The Last Talisman (26 page)

“Excellent,” Sennar muttered. “Now how do we get there?”

“With magic,” Nihal replied.

The sorcerer noticed something strange about her tone of voice, utterly lacking in expression. “Is everything okay?”

“Conjure a walkway,” said Nihal in the same, atonal voice.

Sennar glanced over at her for an instant and then did as told. A faint bridge stretched out over the water's surface and the half-elf began walking along it. Sennar stepped up to follow her.

“You wait here,” Nihal stopped him.

“Why? I've been in almost every sanctuary with you.”

“This time you can't follow me. He's waiting for me in there, the one I've been consecrated to.”

“But if you …” Sennar uttered in protest, but Nihal had already vanished in the distance, enveloped by the heavy smoke above the lake.

The sorcerer sat down on the edge of the shore, waiting. This time, he knew, it was Shevrar calling her forward.

Nihal walked toward the sanctuary as if being pulled by a magnet, as if a strangely familiar voice were begging her onward and she was unable to resist. The talisman, hidden beneath her bodice, led her with unquestioning clarity toward the sacred ground. Nihal could almost feel her skin glowing with the stones' radiance.

Awaiting her arrival on the island at the lake's center was the most highly trusted servant of Shevrar, the dark and mysterious god to whom she'd been consecrated by her mother.

Nihal reached the volcano without delay. Hurriedly, she explored the surrounding island. But everywhere she looked, all she could see was lava and more lava—not a single passage leading into the temple. Then, narrowing her eyes, she noticed a small platform, a patch of solid ground amid the sea of lava. She rushed toward it.

Before her, shrouded in flames, was a door with the word
Flaren
written in fire above it. The keeping place of Flar. Shevrar's sanctuary.

All of a sudden, Nihal's confidence vanished. She could feel the fire pulling her forward and she trembled. What could it want from her? What did she know of Shevrar? When had she ever worshipped his name, which evoked images of violence and destruction? She felt no desire to cross the flaming threshold. And yet, she had no choice. She walked toward the doorway of fire and stepped in. Midway through, however, she came to a bewildered halt. The flames were licking her flesh, and yet they were not burning her. The sacred ground, she knew, had welcomed her arrival.

She entered a massive, circular room whose blood-red walls gave off a rippling, luminous glare. Tongues of fire shot up to the ceiling like columns, and at the back of the room, hovering bright red above a pyre, stood Flar. Nihal imagined the heat was unbearable, and yet she felt nothing. In fact, she found herself perfectly at ease in the large room, as if it were the place where she'd long been destined to find. Sennar, she thought, would never have survived the heat, or even the flaming doorway. She'd been wise to leave him behind.

Nihal stepped deeper into the room, her footsteps echoing in the silence.

“
Rassen, Sheireen tor Shevrar
,” came a voice.

A man, shrouded in flames, knelt before her.

She'd heard that language spoken before, but had never been able to comprehend it. Now, however, she understood the guardian's greeting, and replied, “
Rassen tor sel, Flaren terphen
,” marveled by the sound of the strange words that had just come from her own mouth.

The guardian lifted his eyes to her and smiled. A young, handsome boy. His eyes glowed red like coals and even his hair was made of flames. He spoke again, this time in the language of the Overworld: “The Consecrated One has come at last.”

27

Flaren
or On Destiny

“You're a servant of Shevrar's, aren't you?” Nihal asked.

“I, like you, am consecrated to him, but in a very different way. While you were born to the world outside, I am a being created by Shevrar to guard this sanctuary,” the young boy replied.

The feelings of awe and enchantment she'd felt upon stepping into the room suddenly fled. Instinctually, she felt the need to distance herself from the being standing before her.

“I come only for the stone, not as his Consecrated One.”

“But it is precisely because you are the Consecrated One, Sheireen, that you've come for the stone in the first place,” the boy replied, flashing her another smile.

Nihal's brow furrowed with bewilderment.

“When your mother, plagued with despair, prayed to my god for your salvation, Shevrar ordained you the Chosen One, as had been prophesied.”

“But I know nothing about Shevrar,” Nihal objected. “Reis spoke to me of him; she told me he was the god of War. All I know is that it's because of him that I've been driven to fight.”

The young boy shook his head. “My god is not only the god of War. Reis misinformed you. In the blindness of her hate, she failed to see anything but destruction in my creator. But Shevrar is not all fire and war. Ael, too, spoke to you of his nature, only in different words. Don't you remember? He told you my god was both beginning and end, both death and life. That is the essence of who you are, and in that essence lies the meaning of your mission.”

“So that's the reason I was consecrated, to carry out this mission? I thought it was to make me a warrior. …”

“You, like so many others, see only hate, and this is the very downfall of your world. In truth, all suffering masks a joy, all beginnings harbor an end. When, years ago, the Tyrant came to power, one of the temple's sages made a prophecy, a vision that plagued the Tyrant like a curse. He was the last of Shevrar's high priests, for already the half-elves had begun to forget their gods, the gods of their fathers, the elves. In his prophecy, the sage declared that the Tyrant would never achieve his desired end, for his goal was offensive to the gods and foreign to Shevrar's nature. And so a Consecrated One, a half-elf, was ordained, in order to oppose his disrespectful will. You, Sheireen, are the Consecrated One.” The guardian was silent.

“But what is it, this end the Tyrant seeks?” Nihal asked after a few moments.

Flar shook his head. “Now is not the time for you to find out. Know only that he rebelled against the gods, against Shevrar above all, and that he lost sight of the world's eternal flux.”

Nihal was at a loss for words. “What am I supposed to do, then? Of all the half-elves, why did Shevrar save me alone?”

“So that one day you would come to this sanctuary, take Flar from my hands, and use it to demolish the Tyrant.”

“But why me?” Nihal insisted, unsatisfied by his response. She could feel the shadow of her destiny creep over her, the shadow of death and revenge she'd sought so long to escape.

“Because your mother prayed on your behalf.”

“And so that's it, that's what my whole life comes down to? Is this the answer I've been looking for?”

The young boy stood and stared into her eyes. His was the face of infinite wisdom and superiority. “With the blood of your mother and father, the gods—and Shevrar foremost among them—sought to lend hope to this world of despair. It is for such a purpose that you were saved. In your mission lies the hope of a new era, the hope of peace.”

“So in the end it's exactly as Reis told me in her hut, almost a year ago. I'm just the weapon those forgotten gods are using to take vengeance on the Tyrant,” Nihal muttered, her eyes to the ground, her heart filled with bitterness.

“It's only revenge if you want it to be. The gods cannot act with a human heart, and the human will is greater than destiny itself. You, Sheireen, are the only one who can save this world from darkness, but the final choice is yours. When you're standing face-to-face with the Tyrant, no one will be able to tell you what to do. Your destiny is not a cage, but a path you've been set upon.”

“But the fact that I am the sole remaining survivor, how can I have any choice?” Nihal argued.

Flar smiled. “Thoolan understood you well—you do not feel at one with your mission, you lack the desire to do what you're doing.”

“I have to do it; you even said so yourself. I'm Sheireen, the Consecrated One, ordained for this sole purpose.”

“What you say is true, in part. But it was you who stood up in Council, was it not? You who offered to carry this burden,” the boy reminded her, his lips still curled in a smile. “The meaning of your existence is not limited only to your destiny, Sheireen. And my god wishes for you to find joy, too. Don't ever believe otherwise. Yes, your actions now are in line with your destiny as the Consecrated One, but neither I nor my god can tell you precisely what end you seek to bring about with those actions. The answer lies within you and in all that surrounds you, and finding that answer is the same as discovering your own path.”

Nihal's spirits sank. So, her wandering had not yet come to an end. Her search would continue. Could it be that even Flar's explanation wasn't the answer? After all, he'd just told her that her journey had been preordained, that years ago it was already known she'd seek out the stones and use them to defeat the Tyrant. Wasn't that the final goal? And yet she'd known it all along, she felt it in her heart, and so this could not be what she was seeking.

“Think carefully,” said Flar. “That which others have chosen for you cannot define your purpose. Your mission was determined long before you were born, long before your mother and father saw the light of this earth. The true purpose of your life cannot lie in this journey.”

Nihal let out a sigh. “Was it also prophesied that I'll defeat the Tyrant?” she asked.

Upon hearing this question, the guardian laughed, revealing the full splendor of his beauty. “Sheireen, the hearts and minds of those who walk these lands are too profound for even my god to know them in all their complexity. I don't know what will happen on the day you rise up before the Tyrant. I know one thing.” He was silent for a moment, turning toward the pyre to summon Flar. The stone hovered toward him and came to a rest above his palm, glowing sanguine red.

“Long ago, you were fated to receive this stone. Others who were consecrated before you have held it in their hands. Now it is yours, along with the lives of all those that remain on this earth.”

But his words gave no comfort to Nihal. Their full meaning eluded her.

“Take it,” he urged.

Nihal reached out and grabbed the stone. It was blood red, a thousand flames flickering within it—she seemed to be clutching the essence of fire itself. She pulled the medallion from her bodice. It, too, glowed radiantly.

As she was about to perform the sacred rite, Flar knelt before her. “Until we meet again, on the day of the final battle,” he said.

Nihal recited the ritual words and, just as had happened in the other sanctuaries, it was as if the entire structure were sucked up into the talisman. All around her darkness fell. The heat was suddenly unbearable, the air thick with poisonous vapors. Nihal realized she wouldn't be able to withstand the suffocating atmosphere much longer and hastened away from the island.

Sennar's walkway was still there, though its light shone more faintly than before. Nihal crossed it rapidly. Just as she stepped down onto the shore, lava flooded the doors of Flaren, swallowing the entrance and its fiery inscription.

“How did it go?” Sennar leaped to his feet, relieved, as soon as he saw Nihal's figure emerging from the vaporous lake. He was worn, drained from sustaining such a long spell.

Nihal stopped in front of him and pulled out the talisman. It shone brightly in the gray air, the stones as if animated by an inner life.

Sennar let out a heavy sigh. “Who was in there?”

“A servant of Shevrar,” she replied.

As they made their way back to the meeting place, she recounted all that the guardian had told her, including the prophecy.

At last, they reached Aires, who showed no interest in hearing what had happened. “Everything taken care of?” was all she asked, and Nihal nodded. Then she rose to her feet and they were off traveling again.

By the time they descended back into the aqueduct, evening was falling on the Land of Fire—a heavy darkness, spotted with the spewing fire of a thousand volcanoes.

Their voyage toward the land's border proved more complicated. Aires was less familiar with the region, and on several occasions, they found themselves in a bind. At one point, they nearly lost their way completely. For an entire day, they wandered in circles, Aires far off in front of them, her head snapping left and right as she tried to regain her bearings. Only when they chanced upon a rebel faction in one of the cisterns were they finally saved. After almost three weeks of travel, they'd finally found a place to rest.

It was a smaller cistern than the one Aires commanded, but certainly not lacking in amenities. The leader of the faction was Lefe, a spirited, sharp-witted dwarf who reminded Nihal of Ido. Though Lefe had never met Aires personally, he had most certainly heard of her.

“Who doesn't know Aires, the sea woman, who reignited the resistance!” he exclaimed as they shook hands.

That night they slept in a large room on three well-made straw mattresses. Even Nihal dozed peacefully, her dreams unvisited by a single ghost.

The following morning, when Nihal and Sennar woke, Aires' bed was empty. Shortly after, however, she returned, bearing bread and milk for breakfast.

“I really can't help you,” said Aires, cutting right to the chase. “I don't know this region of the aqueduct, and I've risked getting us lost once already.”

Silence filled the room.

“That doesn't mean I'm planning to leave you on your own,” she continued. “One of Lefe's men has offered to accompany you to the aqueduct's exit. Unfortunately, the canal lets out a good way before the border, so you'll have to cross the Dead Plains by foot.”

It was a bitter farewell, even for Nihal, who'd begun to take a liking to Aires, even if she still couldn't stand the smoldering looks she was always casting Sennar's way.

Indeed, Nihal was the first to speak. “I can't give you the details of our mission, but I do have a favor to ask of you,” she began.

Aires fixed Nihal with her night-black eyes, giving her full attention.

“I want you to assemble an army.”

Aires's expression tightened and she stared back in disbelief. “I thought you guys up above had that all taken care of. And now you have the aid of the Underworld.”

“Aires, listen to me.” Nihal stepped toward her, speaking softly. “Soon, in one or two months, I hope, three at the most, we're going to launch an attack on the Tyrant.”

Hearing these words, Aires broke into laughter, though the smile died on her lips the minute she noticed the serious expressions on Nihal and Sennar's faces. “It's sheer madness,” she said flatly. “You can't be serious. We've been at war for forty years now and all we've done is lose ground. We're outnumbered, outmatched. They have armies of Fammin, not to mention the dead. … To lead a mass attack would be a suicide mission.”

Nihal glanced around. No one seemed to be eavesdropping in the shadows, but one could never be too cautious.

“I can't tell you why we're on this journey, nor what it will lead to. All I can tell you is that the day we succeed, if we ever do, we're going to launch an all-out attack on the Tyrant, and I promise you it will be anything but a suicide mission. You have to trust me.”

Aires sighed. “What is it you want?”

At last, Nihal's tension subsided. “In these next two or three months, or however long it may be, I need you to assemble a group of men capable of fighting like a true, unified army. Raid the welding ovens, loot all the swords and armor you can get your hands on: helmets, shields, axes, everything. Train yourselves for battle; recruit more men. Wherever possible, spread the spirit of revolt.”

Aires shook her head. “I've already tried, and others before me have done the same. The people here are tired, distraught. There's not an ounce of rebellious spirit left in the whole lot of them.”

“Try again,” Sennar interjected. “We need a core group of soldiers ready to fight in every land.”

Aires eyed him doubtfully. “How many men are we talking?”

“Enough to hold off the entirety of the men and dwarves in the Tyrant's army—there'll be no ghosts or Fammin,” Nihal replied.

Aires was suddenly all ears. “What do you mean by that?”

Nihal shook her head. “Don't worry about the details. Just make sure you have enough men to do the job. When the moment's right, in due time, we'll fill you in.”

Aires turned toward Sennar. “Using one of those crocked-up spells of yours, I imagine.” The sorcerer smiled.

“We'll attack on every front,” Nihal continued. “And we're going to have to be lightning quick. We'll have only a single day to lead the charge. Everything we just told you must remain a secret. We need you to carry out this operation as covertly as possible, to ensure that no enemy catches wind of our strategy. Keep all word of the attack from your men—train them, but don't let them know what's coming.”

“Two months isn't very long, and I'll never be able to manage all this on my own. Someone will have to know.”

“Only if and when it's completely necessary,” Sennar cut in. “Our mission depends upon secrecy. Even with the little we just told you, you now have our lives in your hands, along with the future of the entire Overworld.”

Aires seemed untroubled by his words. Her lips, in fact, curled into an eager smile. “Agreed,” she said. “As Sennar knows well, I'm never one to turn down a challenge. I'll do everything in my power. And when you call, rest assured, I'll be there.”