The Warding of Witch World

30 An End and a Beginning, the Waste

The blood-red robe of the one figure before the center portion of the gate identified Jakata. He was standing, but those two sages who had accompanied him were huddled to the ground, unmoving. Kethan wondered briefly if they had served as some sacrifices for their master.

He had to call upon his own reserves under the weaving, the massing of Power centered here. Somehow he had slipped from the saddle and was afoot. A figure moved to his right—Aylinn, her moon wand held in both hands before her breast. The flower which topped it seemed wan—as if it, also, had been sucked dry of potency. On his left was Hardin, and behind him Guret and Lero. Then he was aware that he was indeed tramping on stone pavement, that the walls were solid.

They were also drawing in, those wisps of shadows which had the faint likeness to beings. Yet none of them had features he could distinguish, nor did any approach close enough to touch.

The three who had gone before stood as steady as Jakata. Ibycus was in the center, his staff held in both of his hands. Somehow he appeared to loom taller, as if what he called upon filled him past the confines of his body. To his left was Elysha, the blaze of her bracelets bands of fire. She was calm of face as one who waited, having marshaled all her strength and contained it ready.

Firdun’s sword and helm lay slightly behind him. He might have tossed aside as useless those weapons of common humankind. The youth who had ridden out of the Eyrie was gone now. His gaunt face was strained, as if he also gathered and held that which must be used in this final meeting.

Forward trotted another, her black fur allowing her to be easily seen. She moved with purpose as if she had been summoned and must answer. So Uta came to Elysha and stood statue still.

Kethan moved on, Aylinn matching him step for step. He did not know what had become of the others. Perhaps this last battle was not for them. The pard in him wished for freedom, fought to take form, swelling with the waves of energy circling about them, but he held to his present form. Somehow he understood that, were he to release that other within, he might forever lose the man in the beast.

He could hear the faint crooning song Aylinn was voicing. Words so old that time had nearly erased them. The moon was not above to favor her now, but still she entered into the Maiden’s ritual. And her moonflower appeared to revive.

Firdun stared straight ahead of him, not at the red-robed figure who postured and chanted before the gate. The man was but the key; it was what lay beyond him that must be faced.

Jakata was well aware of them—how else could it be with the currents of magic circling about? Yet he had not glanced in their direction, his attention all for what he would do.

His black staff pointed first to one of the prone sages and then to the other. It was not the bodies which arose at his bidding, but shadow things, more material than those Kethan had seen in the city. But all which was human and of the world of light lay still, now just husks discarded.

Those shadows flanked Jakata, one on either side. And they changed, growing taller, more visible. It was they who turned to face Ibycus and the others now.

The ring of the mage’s finger was blazing. He gripped his staff almost as if it were an anchorage he must hold to.

“Neevor…” That thing out of the shadows which had arisen on Jakata’s left at his bidding showed a discernible face now. It was no monster—there was almost a serene beauty in it. However, Fir-dun, seeing it, felt an icy chill.

“Neevor!” Those lips were shaping a small tight smile. “Well met, brother.”

Ibycus’s features were set. He looked beyond the thing which addressed him at Jakata.

“Brother.” That greeting was repeated softly, almost caressingly. “We meet again.”

“Not so,” the mage returned. “Long ago our paths parted, if you are indeed some remnant of him whose liking you strive to wear. At Car Re Targen there was a parting, and Car Re Targen has been tumbled stone for countless seasons. You are not Mawlin—you are not!”

“Deny me as you please, I stand here, brother.”

He was fully solid now—that shadow-born thing. And such a one as might loom well over Ibycus, only the mage raised his ring hand and the beam of light from that stone struck full into the face of the thing slowly advancing. It writhed, cried out.

“Ill done, brother. Death you have given, death you will have in return.”

“Ill lived,” Ibycus answered, “and even more ill in dying. You do not walk again.”

There was agony twisting that fair face now and Firdun swayed, for a pain which was not his and yet seemed of his giving, struck through him. Then it was gone. He saw that Ibycus leaned now on his staff as if he needed its support.

Almost within the archway Jakata postured and moved as he might in some formal dance at a feasting.

“Ibycus…” the second of the shadow-born spoke. This was a woman. As her companion, she was fair of face, well endowed of body. Looking upon her, Firdun felt a drawing which almost brought him a half step forward.

“Beloved.” Her voice was husky; it beckoned, promised. What man could stand against the lure she had become?

“Love does not last past betrayal, Athal who was.”

“I am not was—beloved—I am!” She opened wide her arms.

Firdun almost could have rushed forward, but that call was not for him. He saw from the corner of his eyes the purple blaze which now seemed to half hide Elysha.

The woman-thing laughed and one wanted to join with her. A musky, languorous scent filled the air. Her eyes promised…

“Remember the morning in the great chamber—Ibycus? Then you swore many things, did you not? Among them an eternal bond for us. Remember the night upon the river when you said the very stars were mirrored in my eyes and you were in your might? Remember—

“Remember,” Ibycus interrupted her languorous voice, “how it was with you when we came to the last stand at Weyrnhold.”

Tears came into those large eyes, spilled over on her ivory cheeks.

“I am your true love, Ibycus, come again. Weyrnhold was long ago—I was young—and afraid.”

“Afraid?” That word uttered with scorn had not come from the mage but from Elysha. “Afraid of losing what mattered most to you—your power over men.”

The languorous beckoning look was gone. The vision’s smile became as near a snarl as any human lips could shape.

“Stupid nothingling! Have all your sighs and longings brought you what you wish—this man?”

“What any man would give a woman must come with truth and trust,” Elysha’s voice rang out. “I do not lay your traps.”

Athal laughed, spitefully this time. “And where do you stand, nothingling?”

“Beside him you would bend to your own purposes. I take only what is given freely.”

“Enough!” Ibycus raised his ring hand. “We lose time with this chitter-chatter. Be gone, Athal, to seek again what you chose at Weyrnhold. Such choices are made only once and forever hold.”

“No!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “You cannot be lost to—

The thrust of the ring light caught her in midstep as she would have flung herself at him. Her screams rang in Firdun’s head until he half turned on the mage who would inflict such pain on anyone, man or woman.

Then she was gone and with her disappeared that spell which had begun to entangle him also. Ibycus leaned even heavier on his staff. Elysha advanced a hand but did not quite touch him.

Then he straightened and his voice rang out with all the old force and power.

“Shall we cease with games, Jakata? You have thrown the challenge. Now make good your threat.”

The Dark Mage had ceased his strange pacing back and forth. His wand swung between two fingers and he smiled as had the woman.

“You have lived long, Warden. I think your day is done. I have unlocked the gate and—”

His words centered all their eyes upon that archway. There was a hum in the air, a feeling of compression about them which was partly anticipation. The inside of the arch was black, as hidden as a starless, moonless night—or the very depths in which the greatest of evil nested.

“Firdun!” Ibycus did not look at him, but he was instantly alert at that call. He must remember—it was now that that which had been given must be used.

He spoke the first of those words in unity with the mage. Even as Ibycus drew patterns in the air with his ring finger, so did Firdun echo them. He felt drawn out of himself, melded into something larger, stronger than he had ever known—he who could not meld.

And the chant continued. There was a roiling within the darkness of the gate. That which Jakata had summoned was at hand. Though Firdun could not see it, the stench filled his nostrils, the first wave of black power washed around him. But he held and the words came. As he spoke them, they issued from his lips not as speech but as points of light, and those points formed patterns.

Again came the surge of evil. Before them Jakata swelled, grew. His arms were flung out and then drawn to his breast as if he embraced the blackness, drew it toward him to be one with him or he the symbol of it.

A length of black lashed out as Jakata pointed now at Ibycus. The mage swayed, but his voice continued, and Firdun’s with it. More of the star-words gathered, and from one side came stabs of purple lightning such as Elysha had summoned before.

The giant which was now Jakata threw back his head and laughed. While behind him the dark beyond the gate thickened, split, thickened again, as if some force gathered there to be launched at the outer world.

Jakata was now framed in a half circling of tentacles which issued out of the dark. The words which were stars had clustered into a form like the head of a spear. Jakata moved. His leap did not carry him to Ibycus; instead his giant form faltered as he stumbled. The mage pointed with his ring.

The tottering figure of the Dark Mage was caught, light spear at his breast. And the force of that pushed him back. Those tentacles about him writhed, fastened on the other parts of the gateway as if they would help to lever outward that which lurked hungrily within.

Some of the star-words had fallen on impact with the Dark Mage, but now Ibycus was beginning the formula for the second time and Firdun, feeling weaker by the moment, followed.

Then—the lashlike arms snapped closed, about Jakata. And within their hold he shrank once more to human size, his handsome face convulsed with pain and terror. Back into the archway he was drawn. Now the star-words were no longer a spear point. Rather they were shaping in the form of such an armed hatch as might defend a hold. Bars thickened, crossed, melted together.

A mighty blast of evil in its final struggle shook them all. Firdun was on his knees now, holding desperately as he could to the task he had been set. Warder he was—and this was the great warding.

He could see Ibycus weaving back and forth, keeping his feet only by his hold on the staff. Then from the mage’s forefinger flashed a last and great starburst. It struck full center on that weaving of the light. There was a sound which sent them deaf. They all fell to the ground.

There was complete silence, Kethan, lying face down where that last great blast had thrown him, heard only his own breath coming raggedly. He made a great effort and forced his head around.

The gate… there was no gate, no arch, no city risen out of the past! Even the black lump which had stood there and which they had seen from afar was flattened—gone. Washing up about where it had been was a lacing of white wave. The clean smell of the sea came to clear the air and out of the sky wheeled birds, white of wing, swooping and soaring as if they played some game.

Between Kethan and that world’s end lay the others. He had not been the first to stir. Aylinn was drawing herself inch by inch toward the two who lay so close together—Ibycus, his head half hidden by his crooked arm, and Elysha, whose hand rested on him as if she had made a final effort to aid.

There was Firdun also, his hands planted on the ground, visibly straining to raise his body. And beyond him another. Another…

Was Kethan caught once more in one of those dream visions?

No, the city was gone, the gate was gone, what remained now was only the truth. On his hands and knees Kethan pushed toward those who had defeated and survived—or had they?

Aylinn was on her knees now, pulling at Ibycus, striving to roll over his limp body. Elysha raised her head, struggled upward to aid the girl.

But for this moment there was another calling Kethan, calling him with something deeper than magic which could be learned, something which was bred into him and was now aroused.

He dared not try to rise higher than hands and knees, and, with each pull forward, his lungs labored and his head shook as he doggedly fought the terrible weakness of his body. He was dimly aware that Firdun was stirring now, but his attention was all for that other.

She lay curled as if she slept. Her face was toward him and she was all he remembered from that night vision—save that now on her forehead above and between her closed eyes was a point of light, star bright.

Kethan pulled himself along with a fierce need to know. Had life itself been drawn from her? He collapsed at last beside her body and put out a hand which shook to touch her cheek. His lady of fur, his lady of—

Her eyes opened slowly and at first it was as if she did not understand what she saw. Her hand moved slowly over the soft black suit as if hunting for something gone.

“Uta!” He had cupped his own hand under her head, drew it to rest against his shoulder. “Uta!” And he knew that that was the name she bore.

There was surprise on her face, and then a surge of light like happiness.

“It is served—my time of exile…” Her voice was hardly above the softest of murmurs, but he heard it easily. Now she looked straight at Kethan. “No, great warrior, I am not of the kin—no were. But shapechanging was set upon me long ago. How…” Her hand went to her forehead, where that spark gleamed ever brighter. “The promise is fulfilled at last.”

Tears gathered in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. “Yes, it was promised, but so long… so long…”

“The past is gone.” Kethan drew her even closer. He wanted this treasure he had found to be a second part of him. Now his lips touched the salt of the tears on her cheeks. Then found her own lips waiting for him. What did the past matter for either of them now?

“Uta.” He wanted to sing her name, but he had no bards voice. Her arms were about him now, her lips as eager as his. They were lost in that magic which had nothing to do with sorcery until a cry startled them.

Aylinn held her flower staff across Ibycus’s body. The mage’s eyes were open. He looked at her, then to Firdun on his knees by him, and, lastly, up to her who cradled his head.

Somehow Kethan gained his feet and drew Uta up beside him. Together they stumbled toward the others. Ibycus’s eyes steadied now upon them.

“Well done, huntress and far wanderer. Serving the Light has broken the burden you have carried so long.” His voice was the faintest trace of sound. “Neatly did you trip that Dark one.”

“Lord…” Uta dropped from Kethan’s hold once more to her knees. “The time of exile—”

The mage smiled. “Is past. You bear your pardon and will hold it all your days. Also you have chosen and are chosen, and that is as it should be.” Now his gaze passed to Aylinn. “Do not fret yourself, Moon Daughter. To every living thing there comes an ending. For every Power there is a price. Payment is now demanded of me.”

“Be not so sure!” they heard Elysha say. “You have always been so quick, so sure, dear lord, of the needs of duty, of everything but that which lies deep-buried within you. It is time for the seed to open, and let the plant grow and flower.”

Swiftly, before he could protest, she shifted his head and shoulders to Aylinn’s hold. Then she walked some space away as they watched her wonderingly.

Up went her arms and around each wrist blazed fierce purple fire. “I summon—let me be answered!” she cried—demanding, not pleading.

They saw it take form in the air even as had the vanished city, but far brighter, like a rainbow, glittering with scattered bursts of colors. Steadily it grew more visible as it descended, more solid, until, as it met the ground, Firdun felt a tremor, heard sound.

Then Elysha beckoned to them. “Bring my lord.”

Kethan and Firdun between them took him up. His weight seemed no more than a fraction, like that of a child, his body shrunken, his face shadowed as if age were fast creeping upon him. They carried him as easily as they could and Elysha pointed to a place within the palace’s wide-open gate. She stood there as if for anchorage until they left him, and then returned running.

“Glamorie, then, dear heart?” he asked.

She laughed. “To each his own. It has always served me well.”

He had held to his staff during their transport. Now he lifted his other hand to keep them where they were and they saw that the ring stone was cracked, shifting away in ash like bits.

“Firdun”—there wais more strength in the mage’s voice now—“well have you served and even better will you serve. He who is a warder passes ward to the proper one when his time has come. Take you this.”

He held out the staff. Firdun wanted nothing so much as to refuse. But there was that in him now which made him accept it.

“Gryphon’s get,” Ibycus continued. “You are not less than your kin, only called to walk another path. And I hold no doubt that you will tread it well. Now my time is past and I think my lady grows impatient.” He smiled at Elysha, who now took his head up against her shoulder once more. “Return you to the Eyrie, that your story will be known there and at Lormt. There still lie pools of the Dark, but if the gates are closed as they will be, there will be nothing to feed them from afar. May the grace of the Power watch over you.”

His eyes closed and he sank deeper into Elysha’s hold as the castle arose from the black sand. It was bright enough to make them close their eyes and when they opened them again it was gone.

Aylinn rubbed her hand across tear-wet cheeks. Firdun stood with the staff in both hands now. There was a grim, shut look about him as if he was no longer one of them but faced a duty which was drawing all light and laughter out of his life forever. Aylinn studied him for a long moment, then she came to him, holding out her moon wand so that it matched in straight uprightness the staff. The flower was fully open, though they stood in the light of late afternoon.

“No path must be walked alone,” she said. And the light in the flower appeared to pulse as she spoke. “There are many different ways of warding and watching, Firdun. Shut no doors until you are sure.”

Frowning, he looked at her, his lower lip caught between his teeth. His shoulders had slumped as if the staff had become a burden to pull him down.

“Ibycus rode alone.”

“Ibycus was one man; you are another. Make your own choices, Firdun. Do not accept past ones as duties which must be followed. Look you.”

She held her moon wand closer until one of the outstretched petals of the flower touched the staff only a fingers-breadth away from his own hold.

It was as if some of the stars which had been words sprung to life again, running along the length of the age-darkened shaft. Firdun gave a small broken cry.

“Aylinn!” Just as her wand had come to him freely, so did she now.

“With you—with you I can.”

“Of course you can,” she answered triumphantly. “Ibycus knew it or he would not have passed his Power to you. You will come to be even as he was—the hope of many, a sure shield against the Dark.”

“Lord…”

They turned their heads.

It was Hardin and Guret with Lero, standing together. And Hardin pointed to the lace of waves. Those caught together in new understanding, felt the wash of water now about their feet, splashing upward.

“The sea comes.”

Kethan laughed. “A time for all felines to withdraw! And we have a long road before us.”

“Let it be so,” Firdun said. It seemed to the others that there was a new note in his voice. Almost, Aylinn thought fleetingly, that if she closed her eyes she might have believed that had been spoken by Ibycus himself. A long road, but not alone—no, never alone.

And, as they drew back, the sea washed up over where the gate had been.