The Knife's Edge (50 page)

He thrust the blade down, and it pierced the keyhole of stone.

Suddenly he found himself inside a cavernous black room.

The dark army charged towards him from all angles, vergs lumbered and saeroks loped, raising claw and blade. Mist formed in the air around him, Nameless materialized. Nearby, Mura gripped his sword. Blood coated his arms as he charged towards the gnashing army. Karil, hair soaked in blood, ran with raised sword, Rydel at her side. Gray saw Ayva. She lay motionless. Before her, Darius gripped his dagger ready to charge into the waiting horde. In the distance, the gates parted in a blaze of light and the endless army flowed into the chambers.

Fear gripped his heart and then he saw them.

The Kage.

The nightmares stood upon a ramp that led to the chamber’s floor. They watched the chaos coldly, corpses littered at their feet. They were the only ones that seemed to notice him. The leader raised his sword.

Gray looked down.

A stone altar sat beneath him, just like the false one from above. Runes glowed upon the surface and there in its middle was the true keyhole. Light and pain filled him, and two forks opened in his mind. Gray stood in a room of hazy white. Beneath his feet there was no ground, and above, no sky, simply a blur, except for two wooden doors. One to his left and the other to his right. “What is this?” he whispered.

“This is the final test,” a deep, familiar voice replied, sounding from far away.

He turned in a circle, seeing only white. “Where am I?” And his voice echoed.

“You are in a time between worlds; a moment afforded by the pendant you hold, but it will not last long. You must make a choice now, my boy. Choose a door.” “Quickly.”

“What are they?” he asked.

“They are your fates.”

He eyed the door on his left. “What happens if I choose this one?”

“Simply put? It is the path where you do not place the blade into the keyhole. Through this door, you will remember who you once were. In so doing, however, the sword will lose its hue, and you will not be able to defeat the Kage.”

He swallowed. “And the other?”

“You will have fulfilled the Knife’s Edge. You will return to the moment, and end it, finishing the Kage by placing the blade into the stone, as you were meant to do, but you will remember nothing. Your memories of your past will be forgotten forever. There is one last thing. Down this path, you will die in your world before the Kage.” The voice faded. “Choose quickly, my boy…”

Gray took a step, reaching out. The world returned to its normal speed and life flooded him.

In the corner of his vision, he saw the Kage’s blade twirl end over end, spiraling towards him. He had only to move, and the blade would miss. Yet before him, the dark army pushed. Saeroks and vergs bridged the last few paces. Gray thrust the sword down. With a cry, he buried Morrowil into the stone until the hilt shattered.

A burst of air flew over the hordes. Saeroks and vergs crumbled, rattling the earth beneath. The black mist shrieked and phantom swords evaporated, hissing like water scorched.

He gasped as blinding pain lanced through him, piercing his stomach. He glanced down and saw the Kage’s blade, embedded to the hilt in his gut. He heard a cry and saw Mura running towards him. Upon the rampart, the nightmare Kage grinned. Its brothers gave spine-chilling shrieks, their forms bending and crumbling. From within the altar, Morrowil blazed and he shielded his eyes. The nightmarish leader shrieked as well. Air rushed towards the creature from all sides, and its body disintegrated into ash, leaving only a black pauldron that clattered over the ramparts.

“Gray!” Mura called, his voice found its way through Gray’s dark world. Gray opened his eyes, his senses slowly returning, but even as they did, he felt them fading. He saw the others rush towards him, but the hermit was the first. “How?” the man whispered, as if he still couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Mura…” Suddenly, he was sorry for everything he had said and done to the man, for abandoning him, and for never telling him how true a friend he was, and he opened his mouth to say as much.

“Don’t speak!” the hermit cried.

“Light!” Darius cried at his side. “How did he get here? Dice!”

“He saved us…” Rydel said.

He saw Karil—she was doing something, touching his abdomen. Gray saw Ayva. Still motionless. He tried to speak, to ask if she was all right, but nothing came.

“Stop it!” Darius cried. “Stop trying to talk!”

There was a strange hum and he realized Karil was chanting. Her flawless features made him think of Vera. His sister… now dead because of him. He groaned in pain. Karil said something but the words made no sense. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open. The Kage’s wicked sword that pierced his stomach suddenly vanished, crumbling into dust.

“I…” he said as the cold embraced him.

Karil’s chants grew louder.

As he closed his eyes, he saw the faces of those around him. And through his fear was a single name. Kail. He remembered the final image on the man’s face, as if the legend knew a secret. Surrounded, by warmth and light, Gray’s vision faded.

Ezrah

S
OFT WHITE LIGHT DIFFUSED THE ROOM
and Gray squinted.

Before him was a round oak table. Upon the table, sat a board with intricately carved pieces. Though he didn’t recognize the game, he could tell it was in progress. He picked up a wooden piece. It was smooth between his fingers, as if held by many hands. A door he had not seen opened on silent hinges, and a man entered, wearing long brown robes. His white brows hung over his hooded eyes like moss upon a low hanging roof, and his eyes held him like a hawk. Gray knew this man was dangerous. His face was wizened, but not old. Without a word, the man approached and sat at the table before him.

The man calmly folded his hands before him, “Long time no see.” His voice was deep and resonated with authority.

Gray shrugged his shoulders, feeling for the bundled sword upon his back. Morrowil was gone. He leaned forward, looking deep into the man’s eyes. He blinked as something clicked. “You’re the voice within the chambers, the one that offered two choices.”

The man’s keen eyes crinkled as he bowed his head. “I was there.”

“Ezrah,” he whispered and then shook his head, “How do I know your name?”

Ezrah pulled back his robed sleeves, resting his elbows on the table, intent upon the board. “In a dream, you often know many things you can’t remember when awake. In this case, my name. That is why I brought you here. Here you can walk through barriers that have been long standing, and see things you’ve forgotten.”

A dream… his thoughts repeated, understanding why the room seemed so strange now. “I am simply asleep then?”

“More or less. This,” he said, motioning to the dark stone walls and rows of shelves, “is a place between worlds, much like a dream.” Ezrah moved a small piece upon the board. “Your turn.”

He looked to the checkered board. “I don’t know how to play.”

“Yes, you do.”

Seeing no harm in playing along, he grabbed a piece. It was a figure of a woman holding a scepter. He moved it to a black square, adjacent to a colored red pillar, one of the last two on the board. Ezrah made a sound of approval, scrubbing his chin. Gray took the moment to look around the room. There must have been hundreds of books and all appeared ancient. He rubbed his hands across the smooth table. It was familiar and real, as if he’d touched it before. He could scarcely believe it was a dream. “I’ve been here before.”

Ezrah put a finger to the side of his broad nose in thought. He moved a piece that resembled a droplet of water while he answered, “You have. I brought you here because it is familiar to you. Long ago, you and I used to come here. You loved playing Elements,” he said, motioning towards the board, “And you were quite good at it as well. In fact, this was the last game we played. The one we never finished.”

“The game we never finished…” It all made sense. The pieces, the board, even the chair Ezrah sat in it—all of it was the same, as if frozen in time until now. “I touched these,” he whispered, seeing the pieces before him in a different light.

Ezrah looked up, nodding encouragingly, “You remember, then?”

He closed his eyes as he held a wooden piece in his fist. His grip tightened and he tried to stoke the frozen memory to life. At last, he set the wooden figurine aside and shook his head. “I can almost see it—it feels so close, as if it were a dream I had just woken from, but have forgotten upon waking.” Then he looked up, “Upon the gates, you said I would forget it all. But you know who I am, don’t you?”

Ezrah didn’t look up from the board. “I cannot answer that.”

His jaw clenched. “Why? At last tell me why I went beyond the Gates. You seem to care for me, or did at one time, so I can only assume that leaving the world in which I was born had to be for a good reason.”

Slowly, the man looked up. His eyes were tight, as if remembering a painful memory. “Were it anything but the gravest of circumstances you would still be here, by my side.” He bowed his head. “However, I was too slow. Perhaps age slowed my wits, but more likely I was simply too confident in my power to halt the tide of events—too foolish to realize what was unfolding beneath my very nose.” Ezrah looked away. “Once I did realize, it was too late…”

“You make it sound like a tragedy,” he replied, prying for more.

Ezrah’s features twisted, as if pained by the memory. “You do not remember because I took your memories away from you.”

“You stole my memory?” Anger and confusion rose inside him.

“You asked me to,” Ezrah stated. “In truth, you begged me to.”

“Why?”

“I will tell you all one day, but we are out of time. Alas, we both must return to the world.” Ezrah rose to his full height, placing his hands in either loose sleeve.

“No, you can’t go!” He said, gripping the man’s robed arm.

Ezrah looked down at him sadly. “If we stay, we may both die.”

Fear and uncertainty flashed through him, but a part of him didn’t care, even with the threat of death. He had to know. “I want to know. Tell me what happened.”

Ezrah raised one hand into the air. As he did, the pendant grew warm on Gray’s chest. Then, as if held by invisible strings, it lifted out of his shirt. The man spoke, “Long ago, I gave that to you. Because of its magic, it has the ability to bring the wielder, and the one who summons it to a place between realities. However, the power of the pendant is limited. It cannot sustain this dimension much longer. It may shatter at any moment. If it does, I do not know what will happen. It is possible we may be killed, or even be trapped for all eternity within this world.”

His grip tightened on the man’s sleeve, “Please.”

Ezrah released a heavy breath, “Speak quickly then.”

“Who am I? And who are you to me?” he asked.

The man touched his hand that gripped him, and his touch was warm, even in the dream. “To the first question, only you can answer who you are, my boy. There is no past or future but the present—and that is who you are. And to the second, you were born within Farhaven just beyond these walls, and then placed in your mother’s arms. And I was the one that put you there. I am your grandfather.”

“Grandfather…” he breathed as the room seemed to shimmer and fade.

“You play well for not remembering. Well won,” Ezrah said, and Gray saw that both red towers were gone, and three of his flames surrounded the wooden house on Ezrah’s side of the board. When did I move? He wondered, and then realized he must have been playing the whole while. Ezrah’s face and form distorted. “Till next we meet, dear boy.” The room and all else blurred, glowing a blinding white. Gray reached out, trying desperately to hold onto the image but it was lost as a voice sounded distantly, “I will continue to be with you…”

Motes of Gold

T
HE LILTING SOUND OF A FLUTE
floated into his awareness. Gray opened his eyes. He saw clean white canvas above his head. Where am I? He glimpsed walls on either side of what appeared to be a tent, and through a crack he saw others passing. A ray of light warmed his arm. Midday. “I’m alive…” He sat up quickly, but fell back groaning in pain. White gauze bandages were wrapped thickly around his middle. Where the Kage’s sword had been, he remembered.

Gray took in the rest of his surroundings. He lay on a cot. Blue tufted chairs and a round wooden table crowded the small tent. Vivid green vines crawled up one side of the wall. On a nearby table was a white platter filled to the brim with food.

The pendant lay beside the platter, now shattered.

Gathering the pieces, he stared at them wondering how and when it had broken. Perhaps it saved me. But something about the pendant being shattered seemed ominous. He put the pieces back upon the table. It had served its purpose. So much had changed, and he was Gray, not Kirin. He realized he no longer yearned for a different life, content with who he was.

Careful of his wounds, he brought the platter of food onto his lap. The bowl was piled high with steaming rice that smelled of nuts, and strips of roasted yarro root. He wolfed down the meal, finishing with an odd looking purple fruit that had a tart sweetness. With his belly full, and the light warming him, curiosity overwhelmed him. With the help of the nearby furniture, he gained his feet, and stumbled to the tent’s flap.