Crystal Doors #2: Ocean Realm (No. 2) (3 page)

Etherya thanked him and presented him with a surprise. “We Elantyans made your walking body, and now we offer you a means to travel swiftly and safely in the ocean as well.” Engineers came forward carrying a shiny object from their construction laboratories. Polup swiveled his clanking body toward it.

To Gwen, the gift looked like a cartoon version of a flying saucer — a clear basketball-sized submersible bubble with a thick, teardrop-shaped metal base, which boasted a pair of extendable grappling arms and two quarrel launchers. Two magic sages explained the machine to Polup, murmuring words like “utility appendages,” “water circulation,” and “propulsion systems.”

“Cool!” Vic whispered. “A mini-sub made just for Polup.”

Gwen smiled. “Now he’ll be able to scoot around in the water again, much faster than any regular jellyfish could swim. I’d really miss it if I couldn’t swim.”

Tiaret glanced at her. “I intend to become an excellent swimmer.”

“Don’t worry,” Vic assured her. “We’ll start those lessons soon.”

Next Etherya addressed Rubicas. “Master Sage, the Virs have no gift befitting a sage of your skills, knowledge, and courage, save this: the Pentumvirate hereby appoints you Ven Sage Rubicas, the most revered sage in Elantya, Director of the Citadel, and Advisor to this Council.”

Though he was gray haired with a long beard, Rubicas grinned like a child. Applause rippled around the room. Lyssandra blinked in astonishment and whispered, “There has been no Ven Sage in Elantya since Qirteas died ten years ago.”

Etherya raised her hand again for quiet. “And now, Ven Rubicas, we should reward your apprentices.” She beckoned the five friends.

All eyes turned toward the students. Gwen felt distinctly uncomfortable as they walked forward. The others seemed so composed: Vic grinning and waving at the crowd, Sharif walking with straight-backed regal dignity, long-legged Tiaret taking it all in stride, and Lyssandra nodding calmly at everyone. Of course, Gwen had spoken to groups during her time on the debate team in high school, but those audiences had consisted of dozens, perhaps even a few hundred people, not . . . thousands.

From the dais, Etherya motioned for them each to stand in front of one of the Virs. “Again, mere words can never express our gratitude toward you. All of you showed surpassing ingenuity and courage in the face of repeated attacks, first at the reefs of Ophir” — here she nodded to Sharif, Vic, and Tiaret — “then aboard the Golden Walrus. Later you thwarted a merlon invasion from beneath the very city itself, protected Ven Sage Rubicas from a murderous spy, and chased the traitor down to wrest some of our defensive spells from his grasp. You also fought the battle kraken with spell scrolls, sunshine bombs, and magical cannon fire — and kept the merlons at bay in hand-to-hand combat. Each Vir has chosen a gift in token of our appreciation.”

First, Protective Vir Helassa spoke to Tiaret, who stood directly before her holding her teaching staff. Helassa had dressed in a fluttering, floor-length crimson gown in a Grecian style that revealed a good deal of skin. Her hair was a striking mixture of raven streaked with gold that cascaded in beautiful ringlets down her bare back.

“Tiaretya of Afirik, warrior and storyteller and keeper of your master’s staff, for you I chose a special rune to be etched into your staff. Once it is carved into the wood, your staff will become unbreakable. Use it wisely to protect yourself and Elantya.”

Vir Parsimanias, who faced Lyssandra, spoke next in the precise, clipped manner he always used. “Lyssandra of Elantya,” he said, holding up an emerald-green pendant on a xyridium chain, “for you I chose one of the ancient treasures of Elantya. This crystal vial — carved from pure water aja — is filled with medicinal greenstepe.” He twisted off a tiny cut-crystal stopper as the crowd mumbled in confusion. “It appears to hold only a drop. But do not be deceived: no matter how much you drink, the vial will always remain full. You may use the stepe to quench thirst or for its medicinal properties. Use your gift wisely, for yourself and for Elantya.”

Lyssandra whispered her thanks and hung the pendant around her neck.

Vir Pecunyas spoke to Sharif. “Sharifas of Irrakesh, for you I, too, chose a rune — one that will be embroidered into your carpet with sun aja thread. The rune will ensure that when you call your carpet, no matter how far apart you are, the carpet will eventually find you. Use it wisely for yourself and all Elantya.”

Sharif bowed his thanks. Piri, in the mesh sack around his neck, glowed pink and twirled in spirals of delight. He absently stroked the curve of her crystal sphere.

Questas, the Vir of Learning, looked at the two cousins. “Gwenya and Viccus of . . .” His voice trailed off. “Of Earth? As apprentices to Ven Rubicas, all of you have much work to do, and much that you may wish to record about your experiences here. Therefore, I entrust this gift to both of you.” He handed her and Vic small leather-bound booklets no bigger than the palm of a hand and as thin as a book of matches. The miniature volumes — not scrolls, but books — were identical, like twins.

“Thank you.”

Vic opened his book and flipped through it. All of the pages were blank. Gwen plucked a slender gold stylus from the spine of her book. It was clear that her cousin was feeling a mixture of amazement and faint puzzlement at the marvelous gift. After all, if it wasn’t science fiction, a book wasn’t necessarily Vic’s first choice.

“Is it a diary?” he asked.

“Perhaps. Or a notebook, or a communication device,” Questas explained. “Its uses are limited only by your imagination. Books and writing are powerful tools and invincible weapons, and the book you hold is very rare. No matter how many notes you take, how many drawings you make, how much you write or what stories you see fit to put into it, there will always be more blank pages. Use the stylus with it, and the words you write can never be erased.”

Gwen flipped the pages, eager to start writing.

“Even more special,” the Vir continued, “these two volumes are twinned. Anything one of you writes in your own book will be reflected in the other.”

“I guess I won’t put all my secrets in it, then,” Vic said in a low voice to Gwen. “‘Dear Diary, I think I’m being watched.’”

She rolled her eyes and murmured, “I wouldn’t want to snoop in your journal anyway. But I might use it to remind you of things you need to remember. We could send messages.”

Vic did not seem excited by the prospect, though he was thoroughly intrigued by the twinned book.

At the end of the presentations, Lyssandra’s father Groxas, a pyro sage, put on a stunning fireworks show inside the dome of the rotunda, using safety explosives he had devised especially for the occasion. The honorees and the crowd were delighted. Sage Polup was so enraptured with the special demonstration that Gwen heard him murmur with excitement, “I never guessed that pyrotechnics could be so precise as to be used inside a building. Perhaps I could develop something similar that would work under water.”

3

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, THE five friends were taking a praktik in quillmanship. They sat on surprisingly comfortable stone chairs pulled up to long, narrow tables arranged in a vee, so that the instructor could help any student without walking too far. Astonishingly, the quillmanship sage was a thin blind man with long salt-and-pepper hair and drooping mustaches. Even though Sage Tyresias could not see, he drew perfect letters and runes on a scribing board, and seemed to know when his students made mistakes.

Vic stared at the gray marble columns that held up the high ceiling of the airy room. He wished that they were all in another martial arts praktik, like the one they’d had yesterday. Sage Jun Li had drilled them in bare-handed offensive skills, and asked the twin cousins to share some of the zy’oah techniques their mothers had taught them. When the praktik ended, the whole class had stayed to watch the sage spar with Tiaret in a presentation of staff and spear maneuvers.

Quillmanship was far less exciting. Beside Vic, Lyssandra wrote her assignment in an even, flowing hand. Instead of doing their specific lessons, he scribbled messages to Gwen in his new book, knowing that the words would appear on her own pages. Sitting on the opposite side of the vee of tables, Gwen frowned at him, glancing at his words. Using her gold stylus, she jotted, Practice Your Quillmanship!

When the words appeared on his page, he grinned and wrote back, I Am. I’m Practicing By Writing To You!”

Vic knew that quillmanship must be important, especially to Elantyans, since every drop of precious aja ink was both valuable and magical. But he wasn’t terribly interested in the class and was glad for the interruption when a skrit flew in, its gossamer wings beating hummingbird-fast, and deposited a scroll on the table in front of the instructor. The fairylike messenger flitted off, leaving the blind man to pick up the scroll, which bore the seal of the Pentumvirate.

Sage Tyresias turned to the class and broke the seal on the scroll. “We have received an important message.” With his blind eyes turned toward the sky, the sage ran his fingers over the symbols printed on the parchment in aja ink and spoke. “As a show of courage and unity, in spite of the ever-present threat of further merlon attacks, the Pentumvirate announces that the Elantyan holiday of Guise Night will indeed be celebrated this evening.”

Excited conversation bubbled through the students. Hardly able to believe that the quillmanship instructor was “reading,” Vic stared in fascination while the sage continued.

“The Virs regard this occasion as an opportunity for the people of our island to inspire each other and demonstrate the strength and resilience of Elantyans. Despite the damage done by the battle kraken and merlon warriors, we can-not postpone community life indefinitely. The festivities — observed with all due caution — will do much to lift the spirits of Elantya’s people.”

The students cheered, as if to prove the statement. Vic looked around at the beaming faces then gave Gwen an eyebrow shrug. Neither of them was familiar with Elantyan holidays, but he figured this must be a good one, since everyone seemed so happy about it.

Gwen, never timid, asked aloud, “What is Guise Night, exactly?”

Sage Snigmythya, who had heard the cheering out in the hallway, poked her head into the quillmanship room just in time to hear Gwen’s question. The woman had owlish eyes and a perpetual expression of befuddlement. “Ah, what a wonderful story! Sage Tyresias, would you permit me? A wonderful story.”

The old blind man nodded to her patiently. “Please, be my guest.”

“Oh, wonderful, wonderful.” Snigmythya seemed harmless and good-hearted, though a bit scatterbrained. Vic, who was often accused of being scatterbrained himself, rather liked her. “Guise Night is a traditional celebration of a victory by Therya, one of the greatest warrior sages who ever lived. One of the greatest! The constellation Therya’s Bow is named for her. Sage Therya traveled with a small band of trusted warriors through one crystal door after another, searching for dark sages who misused their power. Misused, mind you. Therya believed that these evil men and women were trained by Azric himself.

“You all remember Azric, don’t you? The powerful dark sage who created vast immortal armies, which he intended to unleash upon all the worlds linked by crystal doors.”

“We all met his henchman Orpheon,” Tiaret said, frowning at the memory.

“Oh yes, yes, of course. Orpheon. He and Azric managed to escape when the sages of Elantya imposed the Great Closure, sealing the crystal doors to those worlds — along with a good many others — and trapping Azric’s immortal armies forever. Trapping them.” With a smile, she tapped her fingers together as if she had finished her story.

“So, how does Therya fit in to Guise Night?” Gwen prompted.

“Oh, yes! Sage Therya sought out dark sages converted by Azric. We do not know why, but after the Great Closure Azric lost his ability to perform the blood rite to create immortal armies. Perhaps the bright sages Qelsyn and Aennia restricted his power somehow in the Closure — we are not certain. Nevertheless, Azric was able to train new dark sages, and they were dangerous. Yes, dangerous, but not immortal. They could be stopped — and stop them Therya did, in world after world.

“But one day the warrior sage stumbled upon hundreds of dark sages preparing to invade Elantya. They chased Therya and her band, slaughtering anyone who stood in their path — slaughtering them! Therya and her bright sages escaped only by disguising themselves, running from one village to the next, and hiding in the homes of such kindhearted folk as would take in weary strangers. Weary strangers.” Snigmythya gave an emphatic nod.

“And not one of the people who sheltered them came to any harm, you know. Not one. Finally Therya’s band reached the crystal door and returned to Elantya, just in time to warn the other bright sages. When the evil ones arrived, our island was ready and defeated the invaders in a great battle. To this day, we observe the victory by celebrating Guise Night. To this day. That is when we honor those we respect and admire.” Snigmythya sounded choked up with her own story.

“But why’s it called Guy’s Night, when Therya was a woman?” Vic asked.

Lyssandra touched his hand to draw the thought from his mind. She laughed. “I see the confusion. The translation in your head sounds like another word in your language. It is Guise Night, as in disguise. Students in disguise visit adults they admire, and the adults give them presents to help them on their way.”