The survivors knew nothing of what awaited them beyond the barrier. The Spelljammer knew only that escape was their only hope, and that the means to flee this sphere were inborn with the ship, a natural talent of the spaakiil, carried over to their legacy.
The people in the citadel waited, and Egrestarrian sang.
Its song reverberated off the sphere, and its simple beauty cast fear into the hearts of the demonic Sh'tarrgh.
Then, near Aeyenna, between the Spelljammer and the fleets of the Sh 'tarrgh, opened a portal.
The Spelljammer sang. The portal widened, and the great ship sailed to freedom through the gateway, into the endless, eternal Rainbow Ocean.
But no one had ever before been outside, into the phlogiston. No one knew that if the gateway were left open too wide for too long, the phlogiston would pour inside, into wildspace, and be sucked into the sun, there to explode.
The Spelljammer was only minutes outside Ouiyan when the crystal shell exploded. The ship screamed and wept at the same time as it felt the worlds, the peoples, of its birth die in an all-consuming blast that cracked the crystal sphere and sent black shards hurtling into the flow.
The phlogiston's destructive force sent the Spelljammer turniling helplessly. In seconds, the surfaces of the worlds were blown to black cinders, and the peoples, along with their deadly enemies, the Sh tarrgh, became memories, forever mourned by the Spelljammer.
For the Spelljammer was created to preserve life, not destroy it.
The Spelljammer wept in shame for centuries. The Spelljammer sailed on. Children were born, families were raised; old people died. The Spelljammer sailed on. Communities were built. New spheres were discovered. War was started, for one insignificant reason or another.
In time, the Spelljammer found purpose in the tragedy that had borne it.
Untold worlds awaited the Wanderer. The One Sphere was not the only sphere, as humanity soon learned. The Spelljammer sailed on to explore the spheres and their worlds, to discover, to learn; and left behind a sense of wonder, a sense of purpose, of the quest that pulled humanity out of the spheres to explore…
And the Spelljammer sailed on.
Egrestarrian, the Spelljammer, died.
Drestarin, the Spelljammer, was born.
The Spelljammer died.
Wrycanion, the Spelljammer, sailed on.
Finally, Creannon, the Spelljammer of the Cloakmaster, was bom, with all its precursors' memories-and guilt- intact. like the blinding instant when a sun is born, all this the Cloakmaster experienced in a moment that lasted for eternity.
Teldin, at one with the Spelljammer, knew that time at the Broken Sphere had become dangerously short. The ferocity of the unhumans was unstoppable, and he realized instinctively that only one thing could prevent the Spelljammer s own needless death and the conquest of evil throughout the spheres.
That one thing would destroy everything and everyone within range.
— Not again, Teldin said.
— Verenthestae, the ship responded. -The circles close once again. As one dies, one is born.
— There have been too many deaths already.
— Murderers embrace death, worship death. Are they not one with death, as we are one with life?
— Death can be cheated.
— Destiny cannot.
— But there may be choices…
— Destiny demands fulfillment. Murder demands atonement.
— There may be a way.
— Our destiny is clear.
— Why me? Teldin asked.
His universe was the amulet, glowing with white heat as it was when it was forged upon an anvil at the base of the Spelljammer 's captain's tower millennia ago. It blazed from within with the power of the three-pointed star, the idealized symbol that was to represent Ouiyan's long-lost sun. The points represented the powers that created the Spelljammer; the merging of the spaakiil, of humans, and of magic. Its light, its power, represented the eternal light of hope, of life.
Attached with a golden chain to the original ultimate helm, the cloak, together they formed a single, inseparable device: the helm created for the First Pilot to command the ship, the amulet to help guide the captain- and the Spelljammer-to their twin destinies.
Years later, they were separated, forced to wait for destiny to once again bring tbem together. Without the amulet, the Spelljammer was captained haphazardly by other captains with other helms-such was the nature of spell jamming. The true helm, the Ultimate Helm, the creators knew, eventually would find its way back to the true captain, perhaps many centuries after they had been forgotten. The cloak and the amulet would be joined again, and the Last Pilot would sail the Spelljammer to its ultimate fate.
— Why me? Teldin said again. -Who am I?
— You are the Last Pilot.
— Why?
— You are the Son of the Architect.
— Who? Who am I?
— This is the purpose for which you have sought. It was foreordained for you to find your destiny here, where it began millennia ago. Only you are the Chosen. Only you have the courage and the Helm and the Compass and the need. You are the Last Pilot.
— There have been too many deaths already, Teldin said. — Something else must be done.
— It is our destiny to end and begin again, to renew, to punish, to rejoice, to live.
They were silent. The Cloakmaster thought for a minute, perhaps a year, as the Spelljammer knew time. Then he spoke.
— Tell me. What happens when a Spelljammer dies?
They spoke together then, for a long time,… minutes, perhaps, or years.
Then they were decided, and for the first time since the coming of the Cloakmaster, the Spelljammer sang out joyously, spreading the colors of hope upon the eddies of the flow. The Spelljammer cast forth a seed of being, of pure, magical energies, that shot through Teldin's awareness and across the universe, and he felt it explode against its target, permeating ancient metal with its dormant energies.
Teldin waited until the Spelljammer's song was finished, then he spoke.
— I need one last thing, he said. -For me.
— For… life…
The two agreed as one, for the destiny that Teldin sought was the destiny that had always been.
The Spelljammer sang with a song of Teldin. In Herdspace, a kender, lost in a healing, meditative trance, woke suddenly and heard the song. Music filled with latent energies and inner fires coursed through her, and she answered with a thought that knew no physical boundaries.
The Cloakmaster heard, and he opened his eyes.
Chapter Thirty-One
'… The statues could only be those of the ship's captains. The weapons, the artifacts, the vessels under glass-all must have some purpose that I have not yet fathomed. ' The secrets of this accursed ship will soon be mine, I vow. I know the nature of the helms, and I know of the magic that each person here unwittingly breathes. This prison is intolerable! I wonder if any of the items in the Armory are actually helms, and if they can help me escape…'
