The Stair Of Time (Book 2) (26 page)

Torrent of Events

Grandmamma Sarilla took a deep breath, seeming to gather both her thoughts and her courage.  She then let it out in a long, tired sigh that drained her face of all humor, revealing the pain beneath.  She patted Eli’s small hand, as if regretting the burden she was about to share.

“Now,” she said between pursed lips, “even though I care for Mandie, and am fairly certain this is the only way to get her back, I find myself doubting the wisdom of telling you what you must know in order to have even the slightest chance of success.

You see, I am in a sort of moral dilemma—damned if I do, damned if I don’t, sort of thing.  I can cast a spell on you so that you will be able to reveal only
what
I deem necessary, to
whom
I deem necessary, thus eliminating the risk of further contamination.  But even so…what will the knowledge do to you?  This remains to be seen…and I am beginning to grow fond of you, Eli.”

She sighed again.  “This is your last chance.  Do you understand that?  Are you sure you truly
want
to know?  What I am about to tell you will change everything.  Indeed, it would drive most men, especially the very powerful and very wise, insane.  And if you are insane, you will be of no use whatever to Mandie, and I will have destroyed your mind for nothing.”

Eli
surprised the witch by flashing her a boyish grin.  “Ain’t ever been known for being especially powerful…nor wise,” he said with self-deprecating charm.  “I’m just a simple farmer with simple thoughts, and that’s okay.  That’s how I like it.”  Now, all the humor drained from Eli’s face, as well, replaced by pain and frustration that equaled or surpassed her own, its depth disturbing on the countenance of one who appeared so young.

“Besides,” he said in a hushed tone, his voice cracking with fresh emotion.  “I can’t imagine anything that would drive me more
crazy than losing my Mandie, especially after losing Erick and….”  The name got stuck in his throat.  He coughed, looked away, and tried again, little boy eyes shining up at her, brimming with tears.  “And my…Marnie,” he finished with obvious effort.  “If I was told that I had to endure eternal torture to give Mandie even a slight chance to live, to have a normal life, to raise a family and grow old with a good man, I’d do it without hesitation.  Does that answer your question, Sorceress?”

Sarilla averted her eyes for a moment, swallowed hard, and looked back.  It might have been
Eli’s imagination, but he thought he saw unshed tears glimmering in his grandmamma’s eyes.  “Yes,” she answered.  “It does.  I’m sorry to have doubted you, Eli.  But I had to be certain.”

He gave her a reassuring nod.  “It’s
all right, Grandmamma Sarilla.  I understand.”

She returned his nod, took a deep, steadying breath, and began to speak.  “There are many things that I know, many things that I suspect, and many things that, no matter how long I search, I cannot begin to unravel.  Let’s start with what I know, and what I very strongly suspect, and go from there.  I will try to explain it to you in a way that wi
ll make sense.  But given your limited intellect and experience, it will be very difficult.  We are both going to have to
stretch—
maybe farther than we thought we could.”

Eli
just stared at her, trying to decide if he should be offended.

“You see, you and Mandie have had the misfortune of
getting caught up in a great raging torrent of events that, even as we speak, is reshaping the landscape of the future.  This river runs through all places and all times simultaneously.  Mandie has been caught up and swept away by the same river at two different points.  It is as if she fell in at one point and, because all the different Mandies in all the different
nows
are linked, fell in at every point.  I say fell, but what I really mean is…
pushed.”
 

Eli
’s eyebrows raised, an angry glint in his eyes.

“Now, don’t get me wrong,” she said, forestalling his fatherly wrath with a raised hand.  “The person doing the
pushing meant well.  He thought he was saving her, pushing her out of harm’s way, as it were.  There was no way for him to know that what he was actually doing was the exact opposite.

“
You see, the man who did this, with the aid of a reckless spellcaster named Ashel Tevellin—one of the very powerful and very wise to whom I referred, not to mention ridiculously proud—loves Mandie a great deal, perhaps as much as you do.  He is, in fact, at this very moment, risking life, limb, and perhaps even soul, to try and save her, just as you are.  This man’s name is Andaris Rocaren.”

Seeing the flash of recognition in
Eli’s eyes, Sarilla raised her hand again.  “Now, don’t forget our deal.  No questions until I am through.”

Visibly frustrated,
Eli nodded.

“I know she has spoken of him in her dreams,” Sari
lla continued.  “Jade, Trilla, King Laris, The Lost One, Gaven—I have seen them all in her dreams, Eli, for they have been instrumental in changing what is and what will be.”  She sighed, smoothing the front of her dress with the palms of her hands.  “Okay, now brace yourself, because this is where things begin to get complicated.”

Judging by
Eli’s expression, he thought it was far too complicated already.

“All of us carry the same soul throughout our time in this sphere.  We sometimes are born as men, sometimes as women, and sometimes even as animals.  You, for instance, about three hundred years ago, were a mule of exceptional strength and stubbornness.”

Eli
thought this was absurd and wondered again if he should be offended.

“We learn from each lifetime, taking and building upon the past, evolving into the future.  Scoff if you must, but if not for the stubbornness and strength you gained as a mule, you would have
never reached my inner sanctum, much less my heart, which in a very real sense are one and the same.”

His expression grew even more dubious.

“I know what you are thinking!” she snapped. “But it’s not true.   If you are going to question what I tell you already, then we may as well stop here.  I am over two thousand years old, Eli.  You are thirty-six.  How many times does thirty-six divide into
over
two thousand?  Hmmm?  More than fifty-six times, Eli.  Can you even begin to grasp the scope of that?  Don’t you suppose there are a few things I’ve picked up along the way?  Some experiences I’ve had that you have not?  Just because something is alien to you….  Well, that doesn’t mean it isn’t real!”

Eli
’s little boy eyes grew big as saucers, the force of her words pushing his spine straight against the back of the chair.

“And yet, because it lies beyond your admittedly diminutive purview, you have the
temerity to think you know what is true and what is false?  You have the blind arrogance to scoff at what I am telling you?  To say, oh no Sarilla, the other day when I was pulling turnips from the earth, I knew that I understood all things!  For you see, I am omniscient, which should come as no real surprise, for as you know,
all
farmers are omniscient!”

Eli
started to say something in his defense, noted the warning in grandmamma Sarilla’s piercing gaze, then lowered his head, clasped his hands in his lap, and tried to look as meek as possible.

Sarilla took another deep, steadying breath and closed her eyes, collecting herself.  When she opened them, she was once again calm.  “I do apologize,
Eli.  I’m afraid I was venting a bit.  It is just so irritating to be questioned about…well…it’s sort of like arguing astrophysics with…preschool children.”

“No!”
they whine.  “That can’t be right!  And Timmy and Sara agree.  What you said about the multi-dimensional axis balancing on the tip of a pin beneath an infinite number of quantum umbrellas can’t possibly be right!  It doesn’t fit into the sandbox that is my world, where I build my castle and hold my court.  Therefore, you must either be incorrect or mad, or most likely both.  Off with her head, I say!  I just had potato soup and…and she’s giving me indigestion!  Off with her head before my bowels are disturbed a second time!”

Eli
nodded, trying to smile, wondering if perhaps his grandmamma’s raving twin
was
mad.

“Oh, there I go again.  So sorry,
Eli.  We’re here for you, not me.  Well, mostly….  It’s just that I don’t typically have a captive audience, so to speak.  Certainly not one that will allow me to go on about such things.”  She smiled unexpectedly.  “You know, it’s really quite cathartic.  I feel much better, now.  Thank you.”

Eli
was glad somebody felt better, because it certainly wasn’t him.  This was going to take longer than expected, and he wasn’t sure how much time Mandie had.

“Now, don’t you worry about that, young man, time doesn’t work quite the same here as it does other places.”  She gave him a wry grin and, with a brief c
ackle, winked.  “We could talk for days with only a few minutes passing outside.  How do you think I managed to reach the ripe old age of two thousand and twenty-nine?  Hmmm?”

Eli
shrugged, still trying to look meek, both comforted and disturbed, mind reeling at the thought.

Book of Prophecy

The heavens broke and fell,

Ripping
asunder rock and dell,

Spheres of light hold the worlds,

Lights so bright that time unfurls.

Gracious gods grant us speed,

Mend our shields in dire need,

Shattered hopes and shattered land,

Smoking field and sacred brand.

On a dusty shelf the worlds do sit,

In a heavenly castle made to fit,

Spinning, turning, roiling traps,

Phantom faces, phantom maps.

The Lost One doth fall from grace,

Stripped of all from master race,

The Watcher doth cower in fear,

Banished blood in Keeper’s sphere.

The creation doth stretch beyond,

The creator mourns in sorrows fond,

The bells doth cry their warning song,

But no one’s there to heed their gong.

Abandoned worlds beyond place and time,

Deserted dreams, forgotten rhymes,

One last chance to rise and reach,

A half-breed comes to cross the breach.

The master race sits in golden towers,

Playgrounds left for golden powers,

The mingling blood not yet conceived,

Blinded by arrogance, pride bereaved.

                     Book of Prophecy:  5:13

Adrianna?

By the time the note had faded from hearing, Andaris stood at the end of the hall, be
fore the door to his bedchamber.  The door was made from a single piece of rosewood, fastened to the wall with silver hinges.  The handle was curved like the neck of a swan, and in the center of the door was a silver knocker fashioned, naturally enough, in the shape of The Symbol.

Andaris stood there for a time, poised on the edge of the precipice, trying to decide whether to turn
away or to leap in.  His left hand fingered the flute as his right reached for the handle.  Upon contact, he drew back as though burned, but not by fire.

“
So cold,”
he whispered.

Thankfully, there was no reply from the ether.
  He found himself, once again, gripped by indecision.  He had a pretty good idea what lay inside this room.  The question was, was he ready to embrace it or not?  If things were as he was beginning to suspect, it was very possibly his destiny, and thus eventually unavoidable.

“I
have
been going through a lot of doors lately,” he reminded himself with a sigh.  “Perhaps this one can wait until after I’ve explored the town.  I mean, if it’s my destiny, what’s the rush?”

Heartened
by this unanticipated windfall of cavalier logic, he put the flute into his pocket, turned, and headed down the hall.  By the time he reached the door at the other end, the sounds of activity were unmistakable: metal shod feet tramping, wagons rolling, and the general murmur of conversation punctuated by the occasional neighing of a horse.

The door was not nondescript with a dull brass knob, as he’d supposed.  Indeed, quite the opposite was true.  Far from nondescript, this door was carved of jade and covered with runes that glowed either with their own light, or with the light of the
sun that shone through from the other side.  Even standing back a bit as he was, he could feel the heat coming off of them, radiating out in all directions.  After the unnatural chill of the bedchamber door, he welcomed it, basking in its sumptuous warmth with a faint smile on his face.

In the past, Andaris had found himself frustratingly vexed by the majority of the runes with which he’d come into contact. 
So this time he was prepared, or at least more prepared.  Before leaving, he’d bought a book that supposedly translated all known runes into readable form.  The title of this book was, “Runes for Beginners.”  Its glossary contained line after line of seven Rogarian letters, A, E, I, O, U, Y, and S, as well as the corresponding letters in all known runic languages.  At the far right of each line was a page number.

Simply find the runes that look familiar and flip to the appropriate page, on which the entire alphabets of both languages will be disclosed, and
a full translation can begin.  A, E, I, O, U, Y, and S were chosen because it was quite difficult to say anything at all in High Rogarian or any other language without them.

Ironically enough, now that Andaris had the book, he no longer needed it.  The runes were Lenoy, and he could read them just fine. 
Deciding not to dwell on what that might portend, he reached back to finger the top of the flute, taking solace in its irresistible smoothness, in its silvery perfection.

The
Symbol, the painting, the flute, the voice, my room that isn’t my room, and now this, not to mention all the questions that preceded those.
He sighed.
  Sometime soon I’m going to have to have a serious sit-down talk with myself.  If I wait much longer, I’ll have no choice.  The list of things I don’t understand will fill my head so full that it’ll push all else out, and I’ll be powerless to think of anything else.  But not yet.  Not now.  First, the town.

T
here would be plenty of time to sort things out after he returned to his bedchamber.  As a matter of fact, he had the sneaking suspicion that that is where most, if not all, of his questions would be answered—whether he wanted them to or not.  That being the case, what point was there in driving himself to distraction, attempting to “sort things out” by nine parts conjecture and one part deduction?  None that he could fathom.  Indeed, by that reasoning, it was nothing more than a waste of time and much needed sanity.

The runes on the door were wards, complex spells woven together to guard against ev
erything from the hounds of Kadra, to the common cold.  Not one of them, however, would prevent
him
from exiting, only others from entering.

To get back
in, he need only blow the correct note on the flute, C sharp, if memory served—provided one could call something one never actually experienced memory.  Well, no matter.  It was merely another line for the list, another one of those things he didn’t know, but
knew.

Finding himself in surprisingly good spirits, he very nearly whistled a tune as he pulled out the flute and blew
B flat, the note required to open the door from
this
side.  The runes glowed more brightly, beginning to hum in concert with one another. 

The door vibrated, shaking the floor beneath his feet,
and then with a loud
whoosh
recessed into the wall.  The hall was bathed in bright sunlight and fresh air, the sweet scent of spring tickling his nostrils.  He did not recoil, avert his eyes, or even squint, but instead stood tall and proud, welcoming the light with pupils boldly bared.

On the other side of the door stood two guards wearing full suits of plated mail, the hem of their cloaks fluttering in the breeze.  Beyond them bustled a crowded thoroughfare.  The guards whirled on him, swords drawn and shields raised, eyes slitted behind slotted helms.

“What’s the meaning of this!” the burly one on the left bellowed.  “This is highly irregular!  Identify yourself and…and put y
our hands into the air, blast your eyes, before I gut ya like a fish!”

Andaris smiled calmly, doing as the man instructed.  “Have you forgotten me so soon?” he asked
them, the words coming to his tongue easily, as though long rehearsed.  “Why, I am Andaris
Londai
Rocaren, who else?  Like the phoenix, I rise anew—raised from the ashes of time so that I might come to the sacred door of Locknorien.  After nearly one hundred and sixty cycles, Your Lord and Savior has returned, as foretold in the books of Elderin.  Kneel before me, my children.  The time of waiting is at an end!”

“The K
ing!” exclaimed the flaxen-haired guard on the right, dropping to his knees and bowing his head.  “It’s a miracle!  Rodan be praised!  Against all hope, His Majesty has returned to us in our hour of need!”

Book of Dreams

Traps
close within my mind,

I
seek what is lost but cannot find,

Righteous indignation
upon my lips,

A ghastly smile to launch my ships.

Why do we grieve for a past undone?

How do we stay the prodigal son?

The eternal blazing that
consumes our dreams,

The gradual lazing of tomorrow
’s seen?

I feel a reckoning on the breeze,

A second hand t
icking time with ease,

The Devil’s fingers
entwined with mine,

The
doleful moan of a long dead line.

All ends in ruin for better or worse,

We struggle and strive for every curse
,

We sit atop mountains
made of loss,

We cry in vain for the luck of the toss.

How
do we know which way to go,

When every
path reaps what we sow?

How can we find
the forgotten door,

When every breath is
held for more?

Will lust and greed and gold and fame,

Keep
us from doom and eternal shame?

Will the reaper
grin and give us a nod,

While
the jesters dance and merrily trod,

A
top my corpse like drunken sods?

I find no sense in the daily strife,

Which
eats my soul and steals my life,

I
strike vile bargains with the powers to be,

T
o stay the course o’er a gloomswept sea.

Where am I that is so cold and dark?

I must see my
pen to leave my mark,

Where
has all the merriment gone?

Sunshine and laughter and giggling
song?

Life balances upon the tip of a knife,

And e
very direction scores with strife,

Many have had this very same thought,

Small comfort I trade for what I have wrought.

If I should die before I wake,

May The Keeper come and try to take
,

My immortal soul gifted to another,

My flesh and blood saved by His brother.

The center cannot hold, it never could,

The edges
unfold, as you knew they would,

The sunlight fades,
its children bare and black,

The darkness shade
s, its cloak o’er my back.

What must it be to feel innocent and clean?

I cannot
remember for all that I’ve seen,

As my flesh
sours and begins to rot,

I sit and ponder on all that I’ve sought.

Unseemly it seems to cling to a dream,

Unjust it becomes to make such a seam,

Unfair I do judge the fair fates to be,

Unequivocal and silly and tired of me.

The walls are crumbling and all I do is sit,

Listening to
mumbling and words that I writ,

The fires are spreading and
devouring my world,

The moon is treading above darkness unfurled.

I laugh and I laugh and I laugh some more,

I am the bane of man and time’s eldest whore,

I pledge my allegiance to everything and all,

And I laugh and I laugh and I laugh as I fall.

                                        Book of Dreams:  7:10