The Commanding Stone Part 17

"That is all I can say. Good-bye, big brother." She kissed him gently on his forehead. "It was good to see you again, if only for a little while."

A pearly whiteness expanded across his vision. He no longer felt the stone bench or Reshel's hands upon his face. Other images stirred to life within him, taking form in his mind...

...the distant ceiling of a hall, far bigger than anything he has ever seen. He is lying on his back, staring up at great beams of red wood. He has just awakened, but can recall nothing from before. His life had only now begun. The Matriarch Hena-Ishendis has stirred his inert form to life, creating flesh and muscle and bone where before there had only been a shape made of earth and stone, a form waiting for the Matriarch to fill it with the essence that is him. He knows this and other things, the knowledge placed within him by the power of the Matriarch. He knows his name: Hakirien. That is the name he has been given. And he knows that the name of his people is Telchan. That is what he is, and it is different from those who created him, the Atalari.

His mind is whirling with myriad thoughts, all clamoring in his consciousness. He knows how to speak, though he has not yet done so. He sits up and looks about. The hall-which he knows is called the House of Life-is a sea of other beings like himself, all of them rising from the tables where life has been breathed into them.

At the head of the hall is a dais, and upon it stands the Matriarch and other members of the Royal House. They are all very tall-much taller than he and the other Telchan. Their limbs are hidden beneath voluminous robes bursting like the sunrise with bright colors. To Hakirien, they are the most beautiful creatures in the world, and his heart is filled with a sudden love for them.

The Matriarch raises her arms. The Circlet of Emunial is a brilliant star on her forehead, held by a band of braided gold. When she speaks, her voice has no difficulty filling the vast s.p.a.ce. Hakirien senses power of some kind at work, subtle yet potent.

"I greet you, First Brood of the Telchan, and welcome you into our s.h.i.+ning Nation." There is a faint s.h.i.+mmer about her head and shoulders, the pulsing glow of the power that has brought him and his brethren to life. He knows its name-kalaya mithran-granted to the Matriarchs by powers not of this world. It dwells within the Circlet of Emunial.

On the table next to him lies the still-warm body of a lamb, slain by a priest with a sacrificial knife, the hot blood poured onto him. It is the same for all of the Telchan; a lamb sacrificed for each one. He understands that this is the nature of the kalaya mithran's power, a life for a life so the Balance of Creation is maintained. He touches the body of the lamb and silently thanks it for the life it has given him.

Hakirien can now hear the thoughts of other Telchan leaking into his mind. He understands that this kind of communication is possible, but is unsure how to use it. He will have to learn, as he will have to learn so many other things. He desires to see the world that lies outside these high walls, to explore it and learn all that he can of it and the creatures that inhabit it, but what burns brightest in his heart is the desire to watch and record, to remember history as it unfolds and never forget it...

...He is no longer Hakirien. Now he is Telkorel. A message has recently come to him from a Telchan in the Citadel. The Matriarch is dead. The s.h.i.+ning Nation has fallen into mourning. The lamps of Vacarandi and all other cities have been dimmed.

Telkorel is in the High Tower upon which the Light Eternal burns, the oldest object in the s.h.i.+ning Nation, the lamp that Emunial herself carried to guide her way when she led the first wanderers from the Old Lands. Of all the lamps in the s.h.i.+ning Nation, only it burns with its full intensity, a sign that the nation she fas.h.i.+oned yet endures. It is said that the light became a receptacle of her spirit when she died, so she could watch over and guide her descendants until time itself comes to an end. There is no tomb for Emunial. She lived to a great age, and then vanished one night, never to be seen again. Some said that as a reward for her great life she was taken bodily to the Gardens of Ulkeormethe, where the G.o.ds live. Others argued she was so strong that when she died the power of her spirit utterly consumed her body.

It is also said that because of the manner of their making, the Telchan have no spirits. He does not know, and cares little either way. Because of what he is, he is not subject to the laws that govern all mortal things. It means he will never die. He does not understand death, although he has tried many times to penetrate its secret. No Telchan has ever died, though nearly a thousand years has pa.s.sed since the First Brood was made.

An Atalari approaches and asks, "Will the rest of the Telchan come from your home for the Changing?" He is wearing a black robe as a sign of his mourning for the dead Matriarch. His face is painted an ashen gray. The few people visible on the streets are also wearing black and have painted their faces for mourning, their bright colors put away for one cycle of the moon.

Sadness does not suit them, he thinks. They are usually such a glad people. It disturbs him to see them with darkness on their hearts.

"No," he answers. "It is too far. There is not enough time to make the journey. Only those of us now here will attend."

Only once before has he seen a Changing. A woman must always rule the s.h.i.+ning Nation, but Hena-Rhiondal had borne only sons. Her eldest will undergo the Changing so he can a.s.sume his mother's station as Matriarch. It is to take place tomorrow in the House of Life. He remembers the last Changing, six hundred years ago. Nelien had been the Chosen. He had fasted and prayed to Emunial for days, knowing the rigors of the ordeal to come.

The Changing was held at midnight, so the Chosen might greet the new day as Matriarch. The floor and balconies of the House of Life were filled to overflowing with those eager to watch the creation of their new ruler.

Nelien emerged from behind the dais, led by two acolytes of the Keepers of the Rites, marked by their tattooed faces and tall headdresses. Nelien held out his arms; the acolytes stripped away his robes, leaving him naked. The air was smoky with incense rising from copper pots held aloft on ornate stands.

Ahead of Nelien, standing in a circle around the railed platform where his Changing would occur, waited the Elders of the Keepers of the Rites, those Atalari to whom the ancient mysteries had been entrusted. Those taken into the order could never again speak with an Atalari who was not also a member; only the Matriarch herself was exempt from this restriction. To all others, they were forever silent.

Nelien stepped onto the platform. Though his hands trembled, his voice was steady and strong when he spoke.

"I am Nelien, the Chosen of Emunial the Great Mother. I am ready to undergo the Change so the s.h.i.+ning Nation might endure."

That was all. The Keepers said nothing to him in return. Instead they bowed their heads and began to summon the power that would work the Change. They surrounded themselves with barriers of power so that those in the hall would not hear the chanting of the sacred words.

The Keepers raised their staffs. As they did, the Changing Fire engulfed the platform. Even over the roar of the flame, Telkorel could hear Nelien scream as the metamorphosis began. The ends of the Keepers' staffs shone with a cold blue brilliance as they directed the Change. The fire around Nelien was first scarlet, then green, yellow, and finally the same cold blue as it Changed him until there was nothing left of what he once was.

There was a shout from the Keepers. They raised their arms and wheeled their staffs in a single circle, then dropped to one knee, lowered their heads and thumped their staffs on the floor.

The Changing Fire went out as suddenly as it had begun.

Nelien was gone. In his place stood a beautiful nameless woman, the new Matriarch of the s.h.i.+ning Nation, created by a power older than the nation itself, a power that reached back into a time before recorded history, ages before the Telchan began their watching and recording.

She would have to choose her own name, one fitting for a Matriarch.

The High Priest of Knossren stepped forward and placed the Circlet of Emunial on the new Matriarch's brow. A moment later a faint aura appeared above her head. Telkorel knew it for the kalaya mithran, which bound itself to each Matriarch in turn. The glowing power descended until it touched the woman's dark hair, then coalesced until it vanished into the diamond, as if the jewel had somehow inhaled it. Then it dimmed, though a luminous halo remained around her head.

He knew the power was communing with the new Matriarch, speaking directly to her thoughts, telling her of itself and what was expected of her. The kalaya mithran was unlike the Atalari's other powers. With those powers there was simply action-an Atalari had a thought, expressed a desire to have it made manifest, and if the Atalari had sufficient strength, it was done. But the kalaya mithran was different. It chose how it would be used, and if it did not approve, there was no power within the confines of the world that could compel it otherwise. It was a living thing with a will of its own. All these things he had learned in his youth, taught by the priests and scholars of the House of Life, and later his masters, the Maitalari.

Each time he sees the kalaya mithran he feels drawn to it, connected by some unknown means to the power that gave him life so long ago, almost as if it is calling out to him, one of its many children. Even the memory of it, as he stands in the High Tower, brings out the same feeling, the tugging at his heart of a power that, in its own strange way, loves him and all his kind. How could it not?

He remembers again the Changing of Nelien and the joining of the kalaya mithran to the new Matriarch. He had watched in amazement and wondered that the Atalari themselves could not see it. They had told him many times that the power so bright to him, and his kind was invisible to them. He did not know why this was so, but had no reason to doubt it.

And now that process would repeat itself, so many centuries later. Again he, Telkorel, would be there to witness it, a mystery he would never understand despite his own immortality...

..."Teshuan, you stand accused of high treason against the s.h.i.+ning Nation, of plotting to murder the Matriarch and her daughters, your own mother and sisters. Your guilt is not in dispute, nor is your punishment. Your conspirators have been captured and confessed their crimes and your complicity. Your doom is upon you. Prepare yourself. Your life has come to its end."

The man speaking is an Atalari dressed in ornate silk robes of scarlet and blue. His white hair is cropped short, though several long braids fall to the middle of his back. He is old, even by Atalari standards. His strong face is creased and weathered like a craggy map of the years of his life.

The man is standing in a gra.s.s-covered courtyard bordered by the high walls of an imposing stone building. A slender woman with straight black hair stands before him, her body bound with bands of steel across her chest, waist, and legs. Her arms are pinned tightly to her sides. She wears a simple white s.h.i.+ft; her feet are bare. A score of people are gathered around the two, and armored Atalari soldiers ring them all, their spears held upright like silent sentinels.

Gerin has seen those spears before, in the vision of the slaughter of the Eletheros atop the Sundering. The sight of them troubles him. He remembers the young boy who died upon one of those blades, skewered like a fish and then hurled against a wall.

Gerin has no physical body here. He is not experiencing the memories of an individual Telchan in this vision. Instead, he watches unnoticed, his view flitting through the air like a hummingbird. He knows he is experiencing the power of the Telchan, the ability to watch and record events from afar. He is as fascinated by the power as by what he is seeing.

He knows that this courtyard is within the Kulyur, the dreaded prison of Vacarandi. None who are remanded here ever leave alive. He knows that the man speaking is Gure, the Arktos of Kulyur, who rules the prison with a will of iron. The woman before him is Teshuan, youngest daughter of the Matriarch Hena-Durilethen. And, oddly, he knows how he knows all of this. There is knowledge embedded in the recordings of the Telchan, pa.s.sed along to observers so they might better understand what they are seeing. He thinks it is an ingenious power; if he had a body, he would smile.

Teshuan looks at Gure with defiance and hatred. She does not speak. Gerin knows there is power in the metal bands that prevents her from using magic and silences her voice.

"Judgment has been rendered," says Gure. "Your doom is sealed. You will be destroyed by the Arsailen. No trace of you shall remain upon this earth or beyond it. Your spirit will not journey to the Gardens of Ulkeormethe and will not know the succor of the G.o.ds. Your name will be stricken from the Annals, and will never be spoken even at the End Days and the final Call of Knossren. You will be erased from the world, as if you had never been."

Teshuan's hatred gives way to fear as her mother the Matriarch steps forward. The vision of the Telchan allows Gerin to see the power of the kalaya mithran, a halo of numinous light around her head and shoulders. The Matriarch is a beautiful woman, but this day her face is drawn, grim with both sadness and anger. She must render an unspeakable doom upon her daughter, and it weighs heavily upon her.

The Matriarch touches the fingertips of her right hand to the diamond on the Circlet of Emunial. As she does, everyone around her draws back, leaving her standing alone with her daughter.

Teshuan struggles to speak; Gerin can almost feel her straining against her bonds. But she cannot speak, can only plead with her eyes. Her mother gives her one final glance before her daughter is to die by her command. There is regret in that look, but no love.

Then she looks away, casts her eyes to the sky. The Matriarch stretches out her right hand, then clenches her long fingers into a fist. She pulls that fist toward her forehead, lowers her eyes, and backs away from her doomed daughter.

There is a pause, a silence broken only by the soft whisper of wind. Then a crack of thunder, loud enough to make many of the Atalari flinch.

The sky above the courtyard darkens as heavy black clouds appear in the sky. The wind intensifies, blasting down into the courtyard. The halo around the Matriarch's head and shoulders glows more brightly, pulsing in rhythm with a faint glow s.h.i.+ning within the heart of the diamond upon her brow. She stands still, silent, ignoring the wind swirling around them, her gaze fixed upon the maelstrom above them, waiting.

The wind in the courtyard darkens to the color of smoke and coalesces into a whirlwind thirty feet high. There is power holding it together; or rather, the smoke is the power, a potent energy that spins faster and faster without losing cohesion.

A figure appears within the whirling column of smoke.

All of the Atalari except the Matriarch and Gure take another step back. Gerin can see Teshuan trying to recoil from the figure within the smoke, but she cannot.

The figure is at least fifteen feet tall, a giant whose features are obscured even from the penetrating sight of the Telchan. From the knowledge contained in this recording, Gerin knows that he is seeing the Arsailen, a creature fas.h.i.+oned with the power of the kalaya mithran for a single purpose: to execute those who commit treason against the s.h.i.+ning Nation. Its power is more than death. As stated by Gure, it destroys not only the mortal body, but the spirit as well. It is the bringer of oblivion; indeed, that is the meaning of its name.

The column of smoke moves closer to Teshuan. Gerin catches glimpses of the Arsailen itself through momentary gaps in the swirling smoke-a hairless skull, eyes like black pits, with no mouth, nose, or ears; an unnaturally slender frame that seems unsuited for supporting a being so fantastically tall; dark skin mottled with spots the color of bleached bone.

The smoke reaches Teshuan and engulfs her.

Gerin again catches fleeting glimpses of the Arsailen placing its ma.s.sive hands upon the woman's shoulders. Her white dress darkens, as if light itself is having trouble reaching it. Teshuan fades, as if she is little more than a wisp of fog burned away by the sun, or a dream vanis.h.i.+ng upon waking. Gerin can see her bones through her fading flesh in the instant before she disappears completely.

The column of smoke contracts to half its width. Already the Arsailen is gone. Then the column erupts violently outward with another thunderclap. The dark clouds above the courtyard begin to disperse and are gone within moments, leaving a clear sky.

Nothing remains of Teshuan. She has been utterly destroyed.

With a single graceful move, the Matriarch turns and leaves the courtyard. Atalari flow out of her way like waves parting before the prow of a s.h.i.+p. Gerin wonders how she could have done such a thing to her own daughter, no matter what crime she may have committed. Death is one thing, but to destroy her very spirit seems unfathomably cruel...

...An army of three thousand weary Atalari is camped upon gra.s.sy plains, their tents arranged in near perfect columns like rows of wheat. Colorful banners flutter in the wind. Outriders patrol well beyond the camp's pickets, stirring up clouds of dust in the dry, parched earth. But they are not seeking an enemy upon the ground. Their eyes scan the vast stretch of sky above them, looking for signs of the approach of dragons.

Gerin again watches from the flitting vantage point of the Telchan, their strange watching power darting through the air at incredible speeds, unseen and undetected by the Atalari or any other living thing. His initial view is from several hundred feet above the army, granting him an impression of its size and formation, and of the lands in which they are camped.

The Telchan's power reveals to him that this is the Army of Ending. He marvels again at this ability of the Telchan. The knowledge is in his memory as if it has always been there, something learned long ago, something familiar even though he has never heard the name before this moment. This is the army that would end the Doomwar, he realizes.

And it would happen this day.

His view suddenly s.h.i.+fts, falling toward the earth and then zooming through the encampment at great speed, pa.s.sing through men and tents and horses as if they did not exist. The view is both exhilarating and dizzying.

He comes to rest inside one of the larger tents, hovering near the center pole, looking down at six Atalari standing around a battered table. There is a strange creature with them, the likes of which Gerin has never seen. It is shorter than the Atalari, its head reaching only to the height of their shoulders. It reminds him of a wearu, a creature of legend formed of clay and animated by evil spirits trapped within it.

This creature is hairless and wears a simple sleeveless s.h.i.+ft that falls to mid-thigh. Its features have few details. Its eyes look like black gems pressed deeply into the flat flesh of its face. Instead of a nose, the creature has two narrow slits like the openings in a skull. Above a narrow, pointed chin is a lipless mouth filled with two solid arcs of bone rather than individual rows of teeth.

Its legs are thick and powerful, as are its broad shoulders and long arms. Its hands, though, seem almost out of place. Long, delicate fingers that seem to have an extra joint, they remind Gerin of a sculptor's hands.

A moment later he knows what it is: a Kholtaros, made with the power of the kalaya mithran to shape stone.

"We must be certain we destroy them all," says another of the men. His silver hair is tied in a topknot that falls to his shoulders like a horse's tail. "Not a single one can escape, or all this will be for naught."

"The dragonlord and the Stone must perish as well," says a younger man with prominent cheekbones and piercing gray eyes. "They are the true cause of this disastrous war. The dragons are merely his weapons."

The man with the horse-tail topknot faces the creature. "Hukari, will you and your brethren take and guard the second kalaya na'ethrem? Only if we fail here will you take the diamond to the survivors in the heartlands. It is too potent and too dangerous a power to be used other than for the destruction of these cursed dragons."

The Kholtaros nodded. "We will do as you ask, Elesureme. The secret will be safe with us."

"Thank you. I would ask that you and your companions leave at once. I would not have you caught in the cataclysm we will soon unleash."

"I will pray that your spirits find peace in the Gardens of Ulkeormethe." Hukari turns and leaves the tent.

Gerin's view leaves the tent and s.h.i.+fts forward in time a number of hours. The army is marching. The day is growing late. Their shadows stretch long before them. They are quiet as they march, their eyes downcast. The bright rainbow armor he remembers from the vision atop the Sundering is not here; their plate and mail are colorless, the power drained from it as if already in mourning for what is to come.

They reach a long forested valley that Gerin knows is called Tonn Suerta. The van of the army halts at the valley's rim. Behind them the rest of the army and their train come to a stop.

Gerin's high view drops once again into the midst of the Army of Ending's leaders. The priests and most powerful of the Atalari gather in a circle. The priests utter a prayer to their G.o.ds, and then without further fanfare or ceremony, begin the great incantation that will call forth the Unmaking.

Elesureme produces a diamond like the one that contains the kalaya mithran, but this diamond has a distinctly bluish cast to it and is not bound in a circlet. In a moment the knowledge comes to him: this is the kalaya na'ethrem.

The source of the power of the Unmaking.

Elesureme and the others face the east. They know it will not be long. They can feel it in the air. The entire Army of Ending waits, transfixed.

What appears to be a flock of birds appears over the far end of the valley, but Gerin knows these are no birds. These are the fabled dragons, hundreds of them, winging their way toward this final confrontation that will alter the very face of the world. He sees young boys clutch the hands of older brothers or fathers or uncles, and men clasp the hands of other men as they watch their deaths approach in a twilight sky. They all bend their strength to the creation of the Unmaking, sacrificing themselves to ensure that the dragons who destroyed their nation will die here, today.

Elesureme, his generals, and the priests begin the incantation that will call forth the Unmaking. The blue diamond that houses the kalaya na'ethrem s.h.i.+nes like a star within Elesureme's fist. Though Gerin can sense nothing of the power itself, he sees the very air s.h.i.+mmer with the growing might of the Unmaking.

The dragons are closing with incredible speed. Gerin sees a single man sitting in a strange saddle on the lead dragon's neck. A mad light burns in his eyes as his black hair whips about in the wind.

The dragonlord shouts a command. The dragons open their slavering jaws, and the sky is suddenly filled with flame- Gerin moaned in his sleep. A single tear slid from the corner of his eye. He mouthed a word: Reshel.

In the east, the first glimmers of dawn began to bleed into the sky. The storm had remained to the north and pa.s.sed without touching them; the day would be clear and bright.

The power of the Telchan dispersed. The night of magic had ended.

PART TWO.

19.

I think we can all agree that the dreams we had were true," said Hollin the next morning.

"I don't understand everything I was shown," said Elaysen.

"Neither do I," said Balandrick. "And it seems we weren't all shown the same things."

Gerin was lost in the memories of the night before, of what the dreams meant and what they now had to do. He did not fully understand the reasons he was shown all of the different visions, but he knew enough to decide on their next step.

"We need to get to Hethnost," he said.

"Yes," said Hollin.

"I still can't believe it's true," said Abaru with a shake of his head.

"That what's true?" asked Balandrick.

Abaru stared at the captain as if he were the worst kind of simpleton. "You've been to Hethnost, Balan. You've seen the Archmage, haven't you?"