Chapter Twelve

ACT IV


What Light Remains

PART TWO
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

You can't go around building a better world for people. Only people can build a better world for people. Otherwise it's just a cage.

TERRY PRATCHETT
Witches Abroad

Fight till the last gasp.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Henry VI

CHAPTER TWELVE

Stepping Stones

“Setbacks often contain the seeds of their own reversal.”

DUCHENNE

Jace opened the heavy oak door, and it was like stepping back through time. As if the threshold he passed was not just from cold and black to activity and warmth, but a doorway to something more. It was like a familiar dream, and all too familiar one. It was a feeling of being here yesterday and lifetimes ago all at once.

And then everything seemed to slow down.

He knew there would be stale ale on the floor, and that it would be sticky beneath his boots. And it was. He knew there would be a steady, ambient rhythm of conversation that it would wash over him like a tide. And it did. As a kid, he remembered thinking this place had been something like a shield against the outside world. A reprieve from the confusion and the state of his life. Then again when he had been in Lornda Manor, but this was different. It felt more real now, if that made any sense. But of course it didn't make sense. None of this-

"Stop thinking so much," Cedwyn said as he cleared his throat and sniffed. He was scanning the room, narrowing his eyes, and looking for something intently. Jace had seen that look and demeanor from him many times before. "I would have thought you had learned that lesson by now."

Jace pursed his lips but said nothing.

Here and there, the first few notes of a drinking song drifted up and over from the bar. The tune was familiar, as if he had heard it many times, but the words were something new. He could make out a silver spring spring and blue-green colors flashing but then the chorus collapsed into disarray, each man crowing his own version of the words.

"Are you really here?" Jace asked suddenly. And he looked away from the singing barflies to his friend. "I mean, is any of this real?"

Cedwyn shrugged.

"Honestly, there's only one way to tell," he said. "A sort of ... metaphysical test."

"Yeah?"

Cedwyn nodded.

"Yeah." Slowly, solemnly, and after a long sigh, he turned fully towards Jace and held up his hand. As if he were taking an oath. "I'm gonna need you to concentrate. And stare at the palm of my hand."

"Okay?"

"Are you concentrating?"

Confused, but committed to staying in the moment, Jace focused.

"I am."

And then with his other hand Cedwyn slapped him in the face.

"Feel that?"

"Damn it, yes!" Jace yelled, bringing his own hand to his cheek.

"Good, there's your answer," Cedwyn said. He was back to scanning the tavern now, his expression having returned to the intense scrutiny of before. "I came looking for you here, you know? Thean sent me. But you were already gone.”

Before Jace could respond, or even think about responding, the sound of a breaking glass diverted his attention. Then through the wafts of hazy smoke he saw a wide staircase ahead of them, past the tables, on the other side of the room.

"The Faraway Cry doesn't have a second floor," Jace said.

"Yeah, well. Does now."

"I thought you said this was real."

"Just shut up for a second, alright?" Cedwyn said quietly, and he put his hand on Jace's shoulder, trying to calm him. "Follow me." With every step they took, their surroundings shifted and changed like a desert mirage, until it solidified into something similar ... yet new. The place rippled and stabilized. And then Jace knew what it was. A combination of The Faraway Cry and The Blue Sun in Sandia. It may have been real but it felt like a very real dream, and while Jace felt the undertow of confusion threatening to take him out to a sea of doubt, he fought against it one thought at a time. Instead, he let the waves of chatter fill every corner of his mind, along with the tune of a strumming lute. Under the bright light of a massive wagon wheel chandelier, this place would have been considered a desirable destination anywhere in the world. And all the while they grew closer to the stairs that led up to the second level. Cedwyn seemed to melt into the environment. He seemed strong, confident and completely in control. Exactly as Jace's first impression of the man had been the day he met. “Duchenne here yet?” he asked continuing on towards the stairs. He didn't appear to be addressing anyone in particular, but rather, everyone and anyone all at once.

“Nice to see you too, Wolfwood!” one of the patrons who had been singing near the bar responded. "What's the matter? No gorgeous redheads to save this time?"

Cedwyn held up his hand to dismiss the comment, to the amusement of the others.

“Room 222,” Irick said, and the sound of his voice made the Outriders stop in their tracks. He had emerged from the crowd, out of nowhere, with Brayden beside him.

"You're the guys are from Sandia," Jace said matter-of-factly. "The Blades."

Irick started to respond, but paused and looked back to Cedwyn when Brayden went on.

"He arrived right before you did."

They were moving again. Occasionally, Cedwyn would shake a hand and smile, or be patted on the back or shoulder by any of the people he came close to. Jace observed many of them gesture towards the Outrider, or to each other, in show of their satisfaction at Wolfwood's return. But he was oblivious to his surroundings. He said nothing more to Jace or the other men, and began to pull away from them as he quickened his pace up the stairs.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you what an honor it is,” Brayden said, turning to Jace as they followed Cedwyn up. “To meet you. Back in Sandia”

"An honor?" Jace smiled. "Why's that?"

“You're a legend in the Adamant Gaze, you have to know that. We were ordered not to talk about it before but now … and you’re. I mean you’re royalty.”

“I’m not royalty.”

Brayden let out an amused sigh.

“To those of who matter you are. Bastard or no. You’re a prince. Could have used you in Sandia. Could have used all of you,” he said, and then with an upward nod he motioned to Cedwyn who had reached the top of the stairs.

“And now you’re here. At your final test and well … it’s just like I said, it’s an honor.”

​Irick’s eyes darted over to Brayden, as if he had sensed the other man’s eyes on him. He was right.

“You talk too much, Irick,” Brayden said, annoyed. He looked back over to Jace as they reached the second floor and started down a long corridor. “Ignore him.”

​“Test. Been hearing that word a lot,” Jace said.

The trio came to a halt as they caught up to Cedwyn at the last door, for though the hallway went on, the rest of it was dark. Jace could see a few more doors and the vague detail of the painting on the fringe of the mounted lantern light, but beyond was total darkness.

Looking away from the abandon hallway, Cedwyn cleared his throat and turned back towards the door, staring at the copper number: 222. To Jace, he seemed highly composed, much more like the Cedwyn who had mentored him when he had first come to Veil’driel.

In the moments they waited by the door, Jace glanced back to the stairwell and thought about what his life might have been like. What if he had killed Tyrus Minch and walked out of this place with Kerrick. What if—

“You would have grown to be fierce. Fiercer than anyone can imagine. Charming, too. The perfect, heartless killer. But you would have been dead. The part worth living for, at least. Does that appeal to you?”

A crooked expression came across Jace’s face. He turned toward the door, but it was Cedwyn who spoke.

“Duchenne?” he asked, leaning his head closer.

“So it would seem, lad, quite right. I’m afraid, however, that I will require further evidence of your identity. For it is possible you have staged this little conversation outside my door as part of some cleverly concocted ruse.”

Cedwyn looked oddly amused

“I’m a Due Timer,” he said. “But I’d bet you knew that. I’d also bet you knew we were coming.”

“Ah. I for one don’t gamble. Especially not with people’s lives,” Duchenne’s voice came through the door. “It’s possible, you know. Quite possible that you are an imposter yet.”

Cedwyn sighed.

“Well, I mean … if you can’t …” He pursed his lips and exchanged an annoyed glance with Jace. “If you can think of a way for us to prove who we are, I’m open to suggestions. Although I’d say the fact that I’m standing outside your door, and have had to walk past my people to do so, should weigh pretty strongly in my favor.”

“You forget, kiddo, I have accomplished the same feat myself. It means nothing.

There was an extended pause, and after another moment Cedwyn looked again to Brayden and Irick. Each had a look of anticipation in their eyes, but neither had any suggestions. Then he turned back to the door.

“Okay?” he said, trying to prompt further instruction.

“If you are who you say, then the Lord of Graham’s assassins will be with you also. And he would find no difficulty entering this room with the heirloom. Bring only yourself and the assassin.”

“I’m not a—”

“You are what you are until I tell you you aren’t. And my solution has been spoken.”

Cedwyn nodded over to Brayden.

“We’ll talk later,” he said, and Brayden left without a word, Irick following. “And Bray” Cedwyn added. Brayden turned back to him. “Well done.”

“Wolfwood,” the man acknowledged with a smirk, then he nodded and continued with Irick towards the stairs.

When he turned back, Jace was striding towards the door behind him.

“Here goes nothing,” Jace said, and before Cedwyn could even react, he was reaching for the doorknob.

The second he touched it, there was a bright crimson flash that caused Jace to instinctively recoil his hand, and he realized immediately it was his ruby ring which was glowing. Cedwyn stepped forward, grabbing Jace’s wrist as if to remove it before he waved him off.

“It’s alright,” Jace assured him. “Just startled me a bit.”

Cedwyn had no time to respond as the door clicked, creaking open on its own, and with a final exchanged glance, both men entered.

How many thresholds like this have we crossed together?

Jace heard the question in Cedwyn’s voice, but he wasn’t sure if he’d actually said it.

And the first thing they noticed in the room was a single, flickering candle on the sill of the lone square window, but the flame appeared white at first glance, not the color of flame. Just beside it, a symbol of some kind had been drawn with chalk and flickered in the candlelight.

“Calm down,” Cedwyn whispered through gritted teeth. “You’re all over the place.”

All of the mounted lanterns – a style consistent throughout The Faraway Cry - were burning brightly. The room itself was simple. A table with a few cheaply made chairs stood off in the corner near the window, and on the opposite side of the room was an unremarkable bed. And a man who appeared no older than forty was sitting on it. He was holding a large ceramic teacup and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of them, as if this was the only confirmation he trusted.

Neither Jace nor Cedwyn sat, they just stood looking at the man.

“..person at last,” Jace heard, but the man’s mouth appeared to move in slow motion, and the Outrider felt violently nauseous as if he would get sick right there and then. Jace fell back against the wall, finding it difficult to breathe as an agonizing migraine overtook him. Reflexively, the assassin closed his eyes, clenching his teeth. Through the darkness of his tightly shut eyelids he could see the symbol drawn on the wall, pulsating like a heartbeat, a beating transition between crimson and blinding clover-green. With each pulse, the symbol grew brighter, the pain impossibly worse, and Jace was sure his head would split in two at any moment.

Cedwyn, standing unaffected, drew his short-swords and took up an aggressive stance against the man, about to strike. “What are you doing to him?” he screamed. “This was not what I … Stop or I’ll end you right now!”

Ailmar paid no heed to Cedwyn’s threats as he stood suddenly from his bed, sending the short-swords from Cedwyn’s hands where they stuck in the wall behind him. Instinctively, Cedwyn stepped to them and grabbed the hilts, but the weapons were fastened there with the weight of a mountain. With his other hand, Duchenne waved what appeared to be some sort of symbol in the air and Jace was flung to his feet, then with a pushing motion, he was pinned to the wall. It appeared as if Ailmar Duchenne was preparing for a deathblow, having Jace in a defenseless state, and in his desperation Cedwyn abandoned his attempt to retrieve his swords and charged. His effort earned him a head nod from Ailmar and he found himself frozen in his tracks.

Jace’ eyes were rolling back in his head, his breathing coming in quick, useless spurts.

Ailmar Duchenne’s eyes glimmered through every color of the rainbow.

Khayn screamed in impotent rage.

There was a noise that sounded like glass breaking and it lingered as if on the edge of an echo. Cedwyn felt his legs break free and behind him his short-swords fell from the wall with a pair loud clangs.

Jace was free as well, sitting with his back against the wall, trying to catch his breath.

“You alright?” Cedwyn asked, staggering towards him.

Jace only nodded, the full of his concentration on breathing more than anything else. He opened his mouth in an attempt to say something, but couldn’t yet manage words.

Cedwyn’s scornful stare darted to Ailmar Duchenne and he spun to pick his swords off the floor. In a flash he had the weapons in his hand and he twirled them toward the man. With just a single step forward he had the tip of the blades at his throat.

“Give me a reason not to,” Khayn said, holding the steel straight and absolutely steady below Ailmar’s chin.”And let’s see what happens.”

“Stop,” came a hoarse voice from behind him. Cedwyn turned to see Jace with an outstretched hand. The assassin swallowed. “Lower your weapon, Cedwyn,” he finished with more strength.

Cedwyn didn’t question Jace’s words, but maintained his intense stare as he lowered his weapons.

At no point had Ailmar looked concerned. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed again, reached over for the mug he had placed down on the nightstand beside his bed, and took the opportunity to sip its contents as if he too were recovering strength

“What happened to me?” Jace asked, having resituated himself to one of the chairs at the table. “What did you do?”

Ailmar raised his hand just slightly before letting it drop, as if it had taken great effort to do so.

“Your ring,” the wizard pointed out. “My symbols warded against what it was channeling. If I hadn’t destroyed it, it would have destroyed you.”

Jace looked down to the ring on his finger, and to his amazement, found that it had changed from crimson to a cascading riot of color.

“What are you telling me?” he asked, still admiring the beauty of it. “My ring is some kind of ... evil talisman or something?"

Jace slipped it off his finger and tumbled it around in his hand. Then, admiringly, he rubbed his finger over the glassy surface.

Ailmar slurped some tea.

“You will.” he looked over to Cedwyn who was still standing. “Both of you need to learn the significance of all precious stones if you want to survive. You look foolish in Veil'driel, what’s left of it, wearing them the way you do. It's primitive.”

Jace looked up quickly.

“Primitive?” he asked with some offense, his uncanny ability to forget recent events, no matter how horrible, at work.

“They’re tools is what they are,” Ailmar responded calmly, placing the mug back on the nightstand. “Would you walk around with a hammer around your neck because it was stylish? A fork, perhaps, because it was pretty?”

Cedwyn glanced back over to Jace.

“No. No, of course you wouldn’t.”

Duchenne stood up, rising to his feet and walking towards them.

“Sit, sit,” he said, looking at Cedwyn and motioning towards the free chair beside Jace.

“I think I’d prefer to stand for now,” the Outrider said.

Ailmar smiled.

“Well, alright. Suit yourself then. Fine.”

He made his way to the window, speaking as he peered at farmland wrapped in darkness.

“A storm is coming," Ailmar said.

Jace sat in silence, and after an extended pause, Cedwyn couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“It's what they call progress, yes?” he said. “I'd wager this one's heard that more than once."

Duchenne looked over at Cedwyn who stared right back, not one to wilt under anyone's scrutiny.

“No,” Ailmar said at length in an unassuming tone. “Only an observation. There’s bad weather coming.”

In the corner, Jace smirked as he watched Ailmar walk back to his bed and sit. Frowning, Cedwyn moved to join him at the table.

“Please, call me Ailmar,” he said. Then he folded his hands, leaned forward, and rested his forearms on his knees. “You want to know what this is really all about? What the Sun Kingdom is. That’s fair, that’s fair.”

Jace raised and eyebrow and did a double take with Cedwyn.

"Actually, I don't think any of us asked what-"

“What you have experienced is the first breath of a civilization long dead. The first twitch of the first kingdom’s corpse.”

Jace opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when Ailmar held up a finger.

“Trust me,” he said to Jace. “By the same tides that have brought our paths together this night, will our conversation satisfy your questions." He reached again for the mug of tea, straightening his back as he brought the rim to his lips, and he seemed to drift, cocking his in an internal debate.

Cedwyn looked over to Jace then, studying him, and giving the impression that he was depending on his lead to move things along.

And Jace didn't disappoint.

“The Tunnels of Armageddon,” Jace said. “The tunnels that brought me here. What are they?”

Ailmar focused on Jace again.

“Ah,” Ailmar said, smiling. “‘Tunnels.’ How charmingly quaint.” He stood up so abruptly that Jace jumped. Cedwyn, however, didn’t so much as flinch. “Catacombs, tunnels,” he went on, and he took a full step towards Jace, resting his fingertips on the edge of the table, looking down dead in his eyes. “Wizards, Warlocks… Sorcerers. These are but pitiful labels put in place by a primitive linguistic system practiced over countless worlds and civilizations.” He laughed, a sort of belittling cackle. “There are no words for what I am now. What we are," he added with a half-nod towards Cedwyn. "It’s embarrassing enough that you treat gemstones like trinkets, with no knowledge-”

“Don’t let it get you,” Cedwyn said, seeming to see or perceive something Jace could not. “I know what it feels like. It can only be worse for you.”

There was a long pause before the muscles in Ailmar’s face relaxed. At last, he smiled and shrugged as if it were his only explanation.

“Even worse because I know the nature of the source,” he said. “I should be above it, but the land is sick. Existence is sick, and then so am I.” Again, the Ailmar made his way back over to the window, bracing himself against the wall by placing his hand to the side of it. To Jace it seemed like looking outside lent him comfort, some inexplicable reassurance. “So,” Duchenne went on, his face almost pressed against the glass now. “I am to play the role of the wise old man. The all knowing sage who guides the heroes on their path.”

Apparently, Duchenne had expected a response to this, for when he received none, he twisted his head towards Jace and Cedwyn, and his gaze bounced between them, but their expressions remained blank. “It’s an old story,” he said, clarifying.

Jace raised his eyebrows.

“I guess,” he said, withdrawing his tin case of cigarettes. He had no memory of putting them in his cloak, he simply expected them to be there and he was right. Almost as if he had manifested their existence in a dream. Placing one in his mouth, it bounced on his lips as he spoke. “You don't look that old to me.”

“Not in here,” Ailmar said, snapping just as Jace struck the golden lighter, and as he did so the flame turned to water, a white light flickering in its center. As the tip of the cigarette entered the flame it became drenched and ruined.

Jace absently took the cigarette out of his mouth and held it down at his side. He kept the small apparatus lit, staring in amazement at the flickering water. He should have recognized that this lighter had been lost in Lornda Manor, and it should have been impossible for him to have it again. He should have known how strange this was. But that consciousness of the surreal circumstances was fading. Even while aware of it on some level, it was beginning to feel more real than it had any point before.

“It’s probably just paranoia,” Duchenne said. “Yes. I’m probably just being paranoid. I don’t think flames so small as candles or flint box lighters can be used as spyglasses. But better safe than sorry, and easily done with more than one element at our disposal.”

He looked back to Jace who was still hypnotized by the water flame, presently appearing to work up the courage to touch it. Then he nodded to himself, now standing upright and crossing his arms before the window.

“The vernacular on both sides of the Veil, not just ours, and across an untold number of worlds is not our own. In your case it is the fragmented remnants of the Veil'driel Empire” he said. “The articulation of the direct descendants of the Sun Kingdom of Joran.”

Jace cocked his head, but didn’t dare speak.

“A civilization of the very earliest times, times that no one can understand now. It was the time when magic words were made. A place of pure thought. Pure energy. A place of mind. A word spoken by chance would suddenly become powerful, and what people wanted to happen could happen, and nobody … nobody could explain how it was.”

Ailmar turned around to face them again, his eyes sharp. Focused.

“Now all we know is division. Division between mind and speech, mind and matter, metaphysical and physical. And it is of this division, this first of all divisions that the Veil’driel Empire, Mazhira Freehold, Kingdom of Sindell, and Tri-State Commonwealth were born on Ciridian”

Jace’s eyes widened while Cedwyn just looked at him from over his shoulder.

Cedwyn sagged back into his chair.

“Arkhelan,” he said in a whisper.

Ailmar nodded, taking his cue.

“I have reason to believe that Arkhelan actually lived in that time. Dare I say he is a direct descendant of that Kingdom that was the world.”

“On the night Augustine Calloway arrived at the Greywall, he was trying to speak something about Sindell's king,” Jace said. “I saw it while I was in the Tunnels.”

"Indeed," Ailmar said, and then he paused to exchange a glance with Cedwyn. "You've taught your protege well." Cedwyn nodded in acknowledgement and Duchenne continued on. “A plague that began centuries ago and was put down is rising again. Khayn Ahara and Raven Lale stopped Arkhelan once before, facing him down in Mazhira, but not it has risen again. It was the plague that you treated in Sandia."

"The people from Mazhira," Jace said, enthralled.

"Yes. But it will not stay there. And soon it will be beyond even Jaden's skill to soothe. No matter how many life forces she uses to aid her efforts, as she did all of yours in the Crossroads beneath that town."

"What exactly is this ... plague?" Jace asked.

Ailmar sighed.

"It is a force seeking to cause chaos within Ciridian, and from there the whole of Ara. The unleashing of secrets upon unready minds is to incite disaster, and in that way words retain their potency.”

“I don't-"

Duchenne hardly hesitated, as if eager to get out the explanation.

“The plague, as some call it, is the remnants of a ruined and directionless power now completely devoid of purpose. A power dependant on what is put in to determine what is put out.” The anger crept back into the Ailmar’s tone. “And what has been put in is centuries of misuse and neglect by ignorant people. Who have, in turn, created misguided governments. Until what has come out is what can be called a plague. A plague that has now spilled into physical reality as well.”

“If you're expecting him to be getting all this, he isn't,” Cedwyn said.

Jace looked over to Cedwyn with an annoyed expression. But he didn't deny it.

And then his attention was brought back to Duchenne as the man continued.

“You need not concern yourself with such matters," he said, eyes fixed on Jace. There are philosophies and studies in which even the immortal lack proper time to appreciate. It is not your lot to understand the realm of mythical revelation. Nor is it your responsibility to interpret the primordial society in which the gods reigned in the world and supported humanity’s endeavors.” Both Cedwyn and Jace remained silent. “I was merely answering a question. Duchenne turned momentarily from the window. “‘What force are you talking about?’ Isn’t that what you asked?”

“It is,” Jace acknowledged, and then he took a deep breath. “Nevermind.”

“Some of the violent break between what you might define as ‘heaven’ and the world you know is relevant, however.”

By mere habit, Jace reached into his cloak and withdrew his cigarettes. He placed one in his mouth and was about to strike the lighter when he remembered and froze.

Looking annoyed, Duchenne batted his hand and the cigarette lit. Jace took in a deep drag of the tobacco.

Cedwyn never took his eyes from legendary Outrider.

“There was a war, that is all any of us know for sure. It ended all intercontinental contact, fracturing the unity of the world, and thus ending the days of the Sun Kingdom. In time, even the name of this world we live in deteriorated from the memory of most, and remains so lost today.” Although originally said in jest, Duchenne had truly assumed the persona of a wise old sage. And Jace hung on his every word like a child. “The final battle was said to have occurred right here.” Ailmar motioned out with an upward nod. “On the fringes and within what would have otherwise remained this sleepy crossroads town of Mirror Lake. Other battles were fought elsewhere. Bryce Valley, before it was called that of course ..." He stopped and narrowed his eyes through the window, seeming to address himself more than anyone else. "Westwood ... and now these places exist where the Veil is the thinnest."

"You were talking about the final battle," Cedwyn said suddenly, perhaps trying to keep Ailmar focused.

And Duchenne nodded. Again, seeming more to himself.

"Not far from this exact spot,” he paused again, but just for a second. “Neither side thought it would be the final conflict, but ..."

Jace ran a hand back through his hair and looked over to Cedwyn who stared back blankly, as if studying him. Then he plucked the cigarette from Jace’s mouth, placing it in his own.

Duchenne went on.

“This break, this … division of the Sun Kingdom would evolve over the course of aeons into separate governments, each an established shadow of the opposing primeval forces. The first of these, the Freehold Theocracy of Mazhira continued pursuit of the arcane. The Kingdom of Sindell and the Empire of Veil'driel fought to abandon the Sun Kindom’s celestial existence.”

“I thought you just said the Sun Kingdom was paradise," Jace said. "Who would ever want to fight to end that?"

“Ah. What cosmic irony it is that one of your lineage and allegiance would ever ask that question.” Ailmar smiled. "I can see why Artemus likes you. And you found his record book, I see. Right where I told you it would-”

"Duchenne," Cedwyn said.

And he nodded.

“The Kingdom of Sindell and Empire of Veil'driel held to a faith that to continue in the Sun Kingdom’s existence, to possess that sort of power, was to live in a state where ideals could never survive. That the absence of ideals would ultimately lead to the irrelevance of morality, at which point subsidence itself would cease. Their core belief was in individuality. That living alone ... just to exist was rare and beautiful.”

Jace looked to be considering the possibility of taking his cigarette back from Cedwyn.

“What happened then?"

“Civil War.” Duchenne said. “The first of all wars that has echoed eternally in the form of all conflicts since. The war that waits at the end of any journey to restore the Sun Kingdom. Along a road we tread all too often.”

Jace rolled his eyes.

“Alright, look. Just pretending for a minute that the secrets to all creation is, in fact, a normal topic of discussion ... and not just the source of this migraine I have, can I make an observation here?” Ailmar’s reflection in the window smiled back at him. “Now that you’ve explained why Veil'driel has no real,” Jace paused, took the cigarette back from Cedwyn, and flicked ash from the end, all while trying to avoid the word Duchenne seemed to hate: “Wizardry of its own, maybe that’s saying something. I mean, in light of what’s happened to Mazhira, has it occurred to you that the rest of Ciridian might have been saved by that fact?”

Duchenne crossed his arms, his eyes glistening.

“Perhaps, young assassin ..."

"I'm and Outrider of Veil'driel. No an-"

"Time will tell. To answer your question: perhaps. But it is a simplistic version of these events that I bestow upon you this night, and so you would find your perspective on the matter equally inadequate and small could I truly share my thoughts.” Duchenne nearly continued without pause but then suddenly stopped, as if reacting to a thought or revising one while spoken. For a moment, he said nothing and only thumbed the growth on his chin. “Still …,” he went on at length. “Ciridian's governments, doomed as they may be to perpetual conflict, are no less entwined for eternity. Inseparable … no. Symbiotic.” A thunderclap rolled in the distance just as the first taps of rain started to pelt the window. “You have seen how this plague ... these forces attack the mind. In Lornda Manor, in your dreams you have seen it. And you were in Sandia. You have seen the horrific effects it has on the body.” Duchenne turned away from the window like he was coming out of a trance, like whatever soothing qualities the view engendered had all at once grown stale, and he did not speak again until he was sitting on the bed. “By Mazhira’s philosophies we have become, by our very nature, the metaphysical. Our pursuit is the mind.” Duchenne focused in on Jace and his gaze seemed to pierce straight to his heart, to the very fabric of his soul. And the Outrider saw his eyes flash through every color of the rainbow. “Veil'driel, Sindell, even the Tri-State disputed for centuries between them are the corporeal, Jace,” said Duchenne’s voice, though not aloud. “Heed where I’ve told you this plague began. And do not forget where I’ve told you it spread.”

Before Duchenne could look away, Cedwyn was speaking.

“The tunnels we were in below Sandia. The tunnels you used to escape Lornda Manor. It was their original purpose and design to overcome the Hezlin Sea's impassable tides and connect Ciridian with the other continents in this world, specifically Emren. Probably Mazhira's most remarkable achievement."

"I'm sorry," Jace said. Cigarette still in hand he massaged the bridge of his nose with his ring finger and thumb. "This is too much to-"

"Well, it better not be," Cedwyn said. "Because everything's riding on it." Suddenly Jace felt like he was back at Firefly Farms, listening to Cedwyn set him straight on some task of another. And he was once again focused. It was an attention Cedwyn commanded and he waited until he saw the focus in his eyes before proceeding. "These passages made worldwide travel reality and yes, contact with their societies possible. It was a tremendous step towards reunification and discovery unparalleled since the breaking of the Sun Kingdom. Mazhira was almost there. They were close."

The look in the Ailmar’s eyes grew hungry with what Jace somehow knew, instinctively, to be an obsession long denied. His hands trembled ever-so-slightly as he went on.

“It was an amazing time,” he said with some old emotion in his tone. “A marvelous breakthrough, when the future seemed bright. New, amazing lands that had survived and evolved in their own way.” Duchenne reached once more for his mug. “Alas, a breakthrough that would turn to undoing.”

“Was Veil'driel ... or Sindell ever informed?” Jace asked. “None of our history collaborates any of this.”

“Of course it wouldn’t,” Duchenne said, finishing the black tea and now holding an empty cup. “The shifting sands of time sweep everything away. Mazhira’s memory remains intact only by the labors of her hermitages. Its...,” he paused, appearing typically irritated at having to continually use the word: “magic. Without that benefit, the earliest origins of your histories have faded completely into myth.

Jace snuffed the cigarette out on the floor as Ailmar went on.

“Mazhira tried to share its knowledge with Sindell and Veil'driel. In vain. Your people, your ancestral emperors and kings were conditioned with an ingrained mistrust, and hatred of Mazhira. The few of that ancient history that may have been willing to listen did not dare oppose the powerful aristocrats whose innate suspicions became tradition. Political quicksand and miscommunication ensued. Age old ingredients to the ultimate sin.”

“War,” Cedwyn said.

Duchenne looked strangely delighted. Then he tapped his finger twice against his temple and pointed to Cedwyn with his eyes remaining on Jace. “Mazhira tried to force the issue, to make the leaders of the world listen. But at the mere mention of wizards, other continents and crossroads,” he trailed off for a moment. “The rest is an endless series of tragic details in a heartbreaking story of shattered possibility and promise. And so it is …,” Duchenne said, expelling a heavy sigh, “that here, on Ciridian, the cradle of life as we know it ... death has become our only, shameful constant.”

“And then what happened?” Jace asked. "The world is not at constant war, so something must have ..."

Cedwyn nodded, having expected the question.

“It was the House of Calloway that first voiced their wish to stop the fighting with the rest of Ciridian. Namely Sindell and Veil'driel. To let the world live and breathe on what popular opinion was increasingly coming to see as its natural course."

"Calloway," Jace said. He was obviously overwhelmed, but was trying to hide it by keeping his tone level.

"Calloway means a pebbly place, he said. Which has since become the origin of the term stepping stones, for that very reason."

"Ah," Jace mused, running his fingers across his chin. "That's not really what I was talking about, but ..."

Cedwyn smiled.

"The movement spread. The hermitages of Mazhira resisted, turning their powers on the people, all consciousness lost, consumed in the fires of their obsession. But some of the Tears knew the people were right. They knew the time had come to let go. So despite their cravings for the euphoria of world restoration, despite their primal need to restore the Sun Kingdom, many joined the nobles in what they knew was the right thing to do. Tears like Jaden.”

In that moment, Jace could have sworn that he heard the clashing of weapons and war screams. The sensation was as distracting as it was indescribable, but the Outrider remained intensely focused on Cedwyn's words.

“The civil war was horrific,” Ailmar was saying, chiming back in, and by the faraway look in his eyes he was watching what Jace could hear. “By all that could be considered holy, I tell you, there are no words that could ever define the … no. I cannot bear to recall the detail.”

Duchenne took several deep, steadying breaths as if simply touching on the subject was enough to cause severe physical and psychological distress. Whoever he was now. Whatever he had experienced to become ... whatever he was. There were things Jace could not understand, no matter how much was told to him, and he knew it. In the end, all he could do is ask:

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” came the weak reply after a long pause.

“You sure?” Jace stood up from the chair. “Maybe we should-"

“Fine, boy. Now listen. Sit.”

Jace complied, slowly sitting back in his chair. As he did so, the color returned to Ailmar’s face, along with some strength to his voice.

“What happened next is recorded even in our own history books. Those passed down and maintained by the Luna Scarlet Monks. Members of the House of Calloway, with the Tears in their cooperative, destroyed the hermitages unwilling to surrender. Some were so consumed that at the moment of their death, they wept with joy, basking in the ecstasy of being freed…” For just a moment, it seemed as if he might, once again, be swept to a dark and distant place. “There were those engulfed in necromantic flames … praising their good fortune at being burned alive.” But before the demonic reverie took him completely, Ailmar resisted and came back. The room was absolutely still, as if the words Ailmar Duchenne spoke wove a tapestry of silence to wrap around the moment. Even the intensifying rain faded away. Jace was frozen. “When the fighting was over, only the House of Calloway had survived intact. The other noble Houses were scattered. Mazhira's greatest minds, their most preeminent hermitages, were lost. The surviving Tears reestablished as many hermitages as they could, but from then on, they were forbidden from entering any positions of power. Even the most fiercely loyal were shut out as Mazhira’s new policies sought to prevent history from repeating itself. They found themselves widely persecuted for nearly all of the first century, before the tolerance of the masses, the rest of Ciridian, eventually allowed them to enter society as little more than celestial scientists meant to predict weather, set agricultural calendars and the like. Some were graced with the opportunity to become glorified historians while the most powerful and trusted were assigned as guardians of the Republic’s prominent cities. This Order became known as the Monks of Luna Scarlet, after the moon that Mazhira once believed held the key to all preternatural life on the world. The tremendous forces of the Tunnels of Armageddon continued on their path of deterioration as well. Having made the journey from an instrument of ultimate peace, to use in the wars against Ciridian, to use in the war against each other, to a means of commerce for wealthy merchants to travel the country.”

“And yet Arkhelan proved the prejudices well founded,” Jace said. The comment drew a somewhat cross stare from Duchenne, who exchanged a glance with Cedwyn. “What? Am I wrong?” he went on, realizing how his words could have offended Ailmar, but unapologetic. “I saw what happened when I was escaping Lornda Manor. I saw Arkhelan enter Mazhira. He decided the entire High Council was expendable.

Duchenne held Jace’s stare a little longer, before finally reaching back to the nightstand and the teapot.

“Arkhelan never fought in the civil war,” he said as he refilled his mug with the steaming tea. Even from where he was sitting, Jace could smell the scent of berries.

“But…” Jace cast a sidelong glance to Cedwyn as if he had missed something. “You said only the Tears loyal to the nobles survived ...”

“Yes. That’s true,” Ailmar said as he set the teapot back down. “But shortly before his attack on the High Council, the documents of his ancestry were found to be forgeries.”

“So then what are you telling me?” Jace asked. “That he’s been waiting centuries just to unleash this plague and resume the civil war? Why would he have to fake his identity to do that? Or wait until now to do so?”

Duchenne looked down at his teacup, blowing into it before glancing up over the rim.

“Well founded questions, all. Questions I have not yet been able to answer, for little is known of Arkhelan if I am to be honest in the matter.”

“He’s a mass murderer,” Jace said. “You can start there. I saw it for myself in the-”

"In the Tunnels, yes, I know ..." Ailmar sipped at the tea and then lowered the steaming cup to his lap. “Arkhelan,” he began, but then he stopped and took another minute, looking down to the floorboards. “Jaden first met him upon his acceptance into the capital’s hermitage. 222 years ago this summer. He claimed it was his first time in Mazhira, which would have been strange, however not inconceivable. And from then on he did a remarkable job with any and all tasks the government assigned him. He was disgruntled with the High Council, resented how the Tears were treated, but that hardly made him unique. In truth, his profile was kept quite low in his time with the hermitage. From how Jaden describes it, not one in ten politicians would have even known his name.”

“They would know now,” Jace said.

“Indeed. And yet alas, I still find myself in shock that we should suffer so much fear from the man.”

“Why?” Jace asked, anger creeping into both his tone and demeanor. “Why is it so difficult for you to understand? His actions have already told us what we need to know. The man killed the High Council. Turned Augustine, Jaden, and the rest into escaped refugees!”

Ailmar was completely unfazed by the rise in tension. He was still calm, sedate in his thoughts.

“The only person who could have truly claimed to know him was a Tear named Serinda Bella. A mentor of Arkhelan for many years, she once described him as having the soul of a child and the mind of a philosopher.”

“Seriously?” Jace stood up with such a start that his chair crashed to the floor behind him. “You actually sound like you admire the man!” Cedwyn remained seated and still, staring up at his friend while Ailmar looked to be heeding Jace'’s animosity for the first time. Still he hardly looked concerned. When neither man spoke, Jace wiped a hand across his mouth, took a deep breath and tried to collect his thoughts. “When I was with the Adamant Gaze, I was in Mazhira once. It was before the people of that country had lost all hope, as it seems they rightfully have done now. I saw mothers …” Jace stopped to clear his throat, desperate to fight back the emotion threatening to betray all composure. “I remember mothers cradling dead babies on the side of the road … begging for money to buy coffins. Kerrick told me it was a plague, but I couldn't have known it was ... Do not tell me Arkhelan is anything but evil incarnate! Do not tell me he is a child when I have seen what his plague has done!” Without realizing it, Jace had stepped mere inches from Duchenne and had been screaming down on top of him. Cedwyn did not intervene.

“Ah, Dorsey Trent. Welcome,” Ailmar whispered, slowly placing the teacup beside his bed and rising with a calm gracefulness in direct contention to Jace. “But that can't be. You're and Outrider, not the assassin. Isn’t that what you said?” Jace took a deep breath, then blew it all out of him, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “I said the soul of a child, not that he was one. And do not presume to think I cannot appreciate the things you have seen and endured in your life before Veil'driel.” In the corner, Cedwyn stood from his chair as if debating whether or not to approach. Jace progressively cooled. He even raised his head to make eye contact with Duchenne as he went on.

“The first signs of something amiss came long before any physical manifestations of the … plague came to pass. Arkhelan tried to bring this to the High Council’s attention.”

Jace sighed.

"But then why-"

Duchenne held up a finger to silence him.

“I have done my best here, my sincerest best to grant you at least some semblance of perspective into what we are dealing with. I have done this in the hopes that you might appreciate the history that has led us here. Led us to this … endgame of what has been an infinitely complex continuum of events and circumstance spanning back to preexistence. What I am telling you, Jace Dabriel, is that no one man, being, or force could ever be singularly responsible for that which has manifested itself as this all-consuming epidemic. I am telling you that Arkhelan is not the architect of the plague. I am telling you that he warned the High Council of Mazhira to untie the hands of the Tears so they could prevent it. I am telling you that although he is, indeed, responsible for toppling the Mazhiran Freehold, his motives beyond that are shrouded in mystery.”

“Um,” Cedwyn’s voice broke in. “Excuse me.” Duchenne looked past Jace’s shoulder to Cedwyn.

“You wouldn’t be able to just … snap your fingers and make a bottle of Orinel Lin arise from this table?” Jace smiled before shaking his head and turning to face him. The comic relief was appreciated. “Because I don’t think any man ‘spanning back to preexistence’ has ever needed a drink as badly as that kid does right now.”

“I regret not, my friend,” Duchenne said, beguiled. He brought his eyes back to Jace’s. "Walk with me, boy.”

Ailmar started to the door, his entire demeanor lightening tenfold as he moved.

Cedwyn followed suit, and as he made his way to the door the heavy rain outside became perceptible all at once, coinciding with the comforting sound of the jubilant activity of Raven’s men downstairs as he crossed into the hall.

With just a few steps beyond the threshold of the open door, Jace and Duchenne were standing in front of the chalk line he had noticed earlier. The same line he had seen in Sandia.

“Augustine had many talents,” Ailmar was saying to Jace, kicking at the rune symbol drawn on the floor. “But he was weakened the last time he was here, and this is crude. A temporary, barely effective solution.”

“Did the best he could, I guess,” Jace said, sounding defensive. “Whatever he did here has worked pretty well so far.”

“Pure happenstance, I can assure you,” Duchenne said, and without the slightest hesitation he started down into the darkness. “Come.”

Jace and Cedwyn followed him, and they listened to the legendary Outrider intently as he talked quietly before entering one of the unprotected rooms.

“By the time Augustine returned to Mazhira after his last night here, the city had made the final descent into chaos. The dim-witted governor, a man named Lograine, locked the Ziggurat of Ur, shut out the citizens and horded all supplies. Then he lit most of the remaining structures on fire in an attempt to slow the plague.”

“Lograine was a coward and a fool,” Cedwyn said, but with the majority of his attention was on the new door they now stood before, as if he were expecting, or at least prepared for, something to jump out at them when Ailmar creaked it open.

The door clicked and Duchenne pushed it into a gaping vertical void, and at this, he hesitated, albeit briefly, before entering. Cedwyn followed him in, then Jace. The room was revealed, after Duchenne lit the mounted lanterns with his water flames, to be identical to, and equally unimpressive as, the one they had just left. Now, with the proper lighting flickering throughout, he concentrated on the window, withdrawing a piece of chalk from his pocket.

“The monks tried to convince the governor to open the doors. To let the people into the ziggurat in hopes of increasing their odds of survival.” Ailmar sighed as he nonchalantly scripted the familiar rune sign beside the window. Then he took the lantern from the table and placed it on the windowsill, careful to ensure its glow basked directly over the symbol. “But he wouldn’t hear of it. He was an untrusting fool. Corrupt and cowardly in the end, despite however he sold his actions to himself.” Duchenne took a step back to examine his handiwork. Satisfied, he turned around to face Cedwyn and Jace. “Lograine was of the House of Gladstone, one of the most decimated in our Civil War, and the passing generations only fueled its extreme prejudice. He wouldn’t even open the gates to hear Augustine's proposals. He wouldn’t even see him.”

Jace stood by the door. He waited for Cedwyn and Duchenne to walk past him into the hall.

“I saw what you're describing in the tunnels beneath Lornda Manor. I saw Arkhelan come and reclaim Mazhira for the Tears. Lograine did not survive."

“No, I would imagine not,” Duchenne said, reaching the next door and then pausing to listen for activity on the other side. “When Augustine left him, however, he was still very much alive. He and his servant, a Scarlet Monk with marginal skill, but an abundance of obedience, had been attempting to contact the Jaden and the Antanjyl Hermitage for weeks.”

Ailmar twisted the doorknob and entered the room. Jace and Cedwyn behind.

“Had he only opened the gates in the stead of setting fires, the gruesome fate of that hermitage in Bryce Valley, who did not share Arkhelan’s views, could have been conveyed.” Duchenne went about the mundane task of lighting the lanterns, but this time, he went straight for the one on the table, placing it on the windowsill immediately before tending to any of the others. “But, he did light those fires, didn't he? Shutting out all truth of knowledge, and in the process, killing himself with his own cowardice.” With the lamp aglow, Duchenne was drawing the symbol now. “It was at this point that the people, who should have been the only real concern, fled the city.”

With the rune emblem securely completed, its white chalk luminescent in lantern light, the legendary Outrider took to lighting the others, and as he did so, Jace stepped to the window and looked out.

“Then maybe some of them survived,” he said, holding up a hand to the small group of men standing outside The Faraway Cry’s stables below, huddled beneath a long overhang as a shield against the torrential rain. They were plainly confused to see light and activity coming from this room, but even from this distance Jace could sense their optimism. Inexplicable and feint though it was.

“Doubtful,” Ailmar said as the last lantern jumped to life. “Then, as it is again, the effects of the plague were at their worst. Perhaps due to the city’s proximity to the Tunnels of Armageddon. Perhaps ... something else, but who can be sure?” Jace turned away from the window to find Ailmar looking down at the floorboards, motionless, tumbling the chalk in his hand. “Arkhelan was no more than two days away. The time had come to make a decision.” Duchenne looked up to make eye contact with Jace, and again, he thought he saw the shade of Duchenne's eyes fluctuate into colors that reminded him of comets. “And so a decision was made. We fled into the Tunnels.”

“When it was discovered that the Mazhira refugees attempted to use them,” Cedwyn said. “It was thought to mean Augustine Calloway ran out of time. That he ...”

“Panicked?” Ailmar asked rhetorically.

The comment met with complete silence, and this is what caused Jace to look up from the cigarette he was about to place in his mouth.

As he did so, he saw both Cedwyn and Duchenne staring at something behind him.

“What,” Jace said, cigarette hanging from his lip. “What is it?” His hand crept slowly toward his crossbows.

“Easy. It cannot enter here any longer,” Ailmar said. “Who is it that you see, Jace?”

“Hobson,” Jace said without hesitation. Ashamed that he could not recall his first name. That was always the undercurrent whenever he thought of the forerunner. Shame.

“Of course it’s me. No coins this time, I'm afraid. Just me. And a request to talk for a minute. Is that too much to ask? After everything, I would think not."

"No," Jace stammered. "I guess ... I mean, I guess not, I don't ..."

Hobson nodded.

"You see, the last person I saw strolling through these halls was John Polidori, and you’re the same age after all. Same age I would have been if you had made it to me in time. But that's neither here nor there."

"No," Jace said.

"Jace," Cedwyn yelled and he exchanged a glance with Duchenne, as if seeking guidance.

Ailmar just shook his head and held up a finger.

"Well, I don't don't want to talk in there, obviously. I couldn't now, anyway. Even if I wanted to." He paused to give a great and resigned sigh. "Not with that long dead and ... somewhat recently dead Outrider about, scribbling on walls and such. Just step out in the hall for a moment. All I ask. Again, it's not much and you owe me. Help me out here, hm?" He reached out from his spot in the hallway, silhouette outlined in flickering water-flame from the lanterns ensconced around him. "What do you say, can you give me a hand?"

“He’s asking me to go out there,” Jace said.

“Do not move. Do not succumb to the folly of regret. Steady yourself. And listen to my voice,” Duchenne insisted. When Jace did not turn from the hallway, he took a full step forward. “Outrider Dabriel. Step back,” he said in a very deliberant, urgent tone. “Step back now.

“Hobson, I'm sorry. I'm sorry we couldn't to you in time. Creed wouldn't dispatch us until ...”

“Water under the bridge. And yet you won't even step out in this hallway. Won't even cross the simple threshold at your feet."

“Because this can't be … I mean, you can’t be—”

Hobson sneered, withdrawing a dagger from his cloak and thrusting it through the doorway towards Jace in a single, blindingly fast motion. It was sheer good fortune that in that instant the Outrider was pulled backward, falling hard to the floor with Cedwyn who had yanked him back just in time.

STATIC

Chapter Thirteen  (E) Follow My Feet #2190678 by Dan Hiestand