Suddenly concerned for Shadow, Tristan saw his stallion standing a few feet away. The horse was failing. Motionless in a knee-deep drift, his eyes were closed and his head drooped toward the ground. His back was blanketed with snow.
Shoving his hands into the dead horse’s body cavity again, Xanthus discovered that it had finally gone cold. He looked back at the prince.
“Can you walk?” Xanthus shouted at Tristan. “We need to get moving while we still can!”
Tristan nodded. Crawling away from the dead horse, the prince rose shakily to his feet. As he pulled his blanket closer around him, Tristan tried to look through the swirling snow and toward the mountain gap. When at last he saw it, his heart fell. It looked as far away as when he and Xanthus had first exited the azure pass and stepped into the blistering desert.
Xanthus walked over to retrieve Shadow’s reins from the deepening snowdrift. The horse came along weakly. After helping Tristan into the saddle, Xanthus started leading them toward the mountain gap.
We won’t last long, the Darkling realized. But w emust try.
An hour later, Xanthus stopped. He looked up at Tristan. The prince’s hair and shoulders were covered with snow, and he had fallen asleep again. At least this time he was somehow staying in the saddle. Reaching into a duster pocket, Xanthus removed one of the raw heart pieces he had been saving. He would eat half, then give the rest to the prince. Just as he bit into it, he sensed an eerie calm.
The wind had suddenly died. With nothing to blow them about, the giant snowflakes fell straight to the ground. Then they stopped forming altogether, their sudden disappearances granting a clear view of the pearly sky.
The Borderlands were starting to change again, but Xanthus had no clue about what form they might take next. Pulling on Shadow’s reins, he brought the horse to a stop. Still asleep, Tristan did not open his eyes.
Like he was frozen in place, Xanthus stood warily in the snow, waiting and watching. He needed to be sure before using up Shadow’s last measure of strength. Then he saw the water forming around his boots.
Knowing he hadn’t a second to lose, Xanthus mounted the horse behind the prince. Spurring Shadow for all he was worth he turned the stallion hard to the right, away from the distant mountain gap and toward the nearest mountain slope.
Shadow struggled across the valley as fast as he could. But trudging through the heavy snow while also carrying two riders was nearly impossible. Suddenly the valiant stallion stumbled.
Neighing wildly, he went down on one side, throwing Tristan and Xanthus to the snowy ground. As he got up, the Darkling didn’t waste time looking back, for he knew what was coming. If Shadow couldn’t outrun it, they were dead. The stallion finally fought his way back to his feet.
Lifting the prince, Xanthus somehow got him into the saddle; then he climbed up. Whipping the reins against Shadow’s flanks, Xanthus again charged the horse toward the bordering mountains.
As they reached the slopes, the Darkling heard a rushing sound chasing after them. Knowing that he couldn’t waste precious seconds to stop and look, he spurred Shadow up the rocky mountainside. The going was even slower here, because one false step from Shadow would send the horse and riders plunging to their deaths. But the higher they climbed, the less snow there was with which to contend. Soon Xanthus could hear Shadow’s iron shoes banging against solid rock.
Only then did he finally stop the horse atop a wide, rocky ledge. He wheeled Shadow around, then looked behind himself to see that Tristan was still unconscious. He slapped the prince hard across the face. Xanthus was desperate for Tristan to see what was happening, because he believed the spectacle would strengthen theJin’Sai ’s will to live.
At first Tristan didn’t come around. After harshly slapping him again, Xanthus grabbed the prince’s shoulders and shook him. The intense rumbling sound also helping to rouse him, Tristan slowly opened his eyes. Xanthus pointed down into the valley. The Borderlands’ snow was melting.
But more than just the snow was morphing. The sky was slowly turning from ghostly white to heavenly blue. Speechless, Tristan watched as fluffy clouds arrived. Within seconds a bright, yellow sun formed, bathing the valley in its warmth. Then Tristan’s numbed mind fully appreciated the immense noise, and he saw its cause.
As the temperature soared, the mountain snow melted, sending a gigantic wall of water rushing toward the valley. Majestically crashing and tumbling, it slammed its way along the valley floor in a torrent more powerful than any storm that had ever bedeviled the Sea of Whispers. Snow lying on the mountainside high above Tristan and Xanthus turned to warm water and came cascading down, showering them.
As the water brought Tristan fully to his senses, he joyously stood in the stirrups and raised his arms to the sky, bathing in its life-giving warmth. Opening his mouth, he drank greedily. He was about to let go a delighted shriek when he saw Xanthus dismount. The Darkling motioned that Tristan should do the same.
Soaked to the skin, Tristan walked to stand alongside the equally drenched Darkling. Tristan took a moment to rub Shadow’s face. Neighing softly, the horse seemed all right. Xanthus touched Tristan’s shoulder, then pointed toward the valley. As the water shower falling over them slowly abated, Tristan looked down.
The valley waters were receding to show dark, rich soil. Soon the water was gone, to be replaced by another miracle.
Tristan watched in amazement as the Borderlands burst forth with new life. Emerald grass shoots sprung fingerlike from the valley floor, growing to their full height in mere moments. Deep blue rivers materialized to meander their way across the land. Waterfalls burst from the craggy mountainsides, their crystalline waters cascading down into idyllic pools lying at the bases of the mountains ranges.
Hearing more rumbling, Tristan saw trees sprout quickly from the ground, their unfamiliar species so many he couldn’t start to count them. Some grew to astounding size before blossoming with leaves and fruit, while the ground surrounding them literally burst open to accommodate their hugely expanding root systems. Just when he thought the process might be finishing, sentient life-forms appeared.
Exotic birds appeared in the sky. Strange-looking insects buzzed and hummed, their swarms busily congregating on the colorful flower blossoms that now ranged so freely across the valley floor. Herds of strangely exotic beasts suddenly materialized to mill peacefully about. Stunned, Tristan simply tried to take it all in. It was like walking into a dream. He turned to look at Xanthus. The Darkling had returned to his spirit form.
“This is the Heretics’ doing, isn’t it?” Tristan asked.
Xanthus said, “The Borderlands have been dismantled. As I am sure you have gathered, magic has returned.”
“Why would they do this now?” Tristan asked.
“The answer is simple,” Xanthus said. “With the Ones’ army destroyed, the Borderlands are no longer needed. What you see before you is but a small part of this world. But beautiful and welcoming as it might be, it is time for us to go.”
After they climbed atop Shadow, Xanthus guided the horse down the mountainside. Luxuriating in the sun’s warmth, Tristan nearly forgot his troubles as he simply relished being alive. On reaching the lush valley floor, Xanthus guided Shadow to a nearby tree.
Tristan was amazed by it. The trunk and branches were bright scarlet, the leaves light blue. Pendulous fruit hung heavily from its branches, bending them nearly to the ground.
Xanthus raised one hand. Two fruit pieces separated from the tree to come sailing through the air. They each caught one. The fruit’s skin was black, with pink spots. Tristan had never seen its like. They jumped down from the stallion to stand in the lush grass.
Xanthus smiled. “Eat,” he said simply.
Taking a throwing knife from its quiver, Tristan sliced open the fruit to find sumptuous, dark red meat and mustard-yellow seeds. Its aroma was intoxicating. Wasting no time, he started gorging himself. Even Shawna’s pies had never tasted so sweet.
When he had finished, Tristan started to throw away the collected seeds. Grabbing his arm, Xanthus took them from him.
“Watch,” the Darkling said.
Placing the seeds onto his palm, he blew them into the air. Tristan watched as the craft carried them far away to fall in the deep grass. Almost at once they started sprouting. Within moments a new grove appeared, its trees identical to that from which they had picked the fruit.
“Amazing,” Tristan breathed. “What is this place called?”
“That is for the Heretics to answer,” Xanthus replied. “You will meet them soon enough.”
