“Looking at my eyes, yes?” he asked.
“Sorry, they’re just not what we’re used to.”
“Of course not. Your reaction is understandable, of course. No one from your world has eyes like this, but here, it’s very common. When your world evolves with a damaged atmosphere, life finds a way to adapt. Our eyes developed a red tint, which helps us filter the dangerous invisible rays that would otherwise damage our eyesight.”
“Will our eyes look like that if we stay here too long?”
“No, you’d have to be born here, and even then, not everyone in our society inherits the trait.” He gave me a gentle smile. Even with those fangs, he still managed to look harmless in a grandfatherly sort of way. Something told me that this man was not harmless—but perhaps he didn’t want to kill us, either. Not yet, anyway.
We continued eating in silence. Finally, Kull spoke up.
“You claim to be Lucretian. Can you prove it?”
One of the man’s eyebrows rose. “How am I to prove such a thing?”
No one answered.
“That staff,” the man said finally, “belonged to one called Zaladin. He was the second eldest of the Madralorde, but really, he was their leader. He’d always bested Xacvain—the eldest. Those two never stopped quarreling until one day, they got into an all-out brawl. Zaladin won, of course, scared Xacvain so badly that he never picked on his younger brother again.” Lucretian leaned back and closed his eyes, as if caught up in his memories. “But those days happened too long ago for anyone to remember.”
“You were their advisor,” I said. “Like Merlin to King Arthur?”
He nodded.
“What else can you tell us?” Heidel asked.
“Many things. More than I would ever have time to tell. But you don’t want to hear my proof, do you? You’d rather see it.”
“You can show us proof?” Rolf asked.
“Yes.” He threaded his fingers together. His voice grew soft, but urgent. “I lived in your world for many years. I met people while I was there. Some were very special. There were some who were like me and became druids, and there was one person in particular who was very special. You see, he could be reborn and live forever.”
Heidel dropped her spoon. When I glanced at her, I noticed her face had gone white. She stared at something just beyond Lucretian. I followed her line of sight and saw a silhouette under the doorway.
My heart stopped. It couldn’t be. He was dead.
Heidel stood and crossed the room, but stopped when she got halfway to the man.
“Is it you?” she asked, her voice breathy and almost too quiet to hear.
He entered the room, coming into full view.
It was him. Maveryck. The man who had been killed by the elves. His body had been sacrificed to recall Theht to the world. He looked almost exactly how I remembered. He had the features of an elf, with high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and dark hair that he wore loosely down his back. Although, unlike the last time I’d seen him, when he’d dressed in expensive elven clothing, he now wore simple beige robes. Something was different about his eyes, too. He was more subdued and less antagonistic. Maybe more humble.
“It’s me,” he answered.
Heidel rushed to him, and they embraced. Tears ran down her face. At any other time, I was sure Heidel would have been embarrassed to show her emotions, especially with her brother in the room, but she didn’t seem to care if anyone—even Kull—saw her cry.
Grace also trotted to her master’s side, but waited patiently for her turn as Heidel hugged Maveryck.
Kull leaned toward me. “Did you know about this?”
“No. I’m pretty shocked, to be honest.”
When the couple finally pulled apart, the rest of us gathered around Maveryck and welcomed him back. He shook hands with the Wults and Kull clapped the man on the shoulder, but to me, it all felt too surreal. Could this really be happening? We’d all mourned his death, but here he was alive again.
Maveryck shook my hand.
“Maveryck,” I said. “How?”
He turned and nodded at Lucretian, who stood watching us. “He can explain.”
We turned toward the man. I was now finally starting to believe he was actually the man he claimed to be. He was Lucretian, the first druid, the man who had spoken the Deathbringer prophecy.
“I went back for him,” he said. “Once Dracon—the man you call Maveryck—returned to Tremulac and remembered his past, I knew it was time for me to return to Faythander. I’ve seen many visions. In one, I saw the elves sacrifice the last remaining Madralorde brother in order to bring the dark goddess to their world. So, I returned, and I waited.
“As you can see, Dracon cannot die, at least, not a form of death you would be familiar with. After the sacrifice, I hid, and when my chance came, I created a portal and brought his body back here to my home where he regained life.”
“Does that explain it?” Maveryck asked me.
“A little. But it still seems so impossible. You were dead!”
“Not exactly,” he said. “Do you remember how I told you my brother gave me a potion?”
“I remember, but you said the potion gave you perfect recollection. That couldn’t have been the truth, though.”
“You’re right. In addition to giving me perfect memory, the potion also altered my memories, but it did more than that. The potion gave me the ability to rise again after death.”
“Okay, I guess that makes sense. Sort of. But I’ve never heard of any magic or potion capable of doing such a thing.”
“I doubt you’ll ever hear of it again. My brother created it from an ancient magic that’s gone extinct. In fact, it was a magic that came from this world.” He stood with his arm wrapped around Heidel’s waist.
She glanced
