C19 Chapter XIX

As if from a great distance, Nill heard a drone in the air, the bang of magical discharges, battle cries from the warriors and the five elements beating the swampy ground relentlessly. Everything around him shook. The floor, the massive walls, even the air in the catacombs. And yet, this was the past. Small gusts of air brought agitated voices followed by four high-ranking mages that swept through the corridors like the first wind of a storm, stopping abruptly when they reached the seal on the door that led to the Walk of Weakness. The magon gesticulated wildly and his three companions looked around jumpily.

Nill did a double-take. He did not know this magon. But the other three mages in their gray robes were familiar indeed. Ambrosimas, his mentor, Keij-Joss, and Mah Bu. How many winters must have passed since then, Nill wondered as the image disappeared under the noise of battle around him, and reformed with different colors.

The mages undid the elemental layers of the seal and the magon lifted the falundron from the door. They opened it wide and entered the Walk of Weakness. Nill saw murmuring lips and the air condensed into streaks. It looked as though the magon and the falundron were fighting. A field opened. The ruler of Ringwall’s hand lost its strength and the falundron fell; the mages opened their mouths in a silent scream and the magon began to dissolve as he fought for form and substance. Sharp, cut-out shapes changed into frayed mists, indistinct bodies turned into fleeting phantasms and disappeared. In the end, only the falundron remained. Mah Bu ran, Keij-Joss and Ambrosimas dived at the falundron and disappeared with it in a huge magical eruption.

Ringwall shook, and following Mah Bu through the portal were the five archmages of the elements. They surrounded the magical field that was all that remained and enclosed it, stopping it from sinking into Knor-il-Ank. Nothing could leave the spell.

For a long time it was calm. After what felt like an eternity, the air in the circle regained its strength and one of the mists regained its shape. It was Keij-Joss, who had not lost his way. He was holding Ambrosimas in his arms and had the magon slung over his shoulder. Despite this, he walked upright as though the two men’s bodies weighed no more than a feather. His face was deadly serious, his hair gray, and long lines creased his face from his eyes to his tired mouth.

So that’s the heroic deed that earned Keij-Joss the title Master of Chaos, Nill thought in astonishment. He brought the magon and Ambrosimas back. He saved their lives. What a mage!

The images grew colorless. The last impression Nill had was of the motionless figures of the five archmages in the circle and the flickering that surrounded Keij-Joss and Ambrosimas. The magon’s aura was extinguished. Nill’s stomach cramped. In the distance, he felt the dull strikes of magical bolts, heard the rumbling of moving earth. He felt the flickering of bright lights more than he saw it. But the outside world and the battle were far away from the silence of the Walk of Weakness. The Sedramon-Per of the present, standing on the little swampy island, had his head raised as though harking into the Other World. He had opened his eyes.

The Falundron is the key, and its language is the one hundred and twenty-eight stories, Nill thought. Sedramon-Per nodded slowly. One hundred and twenty-eight symbols were on his amulet, each the first glyph of its respective story. It had been enough to make contact with the Falundron. Their message was simple. Every symbol, every story led toward the same thing: the beginning of all things. The things that had formed from the Nothing. The one hundred and twenty-eight stories were as a mirror to the Book of Wisdom and the Falundron was the Nothing’s bearer, the keeper of the seal and the font of magic that made up the energy in the Walk of Weakness. But in the vision he had seen, the Weakness had not yet existed. Had it been born of the field the magon had made?

How did I never realize it before? Nill wondered and he swore that, if he survived the battle, he would return to Ringwall, no matter that it was a ruin, that the Sanctuary was crushed and its magic broken. Galvan was right: Ringwall was more than simply the center of the five elements’ powers. Ringwall was also Knor-il-Ank itself. Ringwall’s foundations, the strange stones Nill had immediately noticed the first time he had wandered around the city, must have come from a different time when the magic of the five elements had not yet existed. This older Ringwall had survived King Sergor-Don’s attack. Beneath its very foundations lay the Walk of Weakness and the Hall of Light and Shadow. But first, they had to survive the battle. With a small popping in his ears, Nill was back in the present.

Malachiris was still stumbling beneath AnaNakara’s unending hits, but over and over again she leapt into the Other World and nothing could stop her from summoning more and more of the sludge creatures. Binja and Rinja attempted to push the flood of them back. Binja banished one after the other back to the Other World, but in the time it took for her to get rid of one, Malachiris had summoned two more. Rinja put all her strength into binding the creatures and immobilizing them, and had she not had the success she did, they would long since have overwhelmed the small group on the island. Yet still they moved, slowly, but in unending numbers, closer and closer.

On the other side, Galvan and his mages fought a titanic battle against Dakh-Ozz-Han. Creativity, cunning and tactical finesse faced off against the raw, brutal power of the elements. The mages combined Earth and Wood magic, mixed Fire with the Other World, hid Water inside of Metal and even did not shy away from attempting even more daring combinations. Talldal-Fug’s court sorcerers were no novices in the magical arts either, and they had a masterful control of hiding their auras’ and spells’ colors until it was too late to initiate a counterspell. Despite their recklessness, all their attacks foundered against Dakh’s flame pillars, tidal waves and stormwinds. Dakh’s magic was simple. He flung element after element at his enemies in an ever-faster cycle. Even from a great distance, they saw that the unbound magic here was roaring within itself, feeding off its own inherent power, rising to indescribable heights. It lit up the sky, made the brown mud shine violet and turned what little green remained of the unscorched plants pale yellow.

Morb-au-Morhg’s sorcery posed a particularly effective problem to the Earth mage’s group. Gray clouds of smoke and pallid bolts of lightning, walls of light shining with runes and poisoned fog that clouded the mind and brought madness and sickness all had little to do with the elemental magic. This was no magic learned in Ringwall, it was the magic of the swamps, of the Murkmoor, the Salt Marshes and the Mistwood. This was a magic Dakh-Ozz-Han detested and the mages scorned as lesser than their own, yet it was nature’s own form of magic. Untouched by arcanists, simply drawn from the world as it was. Dirty and unclean, yes, but not evil. It was like nature: wild and harsh, thoughtless and innocent, and still not free of the chaos of creation despite the unimaginable length of time that had passed.

“You never understood the wild sorcerers, mages of Ringwall,” Morhg the Mighty shouted, “and you still cling to your false belief that your magic is the world’s magic.”

“You became a mage of Ringwall of your own accord, Morb-au-Morhg,” the Earth mage retorted. “So tell me, why do you fight against your brothers rather than obeying Ringwall’s command?”

“Because it is not Ringwall’s command! Because the archmage is the last ruler of Ringwall! For Nill, for Ringwall, and for the world! Kill the traitors! Death to Galvan and death to Malachiris!” Morb roared and another cloud of muck and mud rose to bury the mages.

“For Ringwall! For Galvan!” they shouted back.

Talldal-Fug’s armored riders thought they had found a gap in the magical Fire and raced their horses forward. Dakh-Ozz-Han drew up the wet earth under their feet, causing the horses to buck and rear in blind panic. The court sorcerers hastily leapt out of the way and the riders flung themselves forward to bring their steeds’ front legs back to the ground.

“It’s time, my friend, for you to return from the dream world and give me a hand,” the druid said a little reproachfully to Sedramon-Per. “I’m getting a little too old for this kind of dance and could do with either some help or a break.”

“Your aura roars unchanged, druid. Do not make yourself smaller than you are, but I could try something my wife taught me once.”

With these words Sedramon-Per’s eyes flickered open and he began to dismantle the enemies from Metal World by breaking the balance of their natural pulse. The first shockwaves were little more than a polite knock on the front door. It crept into their hearts and grew slower and slower and robbed them of the bloodlust coursing through their veins and in their brains. The pulse decelerated even further and grew louder and deeper until the beating was inaudible to human ears, merely felt as further shockwaves that rushed through the air. Bodies shook and, through the silence of deaf ears, a sudden scream pierced their minds. The riders dropped their reins and clapped their hands to their ears in vain while their horses trampled around in agitation. They could not hear the scream, but they felt their riders’ agony.

The court sorcerers writhed and cowered until they finally managed to block out the screams from their heads. Dakh looked over at Malachiris, who was at times clearly visible and at others no more than a whisper of a shadow.

“Malachiris!” he yelled through the noise. “Even after this battle, you will never gain Ringwall’s acceptance! You will never be a true mage! You have made all the wrong choices, and again you are mistaken!”

“Keep your empty words, druid.” Her voice cracked like a whip. “Who do you think you are to judge me, to have me justify myself to you? What do I care for Ringwall? Ringwall was no more than a tool for my revenge. My vengeance towards him. He was mine, and he just left. Without a word of thanks, much less a word of farewell. Only vengeance can wash away the wrongs he did to me!”

“Really, Malachiris?” Dakh’s voice dripped with the incredulity all druids felt when confronted with revenge as a motive. Revenge had no place in nature. “All this for a broken heart, because you didn’t get the man you wanted? Men come and go, and you’re afraid of staying alone your whole life because you missed the one you wanted?”

“Dakh-Ozz-Han, you are three times stupider than all the rest. You are a man and are too stupid to understand a woman. You are a druid and are too stupid to understand magic, and you are too old and too stupid to understand what goes on in a woman who truly knows magic. The only thing you know that I don’t is the secret of dealing with age and the constant invitations to the Other World. I’d like to know that secret.”

“Perhaps we can make a deal.”

“Not with you. Do you really think I couldn’t enchant a man? I could have dozens. Here – see my mages. They are the strongest Ringwall had. One from each lodge. Most have a higher rank than I, so why do you think they followed me, a mere mage? I will tell you. Because they are men. No, druid, all I wanted was Sedramon-Per, and maybe the son he never gave me. But what use was a child as long as he was there?

“Listen closely!” she called to the group. “I wish to make you an offer. If Nill, the archmage, promises under oath to give me everything, to serve me willingly for ten winters, or however you count time with the Oas, I will spare you all. Yes, the little fat one, the old man whose time should have long since run out, the scum who betrayed me and the abomination he chose instead. The boy will not be harmed.”

“Never!” Sedramon-Per roared, and the riders of Metal finally lifted their hands from their heads. The shouted word had broken the spell.

“If you want to strike a deal, it will be on my terms. If you leave now and take your people with you, in the memory of what you once did to me, I will let you go without harming you and I will not hold what has happened today against you. You may go without fearing for your life every day.”

Malachiris shrieked with laughter. The sound drowned out the roaring fires and the bubbling water, which at that moment were so loud that even some spells were inaudible to those casting them.

“You are strong, Sedramon. It’s why I wanted you in the first place. You are stronger even than you realize. I would have shown you and spared you the long hunt. But for you to believe that you’re stronger than I is like a mouse believing it can defeat the roc. Behold your end.”

With a wide, swinging gesture Malachiris sliced through the barrier that kept her army back, and the gray figures walked forward unimpeded.

Galvan used the moment of Sedramon’s distraction to block the hammering Metal blows with a soft, watery shield. He now attempted to poison the small island through its roots, but Dakh beat him to it and took the life from the ground before it could be perverted.

The short figure that had come with Sedramon-Per had flung off her hood and her copper hair glowed in the red sun. A weak mist rose from the ground and surrounded Nill, growing more and more opaque until nothing except his silhouette was visible. The small blond person behind him rose.

“Takes a witch to beat one,” she muttered as she slowed the warriors who were throwing themselves at Brolok. “You remember, Brolok? We’ve done this before.” Bairne giggled.

The gray figures surrounding Malachiris multiplied, but again their movement was slowed as though they were wading through quicksand. Cruel lines marked Rinja’s face. It must have cost enormous amounts of focus and energy to keep the creatures of the Other World at bay. “Help me, sister. This Malachiris is a beast.”

“Help yourself! I’m up to my neck in Galvan’s mages!”

The dustriders had drawn their bows and fired a volley at Dakh, Sedramon and Nill. Uul filled the arrows with fire, but they did not make it far. Five paces they flew at full speed, then they hit the shield and fell useless to the ground. Skorn-Vis had made the shield so potent that nothing could get in or out.

“What are you playing at?” Uul yelled at him.

“I’m protecting our men!” he yelled back. “Can’t you see what’s going on? Even if we managed to kill the druid and the others, we’d be no closer to Nill! We’d just draw everyone else to us. This is not our fight! Leave it be, brother, and help me with this shield. Our riders are good men and don’t deserve to die.”

Malachiris turned her back on everyone as though she had nothing in the world to fear and entered the Borderlands. She appeared to call something, looked back on the battlefield and laughed again.

“What devilry is she planning now?” Dakh wondered aloud. She was now up to her waist in the water.

The water began to bubble yellow and from it rose new mud; it took shape, forming a terrible parody of a human. Drooping features that were blurred by the flowing water, a mouth, wide open and howling, blind eyes and greedily outstretched arms that fell apart and reformed in the constant stream of Water and Earth now rising from the depths, giving the creature life and strength. And there was not just one. Soon a second rose, and a third. They appeared to float just above the water’s surface without losing the connection to the element that had birthed them.

“Bordermen!” Dakh froze for a moment, but he caught himself and began to muster the counterattack.

He flung a wall of Water at the creature, for this element was truly not in short supply here, including on the island of semi-hard earth they were standing on. “Fight Water with Water!” he yelled as his attack hit and the creatures fell apart. But the wave had only just passed when they began to reform.

“Drink the water, sunder the land!” the druid shouted now, and at his command roots thicker than arms broke through the ground and wove together to surround the creatures in a cage and spearing them through their hearts. The mud-creatures stood still. Their mouths were wide open, wailing, and the long, dripping water hair became one with their flowing clothes. They smelled old. Stale and dead. Stronger and stronger the rotten smell became as the cages darkened and fell apart and became part of the morass.

“Dakh, they are women,” Nill called, but the druid shook his head. “No, they are monsters made of magic and have no gender.”

“No, I meant—”

Dakh did not hear what Nill was trying to say, because he did not manage to finish his sentence. The gray creatures of the Other World had fought through Rinja’s defenses and it was only a matter of moments before they reached the group. Nill looked around. Sedramon-Per was holding back Galvan and his people, Dakh fought back the mud-creatures with little success; he could knock them back again and again, but they would not break. Brolok was slicing through Malachiris’ warriors and AnaNakara had one hand raised to the sky, sending a beam of light from the ground to the heavens as protection from the elements, and with the other she flung the primal powers of nature at Malachiris. Bairne, still standing behind Nill, did her best to confuse and weaken Malachiris’ mages, but she could not stop them completely. Nill felt the blows and the tearing at his aura and the vibrating beam of light. But who would take care of the small warriors of the Other World?

Nill threw Water at them, Fire’s natural enemy, but they shielded themselves with Earth. Fire barrages were answered with dark embers and the gray ones walked through the fire as though it was part of their world. The only thing they were not protected against was Wood magic, but their tough skin contained considerable amounts of Metal magic and their short, magically imbued blades sliced through even the strongest tendrils.

“Become light!” Nill shouted and showered the little gray demons, or whatever they were, with the blinding white light that made them throw up their arms to protect their eyes.

Light! That was it! They were vulnerable to light, but Nill was already weakening. He trusted he could return at least one of the creatures back whence they had come, but they were no longer individuals. It was a dense mass of stout bodies, and their numbers did not stop growing.

Nill turned to Sedramon-Per. “Can you keep me safe?” he asked, and then he was gone. His body remained in the world full of danger as his spirit raced through the Other World.

“What’s the little fool up to now?” Morb-au-Morhg muttered under his breath. Small puddles began to form around Nill as Morhg the Mighty crafted a hasty Water shield around him. “Water is everywhere here. Let’s hope it’s enough.”

But Morb’s fears were unfounded. Bairne put her fingers together and made Nill disappear behind a swarm of dancing midges.

Nill was gone. Although his body remained in the middle of the chaos of elements battling for supremacy, all life had left him. He was standing on the wide Plains of the Dead and calling his demon’s name. The same creature he had killed not long ago and brought back to existence. Now he listened to the empty echo of his voice as it returned to him. His voice was oddly flat and dull here in the Other World and did not amount to more than a whisper; a scream that died in the broadness of the plains, a roar that turned to a hoarse croak in his throat.

He listened closely. No one spoke. The dead passed by as they always did. Small magical creatures ran over the ground on their tiny legs, oblivious to everything but their own concerns. No eagle legs, no goat legs and no scratching scales.

Would have been too easy, Nill thought , having the Demon Lords help me out of a sticky situation again.

He was not really surprised at the silence. Had he ever called someone in the Other World? Could you even call if your body remained behind?

Nill returned to the outer rim where only the mid-realm separated the Here from the Beyond and where the guardians of the Other World stood.

“Could you tell me where my demon is? I’ve called him but he hasn’t answered.”

“No, we’re only here to make sure that humans don’t enter our world.”

“What? I’m here. What am I if not human?”

Puzzled faces looked back at him. “We don’t know. Perhaps an idea, a feeling or a memory? Whatever you are, you’re not a human. Humans have human bodies, which you don’t.”

“But there are humans, mages and shamans that travel through the Other World with their bodies,” Nill said impatiently. Even if time worked differently in the Other World, he was running out. His friends were fighting for their lives, and currently for his as well. The last thing he needed right now was to have to play at guessing games.

“Thanks for your help!” he shouted at them and ran off. That was a waste of time and I didn’t have much to begin with. ‘No time, no time’ his heart seemed to beat.

Before long his heart no longer beat, but raced, his breath short and pained. He kept his mouth wide open to get more air into his tired lungs.

Considering I’ve got no body, moving is hard work. Then again… if I’m not bound to the laws of my world, I don’t need to run. He jumped into the air and flapped his arms. He could actually fly here. Why didn’t I think of that before?

With his arms beating the air he flew across the plains back in the direction he had come from. But his newfound freedom did not last long, for Nill was not a bird and as such lacked the biological properties to keep flapping indefinitely. His shoulder ached.

“Have to… save… strength,” he coughed, and he flapped one more time and went into a glide. He wished he could get higher to see more of the plains.

Nill drifted up without moving his arms or feeling the wind. Not much moved in the Other World.

I am an idiot. Without a body, there’s no reason to flap. I can move freely.

There were no more boundaries now, and an endless and pointless search began. Across the plains he shouted every name he could think of, apart from the three great Demon Lords.’ There were not many names he remembered.

“Odioras!” his voice echoed in the musty air. Name followed name. When Nill exhausted his list of names, he began again. Now that he kept his mouth shut, his words carried far further than previously.

“You’re making a racket,” a voice said. Nill looked down and saw a small creature at his feet. He cautiously lowered himself to the ground.

“Who are you?”

“Who am I?” the creature asked back. “You humans call me Odioras. I am a demon.”

“You’re supposed to be Odioras?” Nill’s eyes widened. “The Odioras I know is a mighty demon, one of the great ones, a Demon of Pure Emotion. Odioras is the lord of Cold Hate. He is twice my size, back then he broke the library ceiling with his head. He had to squeeze down small to even fit.”

“I don’t need to shrink here. I am Odioras, but there is no Cold Hate here on the Plains of the Dead. The shades around us are no more than memories. Memories can be hateful, but it’s always the first thing to fade. And you – you are full of desperation, not hatred. Without it, I am small, or not even there.”

“I’m looking for a demon. I know his name but I can’t pronounce it. He is my friend or servant or whatever, I’m not really sure.”

After a short pause, Odioras asked: “What’s the creature’s name?”

Nill make a croaking sound.

“You must go where all demons are. He will find you there, for a human spirit is so foreign that it can only attract attention.”

“Where is this place?”

“The path there is different for everyone. You must visit three places of which I only know the first. And you must walk through the hall of fear. That’s all I know.”

“How do I get there?”

The demon pointed vaguely in some direction. “Just go that way.”

“And if I get lost, can I find you again?”

“You can’t get lost. I could have pointed in any direction, but you humans always seem to need a particular one. It doesn’t matter, really, if you know where you want to go.”

Nill had no time and absolutely no more patience for riddles. He managed not to be rude and gave a polite farewell and a sincere offer of thanks. Then the fear of being too late drove him on, and he was gone. Even here, in the Other World, he could sense Malachiris. Her summoning of the half-demons and mud-creatures left its mark even in the realm of shadow.

The hall of fear caught him like a blow to his chest. Nill collapsed and vomited out everything he had ever eaten and felt his heart racing in his throat. The thought that he was bodiless, and therefore safe, was as helpful as a hairnet for fetching water. What mattered was that he had memories of his body, and that was enough for the fear to cripple him. Nill’s muscles cramped up, his fingers gnarled to claws, his shoulders drew together so close in an effort to protect him from the inevitable bite that he threatened to choke. Bite? You’re in the Other World, Nill! There is no khanwolf, no roc and no dragon to bite you! He attempted to soothe himself, but his thoughts remained hazy, unfinished sentences, little more than single impressions until even they fled from the painful tightness around his heart. His thoughts fell silent and every single motion caused unbearable pain.

When the body no longer works and thoughts fall into the step just before death, man opens up to the stream of magic. And occasionally, very occasionally, the magic takes control. This time it was not Nill who spoke the words in an altered state of mind. No one spoke. Nill could only guess that someone far away was counting. Counting down to his end?

Everywhere, Nothing

Flying, free falling,

From five to four

Leave forevermore

The realms now are three

Only two left to see

Only one

Now none.

I have reached the end

To my will it will bend.

Nill was emphatically not at the end, but the magical words broke the web of fear and worry that had encased him by leaping under the Nothing’s influence against the stream of magic back to the beginning of time. It was the magic that drove fear and panic from his body and mind and caused him to break down.

Nill could not go another step. But the passage from the hall of fear to the plains of emotion required no such action, for the emotions came to him and led him to the high room of curses; he had barely entered when they crashed around him in a wild, unceasing babble. But after what he had just gone through, the room of curses was practically harmless.

At first, Nill only heard the buzzing and humming of countless wings, just like the honeybees back home. It grew louder and stronger and came threateningly close. But then the hum turned into single voices. Deep and high-pitched, loud and quiet, soft and flattering, commanding, snarling. Threatening. Screaming. Fatherly caring. Nill did not know what to make of it; in the noise he could not make out a single word. He had to concentrate completely on a voice to hear the words it spoke.

“Curse you, may your skin fester and your meat rot from your body! Your hair…”

I have no body, Nill tried to interrupt the voice with a quiet smile. Your curses won’t work. But the voice ranted on as though he was not there.

Well, maybe you don’t mean me. Maybe these are all the curses ever spoken in Pentamuria.

“Be blessed. Although not all your wishes may be fulfilled, know that my eye will rest on you long after I have left this world.”

Nill was surprised. That was not a curse, it was a blessing. Were they one and the same? Nothing more than wishes, no matter the outcome?

He was not afraid of curses. Although freeing a person from a curse was one of the most difficult tasks an arcanist could face, freeing a body of poison was infinitely harder and was considered the pinnacle of the healing arts.

These curses were no more than sentences of disembodied voices. But why was a curse in his own world so powerful that even experienced mages feared them? From what he could see, the worst thing had been the fear, the strangest thing the storm of emotions, and the most mysterious thing was the powerlessness of curses. What was it that connected the three and formed a path to the demons?

Nill stood still. His path was blocked. The demon he had feared, killed and revived stood before him. His demon.

He wanted to shout “I need you!,” but instead he asked: “What is a curse, and why are they so powerless here?”

The demon looked up from under his heavy eyelids and a hiss escaped his mouth. “Time,” Nill heard him say. “The time.”

Again, Nill did not understand and decided to solve this riddle later. So many riddles…

“I need you,” Nill finally said. “I need you to fight with me against your brothers from your own world. They were summoned to kill my friends and me.”

The demon remained motionless. Suddenly, he was holding that terrible toothed blade in his hand, although Nill had not seen him draw it. Then the demon was gone and Nill found himself in a sea of noises pressing in on his eardrums. He was sitting amongst his companions and saw naked horror in Dakh’s and Sedramon’s faces. But they were not staring at him. Their eyes were fixed on a muscular creature behind him, whose aura emanated the stench of decay, destruction and downfall. Sedramon and Dakh raised their hands to cast something at the demon, but before they could say a word, the demon rushed at the gray horde.

Brolok had picked up the dead warrior’s daggers and plunged into the rest of the attackers. The mages following Malachiris seemed distracted. He did not fear them, but they still outnumbered him twenty to one, and his chances of survival seemed dismal. But perhaps he could at least cause some trouble. What wouldn’t he have given to have Bairne back, just like at the campfire! That ambush had been just like the one here, also in a stinking bog.

The thought of Bairne drove an icicle through his heart. Why had she left? A wife should not leave her husband. Brolok’s rage flowed into a hard, reckless attack that got him a painful riposte.

“She helps me in Fugman’s Refuge, helps me and Nill in the fight against the bandits. And then she just goes with an excuse that couldn’t be less clear. Bairne, what do you want?!”

The last words were more of a battle cry than a question and Brolok dug his head into his opponent’s stomach. Twenty to one was long odds, but these warriors were so clumsy that it would again not be a fight, but a massacre. Brolok looked around, confused. Remembering the fight at the campfire, he could not find it within himself to kill the helpless man in front of him. He whacked his new dagger’s hilt against his opponent’s temple and the man was knocked out. A low kick sent another enemy to the ground. Brolok even found the time to put one of the new daggers in his sling and fire off a bolt of energy any sorcerer would have been proud of. One of the mages stumbled and knocked another man over as he fell. Their surprised expressions told him that they did not know the source of the attack.

Brolok unsheathed the second dagger and just barely dodged as one of the soldiers ran at him like a treerunner. No more games, then. Fifteen to one, but this time fifteen skilled warriors who were suddenly no longer bound.

“Bairne,” Brolok shouted, “what have you done?”

Brolok had finally realized the Bairne was somewhere close, but she could not see that she also had put a shield over Nill and could no longer protect him. How could he, dancing around for his life?

“Never show mercy in a fight,” he scolded himself under his breath as he parried a hit from a club with an upward slash. The stabbing shortsword that followed he blocked with a circular motion of his left wrist. The dagger that now faced his enemy’s sword arm he brought up like a sword, point facing up, while simultaneously bringing down the right dagger like a bird of prey’s claws. Properly executed, the force of any dagger attack could pierce even chainmail, while he could protect himself with his left hand.

Yet it was only a matter of time until he could fight no more. Brolok had pushed too far ahead and his opponents encircled him. He let out a loud curse. Three enemies on either side and behind; not an insurmountable situation, but he would have needed a spear or something similar, with a wide range and lots of space for him to move about. As terrifying as the daggers were in close-quarters combat, often trumping sword and shield, they were useless against so many at once.

Brolok forewent further attacks and resolved to defend himself with high kicks and jumps. His daggers blocked what they could and his eyes darted back and forth, looking for an opening, a weak link in the ring around him.

I’ll have to make my own, then, he thought. He flung one dagger into the air and caught it by its tip, then threw it at the closest man. The throat he had been aiming for dodged to the side, but gave way to an arm belonging to a man in the second row. A low kick knocked another soldier over, Brolok rolled over his shoulder, leapt over the man now tugging at the dagger lodged in his arm and broke out of the ring.

That was close.

With great bounds he rushed back to his companions. He had kept Malachiris’ warriors back for long enough and made a few holes in their ranks. A clever warrior knew when to retreat. Bairne would get a stern talking-to.

Nill’s demon ran in a zig-zag pattern through the rows of mud-creatures and left gaping holes where he struck with his toothed saber. The blade sliced through the tough leathery skin and sinew of the small creatures from the Other World like an ax through rotten word; for the teeth made the flowing slashes that defined a master of the weapon impossible. Where usually, each stroke received its swing from the previous one, the demon was hacking brutally through the ranks, not caring whether he struck a shoulder or a hip. As he yanked the blade out of the wound, the teeth held tight and lifted whatever creature was stuck on it into the air, where the corpse would fly off into its comrades. With every stroke an enemy vanished as though it was not the torn flesh and broken bones that killed them, but the strokes themselves, like a worker driving back animals. With the last of the gray attackers, the demon vanished and the mud that had borne the horrors lay still and silent before them. The occasional bursting of a gas bubble was the only movement on the dull surface, and many of those present wondered whether the whole thing had not been a mere illusion.

“I had hoped the demon would kill the mud-creatures too, but I suppose that was too much to ask,” Nill said and he clenched his teeth and sent a loud call over to the green mage. Despite all the noise around them, the words rang clear in everyone’s head.

“You have lost, Malachiris. Your creatures have been driven back whence they came. Admit defeat and leave. We have other matters to attend to. You need not fear us.”

Malachiris fell again into fits of laughter. Her slender body shook under the explosions of mirth until her mouth was dry and her laughter turned to coughing.

“Lost? Oh, no, silly boy. The greylings were only a distraction. My creatures are the creations of the Borderlands. No one but me can command them. In the Borderlands, the magic of five elements is weak and even the Other World has less power than elsewhere. Do you see the terror in your hero’s eyes? Ha! The druids and their blind faith in the elements.”

She laughed again. Shrill and piercing the sounds shot through the air, and Nill wondered whether this was truly laughter, madness, or yet another spell.

“Why do you think we met you here?” the witch shouted. “Neither your magic nor the fearful fidgeting of the Oas has any sort of power against the combined forces of Water and Earth. It is to the Borderlands that nature has retreated, where it has strengthened itself. It left Pentamuria to you weaklings. No human can ever control the powers of the Borderlands. Even I can only call these creatures. Are you not curious as to what they are about to show us? To what they can do? I heard mages are always seeking the truth behind the magic. Ask them! Ask them now! They’re coming!”

Her voice had risen to a hysterical shriek and she had begun to form the next mud creature. They could all see that it was not a simple procedure. It took a long time, in combat terms, and was a painfully difficult process to give the mud shape, and Malachiris had to clutch the nearby branches to keep her balance.

Nill could indeed see that the old druid’s power was only enough to push them back or lock them behind cages and magical walls. The walls broke, the cages rotted and every time, the creatures gained a few steps. The sounds coming from their mouths sapped the courage from their hearts, but that was the extent of its magic. As long as there was distance, there was no immediate danger. But what would happen if they got too close?

Nill did not intend to find out. He understood this horrific magic. Earth and Water. Dark magic in both of them. No wonder that Earth did not absorb the Water, and that Wood found no resistance in it.

He took the pale white of the sunlight to his aid and threw a bolt of light at the closest creature. The light swept through the brown mulch, split the Water and Earth and caused a fine mist of water droplets to fly so high in the sky that they scattered the light.

Brolok’s triumphant howl was without equal, and relief spread across Nill’s and Dakh’s faces. It did not last long. From the murky water, at the same spot where moments before the creature had been destroyed, a brown-gray fountain of water spouted to about knee-height, and grew; it took more and more mud with it and then stood and wailed as if nothing had happened.

I can destroy them, but not the magic that makes them. I would have to dry up the whole Borderlands , Nill thought resignedly. But all the sorcerers in the world could not have achieved that; their enemy would not be the swamp, but Mother Earth herself.

Nill threw sparks of light towards his enemies. They tumbled through the air, began to rotate and tore deep holes in the formed mud when they hit. Most of them missed.

“Brolok! When we were with the Oas, you made those hooks, flying daggers or whatever. The kind you throw with a flick of the wrist so it spins around and slices anything in its way. You know what I mean?”

Nill gesticulated wildly to make sure Brolok knew what he was talking about.

“Yes, yes. They’re in my bags, and I’ve got three on me.” Brolok wondered why he had not used them during his fight with Malachiris’ henchmen and handed the hookstars to Nill.

Nill threw them. Their flight was elegant, and they made a slight singing sound as they flew through the air. The first one flew skywards, the second sank in the mud and the third one straight through the mud-creatures and sliced off a twig.

Brolok was frantic. “There wasn’t much metal at the Oas! I didn’t work for days on those so you could drown them all in the swamp!”

But Nill only laughed. It was enough for him that he now had a feeling of how to throw. His next projectiles would have no Metal, but pure light instead. Magic was a better weapon anyway.

Like rotating swords, the lights cut through the creatures’ legs – if they were actually legs – and severed the connection to the earth below. Sparks flew in all directions like raindrops off a wolf shaking itself dry as the twitching, flashing circle of light slowly sank into the muddy pillars and stayed there. Separated from the renewing strength of the watery earth, the creatures could not hold onto their forms. They melted over the circle of light, and any attempt to stifle it resulted in mud and brown water flying everywhere.

Nill extinguished the light and held his breath.

Done. No new shapes rose from the murky depths. He began with the long, arduous process of returning the monsters to the swamp.

“Light is the sky, dark is the earth. What cannot rise will stay below.”

He led the dark magic into the lowest part of the mud-creatures and blended it with the filthy water.

A scream made him look up. Malachiris had realized what Nill was doing and flung her Wood magic at the young archmage who had broken her spell. Dakh saw it coming and blocked it with a glowing Metal barrier.

The scream stopped and turned into a gargling noise. Nill saw Malachiris flying through the air. She landed on her feet, but her legs gave way and she fell to the ground.

Ramsker scratched the mud with his front hoof and lowered his horns for a second strike.

“Ramkser!” Nill yelled and ran at the ram without caring that Ringwall’s mages were still trying to break through their defenses.

A black cloud rose from the swamp’s ground and laid itself over the mages. It stifled every element there was. Fire, Metal and Wood flickered and then died. Earth and Water spread their stagnant, moldy smell and Malachiris’ mages gagged. The power of darkness was everywhere here. Nill could simply reach for it – but he did not even consider it. Only Ramsker mattered right now.

“He called it trickery, back then. On the Battlefield of Knor-il-Ank, you know. An illusion of white light and black dust, he said,” Morhg the Mighty laughed. “Worst lie I’ve ever been told.”

Binja and Rinja stared in wonder at the old sorcerer. They did not understand a word, but then again, they had not fought against Nill in the tournament that had seen all of them elevated.

The mages had stopped attacking. Nill bent low over Malachiris. Sedramon-Per had followed him and was standing a little further away.

“Lie still. Don’t move,” Nill said.

“Beaten by a sheep… I feared not even the mightiest mages, now this.” Malachiris spat out mud and a brown sliver ran down her chin.

“Stay calm. You can be healed.”

“Healed. And then what? I’ll stand around like a crooked signpost my whole life? Won’t be able to walk? Suffer the pity of others? And even worse: knowing that the only man I ever wanted left me behind and found another. Curse you all. That at least remains to me: I can curse you all.”

Malachiris’ face hardened as she trapped the pain in her body, locked it away from the rest of her consciousness. Her strength returned one more time.

“Listen! Hear the words I speak! Your lives will find no joy, whether you are magical or not. Joy will blow away in the wind. Sorrow will find you and make clouds on your horizons, distant and always visible. Doubt will live on your shoulder like a demon and whisper in your ears. Never again will you trust, neither yourselves nor your friends or foes. And pain will be your longing. You will long, at first, and the pain will come like a shadow. You will lose your knowledge of the beauty of the world, lose the gift of enjoying it. This will be my vengeance, and that is not yet all.”

“Stop, woman!” one of her soldiers yelled at her. “I can’t take it anymore!”

“Leave it, Malachiris,” Sedramon-Per said. “Your curses are useless. None of them will come to pass, for I banish your words from the stream of time. The future will never hear your curses. They will remain but empty words. They will hang upon the air and be blown away in the wind. I forbid them entry into my spirit and deny them a place in this world. They shall be homeless, your curses; they may roam and wander, but they will never touch anyone. Not even yourself, Malachiris. I will remove your curses from the people’s memories, once and for all. It would not be the first curse I break. You know that better than most. And I would like to bless you and give you my good wishes. The only reason I won’t is because nothing is as awful as mercy when the hatred boils within you.”

“Does your conscience pain you, Sedramon? Or what else could you mean with your blessing and mercy nonsense? I never wanted either. What do you know of curses, fools all?” Malachiris’ voice shrunk to a whisper. “Have you finally found out how curses work? Very well, but there is more to it than you realize. My words will not only enter into your minds; they will eat your flesh and dig into the stones and earth you walk upon, the grass that tickles your legs and the fruits you eat. My words will come back again and again like a dead ram in a well, poisoning the water with it death. But my words are eternal, and will not dissolve like the body of a ram.”

Malachiris cackled. “So listen, my friends. Illnesses will plague you. Illnesses that—”

“Shut up, woman!” the warrior shouted. “I can’t hear you anymore! Shut up or I will cave your teeth in!”

“Worm,” Malachiris hissed in disgust. “This does not concern you.”

With a roar, the man flung himself at the witch on the ground, grasped her head in both hands and slammed it into the soft earth, again and again and again. But the ground gave way. Her head went deeper and deeper into the mud, and the warrior held her under. Muddy water flooded her nose and desperate, gasping mouth. A last cough and a final shudder. Malachiris collapsed. Strong arms pulled the man off her, but it was too late. The immense powers she had used in the fight had taken their toll. In the end, all that had kept her alive were hate and her burning desire for revenge.

“She had a different hair color,” Sedramon muttered as the memories came back. “I didn’t recognize her at first.”

“What a sad end,” Nill said. “So much hatred.” He shook his head.

“She fought for love,” AnaNakara said simply.

“Sounds as though you’re defending her.” Sedramon-Per gave her a reproachful look.

“I’m not, but I can understand her. Men who give women false hopes do not know the danger they are in. I hope you understand that now.”

Sedramon-Per was indignant. He had never led this woman on. Or had he? He hesitated and decided to swallow the retort, for he was not sure whether there was a laugh lurking behind AnaNakara’s words or not. It was difficult, understanding women; even harder understanding when they were serious and when not.

Nill straightened up and looked around. The battle had ebbed away. Only a few lonely flashes of magic still shone through. Everyone knew that the situation had changed, even if they did not know why.

“Stop!” Nill called in thoughtspeak. “Everyone, stop! You all know how it came to this fight. Now is the time to restore order. I, Nill, the last living archmage of Ringwall, make my claim to the allegiance of all of you, and all mages elsewhere. And that is not all!”

Nill’s voice began to falter a little as he realized the enormity of his thoughts. But he plowed on bravely: “As the Magon of Ringwall is dead, and the High Council chooses a replacement, as the last remaining archmage I am, by default, the new magon. Whoever claims to speak in the name of Ringwall speaks in my name and should therefore make sure they have my permission to do so.

“I therefore ask you, Galvan, master mage of Metal: will you side with me and swear me your allegiance? If not…”

Nill’s voice assumed a threatening tone.

“Then what?” Galvan challenged. “Then what, little mage, barely more than a neophyte? What could you possibly threaten me with?”

“Then,” Nill said, “I will, by my authority as magon, revoke your right to call yourself a mage of Ringwall. You will be but a mere sorcerer until the end of your days. You will not lose your magical abilities and may still be welcome at courts throughout the land, a famed sorcerer; but you will no longer be a mage, and certainly not a master mage, which you seem to be so proud of. For if you deny Ringwall’s authority, then your rank – bestowed upon you by Ringwall – has no more meaning.”

Galvan stared with an expressionless look at the distant group around Nill. It would have been easy to deny the young sorcerer his allegiance; Nill possessed no more power than anyone around him, and his friends could not protect him forever. However, he was correct in that his title of archmage was legitimate, granted to him by the old council and the magon. Disputing this would mean having to accept Ringwall’s downfall, and without Ringwall, he truly was no more than a sorcerer with a meaningless title, telling tales of the old days around campfires like a war hero.

Galvan was a proud man, but not stupid.

He turned to his riders and Talldal-Fug’s sorcerers and called: “We ride home. Did you not hear the archmage’s words?”

He did not say “the magon.” He did not think he ever would; Galvan had plans of his own.

Talldal-Fug’s men gathered their horses and galloped away. The splashing mud could not make their armor any filthier than it already was.

The archers of Fire stood around a little indecisively. The two sorcerers leading the troops were arguing in front of their warriors.

“We could have killed the archmage if your shield hadn’t been so dense. The work of a beginner and a coward. The king will hear of this.”

“If we were not in the king’s service, Uul, you would not leave this place alive. How can you be such a fool?” Skorn-Vis spat at the younger man. “Morb-au-Morhg was standing right next to us! We would all be dead if we had got involved in the fighting. It was no longer Ringwall’s hunt we could have hidden in to accomplish our own goals. This was a different fight altogether. Even Galvan gave in in the end. If you cannot see that it was our duty to protect our people first and foremost, then you do not have what it takes to lead. The king will hear of this,” he echoed.

While the Sorcerers of the Fire Kingdom argued, the mages cautiously approached Nill.

Nill looked them over for a long time. Each lowered their eyes to the ground. First the four who had fought for Malachiris, then the five that had followed Nill and his friends from Earth. Galvan had taken his men with him.

“The walls of Ringwall are no more. Whether Ringwall will become no more than a memory is a question fate will answer in time. Not we, but fate. King Sergor-Don of the Fire Kingdom is the Changer Gwynmasidon, our magon, saw in his visions. ‘Ringwall will fall in fire and smoke.’ Those were his words. We could muster the magic of Ringwall and ride on Worldbrand, defeat it and overthrow him, and yet still things would not be the same. Such an attack would be senseless.

“‘Nothing will be as it was,’ as the prophecy says. If that is true, there will be no more five kingdoms, the Changer himself will become a victim of the event he set in motion. I will call upon you when the time comes. But the future is still as unclear as it was before Ringwall fell. It was, and still is, the High Council’s task to read the signs and ensure that Ringwall remains as it once was: great, strong and powerful. Whether that goal still exists, I cannot say. But it is my task to find out. Until then, go your own way and find a place in this world. You still have your magic. Use it wisely. And now go with my good wishes, all of you.”

The mages said nothing. One after the other turned and went back through the swamp with their heads bowed. They did not much care where they went, as long as it was away from the Borderlands where their magic was so weak.

Morb-au-Morhg, Binja and Rinja stayed. “You know, your Excellency, I believe the three of us no longer feel like we belong to Ringwall. Of course, I cannot speak for the twins, but I only went there for the library, because I wanted answers to my questions.” Morhg’s eyes twinkled when he addressed Nill as “your Excellency.”

The twins nodded and smiled, but said nothing, although Nill was not quite sure whether he imagined a whispering in his mind. The words were incomprehensible. They were thoughts and impressions, poking at him beneath his skull. A little appreciation, a little amusement, maybe even some admiration. Nill was confused. Even Tiriwi did not approach his thoughts so carefully. Slowly, his brows drew together in a frown.

“Don’t be grumpy,” Binja laughed. “You’re a proper young man now. Malachiris wouldn’t have made a bad deal with you. That one’s too big for me.” She laughed as she nodded in Sedramon’s direction.

Rinja joined her in laughing and AnaNakara put her arm around Sedramon’s waist and pulled him close. “You wouldn’t have got him anyway,” she called.

Sedramon looked around and did not know what to say. Nill cleared his throat. His voice was rather reserved when he spoke. “I’d appreciate it if you dropped the ‘your Excellency’ thing. Despite my words, I don’t feel like a magon or even an archmage. It just seemed like the right way to get the mages to stop fighting. Magon, archmage – what does it even mean anymore?”

“A smart move. You played the game well. You have what it takes to be a great leader.”

Hearing Dakh-Ozz-Han speak such praise made Nill even more embarrassed than he already was. And again, he did not know whether his friends were making fun of him or not. He squared his shoulders and attempted to formulate a clear answer, but the words escaped him.

In all the commotion, Bairne tried to slip away quietly, but Brolok caught her by the arm.

“Are you running away again? Leaving me again? Are you ever going to come back?”

“Let me go. I am not free. I belong to…”

Bairne stopped and swallowed her words before they could get out.

“You belong to… well, I always thought you belonged with me. At least for a time. You’re my wife. Or you were. Who do you belong to now? Who caught your heart for a fancy?”

“Not my heart. Witches have no hearts. Witches are cruel. Didn’t you see it yourself, just now?”

For a quick moment a slight shine passed over Bairne’s big eyes, but the moisture in them was not enough for tears. So she wiped the shine away and continued in a stronger voice.

“I belong to the land, Brolok. The Waterways, the glittering of the sun in the water. I have duties.”

“And these duties brought you right back into this fight.”

Bairne gulped. “I can’t explain. Maybe later, if we ever see each other again. As long as you remain in the Waterways, I won’t be far. But you will not find me elsewhere. I can’t say any more.”

“Oh, then go. Go on! Leave!” Brolok pushed her away so hard that Bairne stumbled and almost fell, but Brolok did not see it, having turned away so quickly. He glared at Nill, Sedramon and Dakh, who were standing together oddly quietly.

“There is so much to explain,” Sedramon-Per said. “But this is not the place to do so. Please, follow me. AnaNakara will go ahead with the boat, we will go by foot. It isn’t far. It’s the place where the Book of Mun is kept. You will want to see.”

“Before we go. Before…” Nill’s voice caught in his throat. “I need one more answer.”

Nill had only one question and wanted only one answer, but asking it was harder than anything he had ever done. He stared directly into Sedramon’s eyes, but when he finally spoke, the words were not the ones that ate away at him.

“Tell me, do you know the magic of Nothing?”

The mage was surprised. He had expected anything except that. Slowly, he shook his head.

“No, Nill. I was chosen to bring the Nothing to Ringwall. Perhaps I was simply in the right place at the right time, who can say? No, I have no power over Nothing.”

“And…” Nill held his gaze for what felt like forever. Then the words tumbled out of him. He could hold them back no more.

“Are you my father?”

Again, Sedramon-Per shook his head. “I wish I was, but I’m not. And AnaNakara is not your mother.”

“But who are they then? Who are my parents that just abandoned me?”

Nill’s voice rose to a scream with the last words, and in his scream he put all his pain and his hopes he had carried around for so long. The joy he had felt at inching closer to the name Perdis, and finally finding a man to match the name. What did it matter that it had been in the middle of a battle? Sedramon-Per, Perdis, his father who had left him behind in Earthland and had returned just in the right moment, not wanting to fail his son again. That was what Nill wanted to hear. That was the idea that had been growing in Nill throughout the battle. And now?

“Perhaps AnaNakara can tell you who your father is,” Dakh said quietly.

“I don’t know either,” the Oa said sadly as she met Nill’s desperate gaze. “All I can tell you is this: one day, a woman with a babe on her arm came to me. She was fleeing the mages that had tracked her and her sister to the Mistwood. Hiding from Ringwall’s mages is not easy.”

Morb-au-Morhg, Binja and Rinja edged closer.

“I don’t know what crime she had committed. Perhaps it had to do with her sister, for the mages had found her and broken her mind so that she could no longer use magic. Perhaps she just didn’t want to suffer the same fate. So much ‘perhaps.’ And then, as it happens in life, Sedramon and I had a child, but it was not strong enough to live. Sedramon was gone and I was left with a dead child and breasts full of milk. That was all. You were the woman’s child and I raised you. Perhaps I was your second mother, but I did not give birth to you. You are no child of the Oas.”

“Not the child of a nobleman either. Too much wild magic in him. Perhaps he was the son of a black witch?” Morb-au-Morhg mused.

“Black witch?” AnaNakara seemed suddenly alert. “Yes, that was her, a black witch with incredible powers.”

“The Mistmountains, you said?” Morb spoke very quietly.

“Yes, she came down from the Mistmountains.”

“Do you remember what she looked like, this woman?”

“No. It was all over rather quickly and it happened many springs ago. Her hair was dark, I remember that.”

Morb-au-Morhg nodded slowly and thoughtfully. His eyes gazed unseeing into the distance as memories overtook his sight.

“Dark hair with a red sheen when the sun fell on it. Slender and tough and irrepressible strength.”

“Yes, a red sheen under the sun.” AnaNakara nodded. “I remember the red now that you mention it. It wasn’t the kind of red you see in the druids and sometimes their children.”

“Her sister’s hair was even redder. It was the color of the old kings. We were always wandering together, the three of us; always on the run, never at peace. We were together, you know, for a while, but we parted ways. They stayed in the Mistmountains, I moved through the kingdoms in my search for the origin of magic. I learned much from those sisters.”

“What are you saying?” Nill breathed.

“It is entirely possible that I am your father, Nill. But believe me, I never knew you were born, or I would never have left. And I never abandoned you.”

Nill was shaken, as though the world was quaking. “If that’s true, then I fought my own father in the tournament.”

“Not only that, you defeated him.”

“Don’t start that again. But it’s true. I could never have harmed you.”

“I know. That’s why I wasn’t afraid.”

“Liar.”

“Well, who likes a hand around their throat anyway?” Morb-au-Morhg said and he clasped Nill cautiously by the upper arm as if to straighten him. Nill flinched and stood a little stiffer. Morb retracted his hand.

“I suppose it might take some time to get used to.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“I always saw you as a sort of father figure. Do you remember the conversation we had on the battlements of Ringwall? You said then that I might evade fate’s notice, but could never run from the past. The past has finally caught up.”

“No, boy. Not caught up. You’ve been searching for it – you’ve been running after it. Let me have a look at you. I’ll have to get used to you, and you to me.”

Morhg the Mighty pulled his son closer. Nill breathed in the wild smell of old leather, the smell of earth, of crushed herbs from a thousand nightly campfires, the aroma of oil that had been applied and polished until the leather shone, and finally the mixture of magic and aura that was so strange, yet so familiar. So this was his father. Morb-au-Morhg, known as the Mighty. He was so unknown to him, far more than Sedramon, but the feeling of belonging, of finally being part of something, was so overwhelming that his joy washed away all the worry, the strangeness and the unexpectedness without a trace. Nill came out of the hug and asked slowly: “And what happened to my mother and her sister?”

Morb-au-Morhg and AnaNakara exchanged glances that quite clearly showed their ignorance in the matter.

AnaNakara took over. “We never heard of her again. But the mages didn’t, either. We would have felt that. The bond between us was too strong. We do not know about her sister, either. She must have walked a different path. The only thing I remember about her – I never saw her myself – is her name.”

Morb nodded. “Yes, her name. An unusual one. It sounded like the call of a blackbird. ‘E-Sa-Ra.’”

“What?”

The word came from both men as Dakh and Nill wheeled around to stare at each other.

“Esara? She was my foster mother in Earthland. Did you know that when you set me out?”

“We did not set you out, my boy,” Sedramon-Per said calmly yet emphatically. “We left you behind, but we did not just abandon you. We knew the path of the ramsmen and we knew they would find you, but we truly did not know that Esara lived there.”

“And so it comes full circle,” Dakh said. “It was meant to be.”

“It’s all a bit much for a neophyte like myself, but at least I’m glad I wasn’t searching in vain,” Nill said, desperately trying to keep a hold of his emotions. “Dakh was looking for the sorcerer Sedramon-Per and he finally found him, and I was after this Perdis, of whom I had no more than a name, a few runes and an amulet.”

Nill looked up when Sedramon and AnaNakara made surprised sounds.

“Perdis? Did you just say Perdis?”

Nill nodded.

“And you say you found him here?”

Nill nodded again. “Sedramon-Per showed me his time in Ringwall and much more. I saw how he brought the Nothing to the Sanctuary. He presumably hid the ancient runes on the parchments in the library. Who else would have done it?”

“You’re right. I did write on those parchments, and I wove the bands that held your amulet and connected the two with a rokka-nut. I was not able to inscribe the glyphs, so AnaNakara did that in my stead. She has access to the magic of light and dark and can feel that ancient magic behind the bridge between sky and earth. This gift was the reason for her enmity with the wise women, and when the archmages wanted to punish me for freeing the falundron, we decided to flee. The only thing you got wrong is Perdis. I am not him.”

Nill stared, flabbergasted, at Sedramon.

“So who is he?”

“He is you. Perdis is the name your mother gave you, and Perdis was the name on the parchment I inscribed with the runes. They were meant for you. I was sure you would find them one day. I never guessed you would not know your own name.”

“So I’ve been running after myself all this time,” Nill noted with resignation. The revelation was confusing and relieving at the same time.

It was good to finally have reached the end of his search, but he had not found what he was looking for. Bitterness came from the disappointment that his findings were so meaningless for all he had done and meant to do. And doubt, that nagging doubt… Nill was not sure he had reached the end of his road yet, for Perdis, as the spring-keeper had told him, was not a name given by parents, but by fate. But fate had chosen the name Nill for him. Nill, the nothing. Not Perdis, the voice. Who was Perdis really, or rather, who was the one meant to be Perdis if not him?

“No wonder nobody knew the name Perdis,” Nill said. “But I suppose I’ll never learn why my mother called me that.” He made a brave attempt at a smile, although he did not feel like smiling at all.

“Who knows,” Dakh said.

“There is so much left to discuss,” Sedramon said. “But enough for now. Come with us. It is not far. It’s a bit small, but dry at least. There is food and our girls would like to meet you, Nill. And besides: it’s right where Mun is hidden.”

It was as Sedramon-Per had said. In the swamplands of the Waterways stood several huts. Some were to live in, others for storage. They were not large and there was not much space. Two girls came rushing out, stopped suddenly when they saw all the unfamiliar faces, and greeted bashfully. The older of the two opened her eyes wide in surprise, the younger fled to her mother’s arms.

“Food’s nearly ready, the girls say. We’ve a small stream down there where we get our fresh water from. You can wash there. You might not notice it, but you look like mud monsters, and right now isn’t the best time to confuse friend and foe at a glance.”

The meal was simple, but filling. This part of the swamp, too, was home to all manner of sea snakes. Their firm yet fatty meat made an excellent base for a strong stew into which had been thrown a green mess of leaves for good measure. Roots and bulbs were rare in the moist ground, but some of the trees dropped strange spindles that sank into the soft earth and turned into new plants. They were chewy and woody, but between all the fiber they contained a hearty sort of marrow. What Nill liked best about the stew was the strong taste of salt. Salt was only plentiful in wealthy Ringwall – everywhere else they had to use spices to give their dishes a special flavor.

Nill enjoyed the moments of peace and quiet. Too much had happened. The fight had taken them almost to the brink, and when it was finally over, the world around them began to tumble. Up was down, right was left, far away was close nearby. Sedramon was not Perdis. AnaNakara was not his mother. In their stead he had received a father who had appeared, seemingly, out of nothing. Fitting, I suppose. And Perdis, mysterious Perdis, vexing Perdis was none other than he himself. It would take a long time until he knew how to handle all these new things. The old druid’s voice brought him out of his reverie.

“What was Malachiris truly after? I mean, apart from revenge? And even that I don’t understand. It happens all the time in life that a man and a woman find each other and then realize they aren’t meant to be. They find new partners and maybe someday they will be happy.” Dakh looked questioningly around as if he doubted that anyone could make sense of it all.

Surprisingly, AnaNakara was the one to answer. “Malachiris was right, venerable druid.” Her deep, somewhat odd bow as she sat expressed her respect for the druid far better than words. “She was no Oa, but a witch. Witches don’t live like druids and Oas. And she was a clever woman who knew what she wanted.”

“So what did she want? That’s the part I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple, really. She wanted a man and she wanted his children. Not just any man, and not just any children, mind you. She wanted to be part of the new order after Ringwall was crushed. In the new time when the Great Change has come, other people will be important and powerful. She wanted her children to be a part of it all. She wanted the only form of immortality nature grants us. She wanted to live on through her children. Her very special children.”

“If you’re right, that means Malachiris knew what lay in store for Pentamuria.”

“Yes, it does. Perhaps she was merely convinced she knew. We will never know.”

“That’s the reason she offered us freedom if Nill went with her. She thought Nill was Sedramon’s son.” Dakh turned to face them. “You two must have something special that Malachiris felt. And you’re not even related.”

“I am a mage. Or rather, I was,” Sedramon said. “But I do not have a mage’s blood. The only connection I have to the five elements is a druid grandfather on my father’s side. You yourself know that that doesn’t mean much, right, Dakh?”

Dakh flung his hands in the air in mock outrage. The atmosphere grew happier now that the tension had passed and they had all eaten.

“It’s the same with Nill,” Morb-au-Morhg said. “Well, similar at least. Nill’s mother was a black witch. I myself am a wild sorcerer who only got into Ringwall under special circumstances. I never knew my parents. They were not noble – like I say, I came from the wilderness. My teachers were other wild sorcerers, warlocks, druids – once, an Oa.” Morb cleared his throat. “That’s a different story.”

“Enough now.” AnaNakara could be very convincing, and everyone agreed. “It’s time to rest. Nill wants to read the Book of Mun tomorrow. It’s too late now; you can only find it just after sunrise. And I’m sure Nill isn’t the only one keen to get a look at it. Am I right, Dakh?”

The druid nodded. “I have been looking for it my entire life and I never found a single one of the books. Even Arun I only found because Nill dragged me to it. But now I begin to understand why. The key was in the desert. Sedramon found it, and so did Nill. I believe fate led both there and always guided me past it. As you say, AnaNakara. Let us rest.”