2. Spirits in the Night
“The six Spirits have gone from Gamearth and they will never return. Why have they abandoned us? Are our lives so trivial to them? How soon they forget everything they once were.”
—Sardun’s memoirs
Delrael plodded to his bedchambers in the main building of the Stronghold. His head ached, his body felt stiff, and he wanted to explode from inactivity.
Once again he and the other characters had resolved nothing—another day wasted, and they still had thought of no way to fight Scartaris, the Outsiders’ evil creature growing in the east.
He hated all this talking and planning. He wanted to go somewhere.
Delrael had returned to the Stronghold two weeks before with Vailret and Bryl, successful in their quest to create a Barrier River and to rescue the Sentinel Sardun’s daughter, Tareah. But then they had learned from blind Paenar that the Barrier River would not stop Scartaris after all.…
Every day, Vailret insisted that they meet with other characters to discuss the problem, to brainstorm. There had to be a way, Vailret said, there always had to be a way. He usually knew about things like that. To be fair, the Outsiders had to play by their own Rules, they needed to provide some solution to every problem they posed.
“Or maybe not, in this case,” Delrael said.
No one could suggest a plan of action, not even Tareah. They knew too little about their enemy.
Delrael found it impossible to sit around and wait. He was a fighter trained to action, not discussion. He needed to meet a problem head on, to fight, to explore, go adventuring and, as the primary Rule of Gamearth dictated, have fun. When all else fails, go on a quest.
Finally, he and Vailret came to the conclusion that they should just head east. Maybe they could do something there if they tried. Perhaps Enrod, the full-blooded Sentinel in Tairé, could help them.…
Delrael stood in the doorway of his room. It had once been his parents’ master chambers, but that had been many turns before. Fielle, his mother, was dead of a fever, and his father Drodanis had gone away, searching for the mysterious Rulewoman far away in the south.
It was warm for the late summer night, but Vailret’s mother Siya had built a roaring fire in the hearth. Light glittered from chests of gems stacked against his wall, plunder from some of Delrael’s earlier quests. The room smelled clean and resinous from the burning wood. Siya had tossed herbs into the hearth again.
His bed beckoned to him. His body yearned for a good night’s sleep. Worked up and anxious, not knowing what to do, Delrael hadn’t been resting well, frustrated by a problem he could not grasp.
Even his younger cousin Vailret, the thinker and scholar, found himself just as much at a loss.
With a sigh, Delrael loosened his oiled leather jerkin and removed it, stretching his arms. The muscles popped into place. It felt good to relax. While sitting around, he had mended his armor. He needed to work on his archery skills a little more tomorrow.
Someone knocked on the door before he could lie down. Delrael sighed and went to the door.
Siya stood there, small and rigid. “I’ve drawn another hot bath for Tareah. I don’t know how she stands it—I can barely put my hand in the water. But she says it helps her aches. I wonder how much longer this will last.”
Delrael nodded. “Depends how long she keeps on growing.”
The Sentinel Sardun had held his daughter in the body of a child for three decades, not wanting her to grow up before another full-blooded Sorcerer could be born at random by the Rules of Probability. But when Sardun died, his spell was broken. In only weeks Tareah grew at a remarkable rate, catching up with lost time. In the balloon ride back from the island of Rokanun, she looked like ten-year-old girl: now she appeared fully grown.
But her bones and muscles ached from the strain. Hot, hot baths helped, she said. Siya and Delrael tried to make her as comfortable as possible.
Tareah had blossomed into a beautiful woman, though she still felt uncomfortable around groups of characters after the isolation in her father’s Ice Palace. She was making the effort to learn social skills that Delrael took for granted.
“Why don’t you make her some herb tea so she can rest better?” Delrael said. “And if there’s anything I can do for her, tell her to be sure and ask.” He wrapped his hand around the edge of the door.
“But I need to get to sleep now, Aunt Siya. Sooner or later we’re going to leave on a quest again.”
She scowled, but Delrael raised his hand to stop her from saying anything. “We’re not doing it just for fun this time. You know that. We’re trying to save our world.”
But after he closed the door, removed his clothes, and pulled on an airy nightshirt, Delrael closed his eyes in concern. His head kept ringing from too much discussion.
Working together, they had defeated Tryos the dragon and driven away Gairoth the ogre. But if Scartaris was powerful enough to obliterate the map of Gamearth and literally destroy every hexagon of terrain, they would need something more potent than magic Stones and hand-held weapons.
Bending down, Delrael picked up the jeweled silver belt his father had given him. The belt was an ancient relic, crafted by the old Sorcerers before they embarked on the Transition. Delrael had earned it for doing well in his battle training. If only the vanished Sorcerers knew what was becoming of their world now.…
At the moment, though, he wanted sleep more than anything. Maybe an idea would come in the night. Still staring at the belt in his hands, Delrael dropped backward onto the bed—
A lightning bolt like ice shot through his body. His heart stopped. His vision turned into the blinding white of a snowstorm.
He landed on his back in the dew-spangled grass of a starlit meadow. The cool air around him was like the shock of falling into a mountain stream.
He paused a second to blink in astonishment before his fighter reflexes took over. Delrael leaped to his feet, crouching in a battle stance—but he was barefoot, clad only in his nightshirt, holding only a silver belt in his hand. He felt helpless and naked as he glanced around, trying to find a branch or something to fight with.
Overhead the greenish aurora, Lady Maire’s Veil, lit the clearing. Through a break in the trees, Delrael could see Steep Hill, on top of which stood the walled-in Stronghold. He had been somehow transported into one of the neighboring forest-terrain hexes. He hadn’t the slightest idea why.
“Who’s there?” Delrael said quietly. Then, squaring his shoulders, he spoke in his loudest battle-commander voice. “I said who’s there!”
After a moment he wondered if he should have said anything at all.
The forest sounds vanished. It made Delrael wonder if all the creatures had some sort of rapport with … with whatever had brought him here. The trees stood completely still, then began to sway on the edges of the meadow. The wind picked up. Spangles of light wove in and out of the air, drawing rough shapes that towered impossibly high and yet might not have been there at all.
Delrael blinked his eyes again and again. The outlines grew sharper, taking form as the breeze turned to a roar. The tree branches clattered and scratched against each other. Delrael’s brown hair blew back away from his face.
He squinted into the stinging wind, but the white light grew brighter and brighter until it coalesced into three discrete forms, giant hooded shapes. They stood taller than the trees, stretching up toward the glowing aurora.
“We are the Earthspirits. We have come back to save Gamearth. And you must help us.”
Delrael didn’t know what to say. His jaw dropped. Vailret had told enough stories about the Transition—he knew how powerful the Spirits were. The wind rang in his ears. He thought he was shouting, but his voice felt pitifully small. His words sounded limp and inane even to him. “How can I help? Can you destroy Scartaris?”
The Earthspirits paused at that, then spoke again in unison. “We have been gone too long. We are not aware of what has taken place since we departed.
“We sought a way to escape from the Game, to leave the map behind and seek our own reality. We found ways to avoid the Rules, but we cannot break them entirely. We are bound to Gamearth—its Rules are fundamental to our existence.
“The Deathspirits learned this, too, but they wish to embrace chaos. They would form their own Rules, make their own maps, Play their own new games.
“They were our enemies in the Wars. We have not communicated with them since the Transition.”
Silence hung in the wind for a moment.
“But the Wars are over.” Delrael felt giddy at his own brashness for interrupting. “Scartaris is our enemy now, but we don’t stand any chance against him. Unless you can help.”
Delrael shrugged off his doubts. No character ever won a gamble without first placing a wager.
“Scartaris is … unknown to us. We do not know if we will win against him.” The Earthspirits paused a beat. “But if we are to fight, you must take us there.”
Delrael stood straight, brushing the damp folds of his nightshirt. “Take you there? What do you mean? Can’t you just … go?”
“We are bound by Rules of travel as are all characters on Gamearth. But it is much more difficult for us to cross hex-lines. We are not substantial enough.
“Also, Scartaris has the power to destroy the map and end the Game any time he wishes. If he knows we are coming for him, he will not wait.”
Delrael felt disappointed and helpless. “Why doesn’t he get it over with, then?”
“The Outsider David is a vindictive one. He wants to make all characters watch the destruction of Gamearth first.
“You must deliver us in secret. The Outsiders are not aware of our return to the world. They can know nothing of this quest. We are beyond them now—Gamearth has its own magic they do not realize.”
Listening to the Earthspirits speak, Delrael began to feel confident again. As the giant forms loomed over him, he sensed their power, their invincibility.
“We will disguise ourselves. A dim part of us remembers the silver belt you carry, remembers creating it as an ornament so long ago.”
Delrael clenched the glittering belt self-consciously, wondering what they would do. Then he cursed his own selfishness.
“Lay it on the ground,” the Earthspirits said. “We will meld ourselves to it, take substance in the metal. We can do little to assist you, though we can shield you from the manipulations of Scartaris once you get closer to him.
“Carry this belt across the map. When you reach Scartaris, we will emerge. We will take him by surprise.”
Silence settled down on the meadow. The white Spirits waited for Delrael.
With trembling hands, he laid the shining belt down on the grass. The light from the Earthspirits glinted off the gems and the polished hexagonal sections of silver. He backed away, stumbling into a fallen tree. But he could not tear his gaze from the Spirits.
The Earthspirits changed. They moved. Their light glittered and swirled in a funnel, pouring down into the metal of the belt. Dazzles of color floated in front of Delrael’s eyes. He shielded them, blinking, as the wind continued to howl, focusing downward. Leaves broke away from branches and swirled around his head.
The Spirits streamed down into the silver links. Delrael tried to imagine how so much power could fit within the belt.
Then the silver swallowed the last glints of white with an audible pop. The wind ceased. Torn leaves and broken twigs settled to the ground, and everything fell silent again.
His ears ringing, Delrael crept forward. His feet were wet, along with the hem of his nightshirt. His eyes were wide and childlike when he touched the belt. For a moment it was blistering hot, then the silver grew bitterly cold before adjusting itself again. Tracings of frost etched across the gems before evaporating into the cool night.
Delrael picked the belt up in his hands. The silver throbbed against his fingers, vibrating with a rhythm that faded toward stillness.
He would have to be careful about what he said to anyone if the Outsiders truly were not aware of this quest. Not even the Rulewoman Melanie could know.
Then Delrael smiled. At last they had their weapon. At last they had a way to win against Scartaris.
He fastened the belt around his damp nightshirt. He didn’t feel tired anymore. He wanted to talk to Vailret and Bryl and Tareah immediately. They needed to set off as soon as possible. No more sitting around and talking.
He looked up through the trees to see the silhouette of Steep Hill and the Stronghold. Delrael realized it would be a long walk barefoot back home.
* * *
Tareah sat back in the deep wooden tub, drawing her gangly legs up and tucking her knees close to her chin. The legs seemed so long to her, so awkward, as if they belonged to someone else. The rough surface of the wet wood rubbed against the bumps of her spine.
Through half-closed eyes she saw wisps of steam rising from the bath. The warm water soaked into the throbbing in her joints. Old Siya argued with her that the water was too hot, but Tareah found that only this would help. When she climbed out, dripping, to dry herself, her skin would be angry red, but she would feel better, numbed for a while.
Her muscles relaxed under the coaxing of the bath. She let her mind drift, her body drift. She felt painfully lonely, lost and unsure of anything. Her stable and predictable world had been thrown into chaos since Tryos the dragon kidnapped her, since her father died in the destruction of his Ice Palace, since she found out the Outsiders were trying to destroy Gamearth. Tareah’s new adult body was difficult to control, grown too fast. She seemed like a stranger inside herself.
In the deserted bath chamber, after the others bedded down for the night, Tareah listened to quiet sounds, nightbirds and insects in the cooling air. Autumn would arrive soon. On the equinox the characters would celebrate Transition Day, the anniversary of when all her forefathers had transformed themselves into the six Spirits. Delrael had promised her they would make a big celebration in the village this year. He said he would do it for her. She smiled at the thought.
The most important anchor in all her turmoil was the friendship of Delrael and Vailret. They poured so much attention upon her that she felt special again, as when her father Sardun cared for her. Delrael reminded her of the monumental heroes in the old legends of the Game, adventurous, sure of himself, brave and strong. Vailret had all the intelligence and background of a respected scholar—he could talk intensely about many subjects, but he was often self-conscious around her. She sighed and forced a smile.
The open fire on the hearth heated another cauldron of water in case Tareah needed her bath warmed again. The hissing and snapping of the flames soothed her, eased her into a doze. She drifted. She let her eyes sink closed as she smelled the water, the damp wood.
A sharp pain snapped inside her head. Tareah became dislocated, floating, with nothing to hold onto. She felt the Sorcerer blood within her—she knew what it could do, but all at once it didn’t seem strong enough. Tareah blinked her eyes again and stared at the fire. The flames throbbed, running together like melted wax. She grew dizzy. She seemed disembodied.
Without knowing what she was doing, Tareah slipped under the water of her bath.
She opened her eyes, but through the bath water she saw clear images. She didn’t need to breathe, didn’t even think of it. She felt no alarm at all. The water she smelled and saw was not from inside her bath.…but from the Barrier River. She felt a swaying raft beneath her feet. She saw giant, shadowy shapes, hooded figures, heard booming voices.
A man with wild dark hair and black beard stood on the raft. Like an invisible observer, Tareah felt the anger in his heart, the alien fury that controlled him from far away.
Her Sorcerer blood recognized that this was Enrod, the Sentinel from Tairé.
She heard the Deathspirits pronounce judgment on Enrod, she learned what he had been about to do to the land. In horror she stared at him, but she could feel no sympathy when the Deathspirits stripped him of the Fire Stone.
In her head, she heard the words ringing out, spoken to her:
“The Fire Stone was meant to assist the characters of the Game. As the last full Sorcerer character, you must now receive the Stone. We trust no one else with the decision. Take it and win the Game. Or lose. We have done our part. We care no longer.”
Then the vision left her completely.
As she blinked, Tareah found she was under water, in her own bath, cramped and unable to breathe. She pushed her head up above the surface, sputtering and spraying water from her mouth. She blinked her eyes. Thick brown hair streamed wet down her neck.
Her eyes focused, and she saw something different about the fireplace. The flames curled against the split logs like yellow tatters. Wisps of steam danced up from the surface of the cauldron of heating water. Smoke rose into the chimney, but left the room filled with the smell of burning wood.
Gleaming at the foot of the hearth, among the orange coals, lay the brilliant eight-sided ruby. The Fire Stone, red and pulsing with magic.
* * *
The musty dampness of the stonecutter’s caves filled Delrael’s nostrils. The torches and lanterns they carried flickered in the drafts of sluggish air, throwing light against the hewn rock walls. The smoke mixed with the heavy smell of stone dust and earth.
Delrael crossed his arms over his leather jerkin, looking at the dim chamber. He brushed dirt off his pants. Vailret followed him in, found a rock outcropping to sit on, and lounged against the wall. He looked thin and gaunt in the uncertain light; but his eyes were bright and intense.
Bryl the old half-Sorcerer sat by himself, glancing around as if frightened by the shadows, the oppressive weight of rock around them. Tareah waited next to Vailret.
In the silent hours before dawn, no one knew they had gone to the caves. They had much to discuss, in private, away from the villagers and—they hoped—away from the prying eyes of the Outsiders.
Vailret coughed and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “We’ve got half a hilltop of rock over our heads to shield us. Maybe the Outsiders won’t be able to hear us here.”
Bryl cringed at Vailret’s mention of the weight of the rock. Delrael looked at the low ceiling and nodded, but he kept his voice quiet anyway. “The Outsiders must not know anything about this. It’s something we have to decide.”
He didn’t know where to begin. He had already told them in a brief whisper about the Earthspirits. At the same time, Tareah had burst out of the bath chamber, wrapped in a blanket but dripping onto the wooden floor. Wide-eyed, she held the glowing ruby Fire Stone in her hand.…
“The Earthspirits promised to help us destroy Scartaris,” Delrael said. “We might have a good chance now, especially if Tareah has the Fire and Water Stones, and Bryl has the Air Stone.”
Bryl fondled the Air Stone, the four-sided diamond that created illusions. Gairoth the ogre had used it to overthrow the Stronghold by making the other characters believe he commanded an indestructible army of other ogres.
Tareah fumbled at her waist to undo the lashings of a small cloth purse. She drew out the sapphire Water Stone, shaped like a cubical six-sided die. For centuries it had been held by Tareah’s father, Sardun the Sentinel. At Vailret’s urging, Sardun had used the Water Stone to create the Barrier River; now, after Sardun’s death, Tareah took the Water Stone herself. She held it next to her new Fire Stone, blue fire in one hand, red fire in the other.
Delrael smiled. “Scartaris is still there, and the Outsider David still wants to destroy us—but we can fight back now. This is our Game, too!”
Vailret rubbed a finger along his lower lip. “We’ve got to be careful about this, though.”
Delrael grimaced—he hated to hear his cousin say that.
“Scartaris must know we’re trying to stop him. It’s rather hard to hide something like the Barrier River, you know. And when we confronted the Outsiders in that deserted Slac fortress, we learned all about each other’s intentions.”
Bryl and Tareah muttered, and Delrael fidgeted in impatience. But Vailret looked at them. “We should assume that the Outsider David is already sending something to kill us, a monster or two. If he wants to end the Game so much, he won’t take any chances. He’ll come to get us directly—and the longer we sit here, the easier a target we make.”
“Not unless he thinks it might liven up the Game,” Delrael said. “Remember what we’re here for. Rule #1—always have fun.”
Vailret snorted. Bryl squirmed, nervous and trying to avoid the issue. Tareah put hands on her hips in an awkward, unsure gesture. “Well, what are we going to do?” she said.
“First and most important, we have to make sure the Outsiders don’t learn about the Earthspirits and their involvement,” Delrael said immediately. “That could be our loaded dice.” He touched his silver belt, but he felt nothing unusual. “I have to carry them to Scartaris—but we need to make it look like we’re just going on a quest to find out more about our enemy.”
“We?” Bryl said. “Who all is going on this quest? We just got back from one!”
Delrael frowned at him. “We’re supposed to enjoy going on quests, Bryl. That’s what we were all created for. It’s just a game.”
“This just might take the Outsiders by surprise.” Vailret smiled. “That’ll teach them to leave loopholes in the Rules!”
“So are the four of us going on this quest?” Tareah asked. Her voice carried an impatience for banter. She had been brought up studying the famous historical quests of the Game. Delrael knew she considered it to be very serious stuff, nothing to be made light of.
“I have to go,” Delrael said, running his fingers along the silver belt, “since I’m carrying the Earthspirits. And Vailret, because you can think fast, and you know things we wouldn’t even consider. That might help. I’d like you to come too, Bryl, so we can use your Sorcerer magic.”
Delrael lowered his voice. “I want you to stay here.” He touched her shoulders, then slid his palms down to hold her arms, hooking his thumbs on the insides of her elbows.
She bristled. “Stay here? But I owe it to Gamearth to fight as much as you! Now that Enrod’s gone, I’m the last full-blooded Sorcerer on the map. I have to come with you!”
Delrael held up one hand to stop her. “Tareah, you’ve been at the Ice Palace all your life—you never gained any experience. Questing isn’t something you learn offhand. It would be too dangerous to you, and to us, to have an inexperienced character in the party. You know the Rules, you know the probabilities.”
Tareah was angry with him. He’d thought about this so much, but when he explained it to her it seemed a weak and simple excuse. He wasn’t good at explaining things. But when Tryos the dragon had kidnapped her, Tareah sat around waiting to be rescued because that’s what she thought she was supposed to do. He didn’t want to count on someone who would play according to what she remembered of distorted legends and cut-and-dried interpretations of the Rules.
He sighed and softened his voice. “Look, I’m not just being over-protective. I need someone powerful to stay and guard the Stronghold while we’re gone. Vailret just said it—there’s no telling what Scartaris might send here. I want somebody at the Stronghold who can fight back. You have the Water Stone and the Fire Stone—you might need them. The characters in the village might need you.”
Tareah still said nothing to Delrael.
“I’m going to speak to Tarne, too—he’s a fighter, an old veteran from the days when my father ran the Stronghold. He kept the characters safe when Gairoth took over. I think the two of you can stand against anything Scartaris has.”
Tareah seemed to be considering what Delrael said; finally, she nodded. “You’re right. That goes along with the other adventures I’ve studied. I’ll stay here.”
Tareah clicked the two gems together in the palm of her hand. “But it doesn’t seem practical for me to have two Stones, if I’m just sitting behind a wall all day long.”
She held out the eight-sided ruby to Bryl. The ruby glowed like a blazing coal. “Take the Fire Stone with you. The Deathspirits told me I should do with it as I see fit. The Water Stone was my father’s. The Fire Stone … I don’t feel comfortable with it, not after I know what Enrod was going to do. Not after the anger I felt in his mind.”
Bryl reached out his hands in amazement and took the gem. He stared with twinkling eyes and awe written on his face. “I don’t really want to go on another quest,” he said, “But now I feel a lot safer.”
“None of us is going to be safe,” Vailret said. “Not until this is all over.”
***