Марк Энтони - The Cataclysm

Startled, Matya turned around. She half expected to see that Ciri had changed like the rest of the village. The woman was as lovely as ever, but there was a hard, deadly light in her sapphire-blue eyes.

Ciri gazed at Matya, then understanding flickered across her face. “Ah, you see the village for what it is, don’t you?”

Matya nodded silently, unable to speak.

Ciri shrugged. “It is just as well. It makes things easier. I’m glad you know, in fact.”

“What do you want from me?” Matya asked.

“To strike a bargain with you, Matya. Isn’t that what you like to do above all things?”

Matya’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.

“You have something I want very much,” Ciri said softly.

“The doll,” Matya said, eyeing the woman.

“You see, Matya, despite the illusions I have used to mask the appearance of the village, much of what I told you last night was the truth. An enchantment does prevent me from leaving the village, and only the doll can break it.”

“How is it you came to be here in the first place?” Matya asked.

“I have always been here,” Ciri said in her crystalline voice. “I am old, Matya, far older than you. You see me now as I was the day the Cataclysm struck the face of Krynn, more than half a century ago.”

Matya stared at her in shock and disbelief, but Ciri did not pause.

“By my magic, I saw the coming of the Cataclysm. I prepared an enchantment to protect myself from it.” A distant look touched her cold eyes, and her smile grew as sharp and cruel as a knife. “Oh, the others begged at my door for me to protect them as well. The same wretches who had mocked my magic before wanted me to save them, but I turned my back on them. I wove my magic about myself, and I watched all of them perish in agony as the rain of fire began.” Ciri’s face was exultant, her fine hands clenched into fists.

Matya watched her with calculating eyes. “Something went wrong, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” Ciri hissed angrily. “Yes, something went wrong!” She paused, recovered her composure. “I could not have foreseen it. The power of the Cataclysm twisted my magic. The enchantment protected me, as I commanded, but it also cursed me to remain here alone in this ruined town, not aging, not changing, and never able to leave.”

Matya shuddered. Despite herself, she could not help but pity this evil woman.

“I want to be free of this place—I will be free of this place,” Ciri said, “and for that I need the doll.”

Matya was no longer afraid. Magic was Ciri’s element, but bargaining was Matya’s own. “And what would you give me in exchange for the doll?” she asked. “It is worth a lot to me.”

“I made that one, and once I am free I will have the power to make more,” Ciri replied. “I will fashion you a dozen such dolls, Matya. No one in Ansalon will be wealthier than you. All you have to do is give the doll to Trevarre. He wants more than anything to rescue me, to preserve his precious honor ”. She said this last word with a sneer. “He will place the doll upon the altar, and I will be free. And so will you. I swear it, by Nuitari.”

“And what will happen to Trevarre?” Matya asked, as if she didn’t much care.

Ciri shrugged. “What does it matter? You and I will have what we want.”

“I’m curious, that’s all,” Matya said, shrugging.

“You’ll find out anyway, I suppose,” Ciri replied. “He will take my place in the enchantment. He will be imprisoned within Tambor even as I am now. He will not suffer, however. I will see to it that his soul is destroyed. The empty husk of his body will dwell here until the end of all days.” Ciri arched her eyebrow. “Are you satisfied?”

Matya nodded, her expression unchanging. “I’ll need to think this bargain over.”

“Very well,” Ciri said, annoyed, “but be swift about it. I grow tired of waiting. Oh, and if you are thinking of warning the knight, go ahead. He won’t believe you.” The enchantress turned and stalked away, vanishing among the ruins of the village.

Matya retrieved the leather pouch with the doll from its hiding place in her wagon and tied it to her belt. She sat for a time on the wagon’s bench, alone with her thoughts, then finally made her way back to Ciri’s cottage. Like all the others, this building was in ruins. The roof was gone, and two of the walls had fallen into a jumble of broken stone.

Trevarre had risen and was in the process of adjusting the straps of his ornate armor. He looked up in surprise.

“Matya. I did not hear you open the door.”

Matya bit her tongue to keep from telling him there was no door.

“Have you seen Ciri this morning?” he asked. He ran a hand through his lank brown hair.

“I saw her out in the village,” Matya said, afraid to say more.

“Is something wrong, Matya?” Trevarre asked her, frowning.

Matya’s hand crept to the leather purse. She could have everything she had ever wanted, if she just gave Trevarre the doll. He would take it. She knew he would. As unlikely as Trevarre looked on the outside, the heart that beat in his chest was a knight’s, true and pure. He would break the enchantment, and Ciri would be free. She had sworn her oath by Nuitari—a vow no sorcerer could break. Matya would be rich beyond her dreams. It would be the greatest bargain Matya had ever struck.

Her hand reached into the pouch, brushing the smooth porcelain. “I wanted to tell you …” She swallowed and started over. “I just wanted to tell you, Trevarre.. ”

“Go on,” he said in his resonant voice, his pale eyes regarding her seriously.

Matya saw kindness in his gaze, and, for one brief moment, she almost imagined she saw something more—admiration, affection.

Matya sighed. She could not do it. How could she live with herself, knowing it was she who had silenced Trevarre’s noble voice forever? She could strike a bargain for anything—anything but another’s life. Belek had been right. There were some bargains that weren’t worth making.

“There {is} something wrong,” Matya blurted. “Something terribly wrong.” She told Trevarre of her conversation with Ciri. “You see, we must leave—now!”

The knight shook his head.

“She is evil!” Matya protested.

“I cannot believe it, Matya.”

“What?” she said in shock. Although Ciri had warned her, Matya still was shocked. She had given up the greatest bargain of her life, and now he claimed that he didn’t believe her? “But what reason would I have to lie to you, Trevarre? Has her loveliness made a slave of you already?” Her voice was bitter.

He held up a hand. “I did not say that I do not believe you, Matya. I said that I cannot. I cannot believe evil of another without proof.” He sighed and paced about the ruined cottage, which to his eyes still looked warm and hospitable. “How can I explain it to you, Matya? It has to do with the Measure I swore to uphold. Ciri sent out a plea for help, and I have answered it. Yes, she is lovely, but that is hardly the reason I cannot heed your warnings, Matya. She has shown me nothing but courtesy. To leave without aiding her would be a grave dishonor. And you know—”

“Yes, I know,” Matya said harshly. ” ‘Your honor is your life.’ But what if she tried to harm you?”

“That would be different. Then I would know she is evil. But she has not. Nothing has changed. I will help her break the enchantment that keeps her here in this village if it is at all in my power to do so.”

Trevarre fastened his sword belt about his waist and walked to the door of the ruined cottage. Before he stepped outside, he laid a gentle hand upon Matya’s arm. “I doubt that it matters to you,” he said hesitantly in his clear voice, “but, to my eyes, you are every bit as lovely.”