AS TRISTAN FOLLOWED THE FOUR WOMEN DOWN THE elaborate hallway, his mind reeled with unanswered questions and tempting possibilities. Having lived his entire life in the royal palace, he was well acquainted with opulence. But that had been in Eutracia, and this was a different world. The farther he walked, the more he realized that nothing in his experience could have prepared him for Shashida.
The room in which he awakened was amazingly luxurious, and he guessed that it was only a brief taste of the splendor he would find elsewhere. The floor was made of solid onyx and the walls were built from an unfamiliar blue stone that sparkled with a life of its own. The bed had been fitted with sumptuous silk sheets, and a diaphanous canopy was stretched from its four marble posts. Fluted pilasters adorned the walls and an elaborate fountain graced the center of the room, its tumbling water creating a wonderfully soothing sound. Dappled sunshine streamed in through skylights in the gilded ceiling overhead.
After Tristan rose from the bed, the four women graciously asked that he follow them. On leaving the room, they began walking down a long hallway. The women had not told him what purpose this wondrous building served or where they were headed, only that he was being taken to their masters. As he walked, he was glad to realize that the dizzying effects of the vortex were gone and his eyesight had returned to normal. Eager to finally come face to face with the supreme masters of the Vigors, he dutifully followed the mysterious women onward.
Each of the women sent to fetch him was young and beautiful, with long black hair that hung down to her shoulders like strands of pure silk. Colorful long-sleeved embroidered robes wrapped their bodies and reached all the way to their ankles. Open-toed wooden thong sandals graced their feet, and their faces had been lightly brushed with a pale powder. Tristan found their appearance immensely attractive, and he admired their polite but commanding behavior.
The hallway down which they trod was opulent. The walls were white and the elaborately patterned carpet dark red, its luxurious fibers so thick that it seemed he was walking on soft grass. Golden candelabra graced the walls every few meters, and an enticing aroma of fresh-cut mint hung in the air. Tristan hoped to see more Shashidans along the way, but aside from himself and the four women, the hallway was deserted.
After a long walk they reached an intersection where eight hallways joined. On one side stood a pair of tall black lacquered doors, their intricately carved panels adorned with representations in gold of exotic birds and animals the likes of which Tristan had never seen. On reaching the doors, the four women turned and bowed.
The one who had addressed Tristan earlier stepped forward to look at him. Her large, dark brown eyes seemed full of mystery.
“They await you,” she said simply. “On behalf of all Shashidans, we welcome theJin’Sai into our midst. We have anticipated your coming for aeons.”
With a wave of one hand she called the craft, and the lacquered doors swung open. As they did, she stepped back among the other women, and they again bowed.
Still unsure of how to behave in the women’s presence, theJin’Sai bowed in return. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Eager to learn what lay beyond, he walked into the room, and the doors closed behind him. The moment he stepped into the magnificent chamber he knew that he was about to learn the answers to his many questions.
The room was large, about twenty meters square. In its center stood a magnificent round table fashioned from exotic wormwood. Twelve men and women sat there. Several more chairs stood empty.
Like the room where Tristan had awakened, this room had a high gilded ceiling pierced with skylights through which dappled sunshine streamed. The walls were of flecked alabaster, and the floor was made of highly polished interlocking hardwood strips. The entire far side of the room was an open colonnade, revealing a courtyard that held winding garden paths, exotic plants, meandering streams, and burbling fountains. Exotic paintings hung on the walls, along with ornate tapestries. Gold vases and other priceless decorative items also adorned the room, and crystalline wind chimes hanging in the garden trees sent a soothing melody into the chamber. It seemed apparent that this room served as a meeting place.
As if they were of one mind, the twelve strangers stood and bowed deeply to him. Tristan counted six men and six women. Each was dressed in an elaborate robe much like his own, with two exotic-looking swords held against their waists by silk sashes. The swords were unlike those he had seen on the wrecked ship, reaffirming that the armor and weapons he saw there had been Rustannican. Most of the people looked very old, with gray hair and deeply lined faces, but two of them looked his age.
Still unsure of the proper etiquette, Tristan bowed in return. As eleven of the people sat down, one of the older men remained standing. Their leader, Tristan guessed.
The man’s hair was stark white and pulled back from his forehead to form a short queue secured with a gold ornament. A large white mustache graced his upper lip, its ends drooping downward past his chin. The deep lines carved in his weathered face spoke of a fully experienced life. His body appeared muscular and lean, and his blue eyes gleamed with wisdom.
He was dressed differently from the others, his more elaborate clothing further suggesting his status as their leader. His magnificent silk robe was deep red with bright yellow cranes embroidered into its fabric. Over the robe he wore a sleeveless long black silk tunic, its wide, pointed shoulders extending past his body on either side. Like Tristan he wore dark socks with open-toed wooden thong sandals.
The two swords secured at his left hip were beautiful creations. The upper sword was short, and the lower one longer than its brother by about one-half its length. Each gently curved wooden scabbard was lacquered in black and adorned with intricately painted red butterflies resting on delicate tree branches. The swords’ oblong hilts were made of onyx, and their ivory handles were slim and intricately wound with black cord. In the spaces among the crisscrossed cords lay small, finely crafted gold ornaments that Tristan guessed would allow for a better grip and tell the sword’s owner when his hands were properly situated for fighting. As the man looked at Tristan, he smiled warmly.
“Welcome, Jin’Sai, ” he said reverently, his voice strong and firm as an old oak tree. “My name is Mashiro of the House of the Yellow Cranes. So that you can understand us, while in your presence we will speak only your native Eutracian dialect. Like your fellow countrymen we have chosen to recognize ourselves by mentioning our family house, even though those living in Rustannica have long since abandoned that custom. In the name of our people, we twelve humble Vigors mystics welcome you to Shashida. Collectively, you know us as the Ones Who Came Before. You have endured much to reach us, and you and your two friends are the first from your side of the world to do so. We are immensely grateful for the suffering that you have endured to help ensure the survival of the Vigors.”
Tristan was about to reply when the doors behind him swung open. Turning to look, he saw Wigg and Tyranny enter the room. Each of them was dressed as he was. When they stepped into the room, their faces quickly mirrored the same awe and wonder that Tristan’s had shown when he first entered.
Relieved, he hurried toward them. “Are you all right?” he asked urgently.
The First Wizard and Tyranny nodded. “Yes,” Wigg answered for both of them, “but it took time to overcome the effects of the portal. I have never experienced such an overpowering use of the craft. When we awoke we were dressed in these clothes. Then some women escorted us here. It also seems that my pain is gone and my burns are fully healed.”
After looking around the room, Wigg’s eyes settled on the twelve people at the great table. “Are we in Shashida?” he asked reverently. “Are you the Ones Who Came Before?”
Mashiro bowed. “You may call us that,” he answered, “although we prefer another name for our humble group. You have our apologies, my friends. We understand that you are unaccustomed to our higher uses of the craft, but once you reached the channel’s dead end, our portal was the only safe way to help you complete your journey. It is much like the portal your wizard called Faegan uses, but ours is infinitely more powerful. We also took the liberty of treating the First Wizard’s injuries.”
“You know who we are?” Wigg breathed. “How can that be?”
Mashiro smiled again. “In truth, we know all about you,” he answered, “and we are intimately familiar with the many trials you have suffered. There is much to discuss, and at long last your questions will be answered. Please come and sit at our modest table.”
