The Stair Of Time (Book 2) (5 page)

Ethereal Ashel shoo
k his head with a sardonic half-smile and looked up at the ceiling.  “How terribly interesting.  If the word weren’t so overused, I’d say ironic.  In fact, I suppose I just did.  The horizon of his mind remains unobstructed by even the least of the many great storehouses of knowledge, creating an uninterrupted line of sight between the inner eye and its creation.”

He looked back
to Andaris.  “Understand?  No rigid doctrines to limit what’s possible.  All that glorious empty space allowing the flower of your imagination to sprout and grow any which way it chooses.  Free of those pesky blockages, there are no paths of least resistance, so it goes wherever fancy takes it, and there flourishes.  So I’d hoped it would be, and so it is.  How marvelous.  Rodan be praised.”

During the course of Ashel’s pontificating, Andaris had begun to get his bearings back
.  Enough, at least, to articulate another question.  “So…what exactly is it that you want me to do?” he asked, eyes narrowing beneath knitted brow.

“Why, I’m cut to the quick, Andaris.  To think, a
fter everything we’ve been through and you don’t trust me.  What an utterly disappointing turn of events.  If you hurry, you might be able to twist the blade a bit deeper before it steals my life’s breath.”

Andaris
groaned.  “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he said, the half-truth bitter on his tongue.  “It’s just that it seems odd for you to need me to…what?  Find new worlds for you to view with my
unobstructed
imagination?  For what purpose?  To do or learn what?”

“How wonderfully simplistic of you, my friend.  That is only a very small part of what I wish
.  But not now.  Maybe not ever.  I just wanted to see if what I had envisioned was possible.  Surely, after what you just experienced, you can understand?  And don’t worry, if I desire your assistance in the future, it won’t be for anything too diabolical.

I know you and Gaven
believe I’ve gone mad.  But from your low vantage, how can you tell?  To a peasant, the stars are but points of light.  The truth is, I’m more sane now than ever.  What you perceive as madness, is merely my excitement at having finally found something about which to be passionate.  The truth is, your presumption and lack of faith injures me so that…I no longer choose to honor you with this fully active representation of myself.  You’ll just have to make do with the static version.”

And with that, ethereal Ashel vanished. 

“Did it ever occur to you that it takes energy to be
theatrical,
a word that for most is synonymous with goodwill and cheer?  And yet your tongue somehow turns it into an insult.  Why be boring if you don’t have to, Andaris?  What harm is there in that?  If one has the ability to put the spring in a step and the sparkle in an eye, why not?  But clearly, sadly, my efforts are wasted on you.”

Andaris couldn’t believe
his ears.  The wizard actually sounded hurt.  Feeling a tad guilty, he walked from the window to the desk, the static, opaque Ashel seeming even more absurd than before, like a cardboard cutout.

“Okay
.  I’m…sorry,” he said.  And a part of him actually was, at least a little.  The part that prayed he was wrong about Ashel, that prayed this wasn’t all just some elaborate manipulation intended to make him do Rodan knew what.  The part that didn’t think his hurt tone was nothing more than good acting, a distraction to throw him off the scent. “Be as theatrical as you like and I won’t say a word.  Provided, you answer my question.”

“No.
  That is to say, I would like to, but it is forbidden.  For now, anyway.”

“
Forbidden?  Forbidden by who?”

“
It’s whom.  And I can’t say.  That is also forbidden.  But rest assured, Andaris, it is all for the greater good.  One day you will understand and you and Gaven will thank me, bestow upon me your devotion in return for my benevolence.”

S
omething definitely was not right here.  Was it possible that Ashel was lying and didn’t even know it?  Now there was a terrifying thought. Someone with that much power and influence suffering a psychotic break could be disastrous.

“
Fine!” Andaris spat, nerves suddenly strung tight. “Just don’t keep me waiting too long!  I mean, if the carrot rots before the mule even gets a nibble, it loses its power to motivate, doesn’t it?  Not to mention the loss of intrigue.  What will the carrot taste like?  Will it be as crunchy and delicious as it looks, as…orange?  What will happen if I eat the whole thing?  Will another appear to replace it?  And if so, what will that one taste like?”

During
the course of this uncharacteristic outburst, Andaris felt like a spectator in his own mind, wondering with growing mortification what bizarre thing he would say next.

“How terribly eccentric of you, my young friend.  First
simplistic, and now eccentric.  What a chameleon you have become.  ‘What’s the world coming to?’ the old men ask.  And I tell you, I honestly do not know.  It’s funny when you think about it, Andaris.  All those years of searching for insanity in others, and at last you find it peering back at you, snaggle-toothed and furnace-eyed, from your own reflection.”

Ashel’s voice
now dripped with sarcasm, sounding completely different from just moments before.  Sarcasm and something far less wholesome.  “Don’t get me wrong, Andaris.  I’m grateful.  After all, it’s quite entertaining, isn’t it?  No doubt I’ll be chuckling about it for days to come.  I can hear myself now: Oh how I wish my young friend would pay me another visit so he could regale me with more of his delightful carrot metaphors!”

“Young friend?” Andaris asked, opting to let the rest pass.  “You’re not much older than
I, Ashel.  Oh First Wizard of the Four Civilized Kingdoms.  Or has your head swelled so that you’ve forgotten?”

Stop provoking him!
he told himself.  But he couldn’t seem to help it.

“Why oh why must
everyone take me so literally?” Ashel replied, his bemoaning tone suggesting that his good character had endured countless such assaults—cruel arrows cast by his fellow man, flying unerringly from the hands of fools to the hearts of the misunderstood, i.e. the genius, the recluse, the misanthrope.

“Obviously, I’m not referring to numerical age,
” he went on, “but rather the maturity and wisdom which comes with long, hard-won experience.”

“Do you realize how ridiculous you sound?
”

Stop
provoking him!
he told himself again.

“Enough!” Andaris shouted, having to force the word out, addressing himself as much as Ashel.  “It doesn’t matter.  Never mind!”

“No more wordplay?  And just when you were starting to get the sense of it.  I mean, I was actually beginning to enjoy myself
.  And, stranger still,
your
company.  Usually you’re so mundane, so predictable, that I can feel the many kingdoms of my mind rise up in revolt, demanding freedom from the endless monotony.  You will receive no succor from me I tell them.  Clamor all you like.  If I must endure the vacuous drudgery of his company, then so must you!

And now, just when I least expect it, you wow me with a glimmer of spirit
and even wit.  Such a promising start, and then you go and ruin it with an unfair jab followed by an even more unfair proclamation.  Callous, cold, unfeeling creatures are my friends.  Hardly seems fair, and yet what can I do?”

Andaris
waited several seconds before responding.  When he was relatively sure that he had regained control of himself, he gritted his teeth and, with an immense effort said, “So is that it?  Are you done?”

Ashel seemed surprised, and maybe even a little impressed.

Andaris felt the
urge to argue slip away, cast aside like a heavy cloak on a hot day.  He hadn’t realized just how thick and suffocating it had become until it was gone.  He could breathe again.  It was amazing how much better he felt, so much lighter and clearheaded. But wrung out, as weary as a wounded soldier after a ten mile march.

So what exactly
happened?
he thought. 
Did Ashel do something to make me react like that, or is it this place?  Could it be affecting him, too?

“F
orgive the delay, Andaris. I was busy licking my wounds.  I’m sure you understand, considering how deep they go.  So anyway, as I was saying, or rather thinking, if our wordplay is truly at an end, then there is but one thing left to do.”

“Go on.”

“If you open the center drawer of the desk, you will find what you seek.  Sounds simple, doesn’t it?  Well, that’s because it is.  Just open the drawer, take what’s inside, and leave.  I ask for nothing in return, except for perhaps a bit of goodwill from you and Gaven.  I only hope that after what I have given you, you will look upon me less harshly in the future, and not be so quick to judge that which you do not understand.”

“So
what’s in the drawer, Ashel?”

“
I must go now, Andaris.  There is much to do and little time.  I wish you the best of luck with your coming adventure, and somewhat envy you your path, for unlike mine, it is broad and level.”

“But what about Mandie? 
You said my pathetic digging had come to an end.  Have you uncovered something?”

“Not yet
,” came the now distant reply.  “But do not lose hope.  I will eventually.  I always do.  There are many stones that remain unturned.  I assure you, Andaris, I will not rest until I have searched beneath them all.  And nor should you.  Indeed, considering what lay ahead, you may uncover something before I.  Laotswend is rife with ancient knowledge ripe for the picking.  Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if you found a cure for Mandie, a portal back to your world, and an elixir of eternal life all in the same afternoon!

T
ake care of yourself, Andaris, and tell Gaven not to worry, all is not as it seems.  Things will right themselves soon enough.  The wheels are turning inexorably forward, inevitably backwards, and infuriatingly to the sides.  Farewell for now, my friend.  I will be watching.  Farewell….”

“Must you be so
cryptic, Ashel?  Is there really nothing more you can say?”

At first he gave no
reply, and then with the faintest of whispers said, “Remember to heed the call of the red hawk, and to count the moonless sky thrice before a fall.  In prophecy there is a voice that cries out to be heard, drowning beneath the weight of eons.  Listen for this voice, Andaris.  It will guide you.  Listen and be afraid, for providence is a cruel taskmaster—a mistress not to be scorned.  The nations shall bow before thee, and at your side I shall preside, eternal, relentless, and bursting with righteous might.  Ever it was and ever it shall be again….”

Andaris shook his head
, attempting to clear it of the refuse that had just been deposited.  Apparently, the answer was, “No.” 

Soon after, he stepped around to the other side of the desk, pleased to discover that the cutout of Ashel was gone.  For a time, he just stood there, peering down at the two brass handles protruding from the drawer face, twin frowns seeming to mock his own.  Several minutes passed before he worked up the nerve to reach down and grasp the handles.  When nothing untoward occurred—like him being knocked flat by an electrical shock, or the handles twisting into serpents, he took a steadying breath and pulled. 

There was a keyhole in the center of the drawer face, but the drawer was not locked.  Indeed, it pulled smoothly, gliding on wheel
s rather than blocks.  Andaris braced himself, frown graduating into a full-fledged grimace, but again nothing happened.  In the center of the drawer sat a wooden box, deeply polished mahogany with brass corners, a design carved into the center of its lid—a circle within a circle bisected by a vertical line.   

The hair
on Andaris’ neck raised.  “The Lenoy,” he whispered.  And then, with a hand that trembled ever so slightly, he opened the box.  Inside were several pieces of parchment, one stacked atop the other.  He handled them carefully, for they were ancient, and like so much of what he’d unearthed in the archives, looked as if they might fall to dust at the slightest touch.

Maps,
he thought. 
But maps of what?