Authors: Michael A Stackpole
bracers protected his shins and forearms. He had a small round shield in his left hand and
an odd war club in his right. As near as Jorim could tell from a quick glance, black stone
blades had been set in the club.
He made a mental note to study the weapon later, but that was only because the giant’s
mask demanded immediate attention. It did nothing to restrain the man’s long black hair,
which fell over his shoulders. The mask was made of gold, and had been inset with jade
over all; jet likewise surrounded the open mouth and the eyes. A trio of long, gaudy green
feathers with yellow eyes rose another three feet above his head, making him a full ten
feet tall.
Jorim held a hand out, freezing Lieutenant Linor’s attempt to draw her sword. Realizing he
might be committing the final and most foolish act of his life, Jorim bowed and held it, then
tugged on her arm to draw her down, too. Straightening up, he smiled with far more
serenity than he felt.
“Peace of the gods be upon you.”
The giant bowed his head, then his voice echoed from the mask. “May their smiles grace
your life.”
Jorim blinked. “You have a Naleni accent.”
The man nodded. “Come. Your friends await.”
27th day, Month of the Tiger, Year of the Rat
9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th year since the Cataclysm
Opaslynoti, Dolosan
On the road to Opaslynoti, Keles Anturasi decided the place’s name was sufficient to be
the foundation for any number of romantic poems. It was far enough from Moriande that
poets didn’t need to care about the reality of it. The wild magics that raged through the
area could have allowed it to be anything, and the name itself was a blend of Viruk and
Imperial terminology that hinted at a grand history buried beneath layers of mystery.
But any romantic notions began to wither with the realization that there really was no road
to Opaslynoti. A trade route did run from the seaport of Sylumak north-northwest to the
city, but the shifting landscape of Dolosan’s western reaches meant the route seldom
appeared the same twice. Whole hillsides might melt beneath black rain, turning valleys
into plains on which would grow forests of thorn trees. The branches would sweep flocks
of birds from the sky and the plants would devour them. Those who chose to enter such
places on foot fared no better, and Borosan’s
thanaton
bore bright scars on its carapace from an aborted survey of such a thicket.
Travelers in the land remained few, with most coming up from Sylumak or overland from
Dolosan, as they themselves had. To the south lay Irusviruk, but the Viruk wanted little to
do with Men, especially those mad enough to dwell in Dolosan. If anyone came out of
Ixyll, none of the scroungers talked about it, suggesting that way was as closed today as it
had been when his grandfather had tried to visit years ago.
Rekarafi watched the scroungers carefully, not trusting them at all. They preferred to be
known as thaumstoners or thaumstoneers—a generational split, it appeared—but he
referred to them as
talkiegio
. He said it meant scroungers, but he seemed to inflect it the way Keles would
lice,
and the thaumstoners didn’t like it. They shot back that he must have been an outlaw, since outlaws were the only Viruk found in Dolosan.
Keles had quelled any dispute by simply noting that Rekarafi had been sent to see to his
safety. Such a thing was unprecedented and gave the scroungers something else to talk
about. This they did in mumbles and cant that made Keles wish for his brother’s facility
with languages.
The path to Opaslynoti led them to the western corner of Dolosan, to the base of the uplift
that marked the edge of the Ixyll plateau. As they grew closer and night fell, it was easy to
see the magic curtain that shimmered along the heights, though the purples and deep
blues did not shine that brightly. Mostly it obscured stars and colored the moons as they
sailed through it, but sight of it sent a thrill through Keles anyway. To enter Ixyll, they
would have to slip through that curtain and the gods alone knew what lay
beyond
.
One evening he’d stood apart, on a small hill, watching the curtain lights shift as if teased
by night breezes. How long he watched he didn’t know, but he suddenly realized he was
shivering. Yet even as he made that discovery, his rolled blanket hit him across the small
of his back.
He turned and saw the Viruk crouched behind him, downwind. That sent a different shiver
through him. “How long have you been there?”
Rekarafi, little more than a silhouette, shrugged. “Long enough to know you would be
cold.”
“Were you watching me?”
“You mean was I stalking you? I noticed you begin to shiver. I fetched your blanket.” He
reached out and pointed toward Ixyll. “I was watching that.
Tavam eyzar.
”
Keles untied the leather strips holding his bedroll closed, then wrapped himself in the
woolen blanket. “
Tavam
is magic.
Eyzar
I do not know.”
“Veil in your tongue, but more than garment. A veil obscures.” He lowered his hand to his
knee. “This veil has died quickly. You reckon things by nine, for your gods, and we reckon
by ten.”
“You have ten gods?” Keles looked to the sky to pick out a tenth constellation.
“No. Our slaves had ten fingers. We did not want them confused when they were
counting.” The Viruk came forward, still keeping himself downwind. “Seventy decades
ago, the battle that hung this
tavam eyzar
was fought. In those days, it could be seen in the sunlight. It outshone the sun—for there was little sunlight in the Time of Black Ice. In
your Principalities you could not see it, but it lit Irusviruk so brightly we had no night. Reds and yellows, gold, silver, green and blue, the light would roil and boil, then magic would
pour from the heights and wreak havoc.”
The Viruk’s shoulders rose in a hunch. “You are incapable of understanding what that was
like, Keles. What you have seen so far has been incredible—so many things, all different.
When the magic flowed out it dissolved everything, but also
made
everything. All the
places you have seen, and more than you could imagine, all existed here at the same
time. Past and future merged, realities merged, plants and animals merged, everything
that was not somehow protected was remade.”
The cartographer closed his eyes and tried to make sense of his words. “You’re right, I
can’t imagine.”
“Think of a pool, Keles, and what you can see when the water is still. That was the world.
Then think of the water churned to a froth. What you see changes. Here, where the water
was magic, reality was distorted. All things existed at the same time, but
none
persisted,
for the magic was too wild.”
“It kept churning.”
“Yes, and could only be contained by a
tavam eyzar
.”
Opening his eyes again, Keles crouched. Though the Viruk had drawn close, his
headache did not build. He expected it would, but did not mind. Rekarafi had maintained
distance throughout the journey, and while Keles did fear him, the Viruk’s attempt at
bridging that distance prompted him to honor it.
“You refer to this veil in a way that makes me think there was another.”
Rekarafi’s head swiveled toward him and cold pinpoints of reflected starlight glistened in
his dark eyes. “Virukadeen was consumed in a conflagration of magic you could not
comprehend. Your Cataclysm changed land and boiled an inland sea. Virukadeen’s
death
devoured
land.
“Where your Dark Sea sits today, Keles, was once a range of mountains that caught at the
stars. We lived there, and no matter how far we traveled from our home, we could still see
it. The tallest peak should have always been buried in snow, for it existed above the
clouds, but
tavamazari
bent the winds to their will and tamed the sun. Our home was as
lush as Ummummorar, as warm as Miromil. It was paradise.”
Keles shook his head. “How could they destroy it?”
The Viruk make a crackling sound in his throat that sounded as if he were gargling bones.
“We sit in a place your people destroyed and you can ask this? Do motives matter after
three thousand years? Those who had power wanted more and jealously guarded what
they had. Those who had none wanted some and would stoop at nothing to get it. Hardly
noble or lofty, though each side crafted stories to cast their actions as both.
“As things unfolded, there were those who saw the result. They gathered
tavamazari
who
remained outside the conflagration and raised a
tavam eyzar
to contain it. Virukadeen
sank, and the Black Pearl rose into the heavens.”
The cartographer looked up. Gol’dun, the second largest moon, hung in the sky: a black
ball with a silver-grey sheen to it. “Gol’dun is the treasure of the gods. It passes slowly
among them because they cannot bear its being taken from them.”
Again the rattling sounded from the Viruk’s throat. “I could tell you of the true origin of your gods, Keles Anturasi. You would refuse to believe me. The Black Pearl did not float
through the sky in my youth. Your name for it is a bastardization of ours. We call it
ghoal
nuan
. The nearest translation for you would be soulstone. As with ’veil,’ it does not contain the nuances.”
“Tell me, please.”
Rekarafi slowly closed his eyes. “It will not help you to map your world.”
“But it will help me understand the world I am mapping.”
The Viruk remained still, his eyes closed, then he lifted his chin. Keles wondered what
Rekarafi was thinking. He almost allowed himself to believe the Viruk was listening to
ghosts and seeking their counsel before speaking.
Perhaps he speaks with the
ambassador as I do my grandfather.
Finally, he opened his eyes again. “It is our belief that upon death we are judged. Every
evil we commit creates a black stone in our soul, a
ghoal nuan
. Every kindness creates a white stone, a
ghoal saam
. The judge collects these stones and weighs them. More black
than white, a soul enters eternal torment. If the reverse, the soul passes to paradise.”
“If there is a balance?”
Rekarafi nodded. “The
ghoal
are discarded and the soul returns to the world anew.”
“So you believe—” Keles stopped as the Viruk’s hand rose and talons flashed. The faint
scent of venom made him dizzy and he fell back. “What is it?”
“I tell you this for two reasons, Keles. The first is that we might find Viruk graves and if
they are opened, you will see white stones and black. When a body is buried, often friends
or enemies will throw stones into the grave to tip the balance. This lets you understand.”
Keles nodded silently, but hoped they would find a grave so he could see evidence of
what Rekarafi had described.
“The second reason is that when I struck you, I created a
ghoal nuan
for myself. I came to balance it by serving you. I may do many things, like the slaying of the
etharsaal,
which grant me
ghoal saam,
but my service shall not end until you grant me
ghoal saam
.”
Keles frowned. “I think I understand. Thank you.”
“It is my duty to serve and protect you.” The Viruk cocked his head to the side. “Perhaps it
will not be onerous.”
They left the hill and returned to the camp, guided by the glow of a
blue
thaumston
lantern. Keles crawled into his tent considering all that the Viruk had said.
There was much there he understood, and a great deal he did not. Paramount among
them was exactly
why
Rekarafi had chosen to speak to him. Pondering that conundrum
carried him into sleep.
The next morning came early and with it a headache as usual, but Keles worked around it.
The travelers broke camp quickly and made their way across a flat plain whose thin coat
of black snow kept the dust buried. Everyone in the group took the snow’s color as a bad
omen, and the thaumstoners urged them on as quickly as possible. When Keles’ mapping
efforts slowed them too much, the scroungers left them behind.
Following the tracks in the snow, the six of them moved into a canyon which, while much
wider than the one with the pool, still reminded them of it. The glassy sheen of the striated
walls suggested to Keles that a river of magic had carved the canyon, and that periodic
floods kept the stones well polished. He even saw himself reflected in their surface, but as
he rode he caught different images. Most often he appeared as a child, but an unhappy
one, and a few times he saw himself bowed and beaten like his uncle Ulan.
Worst of all there were times his eyes stared back at him out of his grandfather’s face.
Even the reflection of a skeleton wearing his clothes and riding a skeletal horse did not
make him feel as uncomfortable as seeing himself as his grandfather.
Past and future may
no longer coexist, but these reflections show them.
No one else made any comment, but their pace did slow as they all studied the reflections.
Keles only saw the others as they were now, but the expressions they wore, shifting from