Майкл Уильямс: Before the Mask

Thanks to Margaret Weis for her kind, generous, and supportive spirit.

Mary Kirchoff was of great help at the outset of the project; we wish her all the best in upcoming projects of her own.

Pat McGilligan has been there for us over the last four years with a steady, no-nonsense brilliance, shaping rough work toward vitality and life.

Scott Siegel, our agent, continued to believe and to pound the pavement ingeniously. Pat Price’s erudition and insight steered us to several invaluable sources on Teutonic rune-lore. Our version of this is impressionistic and no longer resembles its ancient original. But we would never have found the way without Pat.

Kim and Sammy Soza ran the most hospitable convention in the Southwest—Ziacon I. Stay in the saddle, folks!

Thanks to Terri Miller for our wonderful portrait photo on the inside back cover. Thanks also to David Kirchhoff, Dorothy Westcott, and especially Mort Morss—all of Daylily World in Sanford, Florida. They were ever ready with solid, detailed information and superb plants. In the fall of 1993, Mort will introduce his new “Runemark” cultivar—the daylily upon which the flower in our book is based.

Finally, to our community of faith, thanks for your continued support and prayers. God bless all of you.

In the small patch of cold sunlight on the hill above b«r cape, the druidess L’Indasha Yman bent to the spring planting with a worn-out spade and a weary heart. For three thousand years, winters had ended in jubilation for her. When she set the season’s first seed into the newly turned ground or found the first shoot of returning growth in her daylilies, she would forget utterly the cold, the storms, her hunger for green, for bloom.

But this year, the winter would not leave. This spring, there was little pleasure for her in the promise of the seeds, and her labor in the garden today was producing mostly scratches and blisters.

“There’s the rub,” she mused aloud, looking down at the splintering oak handle of the spade. “I should have mended you long ago. Five hundred years of gardens can be too much even for oak.”

And too much for me, she thought. I will go on and on and keep the Secret and all the world will change, is changing—but in me now there is no change. My life is a removal. But I chose it full knowing. She turned to a clump of daylilies and sat back on her heels, peering into the lavender blue face of an early bloom. At Paladine’s command, she had planted these everywhere she lived or traveled. They were her particular love in the green kingdoms, for every morning, there was a new, extravagant grace and outpouring of beauty in their flowers, a grace and beauty that would last only for the day. She traced the triangular bloom with her finger and left a trail of silver light in the air. To her surprise, the light spread, filtering through the careful rows of emerging sunflowers to the distant new leaves of the encircling vallenwoods, until the garden was aglow in silver and white.

“Cheer up,” said a voice from the lavender-blue heart of the lily. “All of this mutter about loneliness and beauty that will fade is matter for bards, not gardeners.”

L’Indasha smiled. “I’ve missed you. How long has it been?”

“But a day,” the lily replied. “You’ve just been listening to your own world-weary drone. I was here yesterday, but you didn’t look at me. See that shriveled flower to my immediate left? I waited all day in there for you to sit down and stop moping. Two bees and a grasshopper came by, though.” The eye of the lily winked at the druidess, and then she felt a hand on her shoulder. Whirling about and rocking backward, she looked full in the face of a kindly old man, white-haired and bearded, a silver triangle pinned to the crown of his broad-brimmed hat. A gaudy purplish smear colored one side of his nose.

“Lord Paladine,” L’Indasha began reverently. “You—”

The old man raised a finger to his lips.

“Hush,” he breathed. “You’ll wake the neighbors.”

“I just wanted to tell you that—”

“Shh.” The old man sat down on the freshly hoed furrow, his silver robes swirling with sun and shade. “A change has come,” he announced quietly, smiling. “I’m sending you a companion. Some help.”

“Some help?”

“Oh, not that there’s aught wrong with the work you’ve done. I’m really very pleased. Thirty centuries, and Takhisis has not unmasked the rune. It’s a splendid job, my dear. Worth enduring this long, wearisome immortality.”

He held up the daylily bloom, now somehow missing its blue-purple center. He grinned. L’Indasha cleared her throat. “Lord Paladine, I simply wanted to tell you …”

“Your helper is coming,” he went on, “coming by a roundabout way. Well, very roundabout—twenty years in the doing. These things take time—growth—due season, you know. But that will be clear to you soon enough. And when help arrives, there will be important choices to make.”

“Twenty years?” the druidess asked apprehensively. Twenty years seemed like days, even hours, after her vigil of three millennia. “How? Why?”

Lord Paladine waved his hand. “The Dark Lady’s spies are everywhere. So my devices move slowly and quietly these days.” He pointed to an overhanging vallenwood. “Like the growth of a large tree.”

“I see,” the druidess replied. “Rushed and suspicious eyes will not notice.” Lord Paladine nodded. “You be patient as well. Remember how I love you.”

“How much shall I tell when the helper comes?”

L’Indasha asked. “Surely not everything.”

“Oh, goodness, no!” the old fellow exclaimed. “It’d take forever, and my borscht recipe would get out!” L’Indasha chuckled. “As if anyone would want it.”

“Well, perhaps not,” he mused, “but someone wants the Secret. More than at any time since I first hid the symbols on the faceless rune from her—from all the world—and entrusted them and that Keeper’s pendant to you.”

L’Indasha glanced down at the blue-purple stone about her neck. The warding stone that kept the Keeper. Then all merriment vanished in Paladine’s bright eyes. “Double your vigilance. Plant against famine and fire and the next winter. The barren season will last a very long time indeed. Unless…”

“Unless?”

Paladine crouched beside the druidess. “Unless the ages are accomplished,” he whispered. “Soon the faceless rune will have two faces. They will be opposites, and they will be the same. If they balance each other, work together in their opposition, your job will be done. They can receive the Secret from you and defeat darkness forever. For they are Huma’s kin.”

“Children,” the druidess breathed. “From the line of Huma … it will be full circle then. So these are the last of my quiet days.”

The old man nodded and rose. The sunlight faded and dappled as a roiling cloud bank moved overhead. In the distance, heat lightning flashed, followed by a low rumble. “Provide. The storm is coming.” He turned to go, but L’Indasha beckoned him gently once again.

“Lord Paladine…?”

“Yes?” he asked.

“You have lily on your nose.”

The winter of the old man’s warning came even more quickly than she had expected, collapsing the autumn of that peaceful year into a matter of days, freezing the unfallen leaves to their branches. This day, from her sheltering cavern, L’Indasha Yman kept vigil with the rising new storm. Harsh winds from the west—from Taman Busuk—whipped through the Khalkist Mountains, bringing dark, churning clouds and the faint, watery smell of winter lightning.