Too full of questions to sleep, Mrillis kept guard. Even here, below the sea, with the magic of the tunnel to protect them, he kept watch. He knew they needed to be even more alert than ever, after what they had accomplished.
Where the Threads emerging from the Zygradon ended, nothingness took over, and that fascinated him. He knew the bowl connected to all the Threads around it, with no visible connection. Nothing that he could feel, even when he traced the Threads with his mental hands.
Strangely, the nothingness had a familiar taste and smell and reverberation. If nothingness could have a taste or smell or vibration. He blamed his weary mind for the imagery and askew words. Still, he grew more certain he had encountered something just like this before. But where? He never would have known what the sensation was, so how could he have marked it in his memory? What sensations could he liken it to?
The Scry of Graddon, he mused, and snorted wry laughter, muffling the sound in deference to the others, who were exhausted under their giddy elation. Just like Graddon's visions, this is hard to decipher.
Mrillis leaped to his feet as an idea crashed through his weary mind.
He had tried to find Graddon through the Threads, after the seer vanished. What if he had found the man's hiding place, but hadn't realized it because his mind brushed up against something that evaded his mind, his skills, his strength?
Could he find it now, with the nothingness around the Zygradon as a clue of what to look for? Could he touch the something-there/nothing-there power at the ends of those Threads and use it to find the nothingness that enclosed Graddon?
Before he could think of problems or doubts, Mrillis approached the cloth-covered stone where the softly glowing bowl rested. It was inscribed inside and out with ever-twisting, spiraling, interconnected lines--etched by the Threads into the hot metal as it cooled. Mrillis suspected a mind could become lost in those endless spirals and loops and lines. He reached out both hands, physical and mental, and tried to grasp the invisible Threads coming from the end of each blunt flower petal that formed the bowl.
Blackness shot through with a rainbow of impossible colors exploded inside his mind.
Slowly, he grew aware of time passing with the slow dripping of honey in winter. His sense of self and body returned.
How long he hung there in darkness that shimmered with that same non-glowing non-darkness, Mrillis had no idea. He felt like he had been there forever. He opened his eyes and tried to move. His questing hand touched something warm and rough. Stifling a gasp, he braced to find he had knocked himself unconscious and had landed on someone's blanket. He opened his eyes.
Graddon lay before him, stretched out on his back, hands folded across his chest. A faint smile lit the big, bald man's broad face. His chest didn't move with breath, but Mrillis saw healthy color in his skin. He reached out a trembling hand and touched the seer's sleeve and arm. The flesh was warm.
Mrillis looked around. He knelt in a domed cave where multicolored streaks broke the dull golden brown grain of the rock. This was no place inside Whispering Vale. Could this be the Vale of Lanteer, which Graddon had mentioned in his final letter?
Just like the nothingness coming off the edges of the Zygradon, Mrillis knew no one would ever find this place if they didn't know it was there and didn't know it existed.
Mrillis started to shake the sleeping man's arm, to wake him. Surely if they ever needed Graddon's advice and visions, it was now.
As if he had known this moment and temptation would come, the rest of Graddon's letter slipped through Mrillis' memory.
Mrillis knew he had found Graddon for a reason--so he could find his hidden resting place some time in the future, when he needed it. Not to wake the man, who had looked forward to his well-earned rest. Against future need. To protect someone. An important, endangered someone who needed to rest and hide, perhaps for years, decades, generations.
Turning to leave, Mrillis saw the Threads that intertwined and formed a cocoon that enclosed and made invisible this sheltered spot. He laughed and the sound echoed along all the dangling ends of the Threads. He caught them up and his body began to grow so he felt like a fabled giant in a matter of seconds. Or was it that the Vale of Lanteer had shrunk to the size of a soap bubble? Mrillis held on tight to the Threads until the blackness swept over him again.
When he opened his eyes, he stood in front of the Zygradon. He anchored the Threads surrounding the Vale of Lanteer to the streaks of star-metal Ceera had embedded in the walls of the tunnel. The star-metal would give strength to the protective magic, and now Mrillis had made it so that only someone who came down the tunnel could enter the Vale of Lanteer.
Graddon--and whoever would sleep there someday--was safe. He had been found, his fate finally revealed, and he would remain safe and hidden. The Nameless One, the only enemy who could truly threaten the seer, could not touch the Threads. It was only common sense that the safest place to hide was literally within the Threads. It was laughable that none of them had thought of the answer before.
Mrillis smiled when his watch ended and he curled up in his blankets close by Ceera's side.
* * * *
Their company traveled in silence, exhausted by what they had done, though it had seemed so easy and swift when they formed the Zygradon. The star-metal embedded in the walls of the tunnel glowed in slowly shifting, soft rainbow streaks in reaction to the passage of the bowl, so they had no need for their torches or the floating globes of imbrose light.
Just before noon, the star-metal chimed in slight discord, warning of another company approaching from the Lygroes end of the tunnel. None of them spoke or even glanced at each other in silent communication. Mrillis stepped back and flung a blanket and then a ground cloth over the Zygradon, to hide it. No one but Rey'kil could come down the tunnel, but not all Rey'kil were friends. If there were traitors and rebels in Moerta, attacking innocent Noveni, there had to be twice as many in Lygroes.
Haster led the ten who rode with torches and imbrose light blazing, spears at ready and arrows ready in their bows. The stargazer let out a shout and raised his hand, bringing his warriors to a halt. He stared at the weary, triumphant band. Then he tipped his head back and laughed.
"We should have known it was you. What mischief have you three--no, wait, where's Endor?" He shook his head and waved his hand, pushing aside the question. "What mischief have you created this time?"
"No mischief," Ceera said. She glanced at Mrillis, eyes sparkling, and bit her lip to fight a grin.
"What happened?" Mrillis said. He gestured at the spears, which had finally been returned to the traveling straps on the saddles, and the arrows being put back into quivers. "You thought we were someone else, didn't you?"
"We didn't know who was coming. The sentinels raised the alarm when you just appeared, no warning, halfway down the tunnel." Haster dismounted. "What have you been doing?"
"Show him." Ceera turned to Loereen, who muffled a giggle and hurried to yank the coverings off the Zygradon, in its place of honor at the front of the supply cart.
Haster's smile froze, then slowly faded. He looked at Ceera, then Mrillis, then back at the wagon. He shook his head.
"I see... nothing."
No one else in Haster's party could see anything. Mrillis would have discounted them, since they were all warriors with little imbrose. But Haster had the clearest sight when it came to magic. After years of working with star-metal, learning to direct the fall of starshowers, his imbrose had grown stronger. How could the stargazer not see the Zygradon?
"Not that I doubt you," Haster said, when their combined group had started up the tunnel to Lygroes again.
Because Ceera and Mrillis' company were on foot, the warriors walked too, five ahead of them and five behind. Like guards. Mrillis didn't like the feeling that he and Ceera and their company had suddenly become suspect.
Or was it that they had suddenly stepped beyond their places and their elders and peers feared them?
"You two, together, have caused more change among our people, added to our knowledge, changed our entire vision of magic and star-metal... I would be a fool to doubt when you say something is so." Haster shrugged and glanced back at the wagon, which was directly behind him.
He walked between Mrillis and Ceera, at the head of the company. Mrillis held the lead reins for the horse that pulled the supply wagon, and only had to glance back over his shoulder to see the Zygradon, gleaming softly in its nest of blankets among the supplies. The star-metal in the walls responded as it had done all morning, shimmering softly, glowing more brightly as the Zygradon approached, then slowly fading away as the bowl passed. As if he could read Mrillis' thoughts, Haster nodded and gestured at the streaks of light on the walls.
"That proves you've done something, and something is definitely here... but I can't see it. None of us can. You say Threads are bound tightly to it, and all the Threads of the world now flow through it... and I don't doubt you. That's what alarmed our elders more than all of you appearing in the tunnel so suddenly. The music of the Threads has changed."
"How?" Mrillis' voice threatened to crack at the sudden shock that jolted through him.
"What have we done?" Ceera whispered.
"Oh, no, it's a good thing. I think. Where the strongest of us have always sensed a slight discord, as if the Threads sang their own songs and didn't care if they were in tune, now..." Haster grinned. "Now they are one massive harp, not fifty." He glanced over his shoulder again. "If only I could see. It must be a marvelous and awesome sight, the Threads going through it, the power of all that star-metal in one place."
"That's probably why it is invisible," Ceera said, nodding. Her frown deepened, her thoughts almost visibly swirling through her head. "Just as a large lump of star-metal made us invisible and untouchable through the Threads...the Zygradon hides itself. But why can we see it? Shouldn't it have become invisible as soon as it was formed?"
"We put ourselves into the making of it," Loereen offered.
"Yes, of course. You are bound to it," Haster said, nodding. "Consider this, children." He winked as he said the word, because half the company were as tall as he, or taller. "Because no one but you can see it, no one can steal it."
"But what happens when we are dead and no one can see it? How can it be guarded?"
"That is a question to be answered later. Perhaps those of you who have children can pass the gift on to them." He shrugged. "If only..." He shrugged and grinned and turned his face forward again.
"What?" Ceera asked.
"I'd like to at least touch it."
"Why not?" Mrillis gestured for the guards to halt, and tugged on the horse's lead reins to stop the wagon. He picked up the bowl in both hands. The base was small enough he could hold it on his flattened palms. Despite the amount of star-metal that went into it, and its size, the bowl felt as light as if made of gossamer.
Haster licked his lips and glanced around at their company before reaching out his gloved hand to touch the bowl. His hand glanced aside, sliding around the bowl as if pushed by an invisible hand. He tried again. He pressed his hand against Mrillis' hands, then pushed up, so the young man thought the stargazer would push the Zygradon off his hands. But Haster's hand never touched the bowl.
"I feel nothing... yet something guides my hand away." He frowned and wiped a few drops of sweat off his forehead. "Most strange and strong magic, children. Thank the Estall you are on the side of right, and not allied with the Nameless One."
"It doesn't make sense," Nixtan said. "It's right there. We can touch it." To demonstrate, he ran his index finger up the edge of one of the petals of the bowl and flicked the top edge, making the metal chime.
Haster and the guards flinched as the star-metal lining the tunnel caught and amplified the sound.
"For a moment there..." He frowned. "Little Star... Guide my hand?" He tugged his riding glove off and held out his hand.
Ceera nodded, her frown relaxing a little. She took Haster's hand and guided it to the bowl. Reaching out, she touched the upper edge of the petals with her other hand.
"Blessed bright fires!" Haster roared, and jumped back, yanking his hand free. He scrubbed his eyes with his fists. "It's enough to blind a man."
"If one of us touches the bowl..." Mrillis muffled a chuckle into a snort. "We are the doorways, the windows, I suppose. No one can touch or see the Zygradon, except through us and our help."
"And a blessing of the Estall that is, I'm sure." The old stargazer nodded, his gaze fixed more surely on the place above Mrillis' hands. "All the imbrose in the entire World rests in your hands, lad. Guard it well." A crooked grin brought some color back to his face. "That's a glimpse I'm grateful for, and just as grateful I won't get again."
* * * *
Kathal and Tathal waited at the end of the tunnel when the two combined parties emerged at dusk. With a nod and a twist of his head, Kathal beckoned for Ceera and Mrillis to follow him. He didn't wait for them to respond, but stalked off across the clearing to the tower of Bo'lantier.
"What's--"Ceera began.
"Trouble," Tathal said. He pressed a finger to his lips for silence and gestured for them to go ahead of him.
The tower is spelled to keep people from overhearing, Mrillis thought to Ceera.
I ought to know that.
When you've been Queen of Snows for a year and a day, then you have to know everything. You still have time.
She muffled a giggle and hooked her arm through his as they crossed the clearing together.
Laughter and smiles faded by the time they stepped through the faintly tingling curtain of magic across the door of the tower and climbed up the winding stairs to the room at the top. Kathal stood in the open window where he could look out through the shimmer of lavender sparks to watch the tunnel mouth.
"We were worried," he began. A snort escaped him as he turned to face them.
"Yes, so Haster told us," Ceera said. "We've done something...amazing. I think even we who were involved will not quite understand what it is for many years yet."
"You were invisible, untouchable, unreachable," Tathal said. "Master Breylon worried because he couldn't contact you. He feared treachery."
"No. Only more...mischief." Mrillis winked at Ceera as he said it. She smiled crookedly and shook her head.
"Endor isn't with you," Kathal said. He gestured for them to take seats at the long table that filled the tower room and didn't speak until they had all chosen stools.
"No. He had errands to run and we told him we could not wait. He knew our schedule." He glanced at Ceera. She shook her head, having no more idea than he did what had happened. "Has something happened to him?"
"More like he happened to someone else," Tathal muttered.
"We've heard conflicting stories," his twin said, and bowed his head to study his intertwined fingers. "He met with those hunting the rebels, then passed along the messages you had given him for Master Breylon and others...then he seems to have become two different people."
"That's a clever magic," Mrillis said. "People are telling two different stories about him? That's always been the way of it, just because of who his father is," he hurried to say, cutting off both twins. "Does someone claim he did blood magic, but figured out a way to keep hold of the Threads?"
"That would explain much, yes," Tathal said. "A Noveni village was slaughtered. Some say Endor got there too late to help, and others say he did the slaughtering. Of Noveni and the rebels he had been tracking. Or claimed he had been tracking. Some say he was one of them, and killed his fellows to cover his tracks when he knew he was about to be caught."
"No," Ceera whispered, jolted out of her stunned silence when Mrillis caught hold of her cold little hand.
"Details," Mrillis said, shaking his head.
The band of Rey'kil warriors, whom Endor had met with several days before, arrived only an hour or two after the battle. The bodies were still warm and the blood still wet. They found Endor weeping over the dead children. His clothes were wet with blood, both his own and from the rebels who lay scattered and crumpled among their victims.
Yet only an hour after they raised the alarm and passed along the report of what had happened, another group hunting the rebels refuted everything Endor said. They said they had passed through the isolated valley village only a day before and claimed there were no rebel bands anywhere in the area. They suggested that Endor had attacked the villagers, using magic to immobilize them.
The second band of hunters came to help with the cleansing and burying. They reported the conditions that the first band had been too horrified to report. The children had been hacked to pieces, the young women raped before their throats were slit, the young men disemboweled, and the elders had been tied hand and foot to the doorways of their huts, facing the center of the village where the atrocities had taken place. As if forced to watch before they died.
"There is no proof. No one strong enough to tell if magic was used, and what kind. Certainly no one sensitive enough to catch echoes to identify who did it," Kathal said, finishing the tale.
"Only accusations and conflicting stories and arguments which could tear us apart," Ceera murmured. "Who else knows of this?"
"The elders. The Warhawk and his Council. Master Breylon. He is most upset."
"Does he believe Endor did it, or is he angry that someone would accuse his student?" Mrillis had to ask.
"He does not want to believe any of it."
"It does explain why Endor didn't catch up with us when he said he would," Ceera said. "Either he was trying to rescue that village by himself--but why wouldn't he call for help?"
"Endor always tried to do things by himself," Tathal offered. "He was always trying to prove himself worthy."
"What is worthy about pride that lets others die because he refuses to ask for help?" Mrillis said. His stomach churned and his head throbbed with dizziness.
He didn't want to believe his friend could have been so foolish--or so cruel. Could Endor have destroyed that innocent village? He had the perfect opportunity. He hated the Noveni. He hated being in a position of serving the Noveni. The only reason he helped to remove all the star-metal from Moerta was to keep all magic out of Noveni hands--and to earn Ceera's favor.
"Exactly," Ceera whispered, nodding. "Either he sought glory, and others died for his mistakes and pride. Or he attacked the innocent and helpless. This will take much thinking, much studying of facts and evidence and... I am too tired." A choked laugh escaped her and she thumped the table once with her fists. "I could curse him for destroying the glory of what we have done! I want to sleep for a week, but the...the euphoria of our newest mischief--" She cast a teasing glance at the twins. "I thought I could dance until dawn. Until now."
"What have you two done now?" Kathal asked. He looked almost relieved to have the subject changed.
Trumpets blared, signaling that someone had just emerged from the tunnel mouth. Mrillis leaped to his feet to look out the window. Even in the long, thickening shadows, he caught the fiery gleam of Endor's bare head and the steam coming from the nostrils of his horse. Mrillis watched as the gleaming, sweating horse staggered four steps away from the tunnel and collapsed. Endor leaped free as the horse went down onto its side. He yanked his saddlebags free and stalked away without a backward glance, while servants raced to attend to the horse.
I could almost believe he did it, just from that, Mrillis thought to Ceera, and wondered why his heart felt so empty of all emotion.
"Say nothing," Ceera said. She stood and moved around the table so her back was to the window and she faced the doorway at the head of the stairs. She sat down, stiff and straight, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist, and hidden below the level of the table.
"Queen of Snows," Kathal whispered. He nodded, met his twin's gaze, and the two stepped over to stand behind her chair as guards. The same stance they took when Master Breylon faced visitors who needed to be impressed with the High Scholar's authority.
Endor's boots sent thudding echoes up and down the levels of the tower. Mrillis stayed seated, head bent as if he studied his hands. He watched the doorway from the corner of his eye, waiting. The clank and scrape of Endor's scabbard on the stone wall, where the stairs narrowed near the top, gave a good picture of his progress.
The hollow echo of thudding footsteps on wooden steps changed to the muffled pounding and clatter of the metal studs in boot heels on the stone floor of the upper level. Mrillis turned just as Endor lunged through the doorway and caught himself, both hands braced on the doorframe. He paused for a heartbeat, face filthy, sweaty, red with effort, scalding fury blazing in his eyes.
"Where were you?" Ceera demanded. She rapped out the words like pebbles hitting the Lake of Ice. "We delayed as long as we could. You promised you would return before we needed to head back the way we came. You knew we would head back to the tunnel. You knew the lump was almost too large to handle when you rode out. Where were you?"
"I was protecting a Noveni village from a band of rebels." Endor spat on the floor, held out his arm and tugged his sleeve up to reveal the awkward bandage reaching from below his elbow to halfway up his biceps. "That's where I was." He slammed a fist down on the table. "Filthy, arrogant purebloods. They call me a brute and a barbarian, because of my father? You should have seen what they did to those children!"
"Yes, we have heard the reports." Her silver eyes gleamed cool and regal; with no hint of the tears and shock she had suffered just a short time ago.
"You did it, didn't you? Made the bowl of stars." Endor slammed his fists into the end of the table facing her and braced himself on his stiff arms.
Mrillis noted that despite the blood and thick bandage, Endor showed no weakness or pain. He wondered why he noticed such things, why he doubted his friend. Hadn't he chafed all his life against the injustice and unwarranted prejudice that Endor suffered under, because of the ill luck of his parentage? Hadn't Endor been accused of other crimes before--though none so brutal--with strong evidence, yet had always been cleared of all accusations?
Jealousy, Mrillis decided, did much to cloud a man's mind and tempt him toward injustice.
"We could not wait. The star-metal was nearly too strong to handle. It was growing too hot. We had to work it, or else disperse it and wait until it could be gathered again."
Ceera stood and faced him, arms hanging at her side, not quite mirroring his stance. She was fully Queen of Snows in that moment. Mrillis shivered in awe of her, and pride, and ached deep inside as he sensed a wall falling between them. Some part of little Ceera, his playmate and dearest friend, vanished in that moment.
"Yes, the Zygradon has been made. All the Threads in the World flow through it. We are saddened that you were not a part of the actual forming, but you are very much a part of our effort, even so." She gestured at the door. "Come and see."
He won't be able to see it, Mrillis thought to her. How do you think he'll react to that little discovery?
He might, because he was exposed to the concentrated power of the star-metal for so long. And I want to see his reaction, specifically, she responded after a moment of silence. She led the way down the winding stairs.
Ah. Yes. And if he's enraged, then... He sighed. I don't know what his reaction will tell us. I'm too tired. Is he guilty or innocent? Did we leave him behind on purpose, or because we got careless, or was it the Estall's will?
You didn't leave a note, as you could have. I didn't ask you to leave a note, as I should have. We're both guilty. But I'm glad he wasn't a part of the forming, she admitted, and slipped her hand into his as they reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped out into the evening cool.
Just as it had been with Haster, no one could see or touch the Zygradon unless Ceera or Mrillis or one of the other partners in the making of the bowl touched it and held the other person's hand at the same time. Many cried out in pain or shock in the fraction of a heartbeat that they came face-to-face with the bowl. Some claimed to be blinded by a bright, purifying light. Others heard music that made their ears ring. Others felt a wind that rushed past them and through them. Still others claimed to have touched all the green growing things in the World, as if they had become every flower, tree, bush, weed and vine.
Endor wouldn't tell them what he saw or felt or heard. He stared, as if he had been blinded, and stood perfectly still. He didn't yank his hand free as everyone else did. He stared at the Zygradon as if he could see it, but when Mrillis lowered the bowl, Endor's gaze didn't follow it. Ceera, who had insisted on being the one to 'introduce' Endor to the bowl, slowly released his hand. She said nothing, only watched him, until he finally blinked and rubbed his eyes.
Without looking at either of them, Endor gave a tiny shrug, a crooked smile, then turned and walked away.
Nothing will ever be the same again, will it? Ceera asked in the sad, ringing silence.
I wonder, right now, if the three of us were ever as good and close friends as we always believed, Mrillis said. He felt his stomach knot again in guilt. He could have done something to make sure Endor had been included in the forming of the Zygradon--why hadn't he?
What did he see? What did he hear? Why didn't he make a sound or pull away like everyone else?
* * * *
"Because Endor is like no one else in the entire world, my children," Breylon said, when they posed the question to him four days later.
They had dispersed their companions, releasing them to go to their homes and families for a long and well-deserved rest. With a sense of weary, overwhelming relief, Mrillis and Ceera rode off alone for Wynystrys. They both wanted to retreat, just for a little while, back to the comfortable position of being students. After what they had done with the Zygradon, they feared there would be no one left in the World who would dare to teach them or command them. They felt very young and yet older than the stars. They needed to be addressed as children. When Breylon did just that, they smiled at each other across the wide table in the High Scholar's private chambers.
"Just as there is not and never again will be anyone like you two," he continued. He stared at a spot on the table just short of the place where the Zygradon sat, glowing faintly, with a shifting rainbow nimbus all around it. That told Mrillis more surely than anything that even the High Scholar of the Rey'kil could not see the Zygradon.
"After each amazing thing you accomplished, Le'esha and I braced ourselves to find you had reduced yourselves to something less than you were. Each time, you came back stronger. The tests that do not kill us make us stronger," he said with a crooked smile and a shake of his head. "Endor, I am sure, saw something unlike anything anyone else saw or heard or felt. He suffers under a heavy burden of accusation and disappointment." He sighed. "I admit, I am inclined to think that it was indeed the Estall's will, perhaps a great blessing, that he was not part of the forming of the Zygradon. How he weathers this disappointment will be a more sure sign of his true spirit and character, than any great accomplishment ever could reveal."
"Do you think he killed those villagers?" Ceera whispered.
"I do not know, Little Star." He patted her hand where it rested on the table. "The older I grow, the more sure I am that I know very little. When the Estall calls me home to rest in the Eternal Bliss, I will have progressed to the point where I know that I know nothing at all. And that will be the start of true wisdom." He chuckled when they both exchanged exasperated looks. "Now, I hear that you can provide me a glimpse of this marvel. Since I cannot see it unaided, you must help me."
The first time Ceera guided his hand to touch the bowl, Breylon gasped, went pale and slumped in his chair.
"Music," he muttered, when Mrillis asked him what he experienced. "Music such as I fear I will never hear again. And such light, like no light I have ever seen before. Not light seen with the physical eyes, I do believe." He nodded, closed his eyes, took a deep breath and stared at the spot where the Zygradon rested.
Mrillis and Ceera waited, watching their beloved teacher. Finally, Breylon moved. He summoned up a crooked smile to bestow on them. Then he gripped the arms of his chair, visibly bracing himself--and held out his hand, silently asking them to give him another glimpse of the Zygradon.
"The perfumes of a thousand ages fill my lungs," he whispered, when they had repeated the process four times and the silence after each attempt lasted longer. "Without you acting as my window, I cannot sense it. However you worked it, you have done an amazing thing. And a wise thing. How can our enemies steal the Zygradon and use it against us if they cannot find it?"
The three stayed up late, talking and theorizing and wondering. Breylon confirmed what they had observed and believed, but didn't trust their weary senses to prove: the Zygradon did not interfere with the flow of power around them. They could walk through the Threads as if there were no star-metal around to warp them. Yet when he held the bowl in his hands, Mrillis felt the power waiting to be released. When he closed his eyes, he could follow the patterns of the Threads. Just like in the vision from his childhood, all the Threads in the world came to the bowl. They passed through and became stronger and continued on throughout the World, and the Zygradon held them in tight control, like the spider sitting in the center of its web.
They told Breylon how Mrillis had found Graddon. Now, only Ceera and the High Scholar knew of the discovery and the answer to the mystery. No one else would ever know. Breylon smiled, amused and awed by what his students had done so easily, had known instinctively how to do.
"The Estall prepared you for this," he said, when they finished. "Through Le'esha, through Graddon, through me, through all your teachers. Even through the nasty tricks of your friends and fellow students when you were children. Is it a blessing or a curse that I sense your tasks and labors and adventures have not ended at all?"
"Can we rest for a little while, at least?" Ceera said, her voice sharp with exasperation despite the sparkle in her eyes.
"Yes, you will rest." The High Scholar looked back and forth between them, sitting on either side of him at the long table. "I daresay you have earned some happiness and peace, and I urge you to grasp it while you can. Only half the vision is fulfilled. The bowl of healing--the sword of strength and protection."
"Swords are only used in war," Mrillis said, nodding. "When will we need to make the sword?"
"Do not hurry to make the sword, or you will bring war on us too quickly. Do not hesitate when the time comes," Breylon said softly, "or you may lose your chance to bring peace. You will know when the time comes. Only be grateful that the time of the sword is not now."
* * * *
Before the ending of all things worthwhile and strong, there will be three
drops of blood born to the bloody sword.
The daughters shall walk in light and be strong, but the son shall overstep
them.
One shall serve and one abominate and one will triumph.
One will sleep and one shall wait and one shall suffer.
They shall do so forever, and yet even to forever there is an
ending.
The blood drawn from the third shall open the doors and smooth the road
and waken the sleeper.
Protect the strong and vigilant, so that the three drops of blood may
come.
Though you look for the abomination, you will not find her until she has
destroyed innocence. Keep her from the blood drawn from the blood, or all is
lost.
END