Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

In his worry over Tristan, Shailiha, and Celeste, Wigg had been unable to sleep. It had already been late when the door to his chambers had unexpectedly opened, then quietly closed again. He had sat up in bed and raised his arm, ready to defend himself. Then he'd seen Abbey's form move silently across the doorframe of the open, moonlit balcony.

He had tried to speak, but she'd moved to the bed and placed a finger delicately across his lips. She'd dropped her robe to the floor and stood for a moment, her body shining in the rose-colored light. Then she lowered herself into his bed. Wigg had taken her into his arms, and their three hundred years of separation had finally, truly come to an end.

Turning, Wigg looked into her eyes. "I am most worried about the prince," he said. The herbmistress felt warm next to him, and she smelled pleasantly of the many fragrances of her art. The long-missed sensations were both familiar and good. "Tell me truly," he asked. "If you have the right supplies, will you be able to find him?"

Narrowing her eyes with thought, she shook her head and sighed. "It would be far better if I had something truly of his body, like a lock of his hair or a clipping of toenail," she answered. "But he and the princess are twins, so her hair may be sufficient. Or perhaps a drop of her blood. But remember, even if the flame allows us to see him, unless you or the others can identify some landmark or city, we still will not know where he is. I will do all I can, of course, but it may not be enough."

"And this ancient scroll Krassus spoke of-what of that?"

"Viewing that will be much more difficult. Even impossible, I dare-say. I would need something of the scroll itself, and we do not have such a sample. Attempting to view that document will be like trying to find a needle in a sneezeweed stack, while wearing both a blindfold and pair of mittens."

"And Wulfgar?"

"Hopefully, the lock of his hair will work. I will only know for sure once I try. I know this is not what you wanted to hear, but that's how things are, nonetheless." Silence reigned for a moment as they each retreated into their private thoughts.

"They love each other, don't they?" Abbey asked unexpectedly.

"Who?" he asked back.

"Tristan and Celeste," she replied. She smiled again. After having known the lead wizard for so long, she could easily tell when he was being purposely obtuse, and she wasn't about to let him get away with it.

"Only a fool could miss the attraction they have for each other," she went on. "Although I am not sure even they realize how strong it is. Oddly, it is sometimes the lovers themselves who are the last to know, wouldn't you agree?"

Wigg remained silent for a moment; then one corner of his mouth turned up.

"Yes," he answered softly. "You're right. About a great many things."

"But still they do not act upon it," she said. "Why is that? Do they think it might displease you?"

"It wouldn't," Wigg answered. "In fact, I would welcome it. To see Tristan, the male of the Chosen Ones whom I have loved with all my heart, and Celeste, the daughter I have only just discovered, finally unite would truly be one of the most joyous days of my life. But part of the reason Tristan does not act on his love for her, I think, is because he fears it might change his relationship with me. And it no doubt would, but not in the ways he probably imagines. The greater worry in this is Celeste, and she troubles me deeply. Tristan understands this other concern, as well. I can see it in his eyes. And I suspect it is yet another reason why he hasn't tried to more deeply enter the recesses of her heart. In short, he is being a gentleman."

Lowering herself down, Abbey laid one side of her face on Wigg's chest. "I don't understand."

"Tristan is waiting for her psyche to heal," Wigg answered sadly. "And that may never happen. Celeste never speaks of the abuse she suffered at the hands of Ragnar. It is as if she believes that by denying it, she can erase that part of her past. But until she voluntarily admits those horrors to herself, embraces them as an indelible part of her past, and then finally lets them go, she will never stop hiding behind the shield of denial that she carries. The same shield, I suspect, that bars Tristan from coming closer. I saw all too much of this during the aftermath of the Sorceresses' War, three hundred years ago. I never believed I would ever have children, but I felt sure that if I did, as lead wizard I would be able to protect them. How wrong I was!" Wigg paused for a moment, thinking. "I have two other, equally deep regrets, you know," he said softly.

"Tell me," Abbey found herself saying, even though she was quite sure she knew what at least one of them would be.

"The first of them is you," he answered quietly. "You know that. I should never have voted with the Directorate to ban the partial adepts. It was cruel and unnecessary, as were so many of our decisions of those days. Instead, I should have resigned my seat and gone away with you. We could have had the last three hundred years together, and the Directorate could just as easily have gone on without me."

Raising her head, Abbey looked deeply into his eyes. "No," she said adamantly. "You're wrong. Everything happens for a reason. Your destiny was to rule the Directorate and oversee the birth and growth of the Chosen Ones. And then, with Tristan's help, to save Shailiha and the Paragon from the depravity of the Coven. Just as it was mine to live alone and hone my arts in the Hartwick Woods so that I might return to help you when you needed me most. Had you voted against the Directorate and then deserted Tammerland, the world would today exist only as a plaything of the sorceresses. In your heart you know that. You stayed here because it was your fate; just as we now find ourselves together again, through a different yet similar act of fate. That is clear to me now, and forgiving you is unnecessary. You did what you had to do. Don't you see? And now all is finally as it should be."

She moved her body a bit closer to his, to ward off the breeze wafting in from the balcony. "Even if it did take you three hundred years to come around," she added impishly. Wigg laughed softly.

"And the other regret?" she asked.

"Wulfgar," Wigg said. "The late king and queen charged me and the consuls with the burden of finding him, but we never did. I made a secret pilgrimage to the wizard's orphanage that gave him away, of course, and I spoke to the head matron. But by the time I arrived at the address she had given me, the family had moved, and I never found their trail again. That's understandable, I suppose, given the size of the nation and the passage of time. But I can feel Wulfgar's presence out there somewhere, just as I can feel Tristan's. And my heart tells me that they are both in grave danger. Their paths may even cross someday, without either of them knowing who the other truly is. I must find them both, before it becomes too late."

Wigg lay back into the luxurious sheets, thinking. "I can only hope that if I find Wulfgar, circumstances will not make it necessary for me to kill him," he said in a low voice. "It is an order from my queen that has plagued me for decades, and I don't think my heart could survive it."

They lay there together quietly for a time, listening to the wind.

"So many secrets," Wigg finally said, half to himself. "And each of them more a burden than a blessing, I assure you."

Abbey smiled knowingly. "And still so many you have yet to share with us, I'm sure."

"Oh, yes," Wigg answered simply. "Many secrets indeed. There is still so much that Tristan, Shailiha, and especially Wulfgar do not know about themselves. Things that only time will allow me to teach them. And time is running out."

"And what about our secret?" Abbey asked. "The one we formed here this night. Shall we tell the others?"