve the fragile dream details. The first elwen and elf were familiar, but he just couldn’t remember how or where he’d known them, although it almost had to be his days on Langbard. As for the second elwen – he’d dreamed of her before too, but had never seen her face before. Now, however, he recognized her figure and clothing: She was Sabretha! How had he dreamed before of someone he’d never met? And why would he harm her, or, for that matter, any of the females?
Try as he might, he couldn’t figure out who any of the others might be. Something suggested that they were still in his future, females he hadn’t met. He gave up and opened his eyes.
Last evening’s chill had grown more severe over the night. Jessar scanned the room and saw why. Stefir stood at the room’s open porthole. He had the half-attentive expression signifying communication with Silentwing.
If the cold had awakened Jessar, who should be less sensitive to temperature due to his elven blood, then why hadn't it awakened Ogador? Clearly, from the man's deep breathing, he still slept. Then Jessar noticed that the wizard had heaped the covers from his own bed over the prince.
From downstairs came the smell of pork fat on a griddle and the sounds of the mariner. He sang a bawdy praise for the fairer sex, a song with little melody and only the simple rhythm of the swells of the sea. As the song ended in a roaring “Ho, ho, me lass,” Jessar heard the tinkling laughter of Ledrana.
Just then, Silentwing glided through the porthole and landed on Stefir's footboard.
Steeling himself against the cold air, Jessar threw off his covers and sprang out of bed. Quickly, he donned his nondescript traveling attire.
Stefir turned away from the porthole to Jessar. “My mind flew with Silentwing this morning, and the gypsies are a full day ahead.”
Jessar scratched the owl's back. “Did you see anyone else?” he asked as nonchalantly as possible.
“You mean Sabretha?”
“Or anyone else.” Curse the wizard, who shut the porthole and grinned at Jessar.
“No, I did not find her, although she is probably farther even than the gypsies. A good horse can certainly outpace the gypsies’ load beasts.”
The Lynx sighed. “Well, I hope she stays clear of them. After what the mariner said last night, I don’t believe she’d want to meet them.”
“Nor do I.” Stefir glanced at Ogador, whose chest slowly rose and fell.
Jessar smiled. “Stefir, I’d like to go downstairs and see what the good skipper has on his board this morning. By the smell of it, they’ll be expecting us soon anyway. I’ll let you take care of arousing our good prince.”
“Thanks.”
When Jessar opened the door into the common room, the elwen interrupted her flitting about the board long enough to go over to him and squeeze him in a quick and surprising hug. “Good morning, guest.”
Jessar stared after her, his cheek tingling from the delicate touch of her hair and his nostrils tickling from the faint essence of jasmine from her bodice.
She dashed back to the table. Dressed in the freshest white gown and humming a hauntingly familiar and comforting melody, she wore her characteristic smile.
The mariner, who yesterday had seemed so out of place in this inn, despite its nautical accoutrements, doused the coals of his grill. He too smiled, swaying on his wooden leg to the time of the elwen’s melody. Jessar had been wrong last night: Maili was surely in his new element. The inn may be the first place he’d been able to call home. It would not be fair to Maili, Ledrana, or the customers for the mariner to leave. No, the Lynx couldn’t bear to ask this happy elf to join him on a quest, particularly when Jessar himself didn’t know where he was going.
Maili noticed Jessar standing in the doorway. “Ahoy there, mate. Come on in. Me son’s caught a couple of trout and ye’r about to have the best fish omelette there is.”
Jessar had never eaten a fish omelette, but, if last night’s fare was any measure of what he could expect this morning, he looked forward to his first. The mariner hobbled over and clapped the Lynx soundly on his left shoulder.
Then the one-legged skipper lowered his voice. “There’s somethin’ I wanted to give ye’r this mornin’ before ye’r friends came down. I’m glad ye came down early.”
Jessar held up his hand. “Wait, skipper. We are already in your debt for our stay here. I couldn’t accept anything more from someone I only met last evening.”
Again – as he had by the fence – Maili stretched threateningly to his full height. Even without his trident, he was imposing. “I’ll decide who's in who’s debt in me own inn.”
Jessar unconsciously recoiled, but Maili relaxed back to his normal posture. He smiled again. “Besides, I won’t be needing it again.” He fished out a small stone from his pocket. Pebble-sized, it looked like one of the pieces used to play Chips. This one, however, unlike the variously colored stones typically used for the game, was transparent. In fact, it looked like cloudstone. As the mariner raised his palm to eye level, Jessar could make out frosted-looking traces inside. The elf noticed Jessar’s surprise and said, “Aye, it be a star chart. But no one in these parts can tell me what star it shows or its meanin’.”
Cloudstone was not a naturally occurring mineral. Jessar had thought the cloudstone settings of star rings were the only place one might find the precious stone. Not even dwarves could work it. The only one who had tried – in ancient times, as the tale went – stole another’s star ring and removed the setting. When the dwarf struck the stone with his jeweler’s chisel, however, an unearthly fire flared. After the smoke cleared, the cloudstone sat unmarred on the table. Of the dwarf and his tools, no one could say.
“It must be . . . ”
“The work of the Gods? Aye, and I’ll tell ye how I came by it. Ye see, I didn’t mention in me tale last night that the horn had a rattle. When I was hanging the thing, this chip fell out of a small hole in the skull end of the horn.”
He let the stone roll off his palm into Jessar’s open hand. It felt unnaturally warm.
“In the depths of me soul, I’ve always known this would bring good luck against the serpents, though Natunya knows what other powers it might possess. I’ll not be making any more voyages, but, unless I misunderstood yer tale last night, ye’ll have need of it.”
Jessar continued to stare at the inscriptions within the stone. “Don’t misunderstand me, skipper. I’m honored to receive this. But why me?”
Maili clapped Jessar’s shoulder again. “We’re both living in Galbard after leaving Langbard. And we’re both bastards. Why, we’re almost two of a kind. Don’t think I didn’t give a thought about going with ye’s either. Part of me wants nothin’ more’n to sail the seas again.”
He slapped his wooden leg. “But I must be realistic, and not tempt Fate. Besides, even the breast of the sea cannot compare with that of me own lass now.” Maili inclined his head toward his companion, seated at his right hand.
At that moment, Stefir and Ogador came into the room, the prince saying, “What’s all the noise down here?”
Jessar put the gift into his pocket, and Maili winked at him. “Besides, it gave me the best of luck in Chips.”
The breakfast fulfilled Maili’s promise. As they ate, he described the road ahead, referring to Jessar’s maps. “If ye’re looking for horses, if I know the gypsies, ye’re out of luck. There’s plenty of farms along the way, as well as some small villages, but they’ll have chased off all the mounts for hire, and the farms will not likely part with their work horses.” He pointed out the Observatory Stone and all the gypsy campsites and villages along the way. Bilaron was nine days away at a moderate pace.
After breakfast, the travelers retrieved their gear and gathered on the stoop of his front porch. The lady Ledrana gave each of them a small bundle. “Inside, you’ll find way cakes and dried fish. Take care.” She hugged each of them, and Jessar treasured her jasmine scent.
They bowed deeply to the elwen, aglow in her flowing gown, like a magnet for the early morning’s sunrays.
Her son and the helmsman also said goodbye, clasping forearms with the three travelers.
Last of all, the mariner gripped each of them in a crushing hug. He turned gruff. “Ye’ll always be me shipmates, and there’ll be a place at me board for ye’s any time.”
Ogador said, “Skipper, we would be honored to serve on any ship you command, and you are also welcome under our roofs.”
As the friends strode off to the north, Maili called out, “Jessar, don’t forget what I gave ye’s when ye see the fins.”
Stefir and Ogador looked at Jessar quizzically. Strangely, Jessar was reluctant to discuss the gift. “I guess he’s talking about the techniques he used to kill the king of sea serpents.”
Stefir shot the Lynx one of his piercing gazes. Wondering what the wizard guessed, Jessar turned away.
The day passed much as the one before. The sun shone brightly enough to offset the cool breeze of the early spring day. The land grew more folded and the hardwoods gave way to pines. At the bottom of many of the valleys, the road leaped over energetic streams with flat wooden bridges. Three times they passed empty gypsy campsites, each with a lynx symbol. They stopped at one of these camps for lunch. Sampling Ledrana’s packs, they found the cakes delightful, sweet enough to please, but not too rich for hard hiking. The dried fish tasted delicious, as salty as any dried meat, but seasoned with a tantalizing blend of herbs.
They hiked long that day, with little change in the road or terrain. His friends still silent, Jessar looked overhead, tracking the owl’s gliding racetracks. Issuing a guttural hoot, the bird descended swiftly, lighting on his master’s shoulder.
As for Stefir, the wizard peered carefully ahead and to the sides. “Gentlemen, something singular is about to happen. On your guard.”
Ogador half drew his sword and shifted to a warrior’s careful pace, walking on the balls of his feet. “Wizard, I hate it when you do that. I really wish you’d just tell us what you’re thinking. It might help us be better prepared for whatever it is you believe is coming.”
Stefir, however, said nothing in reply. The three continued on slowly. The sun’s rays fell at a steep angle from the west when the Lynx thought he saw someone on the road ahead. They had entered a wide flat at the top of a shallow rise, and as they walked on, Jessar made out the silhouette of a horse in the trees on the right. Still further down the path, he could distinguish the figure as female, wearing the working garments of a Galbardian elwen. As they approached, Jessar recognized the gardening attire. Could she be—
“Well, at last,” the Valkara began.
“Stefir, I’d hardly call the appearance of Sabretha ‘singular,’ as much as I might enjoy it.”
Sabretha’s lips formed a silent ‘O’ of surprise.
Shaking his head, the wizard said, “No, Ogador. We’ve entered the—“
Having recovered from her momentary speechlessness, Sabretha crossed her arms and cast her hip forward. “Ogador! I just can’t believe you’re a prince!”
Enjoying Ogador’s discomfort, the chronologist said, “I often have that problem as well, Sabretha.”
She then snapped her face in the wizard’s direction. “I would at least expect you, Wizard, to lead these two in a more responsible fashion.”
“But—“ the wizard started.
“It’s hard to believe you are on an important journey.”
“But we—“
“I have been waiting here all day.”
“But we were—“
“I had to hide to let the gypsies get by me.”
“But we were delayed—“
“Those load beasts are the nastiest creatures.”
“But we were delayed at Mai—“
At any other time, Ogador would have enjoyed anyone outdoing the chronologist. Perhaps the leadership comment had struck a nerve. The prince swept his left arm in an expansive gesture. “Now, Sabretha, you might notice, that we, unlike you, have no mounts.”
The sword maiden nodded toward Ogador’s food pouch. “I see you had time to stop at The Foundered Serpent.”
Pointing at a similar pouch hanging from a strap around the horse’s neck, Stefir said, “Maili insisted, as I was trying to tell you.”
“He can be very forceful,” she agreed. “Lynx, you haven’t said much.”
On the road just beyond the Valkara was another abandoned gypsy camp. The Lynx noticed that her bedroll and small pack was still slung across the bare back of the stallion standing at her side. Jessar had just about mentally congratulated himself for managing to keep himself out of the conversation so far. Although he had only known her for parts of three days, it was evident the best he could hope for right now was just to keep quiet. It seemed, however, the Valkara wasn’t going to be content letting him escape unscathed.
Fortunately, however, the horizon he’d been scanning the last few moments – thinking he’d seen someone approaching – spared him. Sure enough, he saw a hood topping the horizon. He pointed. “We have a visitor.”
Everyone, including the sword maiden, looked ahead down the road. Jessar studied the individual who continued drawing closer. The hood was too drab to belong to a gypsy and was not the proper green of the Holvenum’s gardening clothes. The thick, fibrous material projected forward, shadowing his features. The visitor carried only two deep hip packs and a cane.
Finally, the brown-robed form stopped two strides away from the four travelers, driving the tip of his cane hard against the packed earth with a bass thud. Inlaid ivory ships encircled the highly polished yew staff. At the top of the staff, glowing between the visitor’s fingers was a blue fist-sized gem. It triggered a boyhood memory….
Stefir broke the silence. “Greetings, Grand Father. May we share our evening meal with you, sir?”
The stranger only nodded in response.
Jessar grew excited at the wizard’s confirmation of the Lynx’s guess as to who this stranger was. How could anyone not be thrilled at the prospect of meeting a living legend; in all the tales the Lynx had ever heard, only those who were pawns of prophecy ever spoke with one of the enigmatic wanderers known as Roving Prophets. In an already momentous turn of his life’s events, this was unquestionably the most important milestone so far. Standing before him, according to legend, was a direct emissary of the Creator himself, a being beyond the Gods and even the Starlord himself. Every description Jessar had heard was accurate, from the ankle-length, cowled robe to the thick-thonged sandals and engraved cane, the latter of which he needed for support no more than Stefir did a staff.
The prophet pulled back his hood, and three braids of golden hair fell to his waist. He looked vaguely elven. Most of the prophets who wandered the lands were, if legend could be trusted, half-Solon, offspring of the Sacred Race. His skin, unlike most elves’, looked weathered, as if the visitor were older than the age itself. Attached to a headband was a pneumium disc with the bas-relief rendering of a star alongside a half-spherical cloudstone, the sure mark of a prophet. The prophet waited motionless, while, in the last light of day, the friends pitched their tents atop beds of pine needles. Although the Valkara assisted, Jessar noticed she made no move to spread her own bedroll. The Lynx soon had a campfire blazing and simmered a pot of beans over some coals, just in time for the setting of the sun.
Ogador brought down five squirrels with practiced skill at his sling. Skinned and seasoned, they roasted on spits, and beans simmered. Only when the travelers offered a plate to the prophet did he break his rigid silence, collapsing cross-legged on the grass and ravenously feasting on the squirrel and beans.
After the meal, Stefir broke out the Bordana-mint tea he had rescued from Jessar. Finally, after downing a scorching cup in one swill, the prophet leaned his cane against his shoulder, crossed his arms over his chest, and began to speak in a deep resonant voice that seemed to originate from the vastness of the heavens.
“Stefir, this age has entered a nexus.”
“I had surmised as much.”
“Yes, we know. We do not believe, however, that you understand the magnitude of this terminus of time paths. It is the Nexus Sea.”
The chronologist nodded. “This also I already believed. Of course, the Nexus Sea marks the end of this Age of Dooms.”
“Yes, but whether the Age ends soon or drags on for millennia remains yet to be seen; you do not yet realize that the gulf between the past feeding it and the infinite tributaries of the future widens with every moment.”
Again Stefir nodded. “I see. I wondered and feared as much. The star paths are hopelessly mired, and the longer I spend it seems the less I learn. That should have alerted me, I suppose, but I wanted confirmation on the River of Time. I have tried to find the far shores of the Nexus Sea, but the Wanderer—“
“You are fortunate that the enigmatic one impeded your journey across the Nexus Sea, for it is now wider than you can manage. If you who I now visit,” the prophet scanned his eyes over each of the four travelers, “make the proper choices, the Ship of Here and Now will begin to close the wide gulf.”
“And that is why you are here, then.”
“Of course, Stefir. Long have we sailed the waters of time, battling with the one you call the Wanderer, searching for the course that would carry us forward into the new age of prophecy. As the Chronologist of this age, you will, of course, have a major role in its end, if that is to be. For the moment, with the choices in place for this reality, we have charted the waters ahead, and these are the truths we see for you, Stefir.”
The star medallion on the prophet’s headband began to radiate a blue aura, and he closed his eyes and leaned back his head. His body went stiff and began to shine from within in the same blue light. The illumination rapidly grew until the Lynx had to squint to avoid pain. Once the glow reached its zenith, it began to pulse, leaving the impression of a visual heartbeat. What sounded like the voices of a multitude began to speak. “You shall pass beyond the need for sight. Do not fear the Calling, as you shall not feel it until the Sealing of the Dooms. Then shall you come to understand fully the meaning of the stars and gaze upon the Star Catalog.” The tension drained from his body, and he opened his eyes again. In one last pulse, the blue aura faded.
The prophet turned away from Stefir and locked his gaze on Sabretha. In his normal voice, he said, “Sabretha, last Valkara of Prophecy, your journey down the star paths is narrowest of all. As you know, or at least sense, your nature is cast by the will of the Creator in the Dooms.”
The sword maiden, in a highly uncharacteristic manner, tilted her chin downward and peered in dejection at the roadside grass. “I feared so.”
“You have more yet to fear. Your impending transformation will teach you the meaning of despair.”
Jessar would not have imagined the proud, energetic Valkara ever looking so forlorn. Was that a tear falling from her chin? He yearned to hold her, to comfort her, but knew he’d already ruined any chance he would ever have for that kind of intimacy.
The strange conversion came over the prophet again. The host of voices said, “You shall soon learn the agent of your transformation. In your new role, long shall you leave the world behind. One day, however, you shall overcome the metamorphosis, return to your present self, and rescue the Son King. You and he shall spend an age together Here.”
The voices stopped, and the ghostly light faded.
In the moment that followed, Jessar noticed Sabretha no longer appeared melancholy. Instead, she looked every bit as confused as she had earlier looked sad. Furthermore, he could have sworn she’d been looking at him, or, more precisely, his hand, as the prophet spoke. Looking down, he realized he’d grasped his sword hilt.
Before he had more time to contemplate the prophet’s words, the visitor turned to Ogador. “Heir prince of West-realm, your course over the waters of time will also determine whether this age reaches a timely end for Order or stretches into an age of Chaos. I share with you the following truths we have charted.” Again the peculiar transformation came upon the prophet, and his headband glowed.
“You and another lionheart shall finish the maiming begun by Vasaron the Unthroned. As regent only shall you take your father’s throne. But you shall govern new provinces for your king in wide lands that will be annexed to West-realm.” The stranger relaxed to his normal self again.
Jessar believed he would soon learn the answers to many of the mysteries plaguing him. “Jessar,” the prophet said, sighing uncharacteristically, “your future is as much a puzzle to us as your past is to you. Your ring is cloudy; you have not been to the Observatory?”
“No, the ring’s a fake.”
The prophet, who had so far been without expression, pursed his lips and raised his brows. “Perhaps. The authenticity or your ring is not something we have examined so far, though we will pursue it when I return. We have, however, decided that it would probably be safe for you to visit the Observatory in this Zone of Protection.”
“But I am a little older than ten now.”
“There is one among you who has the tools to deal with that problem,” the prophet said, glancing meaningfully at Stefir, who simply nodded.
“The Starlord may be able to show you more on the Tapestry than we can tell you. Many of us have voyaged long over the waters of time, but few significant truths have we found. I shall tell you all that we learned, but the information may seem unimportant or even incomprehensible. Be careful! For some of these truths have different meanings in the myriad futures ahead.” He underwent the familiar alteration.
“Your life’s love shall not be your companion in this life, though you shall brave the depths and darkness for her. Many more females shall you know after your chosen one. Only by your struggle shall you come to know your parents. Your curse is beyond even the Gods’ power to revoke. The final star stone power will not be exercised without knowing the name of your patron star. You shall be the catalyst in the Sealing of the Dooms. Your task in forging the end of this age will be demanding, but you shall have aids to your own unrealized abilities – aids equal to the Dooms. I believe you already hold at least one brother to the aid I now give you.” The prophet came out of his trance, uncrossed his arms, and opened his clenched fist. There in his hand sat another of the cloudstone chips – identical to Maili’s.
Jessar took the stone. When he peered into its interior, he saw the frosted traces of a star chart, but it was for a different star than the other piece he held. The prophet nodded. “Yes, Jessar, it is different from any you already hold. We call it the Ranger’s Star, since the diagram you see reveals Regovia, star of Ednaron, the greatest ranger who ever lived. When you are in need of its powers, close your fist about it and intone the star’s name. I caution you, however, once you have used it, there is a chance that it will lose its primary power. Use it wisely.”
Before Jessar could ask the thousand questions he had, the prophet walked away in the crisp stride of one who is late for some other engagement.
Sabretha was looking at Jessar’s hand again, a puzzled look on her face.
“Curious about the stone, Sabretha?” the Lynx asked.
“No,” she insisted, looking quickly back to her horse. “Lynx, I came back only to fulfill a promise to the ranger. It is time for your compress. Lie down on your bedroll.”
“Go get it, Jessar!” Ogador said with a bawdy laugh, earning him an icy stare and a headshake from the sword maiden.
The Lynx, who ignored the prince’s remark, did as she requested, lying on his bedroll.
Carrying several sprigs of spearmint to Stefir’s hot water kettle, she prompted, “your tunic?”
“Sorry.” The half-elf removed his tunic, squinting slightly as it brushed his bandage while she steeped the compress.
“Still sore, I see.” With surprising gentleness, she removed his bandage. “Now be still.”
Jessar braced himself. She slapped the hot, minty towel squarely over his wound. He couldn’t suppress stiffening his back even though he knew it was coming.
“I said be still!”
He tried to relax as the compress cooled. The Valkara started dabbing the compress around the still open wound and then massaged a few of the steeped leaves against his back further away.
“I was hoping it would work faster. Does it feel any better?”
“Definitely,” Jessar said truthfully, although he neglected to mention that it was her massage and not the wound that was the major reason for his well-being.
Ogador arched his back. “Sabretha, I have a bad muscle spasm, do you think your spearmint might help?”
“Well,” she began before she noticed the prince’s lecherous look. “You are despicable,” she remarked, rolling her eyes. She gathered her things and leaped gracefully to the back of her horse.
“Sabretha, where are you going? I thought you’d come back.” The Lynx looked at her plaintively.
“Only because I promised Bidmaron. Besides, you don’t have enough tents.”
“You can sleep in mine,” Ogador offered.
“I’d rather sleep in the den of a land shark.”
“But it’s not safe out there.”
“Lynx, do not patronize me. I have survived alone for a long time.”
“Yes, I’d call nine thousand years a long time.” The prince nodded.
The sword maiden gave him one of her icy stares and kneed her horse onto the highway. “Prince, nine minutes is too long with you. Good bye.”
The wizard stood staring after her. “I wish we had been able to obtain horses.”
The governor hefted the coin pouch at his side. “Honestly, Stefir, I’m not sure we can afford them. Passage on the river turtle will deplete most of what I have, and there will surely be additional expenses along the way.”
“We cannot make the junction in time for the Cleaving without them.” The chronologist shook his head worriedly.
“I know Bidmaron wants us to be there for it, but I really don’t see that it’s that important. Surely Kazir will wait for us with the artifact.”
“You may be right, although that would be almost as unusual as an albino dung beetle.”
Stefir turned toward Jessar with a disapproving look. “As for you, mister, you have some explaining to do. You have been keeping secrets from us. It is time to show us your other stones.”
Jessar felt like a thief caught with his hand in the till. Flushing uncomfortably, he fished the other rock out of his pocket, holding both out to Stefir. The wizard arched his left eyebrow as he juggled the cubes around in his palm experimentally before studying their inscriptions.
“Maili gave me the first one this morning while you two were still in our room. He said he’d found it inside the serpent’s horn. Since he regarded it as a great secret, I decided to wait until later to tell you about it.”
The travelers took seats on logs around the campfire. Stefir continued studying Maili's gift, looking at the map within from different angles. “Regovia, I recognize. This other star chart, however…. I know nothing of the star depicted other than that it is a fifth order body in the constellation of The Vixen. Its significance I must contemplate. What really puzzles me, however, are the digits on each cube.” He put his fingers to his forehead, massaging gently.
“Huh? What digits?” Jessar asked, peering at the stones.
“The ones inscribed on three of the six faces of each cube. Right here,” the wizard pointed to a side of one of the stones.
The Lynx looked carefully, but saw nothing. “There’s nothing there.”
“I agree,” the prince said, grasping one of the rocks.
“It must be elf writing.”
“What do you mean? Is it like an elf star?”
“Yes, only those with the true sight can see the writing.”
“Well, what are the digits?”
“The Serpent’s Chip has a three, a one, and another one on three of its faces, while the Ranger’s Star has a one on three of its sides.”
“Odd. I wonder what the numbers mean.” Jessar squinted, wondering again why Fate had denied him the true sight.
The Chronologist exhausted an uncharacteristic sigh. “I just do not know, Jessar. These Doom Stones are not something I had anticipated; their existence is not part of any Prophecy I’ve encountered. Oh, legends hint at artifacts of awesome power that will appear near the end of the age, but no specifics.”
Stefir had used a contraction – never a good sign.
The wizard handed the objects to Ogador, who asked, “Could it be some kind of identification, a way to tell them apart?”
Before the chronologist could leap in, Jessar said, “No, I don’t think so. If it was an identification, it makes no sense the digits would be spread over three faces. Perhaps, since there were three races involved in the Dooms, the numbers on three faces have something to do with each race.”
“An intriguing possibility, Jessar, and certainly more cogent than the prince’s guess, but I do not believe so. Of course,” he said, extracting a small book from the pocket over his knee, “I have the advantage of amassing the most complete bank of knowledge regarding the Dooms available on Talan.”
The prince seemed amazed at the cubes. “Sure, Stefir. What you’re saying is that, for once, you’ve done your job. After all, as the Chronologist, if anyone should know about the Dooms and these cubes it should be you.”
Apparently confused as to whether the prince were complimenting or chastising him, the wizard changed the subject. “The stones are certainly intriguing. I also find it interesting that the prophet implied you might have more than one. You are not still holding out on us are you, Jessar?”
“No. I swear by my star ring – or whatever this thing is,” the Lynx twisted the band around his finger.
Ogador smiled. “Did you notice the way Sabretha was staring at it?”
“There you are wrong, as is usual. She was simply looking at the stone Jessar held in the same hand, as was I.”
The prince shook his head. “I don’t think he had the stone when she started staring at his hand.”
“Stefir, I think he’s right.”
“It is of no consequence. Who can explain why females do anything?”
“Now that sounds like a remark Ogador would make.”
“Careful, Jessar. If you insult me, I might become upset and make your knuckles bend backwards or something equally inconvenient.”
“Don’t you believe him, Jessar. For all his theatrics, Stefir can’t really do anything useful. Has he been able to answer any of our questions? Summon us horses? Or better yet, whisk us straight to Almudra for our meeting with Kazir?”
“And what of you, Prince? Where are your legions of horsemen? Your loyal liegemen who would lend you their horses? Or even your royal treasury that you might hire them?”
“I certainly haven’t been much help so far,” the Lynx observed.
“That is likely to change. You have the stones,” Stefir countered, handing the small volume he still held toward Jessar.
“Wait, Stefir. The discussion of rings made me think of something else. Why does the Valkara have a black band concealing the gemstone on her star ring?”
The wizard raised his finger, but Jessar cut him off. “Look, Stefir, as much as I’d like to hear your full explanation – well, I’m tired. I’m not used to so much walking in a day.”
Frowning, Stefir lowered his hand, saying, “Very well then, Jessar, if you do not care to hear an interesting tale from the Sacred Age. Those with solon blood have an additional ability regarding their star rings: They can see beneath the setting of their true mate’s ring even without knowing the requisite star name.”
“I don’t get it.”
Before the wizard’s finger could go back up again, Ogador said, “Jessar, the short version is that those solon who tried to violate the Creator’s block on their fertility by mating with the other races didn’t want to know who their solon mates should be. They didn’t want to see below anyone’s cloudstone, so they either turned their ring to hide the setting or placed a black collar around the gemstone.”
Stefir handed the small volume to his half-elf friend. “In any event, this book contains all my knowledge regarding the Dooms. Take a look, Jessar.”
The Lynx, in the careful way he handled his maps, accepted the book.
Ogador returned to peering carefully at the star charts within the gems. “I always wondered what you were writing in that book, Stefir. I’d like to say, however, if these little cubes are made from cloudstone, as they look, then they can only be the work of the Gods. They certainly possess the peculiar power of magnifying whatever is inside. That’s always amazed me, and these star maps look about three times as big as they really are. The thing that bothers me, though, is how the Prophet was so vague about the stones’ powers. He did, however, say that these were aids equal to the Dooms. If that is really true, then it would seem to me that these must have powers on the order of the Gods.”
Stefir looked dubious. “I am not prepared to make that conclusion. Many other questions arise in my mind. Can only Jessar use these stones? How many are there? How did the Gods bring them to Talan in violation of the Divine Laws and why?”
No one bothered to answer the clearly unanswerable questions. Instead, Jessar and Ogador watched the wizard as he put the thick end of his staff into the coals of the campfire. “Artolo pairok zamel almudok!” Stefir chanted, pulling the hot stave forth and spitting on the glowing tip. He finished with “Lavek idron.”
“Wizard, that has got to be one of the most disgusting spells you ever cast,” the prince observed as the glowing tip sizzled the saliva away and then color-shifted into a coolly glowing blue light.
As before, something triggered knowledge concealed deep inside Jessar’s mind. “Cool light emerge! That’s what you said. And I also saw a blue, shimmering aura surround you for a moment.”
Arching his brow and putting his left hand flat on his chest, Stefir said, “Interesting, Jessar. Either you received mystical training or you are an accomplished linguist of the Sacred Tongue. Zamel, bring forth or emerge, is a word that left the active Solonese vocabulary early in the previous age and is now only used in spells.”
“Why won’t you ever do anything useful with your spells, like start our fire once in a while? Come to think of it, why won’t you ever do anything at all?”
That seemed to be a good question. Jessar had always wondered why Stefir seemed content to let his friends, and one of them was a prince, do most of the work while he stared at the heavens or simply stared into the fire. However, on this occasion, the wizard’s spell seemed useful enough. “Ogador, the staff light seems useful enough.”
“Really? Just wait,” the prince said ominously.
The chronologist gestured to the book and leaned his glowing staff over it. “It is time for you to read those pages, Jessar.”
The Lynx scanned the book, but found only blank pages. “There’s nothing here.”
Stefir smiled smugly. “The text is magical, Jessar. Try closing your right eye.”
Thinking how foolish he must look, Jessar shut his right eyelid and gasped at the result. Immediately, metallic gold handwriting, as if it were inlaid in wood rather than scripted in ink, leaped to the page.
“You will only be able to read the text with your right eye shut in moon light. Here is the quill you will have to use in order to make your own notes in the book,” the wizard said, handing the Lynx a hawk feather.
“Oh, I see.” Thumbing through the pages, he saw that, after a few introductory pages, the following sheets were separated into eighteen similarly structured sections, each of which was titled with something like ‘The Second Doom of the Solon.’ Smaller headings separated each section further, leaving space to discuss different aspects of the Dooms. “Is this—“
“Much of my work these nine thousand years, when I could divest myself of my duties as crown wizard, has been researching the Dooms. All I know of them is there, Jessar1. Read it at your leisure, and ask me about anything you do not understand while we’re traveling tomorrow.”
Jessar swatted at a buzzing insect and noticed a growing cloud of moths and less desirable insects gathering around the unnatural light of Stefir’s staff.
“See, what did I tell you, Jessar? That thing is a bug magnet; it doesn’t make any smoke to keep the vermin away. I’m going to my tent.”
“Jessar, why don’t you go sit by the fire. It will keep the insects away,” Stefir offered.
“Great idea, Stefir. My feet are killing me anyway. My sandals have given me a few blisters to remind me I haven’t done much hiking.”
He opened the book again. Before he started reading, however, Stefir slapped the tip of his staff against its cover. Jessar jerked, startled by the wizard’s sudden movement.
“What was that for?” he asked a little too crossly.
Stefir gazed at him harshly, eyebrows meeting above eyes locked on Jessar’s. “That was to get your attention. The information in that book you must guard carefully, for many others have searched for the answers therein, especially the agents of evil. The Emperor, or anyone else for that matter, has but to foil a single Fulfillment to ruin every Prophecy. And then, instead of the New Age, the Reign of Chaos will begin, and not even I know how long that would last.”
“I understand, Stefir.” Jessar again opened the book.
“Jessar, there is one other thing to discuss.”
“All right! I don’t understand why you give me a book and then do everything in your power to keep me from reading it.”
“This will only require a moment.”
Jessar blessed the wizard with his best dubious glance. “Oh? That’d be a first.”
Stefir shook his head. “Only three days with the prince, and you are already sounding like him.”
“What is it then?”
“Tomorrow morning we will discuss any questions you may have from your reading before we head out.”
“We’re in a hurry. Why can’t we talk about it on the road and save some time?”
“Remember what the prophet said about visiting the Observatory?”
“Yes, but I still don’t understand how, since I’m not ten years old anymore.”
“Have you forgotten who I am?”
The Lynx shook his head, and then it hit him. “You mean we’ll go back in time?”
“Yes, I—“
“Wait just a moment. Two nights ago you told me how dangerous it was to tamper with time.”
“As I was about to say, I have attempted to travel back in time before, under carefully controlled circumstances.”
“I just don’t see how it can work, Stefir. How can you go back and not affect something or someone that causes events between then and now to change?”
“Well, first of all, as you will see when you learn the River of Time—“
“All right, Stefir! I’ve heard you and the prophet mention the river several times. Just what is it?”
“You were the one who wanted to keep this short. The River of Time is a topic for another day. It is quite complicated and one of the most important tools a chronologist has. What I started to say before you interrupted me yet again was that traveling in time is less perilous than manipulating time, as I did that night in your gardens.”
“I don’t see the difference.”
“I am not going to change the flow of time, Jessar; I am simply going to make it possible for the three of us to go back in time physically to when you were ten years old.”
“Stefir, it is still possible for you to go back and do something that would prevent me from being here right now or, worse, something that kills me.”
“Yes, that is what chronologists call a terminus, something that must be avoided at all costs.”
“And what if it happened?”
“If it were possible to do, I suppose it would destroy the fabric of All.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“You have a talent for understatement. I, however, am of the belief that there is a kind of inertia associated with time, that, were I to go back in time, it would be impossible for me to affect events to the degree that the present becomes a terminus, that something or someone would prevent me from doing that different thing that would cause the terminus in the time from which I departed.”
Jessar shook his head. “Okay, hang on a moment and let me figure out what you just said…. Well, I don’t know if I’m convinced, and it certainly doesn’t sound like something you can prove.”
“Very well, let me try to convince you of that tomorrow then. For now, let us forget about that. Suppose we could go back in time under circumstances where it would be impossible for us to affect the present.”
“Then what would be the use of going?”
“Information. That is why we would be going back, to see what you might learn at the Observatory.”
It was just too confusing. Jessar shook his head again. “But I wasn’t at the Observatory when I was ten – that much I know for sure. I was en route to Langbard, probably in a gypsy caravan heading south to Plasis for all I know.”
“Exactly,” Stefir smiled. “That is why it will be safe to travel to that particular past. We know that neither you nor I nor Ogador were at the Observatory on that day. It is thus impossible for us to do anything that will affect our actions between then and now.”
It was starting to make sense. “Okay, but what about anyone else that might be at the Observatory?”
“Jessar, the Observatory is outside Here and Now. In a way we cannot understand, it is in a place and time adjacent to our own, the Here and the Now, at the Observatory Stone. Yet it is not part of this place and time, if you can visualize that. Have you never stopped to wonder why, as we camp here close to the Observatory stone for all Galbard, we have seen no one else bringing their child to a Ringing at the Observatory Stone now close to us?”
“Well, elves have few children. Perhaps there hasn’t been anyone who needed to come.”
“Jessar, in a kingdom the size of Galbard, that is highly unlikely. But I will tell you that you would find the same thing even in the most populous areas of Talan. That is, two families, two sets of pilgrims, journeying to the Observatory will never meet one another.”
“How can that be?”
“That is a mystery only the Starlord and the Gods can explain, but, as for me, I believe it is because the pilgrims traveling to the Ringing at some point enter the Zone of Protection, a kind of private place and time only for those pilgrims and the Observatory.”
“So you’re saying that we may well have shared the road with some of these pilgrims and not known it because they have, for the moment, departed our time?”
“Precisely. They and us, under my theory, would be on the same road from a spatial perspective, but would be disconnected in time.”
“So, if I understand you, that also explains how the Observatory can, in an instant or less, move from, say, Galbard for the Ringing of an elf lad, to Analomai for the Ringing of a human child, a country many hundreds of marches away.”
The wizard slapped a hand on Jessar’s knee. “You are a fast student, Jessar. The Observatory can seem to be at two places at once only because those who journey there are no longer really in the same time plane once they enter the Zone of Protection.”
“Wait, Stefir. There is a flaw in your logic. Might not two different families traveling to the same Observatory on the same day encounter each other?”
“No, Jessar. I believe it is because the Zone of Protection starts at different physical points for those different families.”
“How can you prove it?”
“You are also a tough student.” The wizard paused a moment, fingers to his forehead before picking up a rock ringing the campfire. “See this rock?”
“Of course.”
“What will happen if I let go?”
“Why it will fall.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, gravity—“
“That is merely a word we use to describe behavior we observe.” The wizard let the rock fall.
“See, it fell. Gravity—“
“—is just a word, Jessar. What does it matter if I call it gravity or fall?”
“Why are you distracting me?”
“Turn around a moment.”
Jessar complied. Out of the corner of his eye, Jessar saw the wizard pick up another rock. He heard a thud. “Now, turn around again.”
Jessar did as Stefir directed and saw, where the first rock had been, a second stone. “So how did this stone get here?”
“You dropped it and gravity—“
“No! I did not drop it, I slid the second stone and dropped the first one behind me again!” Stefir leaned over so Jessar could see the first rock behind the log.
The Lynx thought about what Stefir was trying to teach him. “Your point is that no matter what I named the agent responsible for the presence of the rock at that spot, some other agent might also be responsible for the same observed behavior.”
“Exactly. Not only that, but that other agent fit the indications you were able to observe despite the fact that the two causes were radically different. Yet you had already decided in both cases that the answer was gravity. What other lesson is there?”
“That, in the end, it did not matter. Both rocks wound up in that location regardless of how they got there.”
“Correct. The only difference that mattered is that, although the rocks were in the same place, they were not there at the same time.”
“So, if I compare this to the Observatory situation, you were the road that got the rocks, the families, to the same spot, in our case, the Observatory Stone. Yet the rocks never met because you, the road, did not actually use the same method to get them there. I’m not sure the model makes total sense.”
Stefir smiled deviously. “No model ever does, Jessar. The answer to that is also in my demonstration. Your model of gravity, what do you think of it now? Do you still believe if I let go a rock, it will fall?”
“Of course. I don’t see your point.”
“Good, Jessar. The point is that your model of gravity still works, despite the fact that I have shown you that there is another, perfectly valid, manner in which I could obtain the same end. The existence of an alternative model does not impact the usefulness of another that works given a specific set of observables.”
“Okay, but this is all very confusing.”
“Well, if I am to teach you chronology, that latter is crucial, because it explains how I can use the River of Time and the Star Paths, two radically different models, to obtain information from time.”
“Wait, who said anything about teaching me chronology?”
“I just did. The prophet said you would be the agent in the Sealing of the Dooms.”
“So?”
“Very well, I can see this point is going to be difficult. We will save it for tomorrow. I suspect that, after the Observatory, it will be easier to explain.”
Anxious to get to Stefir’s book, Jessar was content to let the subject rest for the moment. “As for the Observatory and this lesson….“
“Remember, we are talking about a building that appears at the moment it is needed no matter where that might be, as long as it is one of the Observatory Stones. Ultimately, everything we use to judge what to expect, to predict what something or someone will do in the future, is done through a model based on past observations.”
“So, getting back to your theory about the two traveling families: You mean the moment before they would have encountered one another, the separation of the time planes begins?”
“That is one way to think about it.”
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it, but I’d like to get back to others that might be present that we might influence in some unpredictable way. At the very least there will be the Starlord. What about him? How do we keep from starting a terminus by having him conduct the Ringing for me when it did not occur before?”
“Jessar, the Starlord does not exist in our plane – either in place or time. Besides, he already has access to the infinite variations of Here and Now that might exist.”
“Huh?”
“Just take my word for it. Remember, you are the one who wanted to keep this short. You will see what I mean tomorrow when we visit the Observatory.”
The Lynx just couldn’t fathom it despite intellectually understanding it. “Why did you need to share this with me tonight rather than just letting me read?”
“I have preparations to make in order to cast the spell, and I must do those tonight. You will have questions about your reading in the morning.”
“Why did you give me the book tonight then?”
“Jessar, do you have no end of questions? Think. The stones have everything to do with the Dooms and Prophecy. You have no hope to employ them properly if you do not have a grounding in the Dooms.”
Jessar hung his head. “Of course, sorry. But if I understood everything we just talked about, in order to go back in time, we would have to be in the Zone to make it work.”
“Jessar, we are in the Zone. Did you not know that? Ever since Blailok the Thief killed a prophet in the first millennia, all Roving Prophet visits have occurred within a Zone of Protection, where the Starlord’s power prevents harm from befalling any within, where no enemy may intrude into the place/time of anyone else within the Zone?”
“Of course. But that makes me think, Stefir – what about any other traveler that had been using the road? Like Sabretha!”
“The Zone will not come into effect unless either a Roving Prophet or the Starlord is to see you. The Valkara was in the Zone with us at first.”
“Then how could she leave without disrupting your theory about the private place/time we shared?”
“Because we left the Zone and then re-entered it.”
“But we never moved!”
“Jessar, did you not understand anything we just discussed? The boundaries of the Zone are not confined in either space or time. Were you more attuned to sensing the Aura—“
“Huh?”
“Jessar, that is a bad habit. It does not make you seem very intelligent. I will show you what I mean by sensing the Aura. You said earlier you saw it radiating from my body when I used my cold light spell?”
“Yes.”
“Very well then. Look back the way we came, use your peripheral vision, and concentrate.”
Doing as Stefir suggested, the Lynx at first saw nothing, but then, as he was about to give up, he noticed, always at the edge of his sight, the same blue aura that had surrounded the wizard earlier. Jessar gasped involuntarily – the strange radiance was at the edge of his vision everywhere he looked in the direction they’d come from, now that he knew what to look for.
“That, my young friend, is the Aura of Magic – in this case, utterly strong magic – the edge of the Zone.”
“It’s beautiful, Stefir, and hard to ignore now that I see it.”
“That is the way of magic, Jessar. You must master it, or so it seems. Anyway, you sit there and read. Do not worry about me, I will make my preparations.”
It wasn’t long before he developed a headache from keeping one eye shut. The book contained too much information to remember or even comprehend in one reading, but he learned many things.
He discovered that a Divine Consortium of all twelve of the Primary Gods had pronounced the Dooms — not the Starlord, as Jessar had believed. He had heard the tale of how the Sacred Age had ended with a solar eclipse, and how each of the Errant Peoples received their own Doom on each of the following eighteen days. Each of the Peoples had contributed to the decay of social order leading to the Sacred Wars, and the Gods had apparently invoked the Dooms as punishment.
He also found that each Doom actually had four components. First, each of the Peoples governed by the Dooms had a Fate, something Jessar had always confused with the Doom itself. Each of these Fates determined what became of one of the Errant Peoples throughout the Age of Dooms. Second, each Doom had a Prophecy, what would come to pass for each People at the dawn of the New Age. Third, each Prophecy had a Fulfillment that must happen in order for the Prophecy to occur. All these Fulfillments were necessary before the New Age would begin. If not, the final component, the Apocalypse would occur, and if only one of these disastrous things transpired, the other seventeen would automatically follow. In that case, the name of the New Age would be the Age of Chaos, where the Reign of Chaos would prevail.
The book recorded all eighteen of the Fates, six for men, four for the elves, and eight for the Solon. Jessar’s book also explained most of the Prophecies, but it held little information on the Fulfillments and the Apocalypses.
Jessar was surprised to read that the Galbardian elves were the product of the Dooms. Apparently, in the Sacred Age, his people had been part of the Learned Elves who, lived outside the great cities in centers of learning. But they fell to the temptation of the evil Cult of Vyxana, which offered them a way to avoid the Calling. By doing so, they could live out their immortal lives in the Sacred Realm, rather than seeking the Elven Sanctuary. Their Fate was to become the Exiles, never again to feel the Calling until their Prophecy reversed the Fate. Although many Galbardians had died in the repeated incursions of evil into their homeland, there were still many besides Jessar’s own mother Gilana who remembered the end of the Sacred Age.
The Dooms also governed Stefir’s people, those of Walanar. They had been the Civilized Elves, Learned Elves who lived in the citadels of the Sacred Realm among men. Unlike the Exiles, they did not reject the Calling. Their Fate was to flee the Sacred Realm just like Jessar’s elves. However, the Calling continued to affect the Walanaris, guiding them to the Ultimate Shores of the Elven Sanctuary. According to Prophecy, they would one day return to the Sacred Realm.
One of the few Fulfillments noted, theirs would be met when some high-placed Walanari lost his sight and subsequently discovered the Sacred Calling Passage, the fabled route to the Sacred Realm. The book confused Jessar, however, regarding the topic. It hinted that some ancient artifact would restore the sight of the afflicted elf. Somehow this would facilitate his great discovery. Another reference implied that some other great elf would be involved with the relic. Something about the whole affair troubled the Lynx, something related to what the prophet had said yesterday, but he couldn’t figure out what bothered him.
Even Ogador’s sprawling nation had emerged from the Dooms. In ancient times, the Winged Horsemen had lived in the Sacred Realm, sharing the Citadels with the Civilized Elves and the hidden Solon. They had fought the Cult during the Sacred Wars. At the end of the Sacred Age, however, a blight killed all the special grasses the winged horses required to sustain their wings. So, along with the other evicted peoples, the winged horsemen fled west rather than losing their treasured mounts. They claimed the lands drained by the West Veinous, which their Fate bequeathed to them. Their Prophecy promised them that additional lands drained by the West Veinous River would one day be theirs.
Jessar read so long that, by the time he was finished, there would soon be a glow on the eastern horizon. As much information as the tome contained, it was not complete, however, and Jessar realized there was much more to discover before the Age of Dooms could successfully conclude. Sliding into his bedroll, he wondered just how much of a part he’d have in that endeavor, hoping Stefir would answer the tough questions from the past.