Faegan nodded. Closing his eyes and raising his arms high, he started reciting the glowing formula. Shailiha reached under the table and took one of Tristan’s hands into hers. He squeezed it and gave her a reassuring smile.
Suddenly the glowing craft formula began to spin. As the formula spun, it coalesced into a tight azure ball, crushing its symbols and numbers into illegibility. Then the ball glowed brighter, hurting everyone’s eyes. Tristan raised his free hand to block the light, but it did little good. Suddenly the azure ball exploded, shooting millions of microscopic bits of subtle matter into the air.
This time the subtle matter didn’t drift to the floor. Instead, it spread out to form a gleaming rectangle that measured about two meters long by one meter high. Images began forming on the rectangle as it hovered overhead. Moments later Tristan recognized what it was becoming, and it took his breath away. The subtle matter was creating a great map.
Fascinated, the Conclave members watched the Ones’ spell unfold. Soon they could read the words and images forming on the map.
Rustannica, the letters read on the upper half.
Shashida, they soon formed on the lower half.
The Borderlands, the subtle matter etched into the vast area in between.
I beg the Afterlife! Tristan thought. That is a map of the lands west of the Tolenka Mountains!
Transfixed, the Conclave members watched as the subtle matter went on to illustrate various landmarks and geographical terrain, such as rivers, cities, mountains, valleys, and lakes. Just when Tristan thought that the spell had finished its handiwork, some of the subtle matter drifted toward the eastern side of the map. It collected onto an area southwest of Tammerland, in the northwestern part of Hartwick Wood.
The subtle matter swirled about that spot to create another geographical representation. The resulting landmark was small, dark, and oblong. Unlike the other landmarks, it glowed with a light sage color, causing it to stand out from everything else. Something about its shape tugged at Tristan’s memories.
Soon a series of smaller numbers took form on the map just below it. At first Tristan thought that they might be another craft formula, but from his time spent aboard the Black Ships he soon recognized the numbers for what they were. They’re a series of maritime coordinates, pinpointing an exact spot, he realized. Then the subtle matter vanished, leaving its spellbinding creation hovering in the air.
Even without the coordinates, Tristan instinctively knew what the small area represented. It was the entrance to the Caves of the Paragon-the place where Wigg had first discovered the Paragon and the Tome more than three centuries ago, and where Tristan’s only son Nicholas had poisoned him while attempting to build the Gates of Dawn. Within those labyrinthine nether regions also lay the red waters of the Caves and the mysterious Azure Sea-the wondrous ocean that Nicholas had unwittingly set free during his enlargement of the caves, and about which the Conclave still knew so little.
Tristan’s had long suspected that the Caves of the Paragon might hold the answers to his many questions, and now every fiber of his being suddenly told him that he must brave those mysterious caverns again, no matter the cost. As he felt Shailiha’s hand tighten around his, he knew that she also grasped the Caves’ renewed importance.
Suddenly more subtle matter collected and swirled about the room. After a time the matter gradually spread out. For several mesmerizing moments it formed a sentence in Old Eutracian that hovered over the meeting table, teasing everyone with its meaning. Then the sentence vanished, never to return.
Tristan gave Faegan an anxious look. The old wizard seemed so stunned that he couldn’t speak. Tristan quickly glanced at Wigg, Jessamay, and Aeolus to see that they were similarly amazed. He quickly glanced at Faegan again.
“What did the message say?” Tristan demanded.
Faegan could only summon a dumb, vacant stare. Desperately wanting answers, Tristan stood from his chair and took Faegan by the shoulders. He gave the wizard a gentle shake.
Finally Faegan snapped out of it. Before looking into Tristan’s eyes, he blinked hard and shook his head with astonishment.
“To reach Shashida,” Faegan quoted, “you must first cross the Azure Sea.”
CHAPTER VIII
THE BOY HAD SEEN ONLY TEN SEASONS OF NEW LIFE and he was terrified of what might happen next. He never knew what awful things they might force him to do or to witness. “Schooling,” the beings called it.
As he waited to be summoned he felt his warm urine run slowly down the inside of his left leg. Although the room was not cold, he shivered. “What does not kill you makes you stronger,” one of his strange masters had once said. But the boy didn’t want to become stronger-he just wanted to die, so that he would never have to come here again.
The dank stone room in which he waited was small and bereft of light. His simple wooden stool was the only furniture. He always regained consciousness in this terrible place before they came for him. Then he would rise from the stone floor and sit on the stool to wait, with no memory of where he had been before now, or where he always went afterward.
Oddly, he could remember nothing of his life outside these walls. Perhaps I have no other life, he thought. As far as he could remember he had no name, no identity, and no other reason for living save for his “schooling.” But when he was here, he could always recall his past sessions in this place.
Sometimes he waited for hours in this nightmarish sensory deprivation; sometimes it lasted only moments. In the end, the same being always came to collect him. There was no way to know how long he had been here this time. Hours, he guessed.
He heard the door open and a narrow shaft of light stabbed its way into the room. The boy raised one hand, partly to protect his eyes from the light and partly because he so dreaded seeing the one who always came to fetch him.
The door open fully and a figure entered. He was dressed in a dark hooded cloak. As the boy’s eyes adjusted to the light, he was reminded of his master’s hideous nature.
The being had no face.
The confines of his cloak hood held nothing but blackness. There was no head-just a terrible empty void that somehow spoke orders to him. The voice was always the same. It was clearly male and it commanded respect. The figure crooked an index finger.
“Come,” he demanded. “It is time.”
His legs shaking, the boy rose from the stool. As he walked toward the dark figure, the faceless man placed one arm around the boy’s shoulder and escorted him from the room. The door closed heavily behind them.
As always, the hallway was narrow and brightly lit, and the white walls, floor, and ceiling gave the passageway a cold, sterile feel. White doors lined the walls, and each door had a golden handle. The identical handles stretched as far as the eye could see.
The boy shivered again. Which door will my faceless master take me through this time? he wondered. Will I be able to bear what lies on the other side? Or will I fail and disappoint him?
The mysterious figure finally stopped before one of the glistening white doors. As the empty hood turned toward him, the boy cowered.
“Today’s lesson is one of the most important that you will ever learn,” the man said. “This time you will not be asked to participate, only to watch. You will watch carefully, and do so over and over again, if needed, until you grasp the concept. Do you understand?”
His voice lost to his overwhelming fear, the boy nodded.
“Good,” the faceless man said. “Follow me.”
The gold handle levered downward and the door opened. During each previous lesson, a different room had been used, and today was no exception. The boy obediently followed his master inside.
The wood-paneled chamber was about eight meters square. Sawdust covered the sunken floor. Thirteen seats overlooking the floor sat in elevated rows along one side of the room. Two wooden doors lay on opposite
