C9 Chapter IX

Nill stumbled and collapsed against the wall, where a hailstorm of blows rained down upon him. Or perhaps they were not fists, but rocks, pummeling his face and stomach and all the other parts that had given a home to pain? On his journey through the Fire Kingdom Nill had felt that the magic grew stronger the closer he got to the Borderlands. The pure energy of Fire had found him prepared – but now?

The air was sharp and bitter in his lungs. It tasted as though he had licked the blade of his dagger – the same taste he felt when he was knocked on his back during a fight. The energy of Metal fled his body through his mouth in those cases; but here, this was not the case. The opposite, in fact. It was a storm of arcane brutality coming from all directions with no hint that it might ever stop.

Nill attempted to melt it with Fire, dissolve it with Water and counter it with his own Metal, all fruitless. He remembered Morb-au-Morhg’s warning – “The laws of the elements do not apply in the Borderlands” – then he fell over forwards and crumpled against the stone wall. As before, this wall could not hold him and he fell through.

Another portal , was all he could think before meeting the rock. His body twitched at the stone’s touch, where blue sparks flew from the ore within. Nill took the flashes into his darkness, but either he was no match for the Metal or it spread evenly over both light and shadow. His strength faded. In his desperation, he did something he had never dared before. He retreated into the Nothing, and as he did so he could not even feel its ancient power. This did not surprise him; in Metal World, there was no Sanctuary, no first ground for Nothing. And yet he knew the familiar feeling of dissolution as his body began to disappear.

Chrome and iron

Strength untold

Cobalt, copper

Magic of old

Zinc and tin

I am, you are

Are not, were once

Broken. Marred.

Now Nill

Is still

Alone

In stone.

The Metal magic dispersed, the veins of ore deadened, the walls grew pale and translucent. Nill crawled forward, where there had just before been another high wall, and went through. On the other side of the portal there was bare rock; its shimmering gleam blinded him momentarily. The Metal had regained its strength and tore at him anew, but less wild, less aggressive. It was the old Metal he knew. He had left the portal.

He lay flat on his back, his breathing shallow, forcing himself to calm down. I must breath, or the Metal will stay in my body and suffocate me , he thought.

And then he thought no more. He was overcome by exhaustion greater than he had ever felt. His body was light. Every string of muscle in his body, every bone seemed to stretch, and all tension left him as he fell asleep. When he opened his eyes again, he did not know how long he had slept, but the unchanged light told him that the sun had not moved far. He slowly rose to his feet and tried to understand what had happened. The Nothing – what a bizarre magic it was. It came over him and took him as it wished. But this time it was different. This time I, Nill, took the Nothing . The thought was monstrous. It filled him like too much water in a skin; his chest felt as though it would burst. The Nothing had not come on its own, and Nill had not called upon it. He had simply entered. Now all he wanted to know was how he had done it. And…

Where was Ramsker?

The question was like a scream in his head. It tore him from the world of magic back into reality. Without the bad-tempered, stubborn old ram, whose only purpose in life seemed to be to annoy Nill and occasionally save his life, he would go no further.

It took some effort to get his shaking legs to support him as he clambered up a rock. He did so slowly, but it was still too hasty. The world around him faltered. He took several deep, long breaths to steady himself before finally daring the few steps that still separated him from the rock chamber. He stumbled, rather than walked, through the wall, braced for the worst. The ore had reawakened. The pure Metal energy rained down upon him once more and knocked him to the ground. But he merely laughed. Nill threw his head back and laughed harder than he had in a long time as all his fear and trepidation turned into relief. The Metal was as strong as ever, and yet it could not touch him. He looked around and saw Ramsker, panting heavily, on the ground to his right. Nill dragged the old ram over by its hind legs – a few tufts of wool snagged on the jagged rock – and flung himself back through the portal with all the strength he had left. As he left the portal, he again fell flat on the shimmering rock.

It took a while before he regained his senses. It was the cold that woke him this time. Only moments before, it seemed, he had stood before the primal heat of the fiery pillar. The last dregs of liquid his body had to give had run down his back, the magical storm of Metal had taken what little strength he still possessed, and now he lay on his back, gazing at the sky, at the sun that did not warm him. He shivered.

Nill turned laboriously onto his side and reached weakly for his waterskin. A tiny drop would have to be enough. Another. The water was warm, still heated by the fire. Even Esara’s soup could not taste as good as this lukewarm, stale water. After an agonizingly long time he forced himself to his knees and dragged his body into a standing position with the help of his staff.

“I hope you all get kissed by lightning,” he cursed under his breath. He was not entirely sure who “you all” were. “I wanted to get to Woodhold, where Perdis came from, and now I’m farther away from there than when I set out.”

He looked around. He could not see far. He was high in the mountains, that much he could tell. Directly before him was a sheer drop. Behind him, the rock masked the portal he had just come through. The stone he stood upon must have been absorbing Metal energy for countless ages. It reminded him a little of Bar Helis’ robe. A bright gleam as the light flitted over it; murky glares when surrounded by shadows. Nill had never seen a stone like it. When the sun hit it at the right angle, it looked like liquid silver with flakes of coal. The light of the sky and shadowy darkness lived in the rock like two disparate siblings. And among them were deep red, matte crystals, which seemed to take more pleasure from swallowing the sunlight than refracting it like most gems. Nill felt as though they were red eyes, watching him, and resolved to leave the place as soon as possible. He looked around for Ramsker, whom he had only just dragged through the portal. The ram was not there. Nill stood on tip-toe and craned his neck worriedly, until a dull sound – half bleat, half grunt – made him turn around. Ramsker stood on a protruding rock above him, eyeing the landscape. Guardians all over the place.

“Relax, Ramsker. No herds anywhere, and the khanwolf is not native to these parts.”

With aching knees Nill began his descent. There are always paths to portals; else the portals themselves would have little use. Nill doubted that his fate was to die ingloriously in a mountain vice, but he still had to be cautious about finding his way down. The upper part of the slope was gravelly and coarse and gave little grip to his feet. It was not clear what direction would be the best. Nill decided to approach the bottom at an angle, because it looked as though the slope became more severe the further down it went. If he slipped once, there would be no stopping until he hit the ground.

The clattering of stones made him twist around. A rockslide was the last thing he needed. But what rushed past him was not half the mountain’s peak, but Ramsker, followed by a small avalanche of rubble. Nill’s ankles complained silently.

“Would you mind where you’re stepping, you lumbering lamb?” Nill snapped at the ram. Ramsker was barely recognizable now. The lazy, stubborn old ram that was always in the way whether he was needed or not was now gamboling around like a kid. It shot up and down the slope in huge bounding leaps. Here and there it stopped still, its head raised high, absorbing the air and the atmosphere. The stones clattered again beneath its feet and Ramsker vanished out of sight.

Nill carefully made his way down the mountain, checking every step for danger. Ramsker reappeared, his mouth full of some green herb.

“I’ll bet that’s good after all the thorns you ate in the desert,” Nill commented drily.

Here, in the mountains, Ramsker showed his quality. He guided Nill down the path, but he never considered waiting for Nill while the young archmage clambered after him. He hopped and leapt, pausing only for long enough to make sure Nill had understood the route he had demonstrated. The moment Nill showed he had, Ramsker continued onwards.

“You’re a real mountain child,” Nill muttered thoughtfully. “What, in the name of the three Demon Lords, were you doing in Earthland? And why did I never realize how little you were at home there? I never even realized how huge you are, compared to the Earthland rams.”

Nill arrived at the bottom of the high valley with weak and shaking legs. Ahead of him, a steep incline barred the way forwards. He would have to walk alongside it – and as his eyes followed the bare rock along its length he saw with dread a dark forest looming there.

“And how am I to find a way that goes neither over nor around?” he grumbled. Ramsker had left his sight again. Nill looked around, taking stock of his surroundings, the sun and the weather. Once the sun disappeared behind the rocks, it would grow dark and cold quickly. The sky was deep blue. The weather would hold, and the huge stone slabs that covered the ground were still kind on his feet. He had made it through worse conditions.

Nill had just begun to set out when a brown mark on one of the slabs caught his eye. There was no doubt about it – this was a footprint. The print was still perfect. The round heel, the thin strip that connected it to the oblong ball of the foot, the small, oval toes disjointed from the rest. The print was a little short compared to its width, and the bloody imprint of the toes was distant enough to look as though they had been severed.

The blood had congealed where the inner arch of the foot was at its widest. The print hinted at an ill foot, perhaps no longer as alive as it once had been. The stone that bore the footprint was cracked; a jagged, dark brown line separated it into two parts.

Nill looked closer and saw that the inner line of the footprint was smeared. The foot had made contact with the stone only briefly, he imagined, as its owner lost balance. They must have been fleeing from something, for there were drops of blood both behind and ahead of the print.

It was fresh. The blood was still shiny. But where did the foot dip into the blood, and where’s the next footprint? Nill mused. It was odd, as though someone had fallen out of the sky, planted a footprint and promptly left for the heavens again. He raised his eyes to the cloudless sky but saw nothing there. Fool.

When danger arises from the unknown, flight is often the first choice; unwise, as the pursuer is invisible. Sometimes, investigation is the better course of action. That would cost time.

Nill closed his eyes. Someone was here, quite close. He felt strength and power and a hint of magic, but no blood, no pain, no desperation. Whoever the victim was, nothing suggested their consciousness still remained in the world.

The path down the valley appeared safe – he detected nothing unusual in that direction. The way he had come was also peaceful. Nill opened his eyes again and let his gaze wander over the rocky ridge of the steep slope. Watchtowers hewn by nature, battlements and bays, separated by deep gashes, cuts and cracks. An easy place to hide.

Nill double-checked every spot of shade when suddenly his face drained of color and the last soft red of the desert sun gave way to pale white. He barely dared draw breath, his eyes fixed on a dark, menacing silhouette.

This hunter did not need to hide. It sat atop one of the outcrops, huger and mightier than anything Nill had seen in his entire life. Its short, heavy beak was raised in the air, giving it the look of a haughty noble. Its wide wings, powerful when in flight, were currently tucked close to its body and occasionally flapped a little, as though the bird meant to beat off flies. One of its short strong legs was anchored to the stone, the other held its prey. Nill knew this hunter; his village had been full of horror stories about them. Warriors and farmers alike trembled at the thought of it. A roc.

The mythical bird was at home in battles and wars. It watched over the territorial disputes between bucks and the fights between wolves for the best food and females; its gaze was serene as it watched warriors butcher each other and thieves pillage and plunder. It let the victors move on and fed off the losers. If hunger and impatience coincided, it would let out a bone-chilling screech and dive into the fray and kill the weaker party on its own – or so Nill had been told. The things people said around campfires… every single person in his village knew the stories about the roc, and not one of them had ever seen one.

Nill recalled having attempted to imitate the roc’s screech during his test against his later mentor. Ambrosimas had been unimpressed; all Nill knew about the screech came from old wives’ tales he had heard as a small child.

“Arhk!” echoed through the valley. It was short, bark-like, commanding. And again. “Arhk!”

The roc stood with one foot on its prey. Now and then the body trembled and a heel – or was it a hand? – beat the ground. Nill made out the faint remains of a many-layered aura. The victim was still alive. Was it human, or animal? What did the mighty beast hold in its talons?

A reckless daring rose in Nill. He had only ever managed to draw small birds to himself, to hold them and dismiss them. Eagles and the like were too proud and rarely ever obeyed him. Worst of all were ravens. They had a will of their own, too strong to bend, but they were excellent company if you wanted an argument. Perhaps, he thought, this roc would be similar.

Nill took a deep breath, stepped forwards and let out a loud, echoing shout. The bird’s head shot up. By the elements, it’s huge , Nill thought as the roc spread its freakish giant wings.

Give me, Nill thought at the Roc, but he made it feel less like a command and more like an endearing plea.

The roc was disquieted and screeched again. Nill felt a blade plunge through him, splitting him in half from head to groin. He was ice-cold and for a heartbeat he could not move. It took much of his strength to resist the screech’s power.

The roc peered down from its plateau and Nill saw clearly that it was confused. Prey and language had been mixed up. Yes, I can speak, but I’m not your prey , he thought back at it.

Other place. Thing stays. Nill was unsure whether the beast understood.

The bird seemed to be laughing. It was not taking him seriously.

Nill decided to take a different route. He sent out an image of feathers, crumpling and burning.

Threaten me? Nill received a picture of a high king, a gleaming sword in his hands, a throne carved of stone behind him.

Nill sent more gleaming swords right back.

Magic break! There was armor there, deflecting every blow.

If this isn’t working, I need to try something else. Nill could feel the pride and strength in this predator all too well. He stopped communicating through thoughts and laughed at the top of his lungs up at the Roc.

Mock? Talk end!

The roc threw itself from its eyrie and shot towards Nill, its legs outstretched to grasp him – then Nill saw to his horror that long, sharp sickles were extending out of the stubby feet. They would slice him like cheese. Just like Bucyngaphos, he thought and a tremor went through his body as the talons’ gleam brought back unwelcome memories of his first encounter with the Demon Lord. Fear and panic reduced him to a helpless child in that moment.

Pull yourself together! Nill screamed internally. “Air light, roc heavy,” he began to mutter. A light wind pushed the giant bird from behind. “Air light, roc heavy!” he repeated. The roc slowed its descent with a wild flapping of its wings and tail. Nill chose that precise moment to send a bolt of lightning at it from the skies. As the roc had boasted, the magic did no harm to it, but its sheer physical force, along with the wind and air, knocked the huge body down. Its talons sank deep into the stone as its wings slammed onto the ground with a sound far heavier than its graceful flight would have suggested.

Surprise was the first thing Nill registered from the bird, followed by admiration, and then contempt.

The roc ran at him. Nill was taken by surprise; not only was it even bigger than it had looked at a distance, but also as fast on the ground as it had been in the air. Even if it had lost the advantage of flight, its wings still flapped and gave the short legs the boost they needed to reach such speed. It was Nill’s natural agility that saved him – just before the roc reached him, he leapt aside and raised his staff to block a blow from the wings.

Wing broken, never fly again! Nill threatened.

The roc retracted its wings.

Not end , it gave back.

And it screeched again. The freezing steel sliced through Nill once more.

Stand. Still. The roc was taking command again.

But what the roc could not account for was Nill’s teaching; his mentor had been Archmage of Thoughts, and Nill had learned a thing or two from him. He felt the magic in the roc’s orders, surrounding his mind like a vice. But instead of fighting it, he obeyed, stood still and then ignored that it had ever existed in the first place. Nill formed a new thought.

Stand! No run! Nill shot at the bird, accompanied by the image of rumpled and torn feathers.

The roc screeched again, and Nill shouted against it. Each tried to stop the other from moving. The roc’s grip grew stronger and Nill could hardly move. But it had only disabled his body, not his mind. Nill screamed in thoughtspeak, sending each command with a threatening picture. Burning feathers, broken wings, snapped beaks, and fire, over and over again. Fire seemed to intimidate the roc most.

The stones around them gave their silent screams back, a magically distorted echo. Nill asked them for aid. He put all his will into his head, opened his mouth and roared into the silence of nature. Primal screams and thoughtspeak. The roc was momentarily bemused and Nill took the chance to dispel the magic that had grasped him. In control of his body again, he turned and shouted in a different direction. His voice came back four times, raining down on the roc like a volley.

Stay. No run.

How get here? The Roc asked.

Its grip grew ever weaker.

Nill sent out Ambrosimas’ likeness.

Who is?

Nill attempted to explain, which was not easy in a language designed without Ringwall’s oddities in mind.

Suddenly the grip was back, vice-like on his body.

I’m an idiot, Nill cursed himself. I fell for the oldest trick in the world. He distracted me and then attacked. The roc is a bird, but not a normal animal. Nill finally understood what made the roc stand out as a mythical being.

He called back his defenses almost completely. Fluttering feathers, dancing in the wind, then silence.

The bird began to move. Slowly, this time, with the arrogance of a victor, but it did not relinquish its grasp.

Nill squeaked like a mouse and made himself small.

Once the roc was only a few steps away, Nill struck. He threw out the image of a wall of flames and sent with it a shock of Earth magic that flung rubble and small stones into the roc’s eyes. The bird was knocked backwards. It had managed to close its eyes in time, and it was not the fire that knocked it back, but the fright. Two can play at that game, Nill thought savagely.

Stay. No fly.

Nill made the air heavy and conjured up the sight of a boulder hovering above the roc. The bird crumpled. Nill broke the weakened spell that had paralyzed him and returned it back to his opponent, constraining its aura.

Stay, no think!

The proud hunter ducked, its eyes filled with loathing.

Stop. Go!

Nill loosened the ties binding the roc and freed it. It was a show of power and confidence – you may leave. He stood tall before the crumpled beast and looked down on it. Friend , he amended.

The roc turned around and left. It had retracted its talons and clambered up a long stone ramp. It needed a certain height beneath it to lift off. Friend was shattered in the cold mountain air, and a blast of hatred came back to Nill, as solid as the rocks around them.

Nill breathed deeply. The roc was the hunter of the three mythical beasts. It stood for strength and power, for steadiness, unchanging. The Phoenix was the opposite; its flames signified death and rebirth, constant change, unpredictable. The third mythical beast was no bird. It had existed long before birds came into being. The dragon was the beast of time, of the past, of wisdom. Incredible, Nill thought. Humans can actually communicate with the roc. A faint regret nested in his mind. Why did they have to fight? He would rather have befriended the roc.

Well, I wanted his supper.

Nill climbed up to the almost-lifeless body. It was still alive, but what sort of creature was it? Nill laid a hand on the still beating heart, his eyes on the sky; a surprise attack, a last attempt by the roc was certainly not what he wanted.

Fly! Go!

Nill put as much permission into the words as he could, combined with warmth (not heat) and friendship. But he knew that the roc was now his enemy, no matter how hard he tried to befriend it. The quiet sadness grew overwhelming.

*

Ringwall’s eyes and ears had lost all trace of Nill. The wild hunters had reached Encid and from there found the oasis. They did not take the time to grant the guardian a fitting burial; they left him as the king’s dustriders had. They had followed Nill as quickly as they could through the mountains, but had drawn to a halt just before reaching the Borderlands. The magic there was too terrible to imagine. Their report to the magon was yet another dark sign of the uncertain future ahead of them. The High Council was losing control.

Murmon-Som’s shadow-riders, however, had followed the magic. They had left the Other World and had appeared out of nowhere on the battlefield where Nill had broken Amargreisfing’s spell. Their horses flew more than galloped, and the sun had hardly moved when they arrived at the Borderlands beyond the Fire Kingdom. As creatures of the Other World, the flames were hardly a threat to them, but they could not break through the magic of Fire, nor could they enter the Other World from here. Howling like a pack of whipped dogs they returned to Ringwall. But their coming and going was secret. Their words were meant only for Murmon-Som’s ears.

And so the only hunters left were the king’s dustriders and Ringwall’s search party. Should their quarry ever return to the Fire Kingdom from which it had fled in some mysterious way, these men were lying in wait for it. But Nill remained hidden.

Ringwall’s mage of Wood had begun her search for Nill at the foot of the Mistmountains, and from there her people slowly made their way through Woodhold to the Waterways. They took their time, avoided the deep forest and held to the old path that ran between the Oas and the lands of Woodhold’s Keeper. To the Wood sorcerer’s eyes, the mages were as good as invisible, but they could not avoid the Oas’ keen gaze.

The Water troop had crossed straight through the Oas’ domain and marched through the great swamp. Here, where it was no longer land, but not quite water, where the last remnants of solid earth met the salt of the sea, a quirk of nature had broken the otherwise closed ring of the Borderlands around Pentamuria. Nowhere else in Pentamuria was the magic of the Borderlands as weak as in the morass where the sea touched the Five Kingdoms. The foul smell of the swamp had been blown away by the fresh sea air; the air smelled lively and the water was in constant motion.

But the mages feared the sea quite as much as the Borderlands. The thought that the capricious water meant the road to endlessness was more than most of them could bear. Yet they hesitated for not a moment to follow the orders the council had given them and pushed further towards Metal World along the coast.

Galvan had taken the most direct road to Fugman’s Refuge, the capital of Metal World. He traveled slowly; his route took him through the Murkmoor, also called the Poisoned Heather. In spite of its fearsome name which caused many a wanderer to add days to his journey to travel around it, the landscape was of an alien beauty. Metal and Wood had entered into a rare unity here. Veilbloom and cragwort bathed the ground in hues of blue, and hard, pointy grass poked through the sand everywhere. The few trees that lived here – headed by the plaguebirch, whose bark cracked open every year and bled black sap, and the characteristically gnarled hunchback pine – did not seem to take affront to the energy of Metal that was present. Animals were rarer still. Flies drank the plaguebirch sap, and some rodents found the hunchback pine’s cones edible. Game was nowhere to be found here, but Galvan’s prey was not destined to be roasting over an open fire.

The last party began its search on the border between the Fire Kingdom and Earthland, without straying too far from Ringwall. The troubles between the two kingdoms had reached an apex, but the mages trusted in Ringwall’s authority to see them safely through. From Earthland their search, too, took them towards Metal World, resulting in all their pincers slowly closing in on their prey without any of them realizing it.

Morb-au-Morhg alone, with the twin witches Binja and Rinja in tow, circled around Ringwall as though he did not know where to turn.

*

Nill knew nothing of what was going on in the world as he clambered through the mountains. How could he? Even among the greatest of the mages there was a mere handful who could read and interpret the shift in magical patterns. Nill, conversely, did not even know where he was, and he was generally not interested in finding out. All his attention belonged to the creature he had saved from the roc. Its face was human, no doubt about it. A little roughly-hewn, perhaps, as if a sculptor had sought more of a challenge than working with chisels and reached for the nearest ax instead. Its nose was prominent, but not so much as to remind Nill of the fearsome beak he had recently encountered; it was rounder and softer. The brows and jaw looked massive and mighty, with broad strong bones beneath the skin. Its eyes were quite sunken, protected at the moment by heavy eyelids. An inflexible leather cap covered the skull, reaching all the way down to the neck. Its chest was rather wider than his own, rising and sinking again with steady breaths. The leather armor did not hide the powerful muscles beneath. It was made of large cut scales, layered densely, as good a protection from a slash from above as plate. Every scale was connected to the one beneath it with a leather strap, making an upward thrust difficult. It was crafted to ensure safety while not sacrificing mobility.

Right now, however, it was slashed in several places and blood stained the leather.

You must be a tough one, Nill thought to himself, and his doubtful gaze crossed the feet and hands of the creature. But if you are, then you’re certainly not of a race I’ve ever seen. Big, strong hands matched the broad chest and the powerful arms, but the fingers were unusually slender and tapered to their tips, like a young girl’s. There were barely any fingernails.

The creature began to twitch and turn fitfully. It took Nill great effort to keep a hold of the strong, heavy body. Nill’s left hand was still on its heart, his right on its brow. He attempted to drain the venom or magic, whichever it was, of the roc from the body. Poisons were a disturbance in the elements. Nill could handle those, but closing the bleeding gashes was a different matter entirely. Nill wished he could mend torn muscles like Tiriwi had done for Brolok.

Was its breathing growing steadier? Nill was not sure, but the eyelids flickered and he waited with bated breath for them to truly open. He felt a rising panic and tried to fight it back.

“You had a disagreement with a roc, my lord,” Nill said, more to say anything at all than because he expected to be understood.

The wrinkled face cracked into a wide grin. “Disagreement,” it repeated. The sound came from deep within its throat, but Nill had no difficulty in understanding it.

“What do we do now?” Nill asked. “I can’t carry you. You’re too heavy.”

The sunken, round eyes scanned the sky.

“The roc isn’t coming back,” Nill assured his charge.

The strange creature grabbed hold of Nill and pulled itself up, then put a hand to its mouth and gave a series of whistles. Nill had to turn away as the piercing sounds shot through his ears and hit his brain. He had never known anyone whistle so loudly.

“You could kill someone with that… or make them deaf for the rest of their days,” he muttered a little reproachfully.

“Wait,” the man croaked and coughed up bloody phlegm, then lay back down with a groan. The whistle appeared to have cost him what little strength he had regained since the attack. He slumped back and fell asleep. The breathing was ragged now, and Nill worried.

“What can we do but wait?” Nill asked the sleeping figure beside him as he watched the sinking sun with concern. He did not want to spend the night up here on the plateau. He was hungry, thirsty, and Ramsker was still gone. The fight with the roc had taken its toll on him. Nill stared at the sunset, captivated by the natural magic of light as it bathed every rock face in warm yellow, which slowly turned to pale red, and finally the sun disappeared. The rocks turned purple, but Nill no longer saw it. He had reached that state between sleeping and waking that he never really understood.

His unshakable shepherd’s senses woke him. Rocks, woods and winds always speak to each other; they never seem to run out of interesting conversations, and yet the game never pays any attention. But a single tiny crack, a rustle in the wrong place, can be louder than a fist knocking on a door. Nill’s eyes remained shut, but his senses were wide awake. His strange companion had moved too. He laid his arm, heavy and comforting, around Nill’s shoulder.

“Time now,” he growled and pushed himself into a better position. Nill could feel the auras of the approaching creatures. He saw nothing; they were as dark as the night. He was astonished, therefore, to notice his companion gliding down the rock. Something was pulling at his legs and something else caught the heavy torso as it fell.

Come now , a voice said in Nill’s head.

Nill edged towards the cliff uncertainly. He felt around for small crags he could hold onto, but each time his leg met nothing but air. Climbing up here had been easy, but getting down in this darkness was an adventure he could happily have done without. The figures down there were losing patience. Nill felt a powerful arm around his waist and suddenly he was hanging in the air, then he was – none too gently – lowered to the ground. With a dull thud something landed next to him. These fellows seemed to have eyes like nightflyers. Nill heard the snapping of metal clasps, the rustle of leather on leather and quick, shallow breathing. The injured creature was evidently being tied to something. And then they were off: something grabbed Nill’s arm and he stumbled along through the darkness. With a muttered oath he conjured five flickering lights from his fingertips so that he might see at least a tiny bit of the area. The figure in front of him whirled around and slapped his fingers with a menacing growl. Two more slaps followed before Nill obeyed and dismissed the lights. He rubbed his fingers and stopped running.

I can’t run through a forest blind, he thought. If they’re in that much of a hurry and they don’t like light, they’ll have to go without me.

He had not had time to finish his thought when two powerful hands grabbed his legs. There was a jolt and he found himself sitting on one of the creature’s shoulders. It moved through the forest quickly and after the first few branches had hit him squarely in the face Nill raised his arms to protect it from further harm, but even this could not stop him from occasionally smacking into solid wood. It was only due to the strong grip on his legs that he did not fall down. He did not know how much time passed before he was finally thrown from his carrier’s shoulders. He slammed against a stone wall and felt a push in his back that sent him to the ground.

“Thank you. I can see you’re trying to become my best friends,” Nill gasped through clenched teeth.

The darkness had lifted. Nill was lying in a large cave that was sparsely lit. His companion was bound to a large branch like a slain buck and was now being carefully lowered. He turned to face Nill and gave another wide grin.

“Safety,” he said in that guttural voice.

Nill looked up and saw five pairs of curious eyes. An outstretched hand pulled him up. The leader of the group mimicked the other’s wide smile and stepped aside, gesturing invitingly to the half-darkness. After the wild ride through the forest, Nill’s legs were unsteady and he walked hesitantly.

If these are friends, I’d hate to see what they do to their enemies.

The tunnel wound snakelike into the mountain and opened into a large cave whose walls Nill could not make out in the darkness. Several fires burned around a central area. A slender arm waved him over from beneath wide dark clothing.

“Come closer.”

The voice was lighter and more melodic than the growls he had grown used to. The speaker’s face was slightly more delicate, but still too rough to guess at an approximate age.

“I have been told you saved my son. Please accept a mother’s deepest gratitude. I also heard you fought off the bird. I can hardly believe it – no one can survive the mountain birds’ wrath. But you are here, alive, and so is my son, thanks to you. How could I doubt it? And yet I cannot understand.”

Nill was surprised. Her voice was gravelly, yet musical. She spoke in full sentences, unlike those Nill had already met, who had merely grunted words at him. The people surrounding them were beaming. It seemed to be an important moment for all.

Nill felt as though the air in the cave was getting heavier and found that he had difficulty breathing. He looked around hastily. People were streaming into the caves from all directions. Soon the cave was full but for a small circle around the woman on her high chair and himself, where the others had left a respectful distance. Everywhere they sat now; men, women, and their children happily clambering over their parents’ shoulders. There was nowhere left to sit, and still they kept coming; those who had arrived too late to secure a spot on the ground simply climbed up the walls, where they clung tightly to small notches and holes. All this happened so quietly a sleeping person would not have been woken.

Nill felt uncomfortable. Although nobody had approached him, their many auras fought for space and distorted his vision.

I suppose that’s the price you pay for feeling magic , he thought. A muckling would never suffer from the same.

“You will feel better soon. Wait a little longer,” the small woman on her chair said, and she began to sing. It was a jolly song with a simple, quick rhythm. One after another the others joined in. Nill’s eyes widened in surprise; this was not just a song, this was magic. Pure magic. These creatures changed their auras with their melodies and words, fused them together, formed a huge magical field. The song grew quieter and ended, but the field remained. Nill drew a deep breath.

“I am surprised. I did not realize you were gifted in the magical arts.” Nill hesitated; his next question was potentially dangerous, and he had not forgotten his encounter with the creatures of Fire. “Are you something akin to the guardians of the magic of Metal?”

Laughter echoed through the cave, and it stood at odds with their bulky bodies; light, sparkling and high in pitch. “We are the Ossronkari. The word means roughly the same to us as ‘human’ does to you. You could say we are those who live with Metal, and it feeds us. But there is no such thing as a magic of Metal; we ought to know.”

Nill tasted the bitter, sharp metallic air upon his tongue; it prickled on his skin and made his hair stand on end. These people claimed there was no Metal magic. Nill decided to wait and listen.

“All our brothers and sisters have come here to thank you, for you have saved the First Son. I am Matria, the mother of my people. But first, I would like to introduce my son, and the men who brought you here.”

The woman called out several names that all sounded the same to Nill. Sounds like pling , clang and dong gave him the impression he was hearing the sound of tiny hammers in the rocks.

“My name is Nill,” he said. He expected to encounter the usual surprise his name evoked, but Matria’s expression remained unchanged.

“The mountain bird, as you called it, had made a mistake. It was a simple matter of telling it to leave.”

“You are a polite person, and must be a great leader of your people; yet you still look half a boy. We know that you exist, but our races rarely meet.”

Nill nodded. “I have heard many stories during my travels, but never one of a people who live with Metal.”

“We seldom leave our mines, and if we do, it is at night. All we need to survive is here in the rocks, in the metal, and sometimes in the animals that seek refuge for the winter. Wood is the only thing we must sometimes fetch from the forest. We need it for our gardens.”

Nill’s imagination fell short at the idea of an underground garden, but he told himself to be patient. If it was important, an explanation would follow.

“And yet your son was outside in broad daylight,” Nill pointed out.

The woman sighed. “Yes, he had volunteered for an exceptionally dangerous task. We will soon have to leave this mountain. It has fed our families for many generations, but now it is bare. There are other mountains nearby, but sadly none are as beautiful as this one. This mountain is special. On one side it contains water-metal, and on the other it was forged in flame. But enough talk. Give me your hand. We will meet again tomorrow.”

Nill extended his hand hesitantly. This kind of farewell was unusual. The woman grasped his fourth finger, stroked it gently and let go again. Nill felt as though sparks had shot through his head. What sort of magic was that? What are these creatures? he wondered. And another thought crossed his mind as he did so: How little the mages know of the world we live in…

As if on a secret command, the Ossronkari disappeared into the darkness of the tunnels. Strong arms pulled Nill to his feet and guided him to a small side-cave.

“Rest here. All quiet.”

The smaller cave was pitch dark. Nill conjured a small ball of light and pulled out the last few sweet-fruits and ate them before wrapping himself in his cloak. He fell asleep within moments.

When he woke up he did not know whether it was night or day. He felt rested, fresh and keen to act, but the darkness around him was absolute. The sun and stars did not exist down here to tell him the time. Nill produced another light and found a thin sliver of water at the back of the cave. It fell into a small basin, and from there drained through a gap in the stone.

Oh well, better than nothing , he thought as he cupped a hand to lift some. He drank in small, measured sips. The water was cold and had the distinctly disagreeable flavor of iron. He shook his head. This place was not meant for a shepherd, used to open sky and wide plains. He hurried to leave.

The tunnels were all lit with the same dim light that had shone in the meeting cave the previous night. Nill turned a corner and found himself staring into a kind-looking face.

“Come this way.”

Nill surrendered his temporary plan of fleeing as quickly as possible and followed. On his way, he noticed the details and intricacies of the cavernous world his hosts lived in. He saw the holes and tears in the stone where ore had been hewn from the mountain, and he saw the gardens he had heard of the night before. The Ossronkari mined the ore with mighty hammers and small, sharp pickaxes. Their technique was intriguing: they clung to the rock with three of their limbs and used the remaining one to use their tools. Nill could not make out whether they were hands or feet in the half-light.

The gardens were large, shallow pools, fed by small streams of water that flowed down the metal seams. Nill could smell the iron more strongly than in the water he had previously drunk, and pulled a disgusted face. Two strong men were busy laying large branches into the water in a complicated pattern.

“New garden,” his guide explained proudly.

“Ripe garden,” he said as they passed another pool. Its surface was covered with some sort of black pulp. Several Ossronkari were carefully lifting the slimy substance from the water and draining it before adding it to large containers.

Nill could not see anything special about it. The aroma of Metal was overwhelming now.

“Food?” Nill asked politely.

“Metal meal.” His companion nodded happily.

Nill decided to decline any invitation to supper and instead ate the last supplies he had managed to bring from the Fire Kingdom. The evening – if indeed it was evening – was again given to a meeting.

Nill bowed before the small woman, who was again sitting in the high chair.

“I have learned much, both yesterday and today. It appears to me that you have dedicated your lives to the magic of Metal. It is the most important of the five elements to you, but Fire and Water and Wood are also present, in lesser quantities. Here with you, the elements feel at harmony.”

To his surprise he noticed that his words incited disquiet; it was so different from the Ossronkari’s usual silence that he was momentarily confused. He heard a small laugh in the crowd.

“I do not know where you came from; a stranger who suddenly appears out of nowhere and saves my son’s life. Neither do I understand how you made the mountain bird leave my son. You must have unmatched magical powers. But the Ossronkari do not know the magic of Metal, and the magic of Wood is unknown to us too.”

“You don’t know Metal? But you mine it and live off it and you eat something called a metal meal?” Nill’s disbelief was mounting.

“Metal, we know. Better than most, I might add. But we do not know this magic of Metal. Metal is simply a part of the earth; the earth is the keeper of the flame, and the flame is the birthplace of life. We keep water to stop the flames from burning us, but if you drink too much of it, you extinguish the fire in yourself. And so you need something to keep the fire alive, and that is air. Those are the four powers we know in the world. Fire, earth, air and water.”

Nill attempted valiantly to understand what he had just been told. With enough conviction, he could simply brush off the ancient magic as a relic of a long-forgotten era, when life had not been advanced enough to grasp the subtleties of the world. Light was Fire, darkness was Water; Earth, Metal and Wood were a blend of the two in their own ways – how, he did not quite understand. Yet the explanation that the magic of the five elements had evolved from the ancient magic made sense to him. The magic of two – the magic of five. The Oas knew the sky and the earth, mirroring darkness and light, and to them, the humans were the connecting piece. Three elements. And now the Ossronkari told him of another magic, the magic of four. From one to two, from two to three, and onwards until there were five. What came after that, when the Great Change inevitably came to Pentamuria? Six, most likely.

Matria interpreted Nill’s hesitation as an expression of doubt.

“Do you not trust us? We have proof of the four elements. The gods themselves gave it to us.”

Nill groaned internally. He had heard of gods now and again, and he had never thought much of them. Yes, the people of Earthland spoke of a god of springs, a god of the earth, a god of grass, of evening wind and all sorts of other mundane things. But did anyone truly believe in them? Nill doubted it.

He was torn away from his thoughts as the woman rose, and he noticed with surprise how small she really was. Her diminutive stature was exaggerated when her comparatively tall son joined her. He was slightly hunched from his injuries, but he appeared to have regained most of his strength.

“Take our guest to the halidom. The priests may follow us.”

This time, nobody pushed or dragged Nill anywhere. A small group, consisting of Matria, her son and the men who had brought them here, walked through the mountain in a solemn procession. Every path they took, every tunnel sloped downwards. The air grew hot and humid, though nobody except Nill seemed to mind. Sweat formed between his shoulders and soon stained his shirt. And still they descended. Nill began to understand what Matria had meant when she told him the mountain was bare. Generations upon generations of Ossronkari must have dug deep into the rock. As Nill pondered what had happened to all the metal, the group stopped.

“We must approach the halidom one at a time. The entrance is ahead, that small gap there. No Ossronkar would ever dream of widening it with a hammer.”

They all took a step backwards and indicated that Nill should be the first to enter. He had an easier time of it than the Ossronkari; he was taller, but considerably slimmer. He ducked a little to avoid cracking his head on the stone above, and as he did so his gaze fell to the floor. When he looked back up again, a small yelp of joy escaped his lips.

Symbols had been stamped into the wall opposite in shining metal. The cave he was in reminded him of the Hall of Symbols, deep within Ringwall’s foundations. All that was missing was the bright light and the devouring darkness around the edges. Here, in the Ossronkari’s mountain, there was a perpetual yellow-gold dusk light, whose origins were still unknown to Nill.

The writing was not in glyphs, but in the familiar Fire runes.

“Cheon!” Nill shouted, equally delighted and reverential, as he read the first few words.

The text was short and even more mysterious than Eos. Nill raised his voice as he read aloud:

“After the Third Circle comes the Fourth. It lasts only momentarily, but those who live in it believe it an eternity. The people of the Fourth Circle will understand fire as a cosmic power, apart from earth, water and sky. The sky will lose its meaning for those who live beneath the earth, and air will be their memory of it. And so the elements of change grow stronger, and the elements of form grow weaker. The Fourth Circle will crumble beneath its own inconsistency and dissolve into air; for air is fleeting.

But the remnants of the Second Circle, the children of earth and fire, will meet their brothers of light and shadow. Together they will briefly blossom. This, too, is the Fourth Circle. It will die with along with its unity, for what does not belong together cannot be held together.”

Nill scratched the back of his neck. Eos had described the birth of the Second Circle and the ancient magic, and Cheon prophesied a magic of four elements. The Ossronkari were the race that lives beneath the earth , no doubt. But there must have been another culture. Nill was a little surprised at how short the passage was.

I’ll find some answers in the Book of Arun , he thought. And I know where to look for it.

“I hear you can read the ancient symbols,” Matria said. “And now you see for yourself that there are only four elements, and four magics that feed off them. Earth and Fire are not one, but two elements. Earth grants form, and Fire gives life to the form.”

“I envy your certainty.” Nill’s voice was steady and measured, and did not betray the effort it took him not to scream in desperation. The more he learned about the nature of magic, the less he understood; the chaos that had perturbed what he had believed to be the divine order of the world had shattered not only his own certainty, but also his home. The great Druid Dakh-Ozz-Han was wrong, just like the magon and the archmages of Ringwall. The wise women of the Oas understood just as little as the shamans. And what would these calm, doubtless people say if they knew that their world was made up of five elements, or even three or only two? Would they believe it? Could they believe it?

It felt like a cruel joke to Nill that his magical powers grew as his worldly foundations crumbled. If you don’t understand magic, you shouldn’t use it, he heard Tiriwi say in his head. If you summon and banish without knowing what you’re doing, you’re killing the world. The Oas put understanding before action. Nill closed his eyes and sank his teeth into his knuckles to silence the scream that fought to escape him: “Help me!”

“Perdis,” he said quietly, once the first wave of emotions had subsided. “Do you know of a sorcerer called Perdis?”

His question fell on deaf ears. “Come, let us leave. It is not easy to witness divine truth,” the woman said. She could see that he was in a state of inner turmoil. “Remaining here costs more strength than most can give. But it can also give strength back. Security, certainty; these are a constant source of it.”

Matria’s words were meant to be comforting, but every sentence sliced deeper into his soul, splintered his bones, flayed the skin from his flesh, and shattered his aura.

“Certainty… There is no certainty in the world. Mirages and illusions, that’s all there is. Magic is an illusion.”

“But in the beginning, there was Nothing!” Like a struck gong, the sentence rang out and Nill raised his right hand as if praying.

From the Nothing it had come

Summoned and undone

The Fate

Before the Time

Brothers of the Light, they ought

As the children of nought

Be glad

And in line

For humans, far too great

A terrible fate

Magic look

Silent pain.

False gladness

Solitude

Eternity.

Nill listened to the silence of the room and thought he heard a quiet laugh. He looked around angrily and finally stared into his companions’ faces. What he saw there was not laughter, but horror. The laugh was in his head.

“That was magic too great for humans,” Matria said. “But nobody can tell what an encounter with the divine might wreak in a mortal.”

“When you leave the mountain to find a new home, will you leave your halidom behind?” Nill asked.

“Yes, it will be so. Our halidom will become a pilgrimage, but no longer part of our home. I fear for change, not only in our lives… the separation of the Ossronkari from the roots of our beliefs is a sign. Our priests have not yet managed to understand it.”

I know what it means, Nill thought bitterly. Nothing will be as it was. And that’s the same for you, you foolish, brave warriors of Metal. He swallowed. It was difficult.

One after the other, they left the chamber and forced their way back through the gap. Nill went last. What are gods? he asked himself. No more than another group of creatures in legends. But he did not feel comfortable with such dismissive words. Bucyngaphos, the Demon Lord – he had come face to face with him, and the demon had aided him, albeit in the guise of Ramsker. Where was Ramsker, anyway? How had he managed to lose him?

The thoughts racing through Nill’s mind made the journey back feel considerably shorter than on the first trip. With every step the air grew purer and cooler, the weight on his heart seemed to lift. The small woman took her place on her high chair once more, and the rest sat down in a circle around her.

“No, we have never heard of a sorcerer called Perdis. No sorcerer has ever visited us – until you came.”

The words took a while to reach Nill. It seemed hours since he had asked the question.

“And rokka-nuts? Is there any special place where they grow?”

“They are rare, but of no value to us. They grow all over the high reaches of the mountain, but there are so few of them that they are difficult to find. If you need one, I can give you a guide. You would have to travel by night, though.”

Another hope crushed. His parents could have found the hard wood of his amulet anywhere in the mountains.

“And the kingspider, or nightcrawler? Do they live in the mountains too?” Nill asked without much hope; these spiders were commonly believed to live somewhere between the Waterways and Woodhold, where the great moors poisoned the air. The answer, therefore, surprised him.

“The kingspider is unknown to us, and the nightcrawler all the more so. It lives between the rock-towers. I know only one place you might find one, but the mountains are large, and we are almost on the border to the Waterways. There is likely more than one place.”

Nill gave Matria a bow. “Thank you for your help. I must continue my journey. My path leads me to Woodhold, and I am glad to hear that the Waterways are not far off. But I must find the spiders, and I’m still looking for a friend who lives in one of the settlements here in Metal World. I will leave at sunrise. Although…” Nill had to laugh, “I don’t exactly know when that is. I would not be surprised to find that it’s currently midnight.”

Matria was unaffected by his laughter. “Follow the valley further the way you came. At its end, take a left until you stand before the great water. Follow the coast until you reach the Seven Penitents. From there, go firewards and you will reach Woodhold. There are faster ways, but none safer.

“If you mean to reach the settlements of your people, take a right instead at the end of the valley and go through the low pass there. Follow the smells.

“For the spiders, turn around. Go back, along the length of the valley until you reach the other end. In the rocks there you will find them. You will see the nightcrawler’s webs by day, but the spider itself only appears in the night.

“Now give me your hand.”

Nill offered her his hand again as he had done once before. Again, the woman grasped his fourth finger, but this time she slid a ring on it that contracted as she pressed.

“This is my gift to you. The ring of the four elements. It is a magic ring, although you may not feel it. But if you listen to it, it can teach you our magic, as different as it may seem to your own.”

Nill looked down at the ring on his finger. It was made of an artfully crafted metal band that intertwined with itself, forming four circles as it wound around his finger, shining brightly in many colors.

“The gold represents the sun’s fire, and the silver is a sign for white air, as you may know it from seaspray. The iron shines like water when the sun shines on it through the clouds, and the copper is red like the earth. Keep the ring clean and dry. Its magic must be cared for and protected. Fire and air are ever-changing and can keep themselves safe, but if water grows red and earth green, then the ring’s magic has died and you will have no end to your troubles in reigniting it.”

Nill gave Matria his thanks and sought a polite way of asking for the time, but before he could say anything else he received a friendly thump to the ribs. Pling was standing next to him with his bags.

“It is light,” he growled. “Come!”