A Darkness at Sethanon (51 page)

“My father
made his intent known to my mother, who professed no knowledge of the
artifact my father sought, though it was a common enough legend even
in that far land. I suspect she simply wished to keep her second
husband close to home.

“So, for a
time, my father stayed with my mother. In the canon of my father’s
people, it is said that the child will inherit the sins of the
father, but whatever the cause, it is from this legacy I sprang. My
father remained long enough to teach me his language and his history,
and the rudiments of reading and writing. A rumour made its way to
our land, a hint of the lost artifact, and my father resumed his
quest, heading westward across a vast ocean. I never saw him again.
For all I know, he quests still. So my mother packed me up and
returned to the village of her birth.

“My mother
was left with a son and no reasonable explanation from where he
sprang, as far as her people were concerned, so she concocted some
nonsense about mating with a demon. Because of my father’s
teachings, I was far more educated than the wisest elder among them,
so my knowledge gave some credibility to these stories.

“In short,
Mother gained significant influence in the community. She became a
seer, though her abilities were more in the area of theatrics than
divination. But I, well, I began seeing visions as a child.

“I left my
mother when I was fourteen, wandering to where an ancient order of
priests abided, in a land that seemed distant from my home at the
time - a mere hop, step, and jump compared to the travelling I’ve
done since. They trained me, vesting in me a dying lore. When I took
my place within that brotherhood, I was transported in spirit.

“I was . .
. taken somewhere, and some agency, perhaps the gods themselves,
spoke to me. I was judged one among multitudes, a special vessel for
rare powers. But there would be a price in taking that power for my
own. I was given a choice. I might remain a simple mumbler of
prayers, without much importance in the order of things, but I would
have a safe and comfortable life, or I might truly learn magic arts.
But it was clear there would be pain and danger along that path. I
hesitated, but much as I wished for the peaceful existence of the
monastic life, the lure of knowledge was too strong to resist. I
chose the power, and the price was twofold. I was doomed, like my
father, to live without hope of death, and was also given the gift -
or curse - of foreknowledge. As I needed to know things, in order to
act my part, that knowledge came to me. And from that day forward, I
have lived my life in concert with that foreknowledge. I am destined
to serve forces that work to bring sanity into the universes, and
they are opposed by equally powerful agencies of destruction.”

Macros sat back.
“In short, I am a man who inherited a curse and gained some
gifts.”

Pug said, “I
think I understand what you’re saying. We have considered you
the master behind some dark game, but the truth is you are the
biggest pawn in the contest.”

Macros nodded.
“I alone have not had free will, or at least lacked the courage
to challenge my foreknowledge. I have known from the day I left that
priesthood that I would live for centuries and that many times I
would be required to manipulate the lives of others, toward what ends
I am only now beginning to understand.”

“What do
you mean?” said Tomas.

Macros looked
about. “If things proceed as I suspect, we shall bear witness
to that which no other mortal being in the universe, or even the gods
themselves, have seen. If we survive, we will spend some time
returning home. I think we can learn all we need during that time.
For now, I am tired, as is Pug. I think I will sleep. Wake me.”

“When?”
asked Tomas.

Macros smiled
enigmatically. “You’ll know when.”

“Macros!”

Macros’s
eyes opened and he looked to where Tomas pointed. He stretched and
rose, saying, “Yes, it’s time.”

Pug also awoke
and his eyes widened. Above them the stars raced backward in flight
as time ran counter to its normal course at furious speed. The skies
were ablaze with fiery beauty, as rampaging energies were released in
colours of splendid intensity. And light was more concentrated, as if
everything seemed to be drawing together. At the centre of this
loomed an utter void. It appeared they were rushing down a long,
glittering, brightly streaked tunnel toward the darkest hole
imaginable.

“This
should prove interesting,” observed the sorcerer. “I know
you’ll think this odd, but I find it strangely exhilarating not
knowing what’s coming next. I mean, I know what’s likely
to happen, but I haven’t seen it.”

Pug said,
“That’s fine, but what is this?”

“The
beginning, Pug.” Even as he spoke, it appeared the matter about
them was rushing faster and faster toward that total blackness. Now
the colours were blending together to a pure white light almost
painful to observe.

“Look
behind!” said Tomas.

They did so, and
where real space had been, now the utter grey of rift-space was seen.
Macros applauded in obvious delight. “Wonderful! It is as I
thought. We shall elude this trap, my friends. We are approaching
that place where time has no meaning. Watch!”

In a final rush
of stunning majesty, all about them collapsed downward, as if being
sucked into the maw of that black nothing. Macros said, “Pug,
halt our flight before we are pulled into all that.” Pug closed
his eyes and did as he was bid. Faster and faster the last stuff of
the universe was devoured by the giant thing before them, until the
last vestige, the last mote of matter, vanished into the hole. Then
Pug clutched at his temples and cried out in pain.

Macros and Tomas
moved toward him as his legs buckled, and helped him to sit. After a
moment he said, “I’m all right.” His face was ashen
and his brow was covered in sweat. “It’s just when the
time trap ended, the spell of acceleration ended; it was painful.”

Macros said,
“Sorry. I should have anticipated that.” Almost to
himself he added, “But little of what we know will have any
validity here and now.”

Macros pointed
upward, where a vast and utter darkness could be seen. It seemed to
curve, along a limitless line that moved off beyond the ability of
the eye to apprehend. And the Garden and the City Forever hovered at
the edge of that boundary.

Macros said,
“Fascinating. Now we know the City does exist outside of the
normal order of the universe.” Macros regarded the massive
thing above, counting silently to himself. “I think it’s
about time, given how long ago Pug’s spells were cancelled.”

“What is
this?” asked Tomas, pointing to the impossible black orb
against the grey.

“The sum
of the universes, Tomas,” answered the sorcerer. “The
primal stuff everything else stems from. It
is
everything -
except this little jot of land we stand on and the City itself. There
is so much there that size and distance have no meaning. We are
millions of times more distant from the surface of that matter than
Midkemia is from its sun, but look how large it looms before us,
blotting out more than half the sky. It’s staggering to
contemplate. Even light cannot escape it, for light has not been
created. We are back before time, before the beginning. We are
witnesses to the start of all things. Ryath, attend this!” The
dragon woke from her torpor and stretched. She approached to stand
behind the three men. Macros said, “Keep watching.”

All turned to
regard the utter darkness. For several minutes nothing occurred. As
if no air moved in the Garden, there was a profound silence. The
observers were acutely aware of their own being, feeling each
sensation down to the rhythm of the blood coursing through their
bodies. But no sound save their own breathing could they apprehend.
Then came the note.

Each was
transported, though they moved not a step. A filling joy, a profound
sense of perfect rightness, washed over them, beauty too terrible to
comprehend. It was as if music, a single flawless note, sounded and
was felt rather than heard. Colours more vivid than any pigment were
seen, yet only the dark void hung before their eyes. They felt
crushed under the weight of indescribable wonder and terror. They
were rendered so insignificant in an instant that each of them
despaired and felt alone, yet in that crystalline instant each
experienced exaltation, touched by something so wonderful it brought
tears of joy flowing without stint.

It was
impossible to comprehend. There was only a flickering, as if a
million lines of force sprang across the surface of the void, but
they were gone so quickly the watchers could not apprehend their
passage. One instant all was black and formless, then a latticework
of countless glowing lines spread across the magnificent void, and
light filled the skies, staggering in its purity and strength. All
were forced to avert their eyes from that blinding display for a
moment. A blaze of stunning energies poured forth, as seen before,
but now flowing outward. A strange emotion swept through Pug and his
companions, one of completeness, as if what they had experienced was
now at an end. All continued to weep in joy at the perfect beauty of
the display.

“Macros,
what was that?” asked Tomas softly, in awe.

“The Hand
of God,” he whispered, his eyes wide with wonder. “The
Prime Urge. The First Cause. The Ultimate. I don’t know what to
call it. I know only this: one moment, there was nothing, the next,
all existed. It is the First Mystery, and even now that I’ve
seen it, I do not pretend to understand it.” The sorcerer
laughed, a loud joyous sound, and did a little dance.

Pug and Tomas
exchanged questioning looks, and Macros saw he was the object of
their scrutiny. With an expression of genuine mirth, he said, “It
just occurred to me that there’s more than one reason we’re
here.” When their expressions betrayed incomprehension, he
said, “I cannot imagine even a god to be without vanity, and
were I the Ultimate, I’d want an audience for a show like
that.”

Both Pug and
Tomas began to laugh. Macros continued his little caper while he
hummed a merry tune. “Gods, I love a question I can’t
answer. It keeps things interesting, even after so many years.”
Macros paused in his dance and his face clouded in concentration.
After a moment, he said, “Some of my powers return.”

Pug ceased his
laughter. “Some?”

“Enough so
that I may more effectively manipulate your power when needed.”
He gave a sly nod. “And even add something to the total.”

Pug looked
upward and regarded the splendour of a newly born universe spreading
across the sky. “Compared to that, all our troubles seem
pitiful.”

“Well,
they may be,” answered the sorcerer, regaining his usual
manner. “But there are a few people upon your homeworld who may
feel different watching Murmandamus’s army pouring down into
the Kingdom. It may be a small planet, but it is the only one they
have.”

Without knowing
how, Pug felt them moving forward through time.

“We are
free of the time trap,” confirmed Macros.

Pug sat in
silent wonder. He had felt something spring into being when he had
witnessed the Beginning. Now he gave voice to certainty. Looking at
Macros, he said, “I am like you.”

Macros nodded,
an expression of warm affection upon his face. “Yes, Pug, you
are like me. I don’t know what fate awaits you, but you are not
like others. You are of neither the Lesser nor the Greater Path. You
are a sorcerer, one who knows there are no paths, only magic. And
magic may be limited only by the limits of one’s gifts.”

Tomas said, “Can
you see your future?”

Pug said, “No,
I am spared that.”

Macros said,
“See, it’s not an entirely unlucky thing, being a power.
Compared to others, a minor power, but still one to be reckoned with.
Now we must escape.” He scanned the madness above as the stuff
of creation shot outward, filling the heavens with a staggering
beauty. Green and blue swirls of gases, red orbs of fiery splendour,
white and yellow streaks of light, sped by, obliterating the grey of
rift-space, pushing back the boundaries of nothingness. Then Macros
suddenly pointed. “There!”

Following his
hand, they saw what appeared to be a tiny ribbon stretching away from
them, some vast distance off in the heavens. “That is where we
must go, and quickly. Hurry, mount Ryath and she will take us. Hurry,
hurry.” They mounted upon the dragon’s back, and while
she was weakened by the meagre food, she was equal to the task. She
took to the skies and they were suddenly speeding through the grey of
rift-space. Then they again entered normal space and hung over the
narrow strip of matter.

Macros ordered
the dragon to hover and Tomas to lower them to the pathway. They
stood upon a yellow-white roadway, marked by shimmering silver
rectangles every fifty feet or so. Pug looked at the twenty-foot-wide
strip and said, “Macros, we may stand here, but there’s
the problem of Ryath.”

The sorcerer
looked up and spoke rapidly. “Ryath, there is little time. The
Hidden Lore. You may either reveal it and trust Pug and Tomas, or
perish to hide your race’s secret. I argue for trust. You must
decide, but quickly.”

The dragon’s
great ruby eyes narrowed as she regarded the sorcerer while she
hovered. “Was, then, my father so giving to thee, that the
forbidden knowledge was shared with a human?”

“I know
all, for I was one he counted friend.”

The dragon’s
eyes focused on Tomas and Pug. “From thee and thy companion,
Valheru, an oath: never to reveal that which you are about to
witness.”

Tomas said, “On
my life.”

Pug nodded. “I
swear.”

A golden
shimmering encompassed the dragon, faint at first, but growing more
pronounced. Soon it was painful to look at. The light grew more
intense, until it obscured all details of Ryath’s form. Then
the outlines began to move, to melt and flow, and contract down as
she descended to the roadway. Rapidly the outlines grew smaller and
smaller, until they were man-sized. The glow faded. Where the dragon
had been there was a stunning woman with red-gold hair and blue eyes.
Her figure was perfection as she stood before them unclothed.