Conflict (15 page)

Iruki looked towards the entrance with her heart in her throat. It was too far, she would not make it. They would die frozen in the midst of the storm before they could cross the lagoon. She looked in the opposite direction, and on the wall she noticed an ice-covered crack, big enough to crawl into.

Making a tremendous effort, she dragged the Assassin amid hurricane-force winds, summoning up a strength she did not even know she had. With a stone and all her might she began to hit the ice that covered the crack. But her strength was waning, she would not hold out much longer. She hit the ice once more and it broke in a thousand pieces, revealing the opening in the rock wall.

Iruki’s, limbs were beginning to stiffen, she was on the point of losing consciousness. In a final desperate effort she pushed the Assassin through the opening and went in after him. Both of them rolled down the uneven terrain.

Iruki tried to stand up, but fainted.

She came to after a while, without knowing where she was or why. Slowly, with the utmost difficulty, she stood up. Her whole body had been punished, and she ached all over. She looked around her. She was in a huge rectangular hall of polished white rock. The walls were decorated with strange golden symbols. This hall was no natural cavern but one fashioned by man. In the center of it a small lake with an island in the middle made the scene look unreal. A great altar presided over the island. On it was an enormous sea-blue sarcophagus covered with golden inscriptions, seeming to remain aloof from everything around it. It looked like the hall of a temple where the spirit of someone profoundly important rested in its final sleep. Iruki could not guess who it might be, but she felt the sarcophagus must belong to a king.

The strange place left Iruki speechless. She felt completely lost and her body was stabbed through with pain. She did not understand the meaning of the place, nor the reason why the evil Spirit of Water had attacked them.

A sudden movement at her feet brought her back to reality.

The Assassin had moved a hand.

He was alive!

She knelt, overcome by worry, and looked at him tenderly. A touch of color was returning to his face, but his body was still stiff, showing clear signs of frostbite. He tried to speak, but no sound came from his purplish lips. Iruki could see the desperate effort in the Assassin’s eyes as he tried to move his limbs, without success. She stroked his face tenderly, trying to calm his pain.

“Don’t worry, you’ll recover… don’t exert yourself in vain,” she said, trying to reassure him.

Suddenly something struck against her mind, a fierce mental blow which nearly made her reel. She shook her head in an attempt to recover, but another blow hit her as though a migraine out of all proportions had just exploded in her head. A distant voice sounded inside her:

Leave…

Now…

Or die…

Without understanding, she looked around frantically, scared. On the island, in front of the blue sarcophagus, she saw the demonic spirit with the golden eyes and white tunic. Iruki realized that no sound was coming from his mouth. The sinister figure was sending the messages directly into her mind.

Me, Guardian of Temple…

Sacred Temple of Water…

Great King rest…

Do not bother Lord of the Water…

Iruki glanced at the prostrate Assassin, but he was still helpless, unable to aid her against the sinister guardian of this Temple of Water.

“We’ll leave! We want nothing from this place, please don’t hurt us!” Iruki shouted at him.

Leave…

Go…

Now…

She pointed at the helpless Assassin. “He can’t move, he’s frozen! Let him recover and then we’ll leave!”

Death…

Die…

The sinister spirit raised the staff over his head. A whitish, pulsating light began to form. Seeing it, Iruki feared the worst. The spirit was preparing to deliver his final blow. The light grew in intensity, and a sphere formed and levitated beside him. Desperately, Iruki began to drag the Assassin along the floor in an attempt to escape certain death. The last of her energy vanished and she fell to her knees in tears, certain she was about to die.

She held the Assassin close. She would die with him.

Suddenly a figure came in through the crack in the wall behind her. In a fluid movement, the man went down on one knee, bent his bow and loosed an arrow with the skill of a master hunter. It all happened in the space of a single breath.

Iruki followed the trajectory of the arrow with her eyes.

It hit the guardian spirit of that temple squarely in the heart. He took a step back, teetering, and hurled the sphere of intense light at the archer. It was then that Iruki recognized the Tracker. He had come back. The Norghanian sidestepped as the sphere crashed against the floor, exploding in a thousand fragments of crystallized water in the shape of sharp stars with cutting edges.

Iruki fell into a swoon.

An impertinent drip of cold water on her head awoke the aching Masig. She sat up and looked around, sore and bewildered.
Where am I? What happened?
She held her head in her hands and tried to remember, to puzzle out where she was: the image of a silhouette in white with golden eyes came into her mind.
The guardian spirit of the temple!
She leapt to her feet and looked around, afraid. All she saw was the Assassin beside her, unconscious and still half-frozen, although his color seemed more normal. She checked his pulse, found it strong and sighed in relief.

But then another memory came to her mind: the Tracker! She looked around the chamber, but he had disappeared.
How strange, he was right here, he killed the Spirit of Water. Where could he have gone?
Hastily she turned back to the Assassin, who was recovering his body warmth little by little, melting away the unlikely cloak of ice which still covered him. Iruki was convinced the Assassin was still alive, thanks most surely to his Gift. An ordinary man would not have survived.

“Keep fighting, don’t give up, you’ll soon be free of this ice prison and your body will move again. It’s Iruki, I’m here with you! I’ll take care of you! Fight! Don’t give up! Fight!” she kept murmuring.

On the little island the sinister spirit lay stretched out on the ground. Iruki knew he must be dead, but curiosity was eating at her. She needed to see for herself. She wanted to make sure the nightmare was over and that they were free from any other evil tricks from that being.
Let it be,
she said to herself,
he’s dead, you don’t need any more proof
. But curiosity got the better of her, and armed with her hunting knife, she went over to the lagoon and waded across to where the fallen guardian lay. Surprisingly, the water was no more than ankle-deep, although it created the optical illusion of being much deeper. She crossed warily and looked down at the lifeless body of the guardian spirit. He was dead, there was no doubt about it, with the arrow driven deep into his chest. Iruki looked at him and wondered at how dry and shriveled his body appeared, as if the last drop of liquid had left that body a thousand years ago.
He was dead, there was no doubt about it
. They were free! Iruki felt an enormous sense of relief. She knelt and released all her pent-up anxiety in a fit of uncontrollable sobbing.

She soon recovered, though. She was about to go back to the Assassin when a blue flash from the unusual sarcophagus caught her attention. She stepped up to it warily; the strange beauty of the sarcophagus with its polished surface of impenetrable blue entranced her. Without stopping to think, she pushed at the half-opened lid and saw the mummified body of the late King of the Water resting inside. The vision scared her. She took a step back, nearly falling off the altar. She lost her knife in her efforts to stay upright. She recovered her balance and looked inside once again. That being had been dead for a long time. The thought quieted her. Lord of the Water or not, he would never reign again, of that she was sure. Another, similar, blue flash reached her eyes. What was the origin of that mysterious radiance?

And then she saw it: around the King’s neck there hung a long silver chain with a round silver medallion attached. An enormous gem in its center, as intense a blue as that of the sacred lake of her people, shone vividly. That medallion was the most beautiful thing Iruki had ever seen, an unbelievable treasure, the size of her palm. She could not resist its splendor, and on a sudden impulse she took it and put it around her own neck.

I must go back to the Assassin and get out of this accursed place
, she thought. But before leaving the island she looked into the sarcophagus again, and on one side discovered a silver short-sword of exceptional beauty. The blade was engraved with golden symbols all along the edge, which must be runes of some kind. The pommel, intensely silver, bore an oval gem, the same blue as the one in the medallion.
This will help me defend myself,
she thought. She grabbed the magnificent weapon and went back to the Assassin.

As she was beginning to cross the lagoon, a voice made her jump.

“I see I was right to doubt the wisdom of checking whether any of my comrades was still alive. I can’t let you out of my sight even one moment. I guess you’ll be happy to know they’re all dead. Good Norghanian soldiers, all dead in this misbegotten chase, a real tragedy. You’d better sheath that sword. You won’t need it on the long journey back to Norghania.”

Iruki looked in the direction of the voice. It was coming from the opening they had fallen through into this chamber. The Tracker was aiming at her with his bow.

“Damn you! Damn you!”

Isuzeni went to his office in the Imperial palace. The Dark Lady required his services. From his private cupboard he brought out the fine velvet box where he kept the Skull of Destiny. He checked the contents, and when he saw the translucent object, the High Priest was overcome with nervousness.

How I wish I could master the magic that rules your designs! What I would give to know my future and have the power to change it! One day I’ll attain it, and that power will be mine. But for now I have to make do with learning from the Dark Lady’s achievements.

Aware that she awaited him, he closed the box and hurried to the Chamber of Destiny. The Moyuki guarding the door saluted the High Priest respectfully, and Isuzeni walked in. The design of the chamber was deeply ingenious, and building it had consumed great resources as well as taking a great deal of time. Resources were now unlimited as far as Yuzumi was concerned, since the entire continent belonged to her, every man, animal or raw material, without exception. Time, on the other hand, was something the Dark Lady did not have. If she did not stop the Marked, if the premonition was not altered, she would not live much longer.

My Empress must change the destiny which leads her to an unavoidable confrontation with the Marked, or else she will die. For years we have been trying in vain. Time marches on, the Marked is beginning to develop his potential. Soon the fated encounter will take place, and the Empress must come out victorious from the clash, or in some way prevent the encounter whatever the price. Let us see what the Skull of Destiny tells us today: that is, if the capricious object decides to show us anything.

“Ah, Isuzeni, you’re here already,” Yuzumi greeted him.

“Yes, your Majesty. I’ll place the Object of Power on the altar.”

“Go ahead, Counselor. The preparations are almost complete, and the slaves are being taken to the vault of the chamber as we speak.”

Isuzeni looked at the floor of the room, which was crystalline and glassy in appearance. Through its surface he could see soldiers pushing the terrified slaves into the round vault twelve feet below him. The whole floor of the radial chamber had been built in this same translucent pane, which resembled crystal in its appearance and finish, but whose properties were very different. This material was a rare precious mineral with the exceptional quality of conducting and amplifying magical energy. That floor had a single end: to allow the transport and amplification of the power which emanated from the Skull.

Isuzeni was amazed afresh at the sight of the magnificent hall. Thousands of artisans and slaves had worked in its construction, and most had died in the process. Many in the hazards of building it, others in the experiments and fine-tuning carried out by the Dark Lady once it was built. The screams of insane horror and abysmal suffering echoed through the corridors and walls of the palace for more than a year, until at last the chamber began to produce the fruit the Empress had planned for it. Korimuri, the architect and constructor of genius, famous in all the continent of Toyomi, had designed that chamber with infinite care and detail. The construction, and the direction of all the works, had fallen to the wise architect. As a reward for his genius and talent, Korimuri now lived amid riches. Unfortunately the Empress had forbidden him to leave his rooms at the palace for the rest of his life. The mysteries that chamber kept, as well as its enigmatic design and ultimate purpose, had to remain in absolute secret; so the Dark Lady had decreed. The old artist would live the rest of his life in a gilded cage, which he could never leave. Four Moyuki watched his door permanently to make sure he did not.

Isuzeni knew that the only reason the old genius was still alive was precisely because of his unequaled talent. The Empress might need his services again, and that was the only reason his head was not decorating the end of a pike. The thousands of slaves, workers and artists who had toiled on the construction had been isolated from all human contact during the making of the project, and at the end of that superb work, when they thought they would go back to their homes to join their families, the Dark Lady had them all, without exception, sacrificed.

That was how a secret was guaranteed.

Such was the magnitude of that woman’s cruelty.

Isuzeni moved over the bright transparent floor. In the center of the radial hall was a lectern of the same limpid, glassy material, its base surrounded by a ring of black marble. That dark ring on the floor was the only part which was not made of the crystalline material. Beside the altar on the ring, the Empress watched the approach of Isuzeni bearing the precious Skull.

“It is time to call upon the Skull and discern Destiny,” the Dark Lady said, reaching out with her hands to claim the fascinating object.

“Here you are, my Lady,” said Isuzeni. Humbly and submissively, he offered it to her.

The Dark Lady held the object in her hands. Her face remained impassive, a stoic mask of exceptional beauty with a veneer of absolute coldness, utterly lacking in any feeling. She placed the Skull on top of the profane lectern. When she took her hands away, its weight activated a spring which set in motion a hidden mechanism of pulleys. From the radial ceiling an enormous oval mirror began to descend, parallel to the floor. At exactly three feet above the Skull, the mechanism stopped.

Yuzumi looked at the vault through the transparent floor to check that the fifty slaves she had requested were already in their positions. Their crying, lamenting and pleading for life could find no way out of the soundproof vault. Even so, in the body language of those unfortunate slaves Isuzeni could read the useless pleas to a woman whose cruelty was only equaled by her beauty.

“Let us begin,” she ordered Isuzeni, and both stood on the black ring of marble which surrounded the lectern.

The Dark Lady intoned a mysterious chant to Imork, ancestral Lord of the Dead, asking for his grace and blessing for the premonitory ritual. Then she placed her snowy hands with their dark nails on the Skull, and invoked it. Isuzeni saw how the grey vital energy which fed the Skull began to flow from his Lady’s body. Then abruptly Yuzumi took her hands away. The Skull, activated but still lacking vital energy to feed on, searched for another source. The lectern acted as a catalyst for the hunger of the Skull, and sent its insatiable appetite questing along the entire crystalline floor of that rare mineral which allowed the arcane energy to move through it.

Spellbound, Isuzeni watched the way the chamber fed the Skull of Destiny. As if the floor were an extension of the object of power itself, a giant translucent hand began to suck the life of the wretched slaves in the vault under the transparent floor. The grey energy of those fifty slaves, absorbed through the floor, began to flow to the lectern, and from there to the Skull.

The Dark Lady watched the life being sucked from the hapless slaves, and a sadistic smile appeared on her mouth. Isuzeni rarely saw her smile, and on this occasion he was aware of the motive: she was enjoying the misfortune of those slaves who were dying at her command. Yuzumi’s smile broadened slightly as she saw how the bodies writhed in pain. She was feeling pure pleasure, the pleasure which unlimited power provides. Isuzeni watched her, filled with envy. He had an intense desire to reach that same pleasure himself someday.

Yuzumi put her hands on the Skull once again and cast a power-spell. The vital energy began to project itself from the Skull onto the oval mirror above their heads. The Dark Lady concentrated and manipulated the energy of the Skull, looking for a premonition, searching for the vision which Isuzeni knew had her totally obsessed: the Premonition of the Marked, of the one who someday was to destroy her.

A distorted image began to appear in the mirror, while the radiant Skull continued feeding off the vital essence of the hapless slaves under the sucking floor. The wretched suffering slaves, twisting, writhing, with no way of escape open to them, awaited their end. The Dark Lady, thanks to her unfathomable power and skill, managed to give shape to the distorted image in the mirror. Isuzeni’s envy was so great that he feared she might notice it even in the midst of the complex ritual. Some day he too would command the powerful object, and his greed would be satisfied. There was no point in being the most cunning man of all, the greatest strategist when it came to carrying out his Lady’s plans, if he did not attain what he so much yearned for: to see the future, to foresee it, and most of all, to change it.

The Dark Lady intoned another power-spell. The image in the mirror became clearer, taking on a concrete form. Isuzeni saw what he had seen many times before: the same image, one which appeared to show the Lady’s end, her last breath. In the mirror an already-familiar scene was beginning to take shape. The Dark Lady, lying on the ground in a green field spattered with blood, breathing with difficulty, her face clearly visible, unmistakable, blood on the side of her mouth. Her heart was still beating. The image became blurred and disappeared. Isuzeni waited calmly. He knew how the capricious premonitions of the Skull worked. He knew his Lady was trying to focus on them, and that the Skull was resisting her.

The image came back after a moment, showing an immense battlefield with thousands of dead. It vanished again and came back after a few moments, once again showing Yuzumi lying on the red grass; beside her, around her, the dead bodies of dozens of Moyuki. Many of them had been burnt, others frozen to the core. Her personal bodyguard seemed to have been defeated, decimated, by the elements.

Isuzeni waited, knowing that presently what his lady feared so much would appear. The image blurred once more for a tense instant, and when it came back two silhouettes appeared beside the defeated but still-living body of the Empress. This was the moment Isuzeni was waiting for. The two silhouettes were those of a man and a woman, both seen from behind, both beside Yuzumi. Their outlines were hazy. The female figure wore a helmet with a white plume covering her head and woman’s armor in radiant white. On her back, in fine relief, was an arcane rune: the rune of the Soul.

The White Soul,
Isuzeni said to himself.

The image disappeared again. Isuzeni was aware of the enormous effort the Dark Lady was making, trying with all her power to bring back and reassemble all the images she had been able to reveal with great difficulty, one by one, during these last few years. Only one image remained to be shown. As if the Skull had heard her thought, it deigned to show it. Once again the Dark Lady was lying in the field, with only the young man remaining over her body. He knelt beside her and brought out a hunting knife, his long brown hair falling over his face and hiding his identity. With a firm hand he placed the knife on Yuzumi’s neck. On the back of his hand a great round mark could be seen, like a burn. The recognizable mark had the strangest color, like melted gold. It looked as though the sun itself had left its mark on the flesh of the young man.

The Marked!
Isuzeni thought.

The Dark Lady went on projecting the image, studying every stroke, trying to find out some new, revealing detail. Isuzeni could only see the projected images, but he knew that his Lady, through the Skull, was also experiencing sensations of the premonition. Like the images, the sensations the Skull transmitted were incomplete and confused. With the exception of one: the Dark Lady had felt death clearly and bluntly, without any palliative, unmistakably. She had also been able to perceive the inner essence of the Marked very clearly, even though his features eluded her. Yuzumi knew well the power which emanated from within the Marked. It was familiar to her, and with every premonition it became more evident and easily identifiable. She was allowed to learn little more, though. Some feelings were disjointed and intangible; others, like the age of the Marked, the Empress had managed to establish with a great deal of time and effort.

Suddenly something happened which absorbed Isuzeni’s attention completely: the
Premonition
changed unexpectedly. A new event now took place, something never before shown by the Skull. Beside the kneeling Marked, at the fated moment when the knife lay on Yuzumi’s neck, a new silhouette came on to the scene for the first time. Isuzeni cried out in complete surprise. A blur, human but not yet completely outlined, gradually began to take shape. A hand reached out from the silhouette and was placed on the shoulder of the Marked. Isuzeni watched the scene in amazement, his eyes bulging, trying to catch every blurred detail of that new, mysterious presence. It was a woman. He could not be absolutely sure, but it had a feminine air, although the features were too fuzzy to let him come to any definite conclusion. He watched her with vivid interest. Unfortunately at that moment the last of the slaves still living gave up his final breath.

“Damn!” cried the Dark Lady.

Yuzumi was forced to move away from the Skull, which was now devouring her own vital energy.

Isuzeni remained silent. He knew his Lady would be very angry. The premonition had not varied substantially, it was still the same. The Marked lived, but a new woman was now part of the great puzzle. Another mystery to be solved, a new variable in play: a very significant variable, as it was now part of the
Premonition
.

“What now, Counselor?” the Empress said, sounding exhausted and troubled.

“He will die, your Majesty, you have my word.”

“It had better be so, Counselor. If not, I will have your head.”