C16 Chapter XVI

While the rise of Ringwall and the archmages was shrouded in legend, the story of its downfall remained in the people’s memory for only a short time. It was only mentioned in the Song of Bornir. The song began with the cracking of the Onyx, continued with Mah Bu’s demise at his own hands in the fight against Nill, and finished with the death of the magon, shot down from his pinnacle by a single sharpened twig. The death of the archmages in the battle for Ringwall was no more than a reverberation, a single line in the song.

But no story and no song stands alone, and the beginning and end are always difficult to pinpoint, as everyone who has seen new life spring from a felled tree knows. Ringwall was destroyed, but not dead. It lived on in memory; its ruins served as a warning around the peak of Knor-il-Ank and gave rise to new legends. The beginning of the story was, as always, misunderstood as well. The seed that grew into the plant of duplicity and betrayal had been sown by the mages themselves, without their realizing it. And the tool of destruction was forged where the Oas lived. But this secret was truly secret, and so it never found its way into the songs and tales of legend.

*

Brolok felt happier each day he spent with the Oas, who seemed to forget a little more every day that he was a sorcerer, trained in Ringwall, not a druid. His aura glowed more challenging than ever. Like a black cloak with fiery red tips it danced around him. It looked threatening enough to frighten little girls, but was never so dark his laughter could have been held back. All the Metal in his aura gave off just enough danger in this part of the land, where the green magic of Wood was dominant, to make him a constant challenge to the Oas. Brolok was kind to all and bound himself to none. And nobody, not even wise Grimala, was safe from his pranks.

Nill, on the other hand, made himself scarce. He rarely left Tiriwi’s side, and if he did, it was to find a pretty flower or catch a bird with his voice to bring home, bursting with pride and joy. Most of the birds flew away once he released them from the spell, but two had stayed and had begun to make a nest in the hut’s roof. Nothing in the world of magic happens by accident, and nature knows its own symbols that sometimes bleed over into the human world.

“Learning from the birds, eh, Tiriwi?” her friends would tease. “Fly away and come back, Nill? That’s how the birds do it! But the birch is in the Oas’ hands.”

So they chattered and giggled and joked. Tiriwi knew her sisters well and joined in, but Nill was often lost in the tangle of comparisons he had not grown up with.

One evening, once the birds had finally found some rest after singing all day and nature turned its attention to the quiet animals in the night, when the evening wind had retreated and left the leaves still and silent on the trees, Nill clasped Tiriwi’s hand and cleared his throat. And again, and again; Nill reminded himself of Dakh’s crow, squawking and cawing. Tiriwi smiled, and beneath her smile she hid all her worry, as women so masterfully can.

“What’s the matter, my love? What’s wrong?”

Nill made a few starts, but always stopped short. He fell silent until he finally mustered the courage to say what was going on in his mind.

“I would like to ask you to teach me your magic. The Oas’ magic.”

Nill’s request shot through the air of the hut like a bolt of lightning. Their faces seemed ghostly and rigid for a moment: Nill’s due to the anticipation of his own words, Tiriwi’s because of the suddenness of the wish. She had expected many things, but not that. Slowly, she attempted to organize her thoughts.

“You asked me about that many springs ago in Ringwall. You know I don’t want to. Now that you know us Oas better, you ought to understand my reasons and be less disappointed when I tell you I can’t do it.”

“I promise – I swear on everything I care about that I will not use your magic with levity, and I certainly don’t intend to play around with it. Just as I have long given up on my childhood dream of becoming a great hero, I no longer see the point in becoming a powerful mage. I am already an archmage – what else could I strive for? Of course, I could try to become the next magon, but I’ve long realized that being an archmage means little to me. I don’t want to complain about the things that have happened. You have to reach something first to see that dreams can shatter like illusions. This is something different.”

“So what is it that you want?” Tiriwi asked, having listened attentively.

“Nothing but the truth – and if there is no truth, then the wisdom behind the magic itself.”

“You don’t aim low, do you? And I thought you’d learned some humility over time.” Tiriwi poked Nill in the ribs.

Nill smirked mischievously. “No, I don’t aim low.”

“Then why do you want to learn our magic? You said it yourself, you still struggle with the magic of the five elements. Why don’t you finish learning that first?”

“If only it was always so easy to know the beginning and the end,” Nill sighed. “Dakh-Ozz-Han taught me that the world is made up from the magic of the five elements, but even in Ringwall with the mages I realized that there were more than five archmages. Three others, the Archmages of the Spheres, broke the number. Ambrosimas, my old mentor, was one of them, Mah Bu was another, and Keij-Joss was the third as the Archmage of the Cosmos. Then there’s also the magic of Nothing and the magic of Light and Shadow we found down in the Hermits’ Caves. And you Oas have yet another sort of magic, one that sees the humans as a bridge between earth and sky. Now every one of you – druids, Oas and mages – all teach that there is only one magic. In each case it’s the one you believe in. The others are all just mistakes or by-products. But I’m telling you, it’s not right. I know it. And I believe the answer to the question of Pentamuria’s future lies in understanding magic. There. Now you know.”

Nill leaned back and looked as though he had just dropped a sackful of stones from his soul.

“And if I don’t show you our magic? What would you do then, unfathomable archmage?” A small smile was playing around her lips.

“Then,” Nill laughed, “I’ll pick a different teacher. There are enough pretty ones to choose from.”

“You swine!” Tiriwi gasped in mock horror and flung herself on top of Nill, who accepted his punishment with laughter.

A little while later, as they both stared up dreamily at the ceiling, Nill picked up the conversation again. “So, have you thought about it? You can’t dodge me for the rest of your life.”

Tiriwi was lost in thought, drawing circles and spirals on Nill’s chest with her finger.

“If what you say is true, then I’m not the right person to teach you the Oas’ magic. Speak with Grimala.”

“How should I do that? Do I just walk up to her door, knock and say ‘Hello, I’ve got a few questions!’?”

“You silly lamb,” Tiriwi said affectionately.

“I have always yearned for this moment, yet feared it all the same,” Grimala said to Nill and Tiriwi as they sat on the ground before her. “When Tiriwi came to me and told me of your thoughts, I needed some time to decide what to do. I asked the two of you to come here, for one to apologize to Tiriwi, and for another to give you, young man, some unbidden advice.”

Grimala turned to Tiriwi and her pained expression showed how difficult the words were for her.

“Tiriwi, you have enormous magical power and a great deal of talent. We never mentioned it, but I always hoped to see you as my successor here in the village. That is a road you can no longer walk. It pains me to tell you that you can never master the Oas’ magic to the extent required to be accepted into the circle of wise women. With my decision to have you learn the elemental magic from Kelim-Ozz-Han and have you educated in the mage’s way, I did not simply give you the foundation of a different magic; I also destroyed part of your natural gift. Within you there are two magics that cannot be reconciled. I accept responsibility and wish to apologize deeply.”

Grimala stood up, and in one flowing motion she put her legs slightly apart and bowed so low before Tiriwi that her head touched the floor.

Nill could not quite believe what he was seeing. Old people, he had learned, usually moved in small judders or clumsy, tired motions. Usually they spent their time sitting down, and only their eyes were still alive and active. But what Grimala displayed was a feat he had only ever seen from jesters. And yet, in the gesture there was a solemnity that struck him dumb. The movement was so measured, so fluent, and her expression so sorrowful. She bowed three times before returning to her seat as though nothing had happened. She did not even breathe faster.

“You will, of course, always be an Oa,” she continued matter-of-factly. The apology had been given, her guilt assuaged, and the wise woman was once again at home in her role as leader of the village.

“If you choose to live like your sisters and honor the rules and traditions of the Oas, you can have a happy life here. Not every gift must be used. But should you instead wish to master the magical arts, you will have to find your own path and perhaps even your own magic; although I don’t think that is possible.”

“I never really thought about my future,” Tiriwi admitted. “But I can’t keep pushing it away anymore.” Her eyes twinkled as she spoke.

“Time will tell,” Grimala assured her. “And now to you, young man. Oas do not interfere with the lives of others, least of all us old women. Something about you is different, though; I know that you are closer to the Oas than many a druid. You have a special role to play. Never before has a man been so tied to us. My instinct tells me that you are one of us, even if your gender and magic do not fit in. This is the only reason I am speaking to you the way I am.

“The same things I have said to Tiriwi also apply to you, Nill. You have known the magic of the Oas and studied the magic of the elements. But you did not stop there. You have learned another magic. I don’t know what exactly it is; I have always called it the Old Ones’ magic. You must know that many a wise person has lost their mind in trying to combine even two different magical orders. And now you wish to enter into a third, even though, in spite of your high rank in Ringwall, you are little more than a novice in matters of magic. Maybe that’s a little unfair – let us say, an advanced novice.” Grimala had to smile in spite of herself.

“Incompatible opposites can never be united from within, only from without. Your magic of Nothing might help you to bridge the gap. It is a path Tiriwi cannot walk. You have two choices. Either you learn to move between the worlds like the first dragon, who could be held by no element, no being, no world or cosmos. Or you can attempt to see what the first mages must have seen long ago, with the help of the Nothing.

“As for the Oas’ magic, all the wisdom and the entire secret behind it we have put into a single sentence. It is as follows: ‘As it is in the earth, it is in the sky; and as it is high in the sky, so it is in the earth.’”

Grimala surveyed Nill with a penetrating gaze. Nill’s face was inscrutable. It was not the first time he had heard a cryptic sentence. Dakh-Ozz-Han had been a master of the mysterious aphorism, just like Ambrosimas. If Grimala wanted him to understand, she would explain in greater detail what she meant. Until then, he would simply have to wait.

Grimala seemed a little disappointed at Nill’s total lack of reaction, but then nodded appreciatively and continued: “You know when silence is the best option. Not many people can make that decision, men least of all. I will show you our magic, but first we will fight. You will use the elemental magic, I will use my own. It will save us a lot of time and quite a bit of theoretical explanation. At dusk, we will meet five hundred and twelve steps from here metalwards, closer to the waters. Until then, enjoy the rest of the day, you two.”

Grimala stood up, signaling the conversation’s end.

“‘Enjoy the rest of your day,’” Nill repeated incredulously. “First she tells us something about the way of the world, then she says she mucked up your life and that mine can drive me insane – and then she wishes us a good day.”

Tiriwi looked thoughtful. “Grimala told me nothing I didn’t know. I felt it in the first few days at Ringwall. And you? You’re looking for the truth, and truth you received. But I’ll admit that our wise women are a little… well, they take some getting used to. But does any of that stop us from doing whatever we want, at least until this evening?” She put her arm through his.

Nill enjoyed Tiriwi’s presence, but he had followed his thoughts into the past. He no longer wished to become a hero, nor a famed mage. He was the youngest archmage in Ringwall’s history, and would probably be the basis of at least a few tales. His dream of returning to his village an important man could be fulfilled at last – but did he even want that anymore? Nill tested himself and found nothing. Nothing at all – no triumph, no satisfaction, no joy, only emptiness.

“Tell me something, Tiriwi. Why do we as people have dreams and hopes and wishes, only to find that when they come true, nothing is left?”

Tiriwi looked up in surprise. She had been enjoying the wind, the sun and the countless fragrant smells coming from the flowers. When the air’s wet they smell best, she had been thinking when Nill’s question yanked her out of her daydream.

“We Oas don’t really have wishful dreams. The things we strive for are all found in our legends.”

“I don’t believe in legends.” Nill was starting to get annoyed.

Tiriwi looked at him with her big gray eyes and simply said: “If you don’t like the answer, don’t ask the question.”

Nill knew she was right, but her rebuke rankled him even more. They walked back in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Nill had laid his arm around Tiriwi’s waist to show her that he did not want to argue. But what had bound them together for two blissful moons, the unity between their souls, had begun to unravel. Nothing was broken or destroyed. But reality had picked away at it until the dreams were fractured and the spell threadbare. Deep within their hearts, they both felt it, and the first signs of uncertainty about how to handle it spread. But they would likely not really notice it until much, much later.

The evening arrived to swallow the day. The first mists rose from the meadows and the forest grew dark as the sun crept behind it. Between the light gray and the dark brown, a wide path of clear sight snaked along, where Grimala was waiting for Nill. Opposite her stood Ramsker, who did not budge until Nill arrived. Tiriwi stepped away reverently. She knew she was about to witness something utterly unique. No one had ever seen a wise woman fight before, as far as she knew; not for fun and not for training either. Even more confusing was the expression on Grimala’s face – she looked radiant, and it made her seem far younger than she really was, almost as young as Tiriwi.

“On Tiriwi’s signal you will attack. You may use all your force and skill, do not hold back. You can even use your Ancient magic of which I know and understand nothing.”

Grimala nodded at Tiriwi, who raised a hand.

Nill, not wanting to hurt the old woman or risk an uncontrollable counterattack, slowly raised a hand and flung a whitish-blue ball of Metal energy at Grimala. She let the attack hit her and nothing happened.

“That wasn’t an attack, that was an insult,” she complained. “I suppose next time you’ll shout whatever you’re doing out loud!”

Fine, Nill thought resignedly. A thin root to hold her arm in place should work. Let’s see if she can get out of that. He clicked his fingers and a creeper shot up from the ground and bounced straight off Grimala.

“Better.” She was laughing.

Nill was amazed. For the first time, he didn’t mind someone laughing at him – on the contrary, he was having fun.

“How are you doing that?” he shouted as he tore the ground apart beneath her feet, sending a wave of energy after her as she avoided the first part of the attack. It was huge, invisible and fast, but the moment it reached the Oa it split in half and left her untouched. “Can you read minds?” Nill asked.

“Almost. Not minds, but intent. An Oa will defend, but never attack unless it’s absolutely unavoidable.”

That’s not what I’ve seen, Nill thought, remembering the way Tiriwi’s thoughtspeak screams had forced a band of students to the ground.

“An Oa pays attention to the opponent’s intent. You can only hit me if you can hide your intentions.”

Nill had understood. His attacks were strong, but draining. An Oa could win simply through attrition. But he wanted to give it another try. He took the darkness of the forest and the moisture in the ground and merged them. He pulled the dark magic up and the last green of the meadows vanished, the forest became part of the magic and Grimala’s figure grew blurry. The black cloak of the ground was spread so far that even Tiriwi disappeared in it. Grimala could not avoid it. She raised her arms to the heavens.

“Anything that comes from the ground wants to get to the sky, and the sky decides whether to take it or not. Now pay attention.”

The black shades began to whirl around and flew into Grimala’s body, then puffed out in the gray sky.

“The skies took everything this time, it seems,” Grimala called to Nill. “The coming night helped, I assume.”

Nill was panting heavily. He had spent considerable strength on waking the darkness.

“How do you manage to conduct so much energy?” he coughed.

“Who says I do? It flows everywhere. Through my body, for sure, but also over and past it as well. I’m just part of the path. Everything else is the sky’s work. We are merely the bridge between the sky and the earth.”

“You could beat any archmage,” Nill remarked admiringly.

Grimala hesitated. “True, we do not fear the archmages of the elements, or even the magon who has access to other kinds of help. The Archmages of the Spheres share similarities; the Archmage of the Other World controls the earth, although he doesn’t know it, and the Archmage of the Cosmos knows the skies. We have both. I’m not sure about your old teacher, Ambrosimas, though. It was no coincidence that he chose you as his personal ward.”

The old lady is certainly sure of herself, Nill thought.

“And what if a wise woman were to meet Dakh-Ozz-Han?”

Grimala laughed, and proved why she had earned the title ‘wise.’ “The old druid would win handily. Any Oa who encounters him would be so awestruck she would forget her powers.”

“You have got to be pulling my leg,” Nill said. He did not understand why Tiriwi, standing next to him, stomped on his foot. “I will think about what you have shown me here,” Nill added, in a more humble tone. “The magic of sky and earth is unlike anything I’ve learned so far.” As he turned away to return to the village, he could not resist the temptation to fire off a spider web from his open hands.

“You may come to me whenever you wish, but you should burn the webs. Small animals might get stuck in it,” Grimala’s voice followed him. She was evidently having fun.

The next morning, Nill received his first lessons in the Oas’ magic. Ramsker stood guard in front of Grimala’s home and lowered his horns threateningly whenever someone came any closer than he considered appropriate.

It was during one of these lessons that Grimala suddenly raised her head, stopping in the middle of her explanation.

“Do you feel it, Nill?” she asked.

Nill looked up. He still had issues connecting sky and earth and he needed to use his arms for it. Only when he stretched as far as he could did he feel that there was something beyond the clouds, trying to communicate. Now he dropped his arms with an irritated look on his face. He had been so close!

“Do you feel it?” she repeated.

Nill listened intently; he sent his senses out to check on leaves, bark and grass, to listen to the bird’s song and the wind’s tales.

“Something is shaking at the roots. Not much, but it’s everywhere.”

“Yes,” Grimala said. “Everywhere. As far as I can feel. Everywhere.”

Grimala fought to keep her composure. Nill knew his new teacher so well by now that he did not have to see her tight lips to know something was wrong.

“The day’s lessons are over,” she said. “I have things to do.”

“Shall I return tomorrow?”

“Yes, yes.” She seemed a little distracted. “But don’t be angry if I send you away again. Practice the things I have shown you, find the connection between sky and earth. Forget the bridge. Just sky and earth. Tell me what you feel tomorrow.”

Nill left Grimala’s hut and hurried over to Tiriwi, who was standing outside with the other Oas, gazing at the sun. Many had placed their hands on the ground, others simply stood there in a kind of trance. The smallest children had begun to wail, the older ones clung to their mothers. The young girls had paused in their games.

“What happened?” Tiriwi asked. “What did Grimala say?”

“She said nothing, but I feel a weakening in the magical patterns.”

No one slept well that night, and this time it did not even take the rising sun to wake the Oas. A light flickered all night in Grimala’s hut. Not much had really changed in the village. The Oas took care of their troubled children, prepared food and washed clothes in the nearby brook, freed the fields of weeds. But the usual improvements to clothes and huts were stopped. Wild herbs were left alone by gathering hands and the forest stood empty. No one left the village for fear of missing something important.

Messengers arrived at Grimala’s hut and left in equal haste. These messengers were not only Oas from neighboring settlements, but many druids were among them too. One of them, not very tall but stocky and muscular and of indeterminable age, arrived just before noon; he poked his red-haired, silver-streaked head through the door and stayed for more than just a moment. Every other visitor had to wait until Grimala called them inside.

“Nill, Grimala wants you to come!” a woman called suddenly.

Nill stormed to her hut and bowled through the door without knocking. He stopped as suddenly as if he had just trodden in tar.

“Dakh!” he managed.

The old druid hugged his erstwhile charge tightly. “I would have liked for our reunion to happen under happier circumstances, but time is running out.”

“Running out?”

“Ringwall has fallen.”

“Ringwall has – wait, what?”

“Fallen!”

“Who, what – when… how?” Nill did not understand.

“From what I’ve heard, King Sergor-Don of the Fire Kingdom conquered Ringwall and killed the magon and the High Council.”

“Sergor? Impossible.”

“Why?”

“I was at Ringwall with him. When we were students, you know. He was always strong, but nowhere near the level of a mage or an archmage. Ambrosimas would have dusted the idiot off without looking up from his meal.”

Dakh-Ozz-Han nodded thoughtfully.

“And yet, he toppled the magon, and that is a fact. Ringwall itself is no more than a ruin. A pile of loose rubble atop the mountain. I was there. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Memories of Empyrade, the master archivist and Growarth the cook tumbled through Nill’s mind. I hope they got out in time, he thought. But at the same time, a beam spread across his face that was completely at odds with the sinister news.

“But that means…” he began.

“It means…?” Dakh urged.

“It means I can’t possibly be the Changer the prophecy speaks of. I’m not the figure from the mists, the chosen one. That’s what it means, right?” Nill asked as waves of relief washed over him.

The druid’s head swayed slowly. “Hm… possibly. The surface of the world is rarely a true image of what lies beneath. I must admit that I currently know next to nothing. I don’t know what to believe in. Only one thing is certain: the last dams are broken. Pentamuria’s downfall has begun; perhaps even the entire magical world. As for you, my boy: I don’t know whether you’ll kick the world while it is down or save it. But we must leave. As soon as possible.”

“Why leave?” Nill asked, taken aback.

“Because half of Pentamuria is after you. The last mages of Ringwall want your skin because they think you’re responsible for what happened; King Sergor-Don wants you dead because you’re the last archmage; and I heard that something happened in Metal World that certainly made you no friends either.”

“Well, it could be worse. At least now I think my unknown enemy using the magic of the Other World has gone along with Ringwall.” Nill swallowed.

“Who?”

“Long story.”

“Tell me while we walk. We leave immediately. Pack your things.”

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know, wherever you want. But we have to get out of here.”

“Then we’ll go where my father is, or where the Oas’ sanctuary is. No one really knows either, so we might as well find them.”

“I can help you with the sanctuary if the Oas permit it. Your search for your parents remains your own. But I will accompany you, for I am also looking for someone who knows how to hide damned well.”

“I’ll go and tell Brolok.”

Word of Ringwall’s downfall had reached not only the Oas, but every other corner of the magical world quickly, and left it in a state of paralyzed fear. The five kings of Pentamuria each called meetings with their councilors and shut themselves away from everyone else. The common folk left their huts and houses and stormed through the streets, cheering and singing and screaming; many a reeve was glad not to be torn apart. In other places, the crowds gathered, frightened and quiet in the marketplace, praying for protection and safety. “What will happen to us now that the mages no longer watch over us?” was the most common concern.

In the cities, troops were set to patrol in emergency squads to break up gatherings of people. Heralds of kings and sovereigns called for calm and reason and the troops enforced them. After the first few outbursts, a leaden silence covered the land and everyone kept an eye on everyone else; all waited without knowing what for; and many prepared for the inevitable by sharpening their blades and improving their armor.

Only King Sergor-Don lost no time. He invited everyone who had hated Ringwall or its inhabitants to Worldbrand, and many came, far more than anyone had expected. Ringwall had not always been kind to those unwilling to bend to their rule. Arcanists with unique abilities, warlocks and witches, untrained sorcerers of unknown heritage who had only one or two spells, healers whose arts were not rooted in herbs, but in hidden sources of power they themselves did not realize; all of them had suffered under Ringwall and the nobles. Despite all the pomp and glamour at court, nothing in the Five Kingdoms happened without Ringwall’s approval. Even druids and shamans found their way to Worldbrand, which looked more like an army outpost than a capital city these days. Not every new arrival trusted the new king, but word spread that the ruler of the Fire Kingdom was offering a place to all who claimed to have magical powers. Some received no more than a roof over their heads and hot soup for the night, whereas others were given further training by the court sorcerers. Every one of them was given a task and a goal to meet. The goal was to cleanse Pentamuria of all mages.

The king’s dustriders, just like his elite squads of riding archers, were split into small groups of ten to twenty men and enhanced by the sorcerers. They crossed the kingdom’s boundaries as though they had no more meaning, and fell upon Woodhold, the Waterways, Metal World and Earthland like a plague, caring not whether the other kings gave their permission to pass or not. They appeared in the night and murdered every mage they could get their hands on, then vanished without a trace.

The other kings watched the events unfold without lifting a finger. King Sergor-Don’s troops were divided equally among the cities and border fortifications, where they stood guard. In the hunt for the mages, many a village was burned down, but larger towns were left unscathed. Whatever Sergor-Don was planning, it was not an all-out war against his neighbors.

The White mages scattered throughout the land were easy prey. Unused to life in the wilderness and unwelcome in the cities, the flight was their lives. Those lucky enough to make it to the Borderlands knew a fleeting, deceptive sense of security before having to brave even greater challenges than Sergor-Don’s dustriders.

The Elemental mages were in a similar situation to the White ones, but they had always had the wits to keep their connection to their noble families intact. Although they had to hide in small, dusty rooms in their friends’ and families’ attics or cellars, they at least remained alive.

The old searching parties Ringwall had sent out were not, as Dakh-Ozz-Han had guessed, after Nill anymore. Galvan had given his followers the choice to follow him or try their luck alone. To a man, they stuck with Galvan and the group fought their way to Fugman’s Refuge, where the master of Metal convinced the Trade King that it was in everyone’s best interest to anchor the magic of Metal deeper into the court’s essence.

Morb-au-Morhg the Mighty traveled with Binja and Rinja slowly waterwards and settled in a small fisherman’s hut by one of the great rivers. Two of Sergor-Don’s squads learned that Morb was as at home in the wild as his hunters. One of the troops did not get to revel in the new knowledge for long, and disappeared like many other people on that day, leaving behind the horses and equipment for Morb the Mighty and the witches to use.

The Water party had also halted its hunt, and its members had offered their aid to Talldal-Fug as well. Its members found themselves as welcome allies to their Metal brothers, now less on the hunt for Nill than for Brolok. The new, merged group moved towards Woodhold.

There was no word from Earthland, and the green mage seemed to have disappeared, although the reports were conflicting. Sergor-Don’s dustriders rode in a wide arc from Fire to Wood towards the Oas’ territory. As much as circumstances had changed in Pentamuria, Nill was still being hunted. It was only the hunters that had changed.

“I’m ready,” Brolok announced immediately. “I’ve been wondering for a while now when you’d finally wake up and return to sanity. My stuff is all packed up.”

Nill flushed. “Don’t know what you mean,” he mumbled.

“I mean, you could take Tiriwi with you. She’s my friend too. And more dependable than Bairne.” He spat on the ground.

“No way. It’s far too dangerous for a young girl like her,” Nill said agitatedly.

Brolok laughed so hard that a gob of saliva landed in his windpipe. Coughing, he sputtered: “If Tiriwi is a young girl, I’m the Trade King. Who saved your sorry arse by visiting the magon? That was a brave move. I would’ve probably pissed myself. Trust me, she doesn’t need protecting. She can look out for herself.”

“You don’t get it,” Nill said, flustered. “I’m the one in danger. I don’t want to drag anyone else into it. I’m the one looking for his parents, and I’m the one who has to find the sanctuary. I. Me. Myself, not Tiriwi. Got it?”

“Tell her, then.”

“Dakh will explain it.”

“You coward,” Brolok said with great amusement as he shouldered his bag.

“Close the door!” Nill yelled after him as he left. Damn . How was he to explain to Tiriwi why he was suddenly packing and leaving? Damn, damn, damn. It was a good thing she was not in the hut. Probably better this way. If I just disappear, there’ll be no argument. I should leave her something, though, so she knows I’m thinking of her.

Nill dug through his things, looking for two bundles of spider’s silk. It was the most valuable thing he owned.

He cursed. Whenever you need something, you can’t bloody find it. He could not remember where he had put it. Was it still in the bag, or had he taken it out at some point? He had told Tiriwi about the silk, he recalled; he had told her everything about his travels, but then…

No farewell gift, then, Nill thought sadly. He strapped his bag on and hurried back to Dakh-Ozz-Han. Standing with him, smiling, were Grimala, Brolok, Ramsker (not smiling, but foul-tempered as usual) and Tiriwi.

“We were starting to think you’d got lost on the long way from the hut,” Tiriwi said smoothly. Nill’s mouth fell open and closed again several times like an absurd fish. He decided not to say anything.

They said their goodbyes to Grimala and began to walk to where the sun stood, keeping close to the forest’s edge. They made good progress, but the druid suddenly stopped and said casually: “We have to be careful now. Some people are roaming the meadows ahead. And by ‘some’ I mean ‘a lot.’”

“We could go through the bushes and avoid them completely,” Brolok suggested.

Tiriwi laughed. “Have you ever tried to sneak through this forest? You have to follow the animal crossings, and you never know where they lead, or else you have to fight for every step.”

“Don’t laugh, child,” the druid scolded. “Brolok is right. We have to go through the forest to slip past these people unnoticed. But first we have to find out where they are. From now on, not a sound. No fire and no magic, either.”

“Who’s doing magic anyway?” Brolok pouted.

“Wait a moment.” Tiriwi had put her bag on the ground and was now searching for something. “It’s Nill they’re after. I’ve got something for him.” And she pulled out a few bundles from her backpack. “Three cloaks. One’s white, the second is black and the third one gray.”

“My honey-darling never clothed me,” Brolok sniggered, not noticing the astonishment on Nill’s and Dakh’s faces. Tiriwi had picked her moment perfectly.

“That’s… you…” For the second time that day, Nill was lost for words.

“Yes, I did. What else is old thread for if not to weave something with it?”

“It wasn’t old thread, it was—”

“These three cloaks are a treasure unlike any other in Pentamuria. Cloaks made of the silk of the nightcrawler and kingspider.” Dakh-Ozz-Han’s fingers rand over the thin, smooth, unbreakable cloth. “Did you weave these?” he asked Tiriwi.

“I would have liked to, but life is short and I never learned weavework. I just spun the silk into yarn. Grimala did the rest, and I’m sure she used magic for it.”

“Excellent. One for day, one for night and one for dawn. It’s as close to invisibility as Nill could get.”

“Very nice,” said Brolok, tapping his foot. “And where are mine?”

“Wouldn’t you know it, Brolok, I was just about to start on yours when the thread ran out. We really should send Nill back into the mountains to get more.”

“I suppose that’s what you get for being born on the shadowy side of life,” Brolok moaned.

“I promise to cover you in earth every night if you want. That should hide you well enough while you sleep.”

Brolok declined with thanks.

It continued like this for a while. It almost gave the impression that everyone wanted to talk while there was still time before the long silence. No talking, no fire and no magic, Dakh had commanded.

The druid ran off with strides so long nobody could follow him; he returned, only to disappear again a moment later. When the sun set, he returned again, lay down on the ground and fell asleep instantly. Nill pulled his gray cloak tighter and took the first watch with Ramsker. Tiriwi woke the boys at first light, Nill with a kiss and Brolok by tugging his hair gently.

Brolok pointed at Dakh’s long beard and made an energetic yanking motion, but Tiriwi shook her head. She could still not quite believe she was traveling through Woodhold with Dakh-Ozz-Han himself, the druid of myth. While he looked far less mythical up close, she still treated him with great reverence. It therefore fell to Brolok to wake the old man, but he decided not to yank his beard, instead shaking him lightly by the shoulder.

The days passed by until Dakh made a determined gesture towards the forest. It truly was a battle to get through here; the forest was one huge thicket. Nill had taken off his cloak, because twigs kept getting caught in the fabric and pulling him back. Unbreakable silk had its disadvantages.

The others were highly relieved when Dakh indicated that their further path would be on open field again. Now that they had rid themselves of any followers, they finally dared to visit the occasional Oa settlement.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Tiriwi asked.

“To the Mistmountains. Once we get there, we will enter the forest at their feet, and if fate is on our side, we will find the great tree. That should be where we find what Nill is looking for.”

“I suppose finding the tree ought to be easy, right?” Brolok asked waspishly.

“It might take a while,” the druid admitted.

“Well, as we approach the forest we should be able to see it poking out amongst the other trees. That’ll give us a pretty good direction.” Everything always sounded so easy when Brolok spoke.

“The great tree is shorter than the others,” came the reply.

“Why call it a ‘great tree’ then?” Brolok grumbled.

Dakh-Ozz-Han always asked the same question when they entered a village. “Has a sorcerer ever come through this village?”

And every time, the women exchanged glances and shook their heads. “Maybe” was a common answer, often enough it was simply “no.” Sometimes there were discussions, fleeting memories that fell through their hands like sand as they attempted to grasp them. And every time, when all other questions had been futile, Nill would ask: “Have you ever heard the name Perdis? He was a mage.”

The first time Nill asked this, Dakh-Ozz-Han jumped. He knew as well as Nill that Perdis was not a name parents gave their child. Perdis, the empty voice, a thing for others to speak through. Perdis, father of Nothing? So close to the collapse of Pentamuria, Dakh had stopped believing in coincidences. Everything meant something. Everywhere he looked, he saw the signs, or thought so at least. He gazed at Nill thoughtfully; the boy, like himself, was looking for a sorcerer or mage.

“I see,” he mentioned to Nill while they wandered, “you’ve found a trace of your parents. Is this Perdis your father?”

“I hope so,” Nill said after a moment of consideration. “I’m sure he is. But it’s just a feeling, maybe just a wish. Perdis might just be someone who knew my father. One thing is certain, and that’s that there is a connection between Perdis and the amulet my parents gave me. That’s why it’s possible, if not likely, that there is connection between the amulet and the Books of Prophecy.”

“And the falundron,” Tiriwi added.

“The what?” asked Dakh-Ozz-Han, and so Tiriwi told him the story of the guardian they had found who watched over the caves where the Hermits had lived before founding Ringwall.

“If what you’re telling me is true,” the old druid said, “then Ringwall’s fall is connected to the beginning of time, far beyond the Hermits, going all the way back to the roots of magic itself. But I struggle to imagine that. I would like to meet your father someday. The sorcerer I’m looking for has also vanished off the face of the world. His name is Sedramon-Per. The stars tell me that his lineage means he is important in some way. Since then, I have been searching for him or the important thing he’s doing, has done or will do. But I can’t find him anywhere. His trail goes cold on the way to the Oas.”

Nill stood still like a branch in the first frost. Then he suddenly began to gesticulate wildly.

“Did you just say Sedramon-Per? I always thought it might be another name for Perdis – it sounds so similar. And he must indeed be important, because he found some of the Books of Prophecy – Mun, and Arun as well, which is where we’re going. There’s something about the magical kingdoms in them. Nothing specific, though,” he added quietly.

Dakh grabbed Nill by the shoulders and wheeled him around so they were face to face. Tiriwi looked shocked. He had never mentioned the Books of Prophecy in the time they had been together. Even Brolok looked confused.

“How do you know all this, boy?” Dakh thundered at Nill, who had long since stopped being a boy.

“He left a message by the spiders. Sedramon-Per, I mean. At some sort of temple. Arun, Mun and the Book of Wisdom. I know where Eos and Cheon are. I’m not surprised Sedramon-Per never found those. Now all we need to find is Kypt.”

“You know where Eos and Cheon are? We must go there immediately.” Dakh was beside himself. “With the knowledge from these books we will finally understand what will happen. Written in them is the future.” The great Druid Dakh-Ozz-Han had to sit down because he was trembling from head to toe, but Nill merely shrugged.

“They don’t say much. Apart from the Book of Wisdom, that was longer, but the rest is all just a short paragraph. Something about the realms of the Second Circle and Fourth Circle, that kind of thing. It was hard to understand. I found Eos in the Borderlands of Fire, and Cheon is standing in a small room in a huge underground cave system I’ll never find again on my own.”

Dakh-Ozz-Han stood up.

“That doesn’t sound like the Books of Prophecy, Nill. But if Arun is truly in the forest sanctuary, I will see soon enough. I refuse to believe until I see it, and once I’ve seen it, I’ll believe the rest. I wonder why I never found anything there when I first looked.” He shook his head distractedly. “I’ve been stumbling around the world like a blind fool and you’ve had a part of the answers all this time. You and Sedramon-Per both know the books. Everything is coming together. The fact that we four are here together is not pure happenstance. The lines of time are converging on a single point where they will meet and create something entirely new, something people everywhere fear. I don’t yet know what Brolok and Tiriwi have to do with all this, but they have been with you for too long to have slipped under fate’s watchful gaze.”

“Woah, calm down, old man.” Brolok made a sound as if he was trying to calm a wild horse and Tiriwi glared at him. “I’m just a blacksmith and a warrior, and right now I don’t even have any decent weapons. I’m little more than part of Nill’s baggage. Nill visited me in Fugman’s Refuge, as friends do. That’s basically all that happened, and I’m just showing him the door. It’s a matter of friendship.”

“You have a great house indeed, Brolok. Your oven is in Metal World and your door all the way in the Mistmountains,” Dakh remarked. “We shall see, we shall see.”

“That village over there is the last Oa settlement in Woodhold. In the distance you can see the peaks of the Mistmountains. That’s where our journey takes us, and that is where we will part ways.” Tiriwi stood upright, pointing somewhere far away through the morning mist.

“Greetings, Oas!” Dakh called to the first women he saw. “I bring a sister and two dubious male fellows to shake things up in the village.”

Tiriwi frowned. This was not the way she wanted to announce their arrival. She turned to Dakh to ask him what he was thinking, a question dangerously close to a rebuke. Before she spoke a word, she hesitated. What was wrong with her? Only a few days ago she never would have thought of such disrespect. Then another thing caught her by surprise: the old druid looked far less like the Dakh-Ozz-Han she knew. Yes, his hair, eyes and nose were all still the same, but he looked older; he had dropped the mantle of authority he usually bore and seemed more like a vagrant than an awe-inspiring druid. Tiriwi shook her head in disbelief. The mystical druid was now a silly old man.

“May I introduce Tiriwi of the Oas, Brolok, a sorcerer from Metal World, and Nill or something like that. He carries Tiriwi’s stuff. Oh, and you know me, of course,” Dakh blathered.

“Yes, we know you,” the women laughed. “Welcome, welcome.”

Odd. Why doesn’t he give his own name? Tiriwi kept her eyes and ears open, and grinned a little when she saw that her pack mule’s ears had gone red at Dakh’s words.

The guests were allowed to wash and Brolok bantered bawdily with his hostesses; Dakh had excused himself to pay his respects to the eldest, and Tiriwi took care of Nill – there were too many young women around here to leave him unattended. They only reconvened at supper.

“We’re pilgrims of a sort,” Dakh-Ozz-Han explained when he was asked what brought them here, and he gave a short laugh. “These young men are, as you can probably see, emphatically not druids. They are sorcerers, searching for the roots of the magic of Wood. Ha ha!” He laughed again. “I never thought how silly it sounds out loud. ‘The roots of the magic of Wood.’ It’s like wood doesn’t have roots of its own. Well then, roots of the roots or something. Whatever, not important. Anyway, I have a duty to them, because they have done much for us druids and the Oas as well. You have probably heard of them already. So I offered to guide them.”

Tiriwi furrowed her brow again. She did not like Dakh throwing away his dignity like a smelly old cloak, but the Oas’ eyes were bright. Nothing was more exciting than new stories. Their visitors seemed to be important people, even if they had never heard of Brolok and Nill before.

“The magic of Wood is closely related to the Oas’ magic. Like our own, it makes a connection between sky and earth. That’s all we know,” one woman said politely.

“We druids see it as a sort of middle thing between Fire and Water. Life comes from water and turns into the very Fire that feeds it. The Fire burns dark and no one sees it, only the Wood can feel it, can feel how it lives through the Fire and dies with it when the embers offer less warmth at the end of its life. The Fire can also burn hot and bright and turn entire forests to ash. But the Wood’s enemy is not Fire, it is Metal, as the steel ax cuts through the tree. No use, no sense. The Wood’s power unfolds in the Earth, when it makes the Earth’s magic its own. To us, it’s a young element, which is why it’s more difficult to understand than the others.”

Dakh-Ozz-Han chattered away as if he never wanted to stop.

“If you want to dedicate your lives to Wood, follow the path to the Borderlands and seek out Creakhorn, the prime tree where the spirit of Wood lives,” one of the Oas recommended. “Creakhorn can be difficult to find, because when it gets too old it falls, and then its seed grows into a new tree. We always see it as the new Creakhorn. To the forest, nothing changes. We Oas rarely ever go looking for it, and if we do, it’s not because of its magic. It connects us to the old world we came from. There was once a sorcerer here, looking for it.”

“Thank you, sister, I’m sure we’ll find it. And this sorcerer you speak of… tall, light hair?” Dakh raised his arms to the sky as if to imply the sorcerer in question had been a true giant. “I might know him. He would have been quite young at the time.”

“Oh, he was.” An elderly Oa laughed and handed Dakh a large leaf sheer dripping with sweet syrup. “That sounds just like him. Very tall, very thin, hair whipping in the wind. I remember him well. He always seemed to stumble over his own feet and we often laughed at him. Still, he somehow managed to win AnaNakara over. That was a lot less amusing and caused quite a ruckus around here.”

“Oh yes, strangers can make odd things happen,” Dakh mused. “They bring a fresh breeze into town and sometimes that’s not too welcome.”

The Oas nodded, and for a while everyone was silent. Nill decided to ask. “Has anyone here ever heard the name Perdis?”

The older Oa looked bemused. “Perdis? I’ve never heard that before. Are you sure it’s a real name? It sounds so strange.”

Nill had some difficulty in hiding his disappointment, but Dakh pulled him back to reality. “I wonder what the sorcerer was after here.”

“No one knows,” the Oa answered. “He was just there one day. He came a few times, but not since about… oh, fifteen or twenty springs must have passed since then. I was still a child then, and the whole ruckus passed me by. It’s more the stories I was told than actual memories for me.”

“Stories?” Nill wished the Oa were not so keen on having them ask for every detail; short, concise and to the point would have been preferable. Perhaps there was something in these stories that would help him. Perhaps the strange sorcerer was indeed Perdis. It was not unthinkable.

“After his last visit, he left with AnaNakara, and neither ever returned. They had a child. That child caused bigger problems in the village than you could ever imagine.”

Nill held his breath. A child. It could have been him. Everywhere I go, I seem to cause trouble , he thought. Why, though? The thoughts chased each other back and forth through his brain, but he did not dare voice them.

Dakh-Ozz-Han did not ask either; he knew what must have happened. Brolok was the one to finally break the silence when he shook his head and asked: “Why would a child have caused problems with the Oas? Oas have children all the time, right? If it was any different, there’d be none left.”

The elderly Oa smiled.

“It seems you do not know our customs, dear sorcerer. Our children stay with their mothers only as long as they are dependent on their milk. It seldom takes more than two springs. If the child is a girl, another mother will take her in, and if it is a boy, a druid will fetch him.”

“So?” Brolok still did not understand.

“AnaNakara, it is said, kept her girl with her quite a bit longer than two springs and chased away any Oa who came near.”

Nill felt as though a thorn had pierced his heart. A girl. He had been so close… his disappointment went deeper than Knor-il-Ank’s roots.

“The girl stayed with her mother for four whole springs.”

“So?” Dakh echoed Brolok.

“It wasn’t really a girl, you see,” the Oa sighed. “AnaNakara had disguised her child. It was a boy, and boys simply do not belong with the Oas.”

Nill sat straight as a stick, his eyes burning with yearning.

“Worse still, the father wasn’t a druid or even a warlock, that would have been understandable. No, it had to be that sorcerer. No one knew where to find him. AnaNakara should have abandoned the child or left with him. Tradition said so. Fate would have decided whether they were worth living. There was a lot of conflict in the village at the time. There were a few sisters among us who considered the old ways barbaric and cruel and outdated. But the wise women did not listen. It wasn’t the first time, either. AnaNakara and the wise women had differing viewpoints on the subject of magic and were constantly at odds. They are our highest authority, the wise women. Perhaps they were glad to have an excuse to finally be rid of the troublemaker, maybe that’s why they were so harsh. But like I said, I was just a girl back then.”

Brolok’s face was expressionless. He seemed upset. Nill was beaming. A boy! he thought.

“So, this man, was he a sorcerer or a mage?” Dakh knew he had finally found Sedramon-Per, but if he did not want to lose him again – which he did not – he needed to know what happened to him, and whether Nill had anything to do with it.

“Sorcerer, mage, what’s the difference? I don’t know. Ask Lianina. She was AnaNakara’s best friend, back then at least. Before they fell out.”