The Last Talisman

  “What’s the problem?” Laio asked. “Oarf has had more then enough rest. He’ll drop us off at the door. It’ll be child’s play.” The squire’s eyes suddenly lit up. “And it’ll be the first time I ever step foot in a sanctuary.”

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t be so thrilled,” Sennar muttered.

  Things didn’t turn out as smoothly as Laio had hoped. When, after a day’s travel, they came upon the slopes of the Sershet Mountains, it was clear that this leg of the mission would hardly be a walk in the park.

  A wall of bare rock rose before them. From the base of the plain, the mountains ascended gradually, forming elegant, grassy slopes, but then they climbed onward toward the sky on a dizzying incline, steep beyond all measure. The peaks were invisible, swallowed up in the clouds. Even Laio, who wasn’t given to pessimism, seemed utterly disheartened in the face of such a tremendous landscape.

  “Judging by the clouds up at the peak,” Sennar remarked, “I’m guessing the weather’s not too pleasant up there.”

  Nihal cast a worried look at the wall of rock. “Oarf won’t make it. His wings won’t last on such a steep climb, and the weather won’t make things any easier—”

  “We have no other choice,” the sorcerer broke in. “Either we take Oarf or we spend the rest of our lives scaling these mountains.”

  That evening, they set up camp at the foot of the mountain range, and in the morning they left just after sunrise.

  “I’m going to have to ask you for another big push, Oarf,” Nihal said to her dragon. “But I promise you, I’ll do my best to make sure this is the last.”

  Oarf fixed his red eyes on her proudly, straightening his back to reveal his full stature. Nihal smiled and climbed aboard. And so began their ascent.

  Initially, they proceeded without a hitch. Oarf soared with his wings outstretched, traveling upward at an effortless pace. But the worst was still to come.

  All that morning they coasted over the lush pastures that ran along the foot of the mountain until suddenly the rocky mass before them shot straight up through the sky and the true climb began. Oarf could no longer travel horizontally, but was forced to extend his wings and fly on a diagonal. At first, the angle was minimal, but it increased in steepness as they proceeded. From beneath her, Nihal could feel the muscles tensing in her dragon’s wings.

  “You can do this. You can do this,” she whispered in his ear, leaning forward over the creature’s head, and Oarf pushed even harder.

  Come evening, they set up camp at a high altitude, and Laio saw to Oarf’s aching muscles. With each passing hour, the wind grew more biting, the sky more menacing. Just before they closed their eyes to rest, the first flakes of snow came fluttering down.

  “Perfect,” Sennar muttered.

  For three whole days, they did nothing but climb, and on the evening of the third day, they set up camp just beneath a dense ceiling of clouds. Casting their hopeful gazes upward, they saw nothing but haze. Not even the outline of a peak was visible.

  On the first evening, Sennar had tried his luck conjuring a fire to keep them warm, but the tepid heat of the flames was short-lived, and the spell ceased working entirely the moment he fell asleep. To keep from dying of frostbite, they were forced to curl up even tighter beneath their cloaks and huddle beneath Oarf’s wings.

  The next morning, they plunged into the wall of clouds, and from there things only grew worse. The wind was icy. The snow muddled their vision and impeded their breathing. Oarf was doing the best he could, but the climb was arduous, and the distance he could manage to travel between sunrise and sunset was shrinking with each day.

  “Maybe we’ll just keep climbing like this forever. Maybe these mountains don’t have peaks at all, and the gods themselves are on the other side of these clouds,” Laio exclaimed, and Nihal couldn’t tell if he was thrilled or frightened by the prospect.

  For the next two days, they soared upward through the sea of clouds. When they emerged at last on the other side and lifted their gazes, they saw what seemed like a miraculous vision. In that moment, it became clear to Nihal why such a place had been chosen for the sanctuary.

  The mountains were a triumph of light. The sun shone with spectacular brightness, and even the cobalt blue of the sky seemed to shine. The ice all around them refracted the rays of sunlight into a thousand shades of blinding white. Everywhere they looked were more mountaintops, as far as the eye could see, rock after craggy rock in all directions. This onslaught of beauty revived their spirits. Now, with the long climb accomplished, they felt they were on the brink of success.

  The warmth of the sun’s dazzling light did not suffice to combat the wind and the cold, but it seemed likely the last leg of the trip would be easier. On back of Oarf, they weaved through hundreds of dark-brown mountaintops, their sharp peaks carved into the sky from out of a sea of downy white. Laio couldn’t keep from leaning out over the side and staring down.

  “We’re soaring above sheer nothingness!” he shouted in excitement, pointing to the carpet of clouds that shielded their view of the valley.

  Nihal and Sennar, meanwhile, were beginning to grow anxious. Locating the plateau from their vantage point among the mountaintops was all but impossible, and they couldn’t fly any higher. There was nothing left to do but consult the talisman again. Nihal closed her eyes and concentrated. All she could see was the effulgent brilliance of the sanctuary. Faintly, she sensed that they must continue heading east, and that they’d find what they were looking for at the exact center of the mountain range.

  traveled for two more days, until, at dawn on the third day, the aim of their journey appeared before their astonished eyes. The sight of it struck them dumb, and in silence, they wondered: How could such a place exist, in the midst of winter, so high up in the atmosphere?

  7

  Glael

  or On Solitude

  In bewilderment, Nihal, Sennar, and Laio stared at the patch of green before them, a sharp contrast to the mountain’s dark brown. They saw a grassy plain, splendid in the sunlight and filled with an array of colorful and intensely fragrant flowers. Overcome with wonder, they descended from the dragon’s back and stepped onto the pasture. As their feet sank into the rich grass, they marveled at the warmth of the surrounding air. There, in that lost haven, Spring had come already. It was dawn, and pink rays of sunlight played on the fleshy flower petals and on the grass speckled with beads of dew. A world apart—isolated and utterly remote.

  Without delay, Laio tossed off his cloak and went rolling through the field of flowers, his laughter like a chorus of crystal bells. “This is the true kingdom of the gods!”

  The plain was modest in size, and as they neared the edge, Nihal found herself looking out over the Land of the Sun. From where they stood, she could see nearly every inch of its territory, including small stretches of its bordering lands. There beneath them lay the clear splotch of Makrat stretching lazily near the Great Tributary and its little brother, the Lesser Tributary. Farther on was Lake Hantir, a silver luster in the first light of day. She saw the forest where their base was located and thought she could even see the base. She looked toward where the village of Eleusi and Jona should be, and beyond. Her heartbeat slowed.

  In the distance, where the lush forests of the Land of the Sun gave way to a vast desert, she spied her native land, the Land of Days—the only thing that remained of her people.

  “Look down over here,” Laio exclaimed. “Do you see that dark patch to the south?”

  “What is it?” Sennar asked, he too having stepped forward to admire the view.

  “It’s the Land of Night,” the squire muttered. “I hardly lived there, and I don’t really know it all that well, but that’s my land. …”

  “We have to search for the sanctuary,” Nihal said.

  “Search for it?” Laio echoed in disbelief, lifting an arm to the east.


  Nihal followed his hand and for the first time noticed an immense palace in the corner of the plain. A magnificent building, constructed entirely of gold. Nihal couldn’t quite figure how she had managed to overlook it. Atop its central portion, round and squat, sat a layered, golden dome with a sphere at its peak—a sun, golden like the rest. Surrounding it was a series of smaller structures, each topped with a similar dome. The entire building was a marvel of spires and vaults, radiant in the sunlight.

  Nihal raised an arm to guard her eyes from the intense light glinting off the sanctuary, drew her sword, and stepped forward.

  “Who knows what wonders await us inside such a building,” Laio announced, set to race toward the structure.

  “Wait!” Nihal grabbed him by the arm. “There’s another guardian in there, and we know by now that they don’t want anyone who isn’t consecrated entering the sanctuary. It’s best if you and Sennar wait here.”

  “Not a chance!” Laio protested, wriggling his arm from her grip. “Then what in the world are Sennar and I here for? If you need help in there, we need to be there at your side. Either we all enter, or no one enters.”

  Nihal cast Sennar an inquisitive gaze.

  “If things take a turn for the worse, we’ll hightail out of there. You can push onward alone,” said the sorcerer.

  Single file, they approached the building’s entrance. Scrawled above it, in such skewed and convoluted handwriting as to be nearly illegible, was the word Glael. Light. With her eyes riveted to the inscription and her sword at her side, Nihal entered.

  “Follow me, and make sure to keep a few paces between us,” she said to her traveling companions, but Laio had already flung himself forward.

  Sennar grabbed him by the shoulder. “Look, I get it, you can’t wait to leap into harm’s way,” he said, his tone mordant, “but I think it’s wise you follow your knight’s orders.”

  Laio cast Sennar a peeved glare and slowed his pace.

  Inside, the sanctuary was oppressively lavish—an effulgence of gold and gaudy design. Columns surrounding the vast, central nave rose up to sustain the fretwork ceiling, where the sun, gushing into the dome, shone down through the perforations to create geometric patterns on the floor. In addition, there were two smaller, lateral naves, with several wall niches, each of which boasted a different statue. Beneath each figure was a name written in a language unfamiliar to Nihal. Her attention was drawn to the stately figure of a man. He was tall, with a proud, unflinching gaze. In one hand rose a vigorous flame that he seemed to be guiding with the strength of his fingers. The other held a massive lance.

  Without knowing why, Nihal found herself fascinated by this figure, and she stood there for a moment examining it. It seemed as if his eyes were staring down at her, almost as if he were calling to her.

  “Is something wrong?” came Sennar’s voice in a whisper.

  She snapped back to reality. “No, everything’s fine.”

  Nihal resumed her examination of the sanctuary. The central nave, she noticed, led to a grand altar, wrapped in gilded vines. Resting there on a high pedestal, bathed in a faint ray of light, was the stone. It glowed with a startling brilliance.

  “Is that it?” Laio asked tentatively.

  “I … I believe so,” Nihal murmured.

  She was perplexed. Could it really be so simple? No guardian? She slipped her sword back into its sheath and stepped toward the altar. It was then that she heard a faint stirring. She pricked her ears.

  “What—” Laio began, but Sennar shushed him.

  The air began to fill with a sort of melody, a lullaby, perhaps, or a nursery rhyme. It wasn’t coming from any particular direction of the room. It was everywhere. And there was no echo, no depth to the tone at all. It seemed only to exist in their minds, and the three of them turned to each other just to ensure that they were all hearing the same sound.

  At first, the words were muddled, but then it became possible to distinguish distinct sounds, something like a sentence. The meaning was not clear, but the sound reminded Nihal of the words that the guardian of the water sanctuary had spoken to her, or of the ritual spell she herself recited over each stone to activate its power. Yes, it was an elfin chant. The voice was that of an adolescent girl, sad and unnerving.

  “Who are you? Who’s singing?” Nihal asked.

  The song ceased.

  “I am Sheireen, a half-elf, and I’m here for Glael.”

  Still, only silence.

  “I seek its power in order to defeat the Tyrant, who’s destroying this world. Are you the guardian?”

  The voice took up its song again, but this time the words were clear, no longer in the language of the elves:

  Light, my darling light,

  Wherever is my light?

  To shadow it was doomed

  Gathered up forever in the gloom.

  Sun, my darling sun,

  Where have you gone, my sun?

  Kidnapped by the night

  Stolen away by darkness, out of sight.

  Life, my darling life,

  Wherever is my life?

  Fled from my hands in a rush

  Like a withered flower in a bramble bush.

  A laugh brought the last verse to a close, and an icy unease seeped into Nihal’s heart. She drew her sword, and the sound of the black crystal blade sliding out of its sheath rang out in the silence.

  At its sound came a violent shout. “No blood, not on my floors! No hate between these walls! Lower your blade!”

  Nihal tucked away her weapon immediately. “As I told you, I am Sheireen. … I beg you, show yourself.”

  “Oh, I know Sheireen, and I know Shevrar. All fire resides in light, does it not? But Shevrar destroys and light creates, isn’t that so?” the voice replied. “But then, if light is light, then why is everything dead here? It’s so cold. … I’m so very cold. … Warm me up, boy. …”

  Just then, Laio shrieked.

  Sennar rushed over to him. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Nothing. … It’s just, it felt like a hand touched me, a cold hand. …” the boy answered.

  “Cursed devil!” Sennar quickly scanned the area.

  “No reason to fear, boy, I’m just cold, that’s all,” said the voice. “Warmth is in flesh, not in the gold of these walls.” Again, the voice took up its song.

  Nihal wasn’t sure what to do. She narrowed her eyes, peering in every direction, but there was nothing. Meanwhile, the stone was still there, resting on the pedestal before her, unguarded. So what if the voice went on singing? All she needed was the power held in that stone. She took another step toward the altar and reached out to grab it. Suddenly, darkness. Only one ray of light remained, at the center of the room.

  “Stop!” the voice howled. This time its tone was firm, commanding. “It’s mine, and no one else can take it. … All those worthy of touching it are long since dead.”

  “No, you’re wrong! They’re not all dead! I’m a half-elf. I can harness its power. And that’s what I’ve come for.”

  The ray of light began to dance about the room, from one corner to another, hovering over Laio.

  “You lie! You lie!” the voice sang out. “Do you not see that I’m all alone? So many years ago they sent me here to guard the stone, and I waited, how long I waited … The sun rose in the sky, it fell at dusk, then it rose again and again it sank. … For years, the same old sun. For millennia. And me, all alone, always alone, up here in this cold. The last time I had a visitor was thousands of years ago, but I denied him the stone. …”

  “What do you want? What can I do to get the stone from you?” Nihal pleaded.

  The ray of light came to a halt. “I want warmth.”

  “Show yourself, and explain what you mean by warmth.”

  The ray of light bolted once again ar
ound the room as the dense, surrounding darkness gradually thinned. “I’m right here, don’t you see me? It’s me, the light. Long ago I, too, had a body, but slowly it disappeared. … And now I’m cold and lonely. …”

  “What is it you want?” Nihal pleaded.

  “Give me your warmth, and I’ll give you the stone in return,” the voice uttered, chuckling softly.

  The ray of light began to flutter against Laio, weaving through his blonde curls, flickering across his red cheeks. The squire seemed to be enjoying the little game, tracing the beam with his fingers.

  “Yes,” the voice went on. “You, you are filled with warmth. … I’m not asking for much … just to escape from this golden prison, to see the world, to end my loneliness. What point is there for me to stay here any longer? The last elves disappeared years ago, and I’m stuck here guarding this worthless object. … Take it, fine, be my guest, but leave me flesh. …”

  “I may be wrong,” Sennar whispered, stepping toward Nihal, “but I think this guardian’s lost his mind.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” Nihal whispered back, but the sorcerer’s only reply was a look of perplexity.

  “Is it the stone you desire?”

  “Yes,” Nihal answered.

  “Give him to me, and the stone will be yours.”

  “Him? What do you mean ‘him’?”

  “The young boy,” the voice cooed.

  Laio cast a troubled glance at Nihal and began to back away.

  “Who … who do you mean?” Nihal burbled.

  “Oh, you understand. The little boy you brought along with you, the child. The heat in him, he’s so … I can already feel my lonely heart warming up. … Give me his flesh, his warmth, and the stone is yours.”

  Laio sprinted for the door, but the ray of light took the shape of a woman and sealed the exit with an outstretched arm. There was no other way out, only the cold, unforgiving walls of gold. With that, the arm stretched toward the altar and seized the stone.

  “Flesh in exchange for power …” the voice muttered, and from the light emerged the face of a woman, a beautiful face, but sad and crazed. “Do you accept my offer? In the end, am I really asking all that much? Do you not see how deeply I’ve suffered in my solitude?” The voice grew mournful. “You, who have the power to help me, free me from this place I loathe.”