12

 

 

 

A narrow ledge wound its way down into a vast subterranean gorge in the midst of which stood an enormous lake whose emerald waters reflected the off-yellow iridescence cast by the astounding colony of fungi on the ceiling. The dark waters of the mysterious and obviously deep lake lapped at the rocky shore with slow precision, churned methodically by some unseen force. In the center of the lake on an island of unforgiving granite stood the citadel of Ywentir, which resembled a small walled fortress more than a city. A gentle tingling swept over the exposed areas of skin as the group descended into the canyon, and the knowing knew it to be a semblance of the ancient powers, echoing sullenly now, that had constructed and once kept the place.

   “How could a place of such power be invaded? An army couldn’t get past here, let alone find its way through that maze!” said Vilmos, louder than he expected. The echo carried across the open span. He had meant to think it, yet the words had slipped out.

   “Time,” was what Noman answered, “time.”

   They crossed the lake quite easily. A floating platform of stone floating on a pocket of air and magic that ceaselessly and slowly moved back and forth between the shore and the island swiftly accomplished the task. As they approached, the protective gates to the city opened, and they entered without fear. Ywentir was much the same as its former occupants had left it, untouched by dirt or dust. Famished from the day’s long trek and the previous night’s excursions, finding food became the main objective. They had carried few rations with them, and what little they had brought were already fully depleted. Thankfully the kitchens, which had once serviced thousands, were not far off and were surprisingly well-stocked and amply preserved. There was also an entire pantry totally separate from the kitchens that was filled with dried fish and mushrooms. Concerns over their growing hunger rapidly diminished as a fire was built in one of the great kitchen’s smaller hearths.

   After they had eaten, Noman pointed out rooms for them. Vilmos retired only after he had checked on Xith several times. His beautiful companion assured him in words that were soft and reassuring that the shaman would be fine come morning. She sat the vigil beside him through the night thinking of another even as she looked down upon him. She had been given a second chance, a chance to correct errors of the past. She would not fail; she would perform in the proper manner and assure her redemption. Briefly, she thought about those she knew to be so far away and how they fared before she came full circle to the present.

   The night passed, though slowly. And while there was no indication that daybreak had come at long last, she knew it had.

Vilmos greeted the morning with apprehension until he heard a distant grumbling, the sound of Xith’s voice, complaining that he didn’t need any help and that he was not an invalid. When Vilmos entered the shaman’s quarters, all conversation stopped as Xith gawked at him.

   “I thought I was hallucinating! Vilmos, it really is you!” and silently Xith added, “Thank you!”

   The two embraced for a long time. Xith’s heart filled with joy; the sadness of yesterday was gone.

   It took concerted effort to get Vilmos to talk about what had transpired from the time he had fallen and the time he had returned. He would not say a word until he and Xith were alone and only then did he speak of what had occurred. He could not remember much except that for a long time he had existed only in blackness. And then in an avalanche of jumbled thoughts he had seen the battle and the fall, and afterwards nothing save the solitary darkness. Vilmos paused when he saw the other walk into the room. He saw the look on Xith’s face; her beauty was unmatched by anything he had ever seen.

   “I would like to thank you. I owe you—” Xith started to say.

   “You owe me nothing,” she said softly, coldly.

   She hurriedly exited the room, tears of remembrance flowing down her cheeks.

   “What did I say?” asked Xith.

   “Give her some time, that is all,” answered Vilmos. He said nothing more of her and re-started the conversation, explaining how the light, a tremendous, white, searing light had come for him and taken him from the darkness, and how it had faded when she had taken his hand, how warm and soothing her touch had been as she carried him back into the light.

   “What is her name?” asked Xith, curiously probing to see how much Vilmos knew about their mysterious savior.

   “I don’t know. I have asked. She did not say.”

   “I think you are right,” said Xith responding to what Vilmos didn’t say. “It is best to leave that question alone. She will tell us if she wants to in time. For now, I will just be grateful.”

   Xith and Vilmos sat together, quietly thinking, reflecting upon the past and its lessons. Xith was very glad Vilmos had been given another chance, as had he.

   Two days and two nights passed without mishap. Ywentir had a peacefulness about it that made it seem apart from the outside world. The occupants dwelled in its sanctioned walls free of cares for a time, time that allowed for the healing of many wounds both physical and mental. While the others congregated in the common area near the great kitchen, Vilmos and Xith spent most of their time in the shaman’s quarters. Vilmos stared into the shaman’s eyes, preparing to ask the other for the umpteenth time how he felt. He waited until Xith relaxed back against his feather pillow and then launched the query.

   “How are you feeling now?” he asked speculatively.

   “Oh, you worry too much; I am fine. Now stop asking me that! Your pretty friend is a mighty healer. I still believe she is a priestess of the Mother.”

   “No, she is not, I have told you that already.”

   “I know, I know,” chuckled Xith.

   Xith still felt as if Vilmos were his son although the friendship between them had seemed to dwindle. Vilmos had barely spoken to him the entire day, and all Xith could do was to recall the boy he had watched grow. Vilmos had gone through many changes recently and he could feel a coldness within the boy who was now a young man. He wished he could explain to Vilmos everything he knew about what had happened to him and what would happen to him in the future, but he could not; there was so much that was taboo to speak of and so much that could change at any moment. He started to ramble into an apology that was cut short.

   “Vilmos, I am sorry for—”

   “Don’t be sorry; it wasn’t your fault,” said Vilmos.

   “Then what is the matter?”

   Vilmos screwed up his face as he pulled out the words from his thoughts, “It is just magic. I don’t know if I can still use it.”

   Xith laughed loudly.

   “Is that what has been bothering you?”

   Vilmos flashed his eyes with honesty, “Yes.”

   “Of course you can!” said Xith, greatly relieved. That sounded like the Vilmos he had once known.

   “It’s just that I have tried; the power is there, I can feel it flow through me, yet each time I try to use it, I fail. I can’t even set spark for a simple fire!”

   Xith was suddenly very happy; he was a teacher once more. Pride surged through him as he explained magic again to Vilmos, starting with how the flow worked, which Vilmos said he understood. They talked for hours, as Xith explained how Vilmos should tap the raw energy, which was where Vilmos was apparently stuck. Xith was sure he blocked the flow with his mind. He needed to release his thoughts and let the energy flow out of him freely. Xith carried him carefully through each step as he had in the beginning, showing him how to divide his thinking, maintain the flow in and out, and maintain concentration.

   “Light this,” said Xith as he held out a stick in each hand.

   “Which?” asked Vilmos.

   “Both.”

   “I can’t.”

   “You won’t. Try. You can do it,” urged the teacher. “Know you can, and you will.”

   “But—” objected the would-be neophyte.

   “Concentrate. Direct the flow. Clear your mind; think only of the circuit flowing within you, around you, and out of you.”

   Vilmos tried.

   The youngster cried out in glee as he finally set the first spark to the sticks in Xith’s outstretched hands. He had finally done it. The block had only been in his mind; the power was still there. He just needed to practice.

   Amir entered the chamber and the two, pupil and teacher, grew silent, awaiting his exit. Amir did not remain long; he had just wanted to check on the shaman and see to his wounds, wounds that were miraculously nearly healed. Amir departed with a cordial nod of the head, walking back to the common area where Noman and Ayrian waited. On the way, he passed their new companion. He studied the way she moved back and forth between the hall and her room, not sure where to go. She moves with such grace, he thought. He felt emotions building within himself, emotions he had not had in a very long time.

   “May I join you?” the lumbering giant asked in a meek voice.

   “Mmmm—sure,” she said softly, grinning.

   “Why do you so rarely speak, Little One? What troubles you?” asked Amir using the name he had adopted for her.

   “It is of no importance.”

   “I would like to know,” he returned in earnest.

   “Amir,” she said coldly, “I am here for only one purpose, nothing else. I must re-affirm my faith and prove my worthiness. I am here to die.” She said it without emotion, as one would say a casual fact.

   I am here to die, he repeated in his mind. Amir sensed the pain inside her, and it puzzled and attracted him. He could not comprehend it or her. His beliefs told him one should enjoy what he or she is given, to be happy here on this plane, as well as the next.

   “But why? Why must you die?” he bluntly asked.

   His kind also had a different understanding of death. One never dies—he or she just passes from one existence to the next. He wondered if she truly meant death. The Little One didn’t answer; still Amir perceived something from her that he counted as a response although again it perplexed him.

   “I am falling in love with you, my Little One.”

   “What?” she demanded. “Have you heard nothing I have said? Falling in love,” she mocked, “falling in love? What are you saying?”

   “I have listened, but I do not care.”

   “What you feel for me is not love, but pity. Do not confuse the two and do not confuse your feelings. You can NOT love me. I once did love. I can not love again,” adding to herself in her mind, “only in the end.”

   Not knowing what to do or say next, Amir looked hurt. He searched for the right words to express his feelings. He had seen tenderness and feelings in her; he had seen it in the way she cared for Xith’s injuries. The coldness she pretended was not who she was. He had heard her solemn cries in the night, the soft sobs in her bed when she thought no one else was awake and could hear them. He wanted to reach out and embrace her and chase away the pain with warmth.

   “At least let me know your name,” he pleaded.

   “I am nothing!” she said and ran from him.

   Amir yelled after her, “You are something, something very special!”

   “Damn it!” he muttered to himself; that had not gone the way he had wanted it to, not at all.

   He watched her go. He could see that the feelings inside her were tearing her apart. He would push no further. He sat alone thinking for a long time, deciding finally to join the others for supper. Most had already begun eating by the time he came to the common hall after the slow walk from his chamber; and by the time he arrived, his appetite was lost. Yet he did bite on a small piece of dried fish and a hunk of hard bread, which he managed to finish. He looked up slowly, still abstractedly chewing on the last few bites from his plate as Noman cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention and then started to speak.

   “We have always relied on the assumption of unity in purpose and on a willingness to be a participant, but no more. Tomorrow marks a day of change, and we can no longer continue on assumptions of loyalty and willingness to act. I would ask each of you, my five companions, even our newest arrival and even my oldest friend, the same question. Do you have the strength, the perseverance, the tenacity, to say, ‘I will not give up the struggle once borne, no matter the cost’? Ask yourself this question. The trials that lie ahead are many and will spare no demands upon you.”

   Purposefully, Noman looked first to the youngest of his companions. Though it was true that he was not rid of the latent powers within him, he was no longer their ward. His rebirth had proved that.

   Vilmos considered the question under the weight of the diviner’s scrutiny. He nodded affirmatively as a gesture of goodwill and not because of the strong eyes fixed upon his small form.

   Noman looked to each of the others in turn and lastly, again with purpose, to the newcomer in their midst, who not surprisingly took the longest to mull over the charge. She considered herself nothing more than chattel. Her role had already been handed to her. She lifted her eyes and nodded yes, for she knew without a doubt that the surprisingly receptive figure before her understood her plight.

   “Good, good,” spoke Noman in his beneficent way, “but even so, I may ask this question of you once more. Yet for now, let us look to tomorrow.”

   A playfulness returned to his eyes. “Then we shall prepare to leave tomorrow. Xith is regaining his strength rapidly, so I think it best we leave as soon as possible.”

   “Where to?” blurted Vilmos, “Where are we going?”

   Xith smiled. This was the Vilmos he knew, always asking questions. “We shall journey towards the sea, I think. Am I correct, Master Noman?” he asked with a wink directed to the guardian.

   “Yes, but we will have to cut through the Barrens to do so,” offered Noman to give the youngster something more to mull over.

   The Barrens, Vilmos remembered, were a vast dry land southwest of the great northern range. He had never been through the desert; it didn’t sound like a good place to journey through. Sand and heat didn’t excite his sense of adventure, especially if the rugged border country was an indicator of what he could expect from it. He had had enough of dust and wind.

   Noman smiled at the eager youth and while the others started to converse freely amongst themselves, he stole the opportunity to confer privately with Xith. He continued to see only partial shadings of the paths ahead and what little he was able to glean troubled him—the shades of darkness spread across the lands and they would have to hurry if they were to gather the last of the lost in time. As he talked with the shaman, Noman continued this inward search, curious now that he saw two faces clearly when before he had only seen the one, that of the girl.

   The direct path east to the sea suddenly seemed an improbable route—this was the issue of ever-present change. He told no one of this, not even the shaman, with whom he shared many of his secrets. He and Xith were much alike, he the guardian, and he the watcher. Their conversation soon turned to idle chatter and after a short while they rejoined the others.

   When everyone except Vilmos and Xith had retired, the two started into a deep conversation. Vilmos’ thoughts at supper had returned to magic. A part of him felt somehow cheated; he had held the power, so great, in his hands, and now it was lost to him. He wanted to learn stronger incantations than the few simple ones he could invoke and the strongest sort of magic he could think of was teleportation, which he wondered if the shaman would ever teach him.

   Xith strained to get the point across. True teleportation was a very difficult feat. But Vilmos still wanted to know how it was done. Xith was able to steer the conversation in different directions for a time, but he was never quite able to totally avoid the subject.

   “I will teach you in time—patience, Vilmos,” admonished Xith.

   “What is wrong with now?”

   “You will need all your strength for tomorrow…”

   The eyes eager for information drove words to the shaman’s tongue. “Youth,” mumbled the shaman to himself as he considered the hungry eyes.

   “Okay, yet I won’t teach you that. I’ll teach you this!” said Xith, his eyes lighting up as he set his mind to the task of the flow.

   The small-statured shaman suddenly loomed larger than life before Vilmos. He lurched forward, his hands stretched far apart. Tiny crackles, sparks of energy, sprang between his fingertips and it was these tiny flicks of energy that lit the shaman’s face, cast odd shadows behind him, and made him seem closer than he actually was.

   There was a sparkle captivated in the dark pupils of the forthright eyes that happily mirrored the play of the shaman’s hands. The unobtrusive sparkle grew in intensity until it became a bolt of solid energy that flowed from one hand to the next, almost enveloping the fingers. The air was crisp with the crackling sound of thunder and Vilmos’ hair sparked with static electricity. The bolt grew to a brilliant, deep blue, changing in a surge to a light sky blue.

   “This is something you will find extremely useful,” said the shaman with a grin, “this is positive energy.”

   The light shimmered and faded to a faint, white-yellow hue, casting an eerie glow about the room, and the eyes no longer reflected the color with glee; rather, they glittered dully and in a way that was somewhat glum. Vilmos watched intensely, fascinated, captivated.

   “This is negative energy…

   “At the base of all forces, there are two forms of energy, positive and negative, and they exist in all things. You and I are creatures that fall into the shadow of the realms of the positive. There are creatures, as you have witnessed, that fall into the realms in opposition with our own; they hold the negative.”

   The shaman inched closer as he spoke, his lips were now only mere inches away from Vilmos’ own. The young man’s eyes were wide.

   “It is possible to harm a creature of positive energy with a form of positive energy, but another form of positive energy could cause the creature to grow.” Xith flashed his eyes. “In strength, in size, in abilities. You must choose the form you will use with great care and in time you will learn which type of energy works best for you. Remember that all things stem from these two basic forms. Fire, earth, water and air are reflections of these two forms.”

   Xith flashed his eyes again.

   “A red hot fire will burn you yes, but a cool yellow flame will sting you just the same.” Xith stopped for a moment, and quite pleased with himself for having conceived the truism, he paused a moment longer.

    “Once you choose, you may learn the various forms of that energy and use them to your advantage. I prefer the positive; it is the way my thinking is oriented. It is hard for me to reverse the flow of my energies to form the negative energy. A gifted few are able to use both with equal skill, a very difficult feat. For now you shall practice with them both.”

   Vilmos sat lost in deliberate thought; something inside his mind clicked. He understood what positive and negative was.

   “They are what you used on the trolls; what I used on them.”

   “Yes, in a way that is true. You were a different person then. Can you remember how you did it?”

   “It seemed to flow into me. I could not control it.”

   “Let us go through the steps of gathering and focusing once more. Listen with your ears, but open your mind and follow with your thoughts.” Xith took a deep breath and began in a singsong tone that drew the young man in and made him want to listen. “Gather the energy into yourself. Store it. Clear your mind, cleanse away all outer thoughts. Close your eyes. Concentrate. Release the energy out one side of yourself through your hands; bring it in through the other side. Feel the flow of renewal.”

   Vilmos practiced.

   Xith was pleased at the relative ease with which the pupil found the source of his power.

   “That is positive energy. Now, simply reverse the flow through yourself. Be very careful never to mix positive and negative energy, for when the two forces meet unabated they cancel each other out, and you, my friend, will be dead in an instant!” Xith snapped his fingers for emphasis. “Using negative energy is more difficult and requires greater concentration. You must completely re-orient your thinking.”

   It was morning when the two finished, yet neither showed any signs of tiring from the long night’s activities.

   Noman just shook his head when he discovered the two still sitting and talking in the same spot they had been in when he had last seen them.

   All had a light breakfast and then as much supplies as they could carry were packed. When all was ready, they departed through the maze of Ywentir, finding themselves outside in a short time in the bright sunshine of a beautiful, fresh day and beneath a sun that at high day filtered down into the very floor of the canyon, chasing even the last of the lingering shadows away.