Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

None of it made any sense, but he was determined to get his answers. Finally finding himself before the proper door, Wigg knocked once, then let himself and Celeste into the vast library known as the Archives of the Redoubt.

Faegan, Abbey, and Shailiha were already at the mahogany meeting table around a large pot of tea and a silver plate of pastries. The master wizard and the herbmistress were talking in urgent, worried tones. Shailiha was listening to them intently, Morganna held close in her arms. Upon seeing Wigg and Celeste, the baby made a soft gurgling sound.

After Wigg and Celeste took their seats, the lead wizard cleared his throat. Abbey and Faegan finally stopped talking. Looking from them to Shailiha, Wigg realized that they were indeed lucky to be alive. Their faces and hands were decidedly reddened, and parts of their hair and eyebrows had been singed. Abbey looked the worst of the three. Reaching out, Wigg took her hand. She smiled and grasped it gingerly. Her skin felt good in his palm, and he smiled back at her.

"Is everyone all right?" Wigg asked softly.

Abbey looked over at Faegan, then back at the lead wizard. "I think so," she answered. "But it was very close. We have some burns, but Faegan has already enacted a spell of accelerated healing over them. He has also aided our hearing, which was temporarily impaired by the blast. In another day or so, we should be far better. But what about you?"

Placing his gnarled hands flat upon the tabletop, Wigg took a deep breath. "Let's just say that what I went through in the Chambers of Penitence is not something I would ever care to repeat," he said, employing his usual sense of wry understatement. "I should soon be better, as well. But tell me, how did this happen? Was it because of the goods we brought back?" As he looked at Faegan, his face darkened. "Did the watchwoman try to kill us by intentionally supplying us with the wrong items? Was everything I went through for naught?"

"No, I don't think so," Faegan answered almost perfunctorily. "It will, of course, be impossible to know for sure until we again try to use the oils and herbs. But I believe what happened was a result of something we did ourselves, rather than our having been betrayed by the watchwoman."

"How so?" Celeste asked.

"We were actively seeking Tristan," Faegan answered. "And it was the blood of his twin sister that we were employing to do so. Something physical of the subject to be viewed is always required-or at least something as close to the subject as the practitioner can find." Sitting back in his chair, he thought to himself for a moment.

"As I understand it from Abbey, under normal conditions this would never result in the catastrophic results we experienced in the courtyard," he went on. "Since we had nothing personal of the prince's body, we thought a drop of Shailiha's blood might do the trick. But remember, Tristan's blood is now azure-changed in ways that we have yet to fathom. It could simply be that his blood is not compatible with Abbey's gifts, and the process of trying to find him resulted in the flame's destruction. We may never know for sure. In any event, I certainly don't recommend that we use the exact same method to view him again."

Abbey narrowed her eyes with thought. "Actually, there is some mention of such a phenomenon in the ancient teachings of the partials," she said. "I had forgotten about it until hearing what you just said. It makes no mention of Tristan, exactly. But what happened is starting to sound more and more like what my teacher once warned me to be on the lookout for, so many years ago." She paused, and it was clear to everyone that she was trying hard to retrieve the details from her dusty, three-hundred-year-old memories.

Intensely interested, Faegan leaned nearer and placed his long, bony forearms on the table. "And that is?" he asked quickly.

"What we experienced is supposedly called the Furies," Abbey said, as the legend slowly returned to her. "The woman who taught me spoke very fearfully of it, telling me to pass the warning down to any of those partials I might eventually teach. It tells of 'the Two'-those who shall eventually come among us, possessing powers so great that we partials must never try to use our gifts upon them. If we do, we risk invoking the Furies and our spells being returned to us, thereby killing us in return. Much like what happened to us in the courtyard." She paused for a moment as the sudden realization spread across her face.

"The 'Two' the legend speaks of must be Tristan and Shailiha," she said softly. Then the room went quiet, as each of them tried to absorb the gravity of her news.

Faegan, however, wasted no time. Pointing over at the table that held the Tome of the Paragon, he straightened one finger. The white, leatherbound volume rose into the air and came to rest before him. He turned his gray-green eyes to Abbey.

"The 'Furies,' you say?" he asked her. The herbmistress nodded.

Closing his eyes, the wizard called upon his powers of Consummate Recollection. As he concentrated on the single word, a vision began to form in his mind. This time it was only a page number, rather than an entire quotation. Opening his eyes, he looked back down at the great book.

Faegan caused the Tome to open itself, and its gilt-edged leafs started flurrying by. When he found the page he wanted, he caused them to stop turning. After reading it a curious look crossed his face, and he sat back in his chair.

"What is it?" Wigg asked. Without answering, Faegan looked back to the great book and began to translate the Old Eutracian on its pages.

"And there shall come among you the Two, and they shall possess a blood quality so high that those known as the 'partials'-those sole practitioners of certain of the Organics-shall come to dread them. For should those of partial blood signatures attempt to employ their limited gifts upon the Two, the Two's progeny, or others of the same womb from which the Two came, their power shall be reversed upon them a thousandfold, and destroy them. For the blood signatures known as 'partials' shall not be as strong as those of the fully endowed. The Two and their seed may therefore be the partials' mortal enemies, even though the Two may not choose for such a reaction to be so…"

Trailing off, Faegan again sat back in his chair, lost in thought.

"What does it mean?" Abbey asked. At first Faegan said nothing. He was ensconced within the caverns of his amazing mind, and his eyes almost seemed glazed over.

"Such a wondrous, dangerous maze is the craft," he finally muttered softly, half to himself. "After three hundred years of trying, we have barely scratched the surface of the knowledge collected by the Ones Who Came Before."

"Faegan," Wigg said forcefully, trying to bring the old wizard's attention back to the rest of them. "What does it all mean?"

Taking a breath, Faegan finally refocused on the people at the table. "It confirms something that I have long suspected regarding the craft," he answered cryptically. "But more about that in a moment." Then he looked intently at Abbey.

"Tell me," he asked her. "Exactly how did you know that something terrible was about to happen in the courtyard?"

"My gazing flame began behaving far out of the ordinary," she answered. "After the viewing window started to form, the top of the flame began to swell. I have never seen one do that before. It was almost as if it was somehow collecting energy instead of expelling it, as is the norm. When I saw it, something told me it was about to burst, so I threw myself at you and the princess. Apparently when the flame ruptured, it did so at the top, releasing its energy skyward. Had the rent appeared in its side instead, I have no doubt that the three of us would be quite dead. In all my years I have never experienced a release of such boundless energy."