Margaret Weis - Into the Labyrinth

“No, I live alone for now,” Vasu replied, adding some type of unrecognizable fruit to the simple meal. “I haven’t been headman very long. I inherited the position from my father, who only recently died.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Alfred said politely.

“His life was one well lived,” Vasu returned. “We celebrate such lives, not mourn them.” He placed the food on the floor between them, sat down himself.

“Our family has held this position for generations. Of course, any man or woman has the right to challenge us, but no one ever has. My father worked hard to govern well, govern justly. I strive as best I can to emulate his good example.”

“It seems you are succeeding.”

“I hope so.” Vasu’s troubled gaze shifted to the small window, out into the darkness. “My people have never faced so great a challenge, so grave a threat.”

“What about the Final Gate?” Alfred asked timidly, aware that such matters were really none of his business, that he knew very little about it.

“Shouldn’t someone be sent to warn... somebody?”

Vasu sighed softly. “The Final Gate is far, far from here. They would never reach it in time... or alive.”

Alfred looked at the food, but he had very little appetite.

“But enough dismal talk.” Vasu returned to the meal with a cheerful smile. “We need the strength food offers us. And who knows when we may have time to eat again? Shall I offer the blessing? Or will you?”

“Oh, you, please!” Alfred said hastily, blushing. He had no idea what a Patryn might consider a proper blessing.

Vasu extended his hands, began to speak. Alfred joined in the words unconsciously, repeating them without thinking—until it occurred to him that Vasu was speaking the blessing in Sartan.

Alfred’s breath caught in his throat, making such a strange half-strangled clicking noise that it caught the headman’s attention. Vasu ceased the blessing in the middle, looked up.

“Are you all right?” he asked, worried.

Alfred stared wildly and confusedly at Vasu’s glowing, tattooed skin. “You’re not... Are you?... You can’t be ... S-s-sartan!”

“About half,” Vasu said imperturbably. He held up his arms, gazed at the sigla with pride. “Our family has adapted over the centuries. In the beginning, we wore the tattoos only for disguise. Not to delude the Patryns, mind you; we only wanted to fit in. Since then, through intermarriage, we have come to be able to use the magic—although not as well as a full-blooded Patryn. But what we lack, we compensate for by using Sartan magic.”

“Intermarriage! But ... the hatred?” Alfred thought back to the River of Anger. “Surely you must have been persecuted...”

“No,” said Vasu quietly. “They knew why we were sent here.”

“The Vortex!”

“Yes, we came from beneath the mountain, where we were sent because of our heretical beliefs. My ancestors opposed the Sundering; they opposed the building of this prison. They were a danger, a threat to the established order. Like yourself, or so I must imagine. Although you are the first Sartan to arrive in the Vortex in many long ages. I had hoped that things had changed.”

“You are still here, aren’t you?” Alfred said quietly, pushing his food around with trembling fingers.

Vasu regarded him for a long moment in silence. “I suppose explanations would be too long, too complex.”

“Not really.” Alfred sighed. “We Sartan locked ourselves in our own prison, just as surely as we locked you in yours. Our prison walls were pride; our iron bars were fear. Escape was impossible, for that would have meant tearing down the walls, opening up the barred gates. We dare not do that. Our prison not only kept us in, you see—it kept them out. We stayed inside, and shut our eyes, and went to sleep. And we’ve been asleep all these years. When we woke, everything had changed except us. And now our prison is the only place we know.”

“But not you,” said Vasu.

Alfred blushed. “I can take no credit for it.” He smiled faintly. “I met a man with a dog.”

Vasu was nodding. “It would have been easy for our people, when we were first sent here, to give up and die. It was the Patryns who kept us alive. They took us in, accepted us, protected us from harm until we grew strong enough to protect ourselves.”

Alfred was beginning to understand. “And it must have been a Sartan idea to build this city.”

“I think perhaps it was. Somewhere back in long-forgotten times. It would be natural for the Sartan, who came from cities and liked to live in large groups. We could see the advantages gained by banding together, dwelling in one place, working to make it strong.

“Even back in the ancient world, the Patryns were nomads, tended to be loners. The family unit was—and still is—important to them. But in the Labyrinth, many families were wiped out. The Patryns had to adapt or cease to survive. They did so by expanding the family unit into the tribe. The Patryns learned the importance of banding together for mutual defense from the Sartan. And the Sartan learned the importance of family from the Patryns.”

“The worst in both our peoples brought us to this end.” Alfred spoke with emotion. “The worst perpetuated it. You have taken the best and used it to build stability, find peace in the midst of chaos and terror.”

“Let us hope,” said Vasu somberly, “that this is not the end.” Alfred sighed, shook his head.

Vasu observed him closely. “The intruders called you the Serpent Mage.” Now Alfred smiled; his hands fluttered. “I know. I have been called that before. I don’t know what it means.”

“I do,” said Vasu unexpectedly.

Alfred looked up, astonished.

“Tell me what happened to earn you this title,” Vasu said.

“Why, that’s just it. I don’t know. You think I’m being evasive. Or that I don’t want to help. I do! I would give anything... Let me try to explain.

“To make a long story short, I woke from my sleep to find myself alone. My companions had all died. I was on the air world of Arianus, a world populated by mensch.”

He paused, looked at Vasu to see if he understood. Apparently he did, though he said nothing. His attentive silence encouraged Alfred to proceed.

“I was terrified. All this magical power”—Alfred stared at his hands—“and I was alone. And afraid. If anyone discovered what I could do, they might... try to take advantage. I could imagine—the coercion, the pleadings, the urgings, the threats. Yet I wanted to live among the mensch, to be of service to them. Not that I was much help.”

Alfred sighed again. “Anyway, I developed a most unfortunate habit. Whenever danger threatens, I... faint.”

Vasu looked amazed.

“It was either that or use my magic, you see,” Alfred continued, his face red.

“But that’s not the worst. Apparently I have worked some very remarkable magic—quite remarkable, in fact—and I don’t remember doing it. I must have been fully conscious at the time, but when it’s all over I haven’t the slightest memory of it. Well, I guess I do. Deep inside.” Alfred laid his hand on his heart. “Because I feel uncomfortable whenever the matter comes up. But I swear to you”—he gazed earnestly at Vasu—“I can’t consciously remember!”

“What sort of magic?” Vasu asked.

Alfred swallowed, licked dry lips. “Necromancy,” he said in a low, anguished voice, barely audible. “The human, Hugh the Hand. He was dead. I brought him back to life.”

Vasu drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly. “And what else?”

“I was told that I... I changed into a serpent—a dragon, to be exact. Haplo was in danger, on Chelestra. And there were children... The dragon-snakes were going to kill them.” Alfred shuddered. “They needed my help, but, as usual, I fainted. At least, that’s what I thought I did. Haplo tells me that I didn’t. I don’t know.” Alfred shook his head. “I just don’t know.”