faded.
“What you now bear was my first use of the craft in more than three centuries,” Aeolus said. “Wear them well, Jin’Sai. ”
Tristan looked first at one shoulder, then the other. On one lay a tattooed serpent; on the other lay a sword.
“I will,” he said softly. “And thank you.”
Tristan looked around to find Tyranny. “When can we sail for the Recluse?” he asked her.
Tyranny smiled. “Three more days should do it,” she answered. “Four at the outside.”
Tristan turned to look east, toward where the Sea of Whispers lay waiting. As he did, he thought about Serena.
“Good,” theJin’Sai answered quietly. “I’m ready.”
CHAPTER LVIII
“BEFORE WE START, IS THERE ANYTHING MORE THATyou would like to tell us?” the leadPon Q’tar cleric asked. “If you repent, we might spare your life. If not-well, let’s just say that your demise will not be a pleasant one.”
Although Xanthus knew it would do no good, for several moments he strained against his bonds. Finally giving up, he looked across the shadowed room.
“No,” he answered. “My allegiance to the Vagaries is unshakable. You know that! That’s why you chose me for the mission! All I can tell you is the truth, and I have already done so!”
“Very well,” the lead cleric answered. “Then what happens next will be on your head.”
Xanthus glared at the twelve hooded faces behind the table. For the last thirteen days he had been confined to his stinking hole. He had nearly gone mad with loneliness, and the sensory deprivation had been so great that the only way to count the passing days had been when his guardians fed him. When they finally pulled him from the hole, he thought that the azure light coming from above would surely blind him.
As he again sat bound to the chair, he took stock of himself. His black robe was torn and reeked of his own waste. The beginnings of a dark beard had surfaced on his face, and his brown hair was matted and knotted. He was filthy, defeated, and completely alone in his plight-just the way the clerics wanted him to be.
Xanthus cringed as he watched the lead cleric point a finger at him. At once an incision opened in one of his wrists and a drop of his endowed blood was freed. The cleric caused it to float to a place midway between him and Xanthus. Soon the drop morphed into Xanthus’ blood signature.
Alongside the signature, azure numbers and symbols started materializing into a craft formula. Like before, the formula turned to the vertical, and the blood signature started sliding down its length. No one needed to tell Xanthus what was coming. He watched the beautiful nautilus form, its spiraling, colorful compartments growing in size as they radiated outward from its tightly wound center.
He had wondered about the nautilus often during his confinement. Although he had seen its wonders with his own eyes, he still found them difficult to believe. As the nautilus finished forming, he suddenly understood why he had been brought back after so long. The Heretics had perfected the nautilus index.
In a way, Xanthus was glad. He was not an enemy of thePon Q’tar, nor could he imagine ever becoming one. He had meant what he said about being loyal to the Vagaries. Had he felt otherwise, he never would have accepted the mission to seduce theJin’Sai into the pass. He welcomed the coming of the index. If it helped thePon Q’tar find the precise memories they were searching for, then the truth would come out, and they would realize that what had happened to Tristan was not his fault. Perhaps they might even release him, and allow him to return to his post as Faxon’s assistant in the Imperial Order.
Xanthus watched as another glowing craft formula appeared in the air. It was the longest one he had ever seen. He tried to read it. But like the first formula, its vast complexities were lost on him.
“Behold,” the lead cleric said. “I give you the nautilus index. Watch as I demonstrate its use.” The cleric raised his arms and pointed his hands at the formula.
“I wish to view the memories in the nautilus,” the cleric commanded.
Xanthus soon realized that the cleric was speaking directly to the glowing spell, rather than to the people in the room. He had never heard a mystic verbally address a raw craft formula this way, nor had he known that such a thing could be done. Then he remembered what the cleric had said about this spell having been wrought by the very best Heretical minds.
“Specifically, I wish to view only those images dealing with the subject’s recent time in the Borderlands,” the cleric added.
The spell immediately obeyed. Like it possessed a mind of its own, it flew across the room and wound its length around the hovering nautilus. At once a bright azure light shot from the nautilus’s largest chamber and streamed into the room.
Like the time before, Xanthus watched his memories unfold. As the cleric had ordered, the scene playing out showed him and Tristan exiting the pass to unexpectedly arrive in the terrible red desert. Xanthus anxiously watched the blazing heat start to overcome him and theJin’Sai. The searing wind birthed red dust maelstroms that bothered their eyes and stung their skin. The wind’s howling noise was terrible, and great sinkholes opened before them, threatening to take them into oblivion with every step. Then Xanthus watched Tristan turn and shout a question to him. Just as he remembered, he answered.
It will happen soon, Xanthus realized. At any moment a sinkhole will open in the desert floor and take the Jin’Sai. And the Pon Q’tarwill realize that I have been telling the truth.
But rather than see Tristan die, he watched incredulously as he and theJin’Sai started trudging toward the distant mountain peaks. He felt his endowed blood turn to ice water.
This cannot be! Xanthus thought. It didn’t happen this way!
With a wave of one hand, the lead cleric caused the scene to speed up. Soon Xanthus saw himself and Tristan enter a cave. They talked and later fell asleep. Then Xanthus saw himself awaken and go to the cave entrance to find the prince standing there. After donning blankets, they led their horses from the cave to start trudging through the deep snow.
“Stop!” the cleric called out angrily.
The amazing scene froze in place, and the sound quieted. As he sat bound to the chair under the harsh light, Xanthus suddenly felt even more naked and alone.
“So it seems that you were lying after all,” one of the female clerics said to him. There was no mercy in her voice. As he wondered about his fate, Xanthus started to shake with fear.
“We all know that we morphed the Borderlands into a polar state to trap the army of Ones that was approaching,” she added. “After that, the red desert did not reappear. We again have irrefutable evidence that theJin’Sai survived, rather than perished, as you say he did. You are a liar and a traitor to the Vagaries, Xanthus. And because of your treachery you will meet a horrible death.”
Xanthus was beyond any rational understanding of what he had just seen. Weeping, he lowered his head.
“But it didn’t happen that way,” he sobbed. “I swear it.”
“The nautilus seems to disagree,” the lead cleric answered. “And we have it on good authority that the nautilus never lies.” He calmly looked back at the shining craft construct.
“Recommence,” he ordered. “Move swiftly.”
The scene started changing again, this time moving faster. Xanthus saw himself and Tristan nearly die from exposure, and he watched incredulously as he killed his horse and used its steaming innards to keep Tristan alive. Then they trudged on again through the nearly waist-deep snow. But Xanthus couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and he remembered none of it.
Suddenly the Borderlands disappeared to show Rustannica in its natural state. The ability to use magic had returned. After he and Tristan ate and drank, they disappeared into the azure pass. When he watched himself and theJin’Sai exit the pass, Xanthus’ mouth fell open.
As the onetime Darkling and thePon Q’tar clerics watched and listened, all of Crysenium’s secrets were
