A Knight of the Sacred Blade (11 page)

“Thank you, sir,” said Ally. 

“It has indeed been a pleasure to have you as a student,” said Dr. Burton. He smiled. “And Dr. and Mrs. Wester, as well. Congratulations. You should be proud.”

Katrina smiled and squeezed Ally’s shoulder. “We are.”

“She could have been valedictorian,” said Simon. 

“Quite right,” said Dr. Burton. “She entirely could have been. It was a difference of only a hundredth of a decimal point, as I recall.” He shrugged. “When it’s this close, it’s almost invariably chance that determines valedictorian status. A bad test here, a sleepless night there, perhaps a sick day. Little things, really, in the greater scheme of things. You should take just as much pride in your daughter, Dr. Wester, as if she had indeed taken valedictorian status.”

Katrina’s arm tightened around Simon’s waist. “You’re…ow…absolutely right.” 

“One more thing. You’ll receive formal notice after the ceremonies, Miss Wester, but you are invited to a special dinner on June 19th,” said Dr. Burton. “It’s something the Chicago school system holds to recognize the achievements of honors students. Most of the major colleges will be there, as well,” he smiled, “though your future at the University of Constantina has already been arranged.”

“Thank you,” said Ally.

“I’ll see you all at the ceremony,” said Dr. Burton, moving to greet another family.

“He seems like a nice man,” said Maura.

Ally looked at her watch. “I’d better go get ready.”

“Okay,” said Simon. “Just please keep all your clothes on.” Maura coughed, snorted, and began digging a cigarette from her purse. 

Ally laughed and hugged him. “All right. I’ll see you inside.”

“Try not to be nervous, dear,” said Maura. 

Lithon grinned. “Yeah. Don’t trip over your gown or something”

Ally flashed him a smile. “Me? Nervous? Never.” She turned and headed up the front steps, ignoring the odd fluttering in her stomach.

###

Ally stared into the band room mirror. She adjusted the angle of the mortarboard, scowled, and adjusted it again. The stupid honors tassels kept swinging into her eyes. She fiddled with the hat some more, tugged at the robe, and stepped back to examine the mirror. 

At least she’d gotten all the wrinkles out of the robe. She looked like…like…

Ally felt an intense itching in the back of her brain, like something trying to crawl its way free from her skull. For an instant she saw not her robed reflection, but a pale-faced man swathed head to foot in black robes…

“Ally?”

Ally whirled, her heart pounding. “What? What is it?” 

Bill Ryan took a step back. “Er. I’m sorry. Is…is this a bad time? I can come back…”

“No, no.” Ally looked at the mirror and saw nothing but her own reflection. “You just startled me, that’s all.”

“Oh. Okay,” said Bill. “Um…” He looked at the floor, at her, then back at the floor again. “So.” He appeared to reach a decision and stuck out his hand. “Congratulations.”

Ally laughed and shook his sweat-slick hand. “Congratulations.” She noticed the gleaming medal hanging from his neck. “Mr. Valedictorian.” 

Bill flushed. “Thank…thank you. And you too, Mr. Salutatorian.” He blinked. “Um…no, that’s not right.” Ally laughed. “Miss Salutatorian, I mean. Er. Ms. Salutorian?” 

“That’s better,” said Ally. “You’re going to have interesting speech, I think.”

Bill shuffled a stack of sweat-damp note cards. “Do you think so? I’ve been going over it again and again…”

“Just don’t start with a dictionary reference,” said Ally.

Bill blinked. “Huh?” 

“You know, a quotation from dictionary,” said Ally. “Webster’s Dictionary defines ‘graduation’ as whatever and so forth.”

Bill went pasty. “Oh. Oh, crap. Crap!” 

“What?” said Ally. “You did start out with a dictionary reference?”

“Oh, man, I did,” said Bill. He started to look hysterical. “What am I going to do?”

“It’s not that big a deal,” said Ally.

“But it is!” said Bill, fresh beads of sweat popping out on his face. “My parents are here, and my grandparents, both sets, and my aunts and uncles, and my older brother, and he’s a doctor and if I screw up he’ll laugh and laugh…”

“Bill!” Ally grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Get a grip!”

Bill blinked. “You’re…you’re right. Have to stay calm. What I am going to do?” 

Ally thought for a minute. “How…about this?” She remembered a joke she had heard Katrina tell Simon a few years ago, and repeated it to Bill. 

He stared at her. “A joke? But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would the college graduate take the mayonnaise…” His eyes widened, his mouth dropped open, and he began to laugh. “Oh my God. That’s…that’s…the mayonnaise…that’s funny! It’s a little raunchy…”

Ally grinned. “Just a little?”

“But it’s funny,” said Bill. “Oh, man, that’s so funny. And it fits for graduation. Do…do you think I should use it?”

Ally laughed. “Of course you should use it! Live a little, Bill. Take a risk every now and then.”

“It’s…” Bill looked at the ground. “You should have been valedictorian. You would…have made a better speech than I could.”

“Bill,” said Ally. “Oh, come on. You worked for this. You studied your butt off. You studied harder than I did.” That was true. “I guess you wanted it more.” 

Bill licked his lips. “It…I…it was the last pre-trig test, wasn’t it? I thought you would pass it. I mean, we studied so hard.”

Ally shrugged. “I choked at the end.” 

That was a lie. She missed a few questions on the test on purpose. Valedictorian status meant so much to Bill. And Ally had been surprised to discover how little it really meant to her. 

“Well, okay,” said Bill. He seemed to screw up his nerve. “I have to tell you something. You’re…you’re the best friend I’ve had. I was…I was miserable my freshman year. I didn’t have any friends. I think I might have killed myself if I hadn’t met you.”

“Bill,” said Ally, “everyone has a miserable freshman year. I think it’s a law of nature or something. You would have come out of it on your own.”

“Maybe,” said Bill. He flexed his hands. “You’re…you’re…I don’t what you are. Just really special, I know that much.”  He grimaced. “This is getting really sappy.”

“That’s okay,” said Ally, voice quiet. ”

“I could transfer to Constantina, with you,” said Bill.”

“Bill,” said Ally. One of her premonitions came, filling her with certainty. “You will go to MIT. You will be astonished to discover how happy you are there.”

A hurt look, quickly hidden, crossed Bill’s face. “You’re sure?”

“I am,” said Ally, still staring into nothing. “I know you’re afraid. One part of your life is over and another is beginning. Yet you want to cling to the past through me. I am your friend and you are mine.” The feeling of the premonition grew stronger, and darkness flashed through her vision. “And you would not want to share my life.”

Bill stared at the floor. “Oh, man. You’re right.” He looked up and grinned. “I’m sorry. I guess I just made an ass of myself.”

Ally smiled. “That’s okay.” 

“You must be right,” said Bill. “You got that weird…glassy look.”

Ally stamped her foot. “I do not get a glassy look! How many times do I have to tell you?”

“But you did,” said Bill. “You got that weird psychic-glassy look. You’re always, always right when you get that look.”

“My psychic look,” said Ally. “That’s what Mary used to call it.” 

“It’s…it’s too bad she can’t be here,” said Bill.

Ally scowled into the mirror. “She could have been, if it weren’t for that bastard Nathan Jameson.”

“They caught her with that weed,” said Bill.

Ally felt her teeth grind. “Which she would never have done if it weren’t for him. He led her into it, Bill. She never did drugs, not even once, until she met him.” The familiar cold fury returned. “Now she has a cigarette habit and God knows what else. Her father’s going to throw her out at the end of the summer. She has no job and no way to get one. I don’t know what’s going to happen to her. And it’s all because she thought that idiot junkie Nathan would get a football scholarship and get rich.”

“What’s Nathan doing?” said Ally.

“He enlisted, I think.” Ally grimaced. “Damn him for what he did to Mary. I hope he winds up stranded in some godforsaken place like Afghanistan.”

Bill shrugged. “Mary made her choices, I guess.”

Ally tugged at her honor cords. “Which she wouldn’t have, but for him.”

“Well, she did make her choice,” said Bill. “I just feel sorry for her. You told me she was weak, right? I’m weak, too, and you’re so strong. You’re…you’re the strongest person I know, really. I guess it’s easier for me to understand Mary.”

Ally sighed, the anger draining away. “Maybe you’re right. But she was my best friend for years.”

“It might work out,” said Bill. “I mean, who can see the future, right? Except for you, of course.”

Ally glared at him, but he just grinned. He had indeed begun to grow some backbone. “Bill, I think you’ll turn out just…”

“Everyone, your attention please!” Dr. Burton stood in the doorway. “It’s time. Please proceed to the west hallway and line up for the procession as we rehearsed.” The graduating seniors shuffled towards the door, Dr. Burton barking instructions.

Ally looked at Bill. “Well, let’s go graduate.”

Bill nodded. “Okay.” 

###

“And so,” said Bill, staring into the microphone, his half-mumbled words echoing through the packed gymnasium, “the college graduate said to the bartenders. ‘You know, I don’t care what he wants, but I think I’m definitely going to take the mayonnaise.’”

Dead silence reigned. Bill managed to go redder. 

Then someone snickered. A few more people began to laugh, then a sudden gasp of comprehension went through the gymnasium, followed by a gale of laughter. Dr. Burton removed his glasses and wiped his eyes, chuckling. Bill blinked, and then beamed.

Ally winked and him and glanced over the audience.

Even from halfway across the gymnasium, Simon managed to shoot her a look. Katrina was laughing. 

Bill grinned and waited for the laughter to subside. “And so, fellow students, now that we are on the graduation and the cusp of adulthood,” Ally had never heard anyone else use the word “cusp” before, “let us resolve that, we, too, shall always take the mayonnaise in the bar of life.” Fresh laughter flooded the gym. 

Ally smiled. Bill would do just fine.

###

“Richard Wesley!” said Dr. Burton. Richard Wesley waddled up the stairs to the makeshift stage. Dr. Burton handed over the diploma and offered a solemn handshake. 

Ally licked her lips, her heart pounding. This was stupid. Why should she feel nervous? It was just a piece of paper and a handshake. It was just a symbol. 

A symbol…

She remembered symbols of white fire, traced into the air by the hands of an old man…

Ally blinked, her mind reeling with that strange itching sensation. She wondered if she should see a doctor.

“Ally Wester!”

To her horror she realized that Dr. Burton had called out her name twice. She felt her parents watching her with concern. Was she about to pass out?

Ally tightened her lips. She was not going to pass out in front of five thousand people.

She squared her shoulders and marched up to the stage. Dr. Burton stood at the center of the stage, the vice-principal at his shoulder. 

Ally hesitated.

For an instant she saw not Dr. Burton and the vice-principal, but a grim-faced old man in white robes, a gaunt young man with a goatee and haunted eyes at his side. Waiting for her. Waiting to take her…

A strange feeling of déjà vu shot through her, so strong she almost fell. 

The sensation faded. Ally realized that she had stopped. Everyone was staring at her. 

Ally summoned a smile, took the diploma, and shook Dr. Burton’s strong hand.

Polite applause rang out.

She sat down, her legs trembling. 

Dreams. Just dreams. Sometimes her strange dreams intruded into her waking moments.

That was all. Nothing to worry about.

Chapter 10 - The Hour Of My Death

Year of the Councils 972

Sweat trickled down Arran’s face, evaporating before it reached his jaw. 

He took a sip of his water and slung the skin over his shoulder. He only had about six days worth, all told. He had fashioned a covering for his head from his cloak, so at least the sun did not press down on him as heavily as before.

Arran looked around. The desert’s sun-blasted wastes stretched in all directions. A low, moaning wind wandered the rocky ground, blowing fine grit into his face.  He remembered the thirst, the heat, and the burning. He had no wish to die in the desert.

But what would he do instead?

His sword hand started to tremble, and he balled it into a fist. What should he do? He had no reason to keep on living, yet he had no wish to remain in the desert, to die a sun-maddened wreck. He could not go back to Antarese. He could not go back to the Scorpions’ Hold. 

So what could he do?

Arran drew one of his guns and looked at it, the sun glinting off the black metal. He remembered his oath not to die from a bullet and wavered. It would only take one shot through his temple. A brief stab of pain, and then blessed nothingness. After all the years of pain and struggle, it would be a relief.

A tall needle-shaped spire of rock rose up ahead, casting a long black shadow over the earth. Arran started towards it, gun in hand. He wanted to die in the shade, at least. 

“You’re going the wrong way, you know.”

Arran whirled, his reflexes bringing his gun up. Siduri sat cross-legged on a nearby boulder. Her cowl was gone, and she wore her black-and-silver hair in a long braid. A pack and a waterskin rested over her shoulders, as did the butts of three long spears, including the black one she had stabbed into Baal-Mar-Dan. 

Siduri waved her hand at the rock spire. “Besides, that rock is rife with poisonous snakes. You will be bitten a dozen times before you get within forty paces. The venom will hold you paralyzed as the snakes feast on your flesh. You might want to die, true, but I do not think even you want to die in such a manner.”

“Damnation,” said Arran, frustration and amazement mixing in him. “Why have you followed me?”

“It’s not good for a man to wonder the desert alone,” said Siduri. She shrugged. “Besides, there is nothing left for me at the Hold.” 

“You took your scarf off. You abandoned Jabir,” said Arran.

Siduri laughed. “Jabir abandoned me years ago. Let him wed Rahanna and become Shan. I foresee that it will bring him no joy. I shall travel with you, instead.”

Arran shook his head. “Go back. Just go back, and leave me alone. I am grateful for your help, but I have no reason to live. Go back.”

Siduri stirred. “You do have reason to live, but you just don’t know it yet. And I will not let you kill yourself.”

Blackness filled Arran’s vision. “You can’t stop me.” He raised the gun to his temple, his finger tensing over the trigger. 

But Siduri was faster. She leaped to her feet and flung out her arm, shouting a phrase in a language Arran did not recognize. 

White light flashed from her fingers, and unseen force wrenched the gun from Arran’s hand and flung it to the sand. 

Siduri shuddered. “Don’t make me do that again. It’s draining.”

Arran stared at her in stunned astonishment. “Who are you?”

“I’ve told you before, Siduri wife of…well, Siduri of the desert now, I suppose.”

“No!” Arran snatched his gun and jammed it into its holster. He stalked across the sand and glared at Siduri. “No games. Why do you care so much? Any reasonable woman would have left me for dead in the desert after the fight with Baal-Mar-Dan. How far did you have to drag me to your Hold?”

Siduri shrugged. “Four or five miles.”

“I wanted to die, and yet you insisted on healing me,” said Arran. “And now this…” He remembered his stupor while he lay recovering in Siduri’s chambers. “I saw you! You made gestures and chanted. You were casting a spell. Are you some manner of demon, some creature of the black magic?”

Siduri laughed at him. “Black magic? Hardly, Arran of Carlisan. I am no Ugaoun.”

“Then you know the white magic?”

Siduri nodded. “Some. I had to use it when I thought you would die. I could think of no other way to call you back.”

She knew the white magic? “But…how? Marugon killed all the Wizards.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Siduri. “But I am no Wizard.”

“Then just who are you?” said Arran.

“I am who I told you I am. But I shall explain nevertheless,” said Siduri. She paused for a moment, green eyes distant. “How to say this? I…haven’t always lived in the desert of the clans.”

“What do you mean?” said Arran.

“When I was a young woman, I visited the nation of Carlisan for a time.” She smiled. “It was as wonderful as you said, Arran of Carlisan. A beautiful city. Of course, many of the people were weak and fat, but in such prosperity, who could blame them? While I was there, I met an old Wizard, a man named Alastarius.”

The hair stood up on Arran’s neck. “Alastarius?”

“You know of him?” said Siduri. 

“He was the Master of the White Council, and the mightiest Wizard of our age,” said Arran, bitterness in his voice. Alastarius had also persuaded Sir Liam to fly on a fool’s errand to the Tower of Endless Worlds, convinced that young King Lithon could save them all. 

“Does he yet live?” said Siduri.

Arran shook his head. “He was betrayed and killed after the fall of Castle Bastion. Goth-Mar-Dan, king of the winged demons, tore Alastarius apart limb from limb. Sir Liam saw it.”

Siduri sighed. “I am grieved to hear of his death. He was a very wise man, and he taught me many things I had never dreamed. He also taught me a few minor spells of the white magic, as you have seen. He…also told me part of a Prophecy.”

Arran flinched. It has been on account of Alastarius’s Prophecy that Sir Liam had been willing to cross a continent’s length to the Tower of Endless Worlds. “What did he say?”

Siduri met his gaze. “He said that one day I would find myself in mortal danger from a thing of the black magic…what we of the clans call an Ugaoun, and what you call a winged demon. But a dark man would save me from it. Alastarius told me I had to do everything in my power to help this man, else a darkness would come that no light could ever break.” She titled her head. “He also told me the hour of my death. Which I admit was disturbing, but everyone dies someday.”

But Arran barely heard her.

“Damnation!” said Arran. “Damn it!” He paced in a little circle, pounding his thigh with his fist. “Damn him! Damn him and his Prophecies!”

“You do not seem pleased,” said Siduri. 

“That damned Wizard’s Prophecy has brought me no end of grief,” spat Arran. “Sir Liam believed him, and because of that, we spent a year seeking the Tower of Endless Worlds.” Arran stalked back and forth, mad fury burning him. “Gods damn him and Liam and Lithon! I wish I could have met Alastarius so I could see the charm that made so many believe him. I wish he yet lived, for I would tear his head from his neck!”

Siduri laughed, her shoulders shaking.

Arran spun on her. “What in the blazing hells is so funny?”

“I have left the Hold and Jabir, but I have not thrown my life away,” said Siduri. “Just because you have given up, do not think that I have.” She leaned forward. “Arran. I can help you, if you but let me.”

“There’s no help to be had,” said Arran. “There’s nothing left. Marugon has triumphed. Antarese was my last hope, and now it is dead and gone.”

Siduri snorted. “Antarese might have been your last hope, but there are others.”

“Such as?” said Arran.

“The desert of the clans is vast,” said Siduri. “On its far side, over a month’s journey, is a great ocean that no man of the High Kingdoms has ever seen. And on that shore dwells the Oracle of Time.”

“What is that?” said Arran.

“No one knows for certain,” said Siduri. “It is a creature of magic, one with great power. We of the clans call it the Oracle of Time, for our legends say that it has vast knowledge, and can see things from the past, the present, and the future. The elders’ stories tell that in times past, warriors of the clans went to the Oracle seeking guidance. Most did not return. But those who did rose to greatness.” 

“So what good would this Oracle do me?” said Arran. 

Siduri snorted. “Thick-headed fellow. Alastarius told me, long ago, that if I did save you, I had to take you to the Oracle of Time. It would show you the way.”

“And just how are we to get there?” said Arran.

“I may not know the path of your life, but I know the path to the distant sea,” said Siduri. “Tribes of fishermen live there, and we of the clans sometimes trade with them. The Oracle’s abode lies near the villagers of the fishermen. I can take you there. I know the desert. I know the safe paths, where dangerous creatures live and things of old magic dwell, and where we can rest safely.”

Arran looked at the ground. “I…”

Siduri shrugged. “I know you do not care. You think you have no purpose left, no? Then what does it matter? Come with me. You have nothing to lose. You may die in the desert, we may die on the journey…or you may find what you seek. Think on it.”

Arran’s mind whirled. Ten years of defeat and constant destruction had crushed the hope out of him. But, then, what did he have to lose? If he died when he shot himself, or if he died seeking this Oracle of Time, what did it matter? 

Arran licked his dry lips. “You said I was going the wrong way. Well, which way, then?”

Siduri smiled. “I’ll show you.”