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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Peg had taken over the helm when Grunwold had raced to Teg’s aid. With Meg serving as navigator, and Kaj trimming the sails and fending them off the mountainside with a boathook, she brought Slicewind to rest in front of the intricately carved door in the side of the floating mountain.

Heru fluttered down from the mast and trumpeted, “We’re here! Where’s here?”

The lightning shadows had retreated, and were now no more threatening than distant thunder. Vereez had come around, nauseous and bruised, but in far better shape than anyone had dared hope.

“I’d stored scraps of Xerak’s energy in my blades when he and I were practicing,” she explained. “I drew upon that until I had the lightning shadows’ own power to use. Then I had enough, and more than enough. After that, I’m not quite sure what happened.”

Xerak sighed. “I know what happened, and it’s really my fault for not warning you. There’s a danger to having an affiliation with an element. You can use it, but if you take in too much of the mana—especially from a living source—then you are in danger of being dominated by that force. I didn’t think you’d be absorbing the lightning shadows’ energy, so I didn’t warn you. I’m sorry. I’ve been a very poor teacher.”

Vereez reached out and tugged the edge of his mane. “You taught me a great deal in a very few hours. I was the one who overreached myself. I did mean to just bat the energy back, as we’d done in practice, but when I got a taste, I found I wanted more.”

“Like cocaine,” Peg said, “or especially heroin. I always avoided both of them, because I heard too many times that the first high was the best. Later, you just keep chasing, trying to get that first high back. You’ve learned a valuable lesson.”

“And Teg,” Vereez asked anxiously, “are you all right? Did you drain yourself too badly?”

Teg shook her head cautiously, so as not to release a lurking headache. “Not too badly. I’d stored some extra mana myself, thinking I might need to come and be your supplemental battery, like we were for Xerak. The sun spider amulet helped, too.”

She looked at it thoughtfully. “It’s more alive than we guessed. A great deal more. And I think it’s come to sort of, well, like me. Or maybe,” she said, laughing, as Thought and Memory suddenly leapt up into her lap, “it likes my cats. In any case, it seemed to know what I needed and helped me shape it.”

“So,” Kaj said, “if we’re all more or less well, there’s no reason for us not to see what’s behind those doors. Let’s get Xerak to wherever in the flaming torture space it is he’s going.”


“Teg, can you read any of what’s carved on this door?” Meg asked. “The translation spell is proving of little help.”

Meg moved aside so that Teg could make a closer inspection. The stone portal was round, rather than rectangular, and heavily covered with ornamental carvings. They’d already tried to open it, but it could neither be pulled nor pushed, nor slid side to side or up and down. Teg had been itching to get a closer look but, remembering how the others had reacted to her methodical archeological approach back when they had been seeking the entry to the Library of the Sapphire Wind, she had restrained herself. Now she moved forward with alacrity.

The carvings were deeply inlaid with grime, so Teg blew on them, which helped only a little. “These are really filthy. It’s possible we’re missing parts of the inscription.” She pulled out a handkerchief, spat on it, and gave an experimental scrub.

“Here,” Vereez said, extending a rag and a bottle of water from the kit Grunwold kept for shining the brasses. She still sounded a bit chagrined. Everyone else might be willing to overlook her excesses when battling the lightning shadows—even be grateful, since she’d saved their lives—but she was still troubled by this latest evidence of her inclination to emotional extremes.

“Thanks,” Teg replied. “What I’d love to have is a soft brush . . .”

A fleeting image from a long-ago watching of Walt Disney’s Snow White came to her, and she had to fight back an impulse to ask Vereez to dust off the door with her fox tail.

A short time later, Heru glided up, a burlap-wrapped bundle gripped in his long pterodactyl’s beak. He dropped it in front of Teg.

“Grun send these. Your dig kit. He say you’ll ruin his stuff.”

“Thanks, Heru. You’re a prince among xuxu.”

Heru played a cascade of cheerful notes on his crest, but Teg, excited by the lure of new discoveries, hardly heard him. After using the rag as a duster, she continued cleaning with the brushes from her dig kit. Some areas were already partially cleaned from their earlier attempts to move the stone slab, so within a short time she had a sense of a design. She found the apparent center, then worked out from that. The others were peering around her, making guesses as to what might be depicted, but she shut out their comments, focusing on the image taking shape before her.

It was a spiral or rather a series of spirals, beginning from a central core and becoming multifaceted as they expanded. The innermost spiral began as nothing more than a line, then became pictographs. These were so stylized that they were difficult to interpret as other than “figure on two legs,” “figure on four legs,” “figure with three legs?” Or was that third leg a staff or spear? It certainly wasn’t central enough to the body’s “fork” to be the sort of optimistically large penis that wasn’t uncommon in prehistoric art. There were other simple drawings that probably represented neither animals nor humans, but indicated shelters, tools, plants, and the like.

As Teg continued working outward, that first spiral ended, or rather it became intertwined with a second spiral that wound around it, gradually taking precedence. At first these pictographs bore a slight resemblance to the earlier ones, but they diverged, becoming more and more abstract. The final abstract forms were something like elongated triangles interspersed with straight lines. Even as Teg recognized what they were, she found herself thinking how curiously modern they looked: like circuit diagrams or something.

No one interrupted her, so Teg kept working, wanting to see what the next shift in style would be before she verbalized any conclusions. Interestingly, in the new spiral, the previous evolution was not superseded, but rather but developed in parallel. Once again, pictographs became a form of writing, this one so easy to identify that Peg cried out in surprise.

“Are those Egyptian hieroglyphics?”

“Hieroglyphs,” Teg corrected automatically. “And yes. They are. Absolutely. These”—she pointed to the “circuit diagrams”—“are cuneiform. These here that seem to be roughly colinear look a lot like the earliest Chinese forms of writing. I never studied any of these scripts in anything but a basic Introduction to Linguistics course, but if I remember correctly, they all evolved from pictographic writing that was later simplified, and eventually became representative of sounds.”

“But those forms of writing originated in our world,” Peg protested. “But they’re here. Here in this world. Here on this door.”

“That’s right.”

Meg mused. “I wonder if the translation spell is not helping us make sense of what is written here because these are ancient languages, or because the languages did not originate in this world—or is it simply because the door itself has been enchanted to prevent translation spells from working?”

“We’ll probably never know,” Xerak said. “I just hope we can get through.”

To a backdrop of fascinated silence and occasional muttered comments, Teg continued cleaning, working outward. She noticed that no one linguistic approach was abandoned in form of another. Indeed, the spirals with pictographs were multiplying, even as their styles varied subtly. She wondered if they represented numerous cultures that hadn’t evolved a formal written language. She finished cleaning a line of what she was certain were Mayan glyphs before speaking again.

“Xerak, you’re the formal scholar of this group. Do any of these lines of writing look like anything you’re familiar with from this world?”

He replied promptly. “The pictures are similar, although it’s weird how so many of those images have round heads, and only a few have ears or tails. However, when the pictures change into writing, no, not really. Every so often I’ve seen something that looks familiar but it never carries through.”

“Thank you. How about you, Kaj? You must have seen a lot of different sorts of writing when you were living in the necropolis. My experience is that religions hold on to older forms of writing longer than any other aspect of a culture. Anything?”

“It’s like Xerak said,” Kaj replied, after taking time to give a careful inspection, “sometimes a few bits are similar—especially in that one Peg called ‘Egyptian,’ but that could be because it seems to have stayed closer to picture writing than some of the others.”

By the time Teg had the door cleaned, she was certain that what was represented was writing from many cultures of the ancient world. There was Linear B, Indus Valley writing, the very early proto-Elamite, and others she knew she had seen but couldn’t put a name to. Somewhat more recent scripts were represented as well. The so-called Latin alphabet was there. She recognized others that were similar, but subtly different. However, the modern alphabet was not there, and she was willing to bet that the modern versions of the other forms of writing were not as well.

After she summed up her analysis, Grunwold said, “So this means?”

“I have no idea,” Teg said, “since I am an archeologist, not a linguist. I speak English, and enough Spanish to get by. That’s it. I read a bit more fluently in a couple other languages, but usually with a dictionary in hand. Meg? Peg?”

Peg shook her head. “I’m even less qualified to judge. Some Spanish, mostly spoken. About three words in Gaelic. No, wait, if you count the insults, a few more. My parents were of the assimilation immigrant type.”

Meg frowned thoughtfully. “I’m not a linguist either, but I do have a slight reading knowledge of several modern European languages. About all I can add is that not every character in the Latin alphabet is English—even of the ‘Old’ type. I suspect this is an even older form.”

Grunwold listened, ears twitching in a manner that meant he was confused, but resigned, and then repeated, “So this means?”

“It’s confirmation of what we’ve suspected for a long time—that there is a connection between your world and ours,” Teg said. “Beyond that . . . Well, in many cultures, spirals indicate a journey—especially one of discovery, rather than between two known points.”

She rose a little stiffly from where she’d crouched to clean the lower panels, then brushed off the knees of her cargo pants. “And since we hope to begin a journey, then I think we should start . . .” She pressed her right hand, then the entire weight of her body on the center of the spiral design and felt something give just a little. “. . . here.” She moved her left hand to the beginning of the secondary spiral. “And continue here . . . and then . . .” She used an elbow. “Here . . .”

At her third push, there was a grinding sound, then a light—beginning as a speck of dark glowing shadow, then moving through the spectrum of the rainbow—began racing through the manifold spirals, and, like magic . . . Almost assuredly magic, Teg found herself thinking . . . the door began to spin, faster and faster until it became an invisible blur, and they could glimpse a large area beyond.

“After you?” Teg asked, motioning for Xerak to lead the way.

Xerak gripped his spear staff tightly in his hand, gave Teg a nod that was halfway to a bow, and walked into the doorway. His shoulders were tight, as if he fully expected to be hit by the spinning stone panel, but he passed through the blur without difficulty. One by one, the others followed, Teg last of all. After she had stepped through the spinning door slowed, became visible once again, the blur thickening until a solid stone slab stood between them and the outside world.

The space they were in felt like a cathedral, although Teg decided, as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, it looked more like the interior of a basket. Vereez played the concentrated glow from her magical flashlight over the walls, revealing the basket weave for what it actually was.

“Tree roots?” Peg asked. “But there was no tree, only a mountain.”

“You stand,” came an unfamiliar voice, masculine, deep, and resonant, “at the roots of the world. The roots of more than one world, to be precise. You are welcome here.”

“Master?” Xerak’s voice broke, making him sound young and afraid. “Master? Where are you?”

“I am here, Xerafu Akeru. Focus your gaze carefully, even as I have taught you, and you will find me.”

Xerak had been looking wildly in all directions. Now, with great effort, he stilled himself. Centering his staff in front of him, he closed his eyes and bent his head slightly forward.

Recognizing the attitude as one of those Xerak used when focusing his power, Teg grasped the sun spider amulet, then closed her own eyes. As she ran her fingers over the swirls and convolutions that the journey through the heavens had etched into the surface of the meteor that was the sun spider’s body, she became aware of a glow, taller than it was wide, that gradually resolved into a faint, ghostly figure of a broad-shouldered man with the head of a bison.

Teg waited, expecting the figure to resolve into something more solid, but he remained a ghostly wisp. Opening her eyes, she looked in the direction in which her magic had shown her the insubstantial figure, but all she saw were the tangled tree roots.

“Master,” Xerak said. “I see you—or rather I see your spirit. You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

“I live, but I am a prisoner. I . . .”

The words were cut off by a second voice, this one female, holding a certain long-suffering note beneath the words.

“You are your own jailer, Uten Kekui. There is a path away from here that has been open to you since soon after your arrival. You are the one who has chosen not to take it.”

Uten Kekui chuckled dryly. “That is true, as you see matters. Less so as I do. Will you let me go to my apprentice? I would explain my situation to him. His fidelity in seeking me out deserves nothing less.”

“I will permit this. Only one form of escape is open to you, and you know that all too well.” The female voice “turned,” as if she now faced Xerak and his allies. “Before I let Uten Kekui come to you, let me make certain matters clear. I do not so much control this place as that this place and I are aligned in our goals. Uten Kekui cannot leave here unless certain conditions are met. Should you attempt to take him, even by force, I assure you that your efforts will be for naught. I do want Uten Kekui to tell you his tale. Perhaps you can persuade him where I cannot, but I do not wish to raise any false hopes.”

“If you wanted him to report what had happened to him,” Xerak said angrily, “why didn’t you let him write me—or if not me, one of his associates?”

“Because only one who could find him might—and I stress ‘might’—be able to set him free. You have come here. Therefore, you have earned the right to understand what Uten Kekui has done to bring him to this impasse.”

Grunwold had made an “oh, yeah,” sound when the disembodied voice had stated that efforts to free Uten Kekui were foredoomed to failure. Now he stepped shoulder to shoulder with Xerak.

“So, if we’re so helpless,” he said truculently, “why don’t you come out along with Uten Kekui-va? I’d like to get a look at someone who could hold such a powerful wizard prisoner.”

“Thinking to free him, perhaps by taking me hostage?” The female voice sounded amused. “Even if you should manage—and you would be many against my one—even that would not free Uten Kekui. Even holding a knife to my throat or cutting off my fingers one by one would not cause him to be set free. A more powerful force than any I command is what holds him here.”

“Maybe,” Grunwold countered. “But maybe you’re just trying to intimidate us.”

“Cerseru Kham does not lie,” Uten Kekui said. “Nor does she misrepresent the situation. She brought me here, but more complex elements keep me prisoner. I will explain.”

Xerak nodded. “I’ll listen.” He turned to Grunwold. “Please. I appreciate the support, but this seems to be our only option. All right, Cerseru Kham-va, if that is what you are called. Let Uten Kekui . . .”

“Wait!” Meg’s voice cut through, silencing Xerak. “If the members of our group remain to hear Uten Kekui-va’s tale, are we also fated to become prisoners? From where we come there are tales of such a price being exacted.”

“No,” came the woman’s voice. “You will be free to go, even to speak of what has happened to Uten Kekui. Although, as to the latter, you may decide that it is wisest not to do so.”

“Fair enough,” Meg replied. “Please, go ahead then.”

As soon as Meg agreed, the room began to change. Several of the thicker roots interwove to become a long, narrow table of the “conference room” type, although best suited, Teg thought, for a conference of wood elves or Ents. Rocks rose from the dirt underfoot, then shifted, shaping an array of open-backed chairs arrayed around the table. Lastly, directly from the top of the table, sprouted a miniature tree covered with ripe fruit.

Teg was surprised to recognize many varieties of fruit from the “real” world, such as apples and pears, as well as the pa-pas and proggies she’d become accustomed to eating Over Where, all perfectly recognizable, although the fruit themselves were rarely larger than a golf ball.

At the far end of the chamber, the roots swayed and parted, admitting first Uten Kekui and then a woman with the head of a creature with big ears like a deer, but striped, rather like a zebra. Teg felt triumphant when she remembered the name of the creature.

An okapi, related to a giraffe, but with a short neck. Actually, really pretty.

Both Uten Kekui and the person with the okapi head, presumably Cerseru Kham, wore wizard’s robes, similar to those worn by both faculty and students at Zisurru University. The okapi-headed wizard made a sweeping gesture with her right hand, and the chairs at the head and foot of the table moved back, indicating where she intended for herself and Uten Kekui to take their seats. Ignoring the implicit suggestion, Uten Kekui walked straight to Xerak and offered him an open-armed embrace.

“You’ve grown,” he said in that tone of voice adults use when they know they’re speaking an obvious truth, and feel a little dumb about it, “and put on a lot of muscle.”

“I’ve spent over a year travelling,” Xerak said. He had accepted the offered embrace, but with a great deal more restraint than might have been expected, given the intense mixture of emotions that had driven his search, “mostly on foot, looking for you.”

“And now you have found me,” Uten Kekui said, “and I must explain myself.”

He’d been sneaking glances at the three humans, although Teg felt with less astonishment than they’d encountered before.

Uten Kekui knows about humans. He believes in humans. Teg thought. For him, seeing us is like seeing an elephant the first time. Interesting, even astonishing, but not surprising.

“May I be introduced to your companions?” Uten Kekui said. “I would like to know who will be bearing witness to our reunion.”

Xerak nodded stiffly. “You’ve heard me mention my lifelong friends, Grunwold and Vereez. This is Kaj . . . He’s the son of friends of our parents, and has joined us for reasons too complicated to go into now. These are Meg, Peg, and Teg—mentors granted to us when we went to Hettua Shrine to seek guidance.”

Uten Kekui offered the entire group a deep and dramatic bow, then bowed again, even more deeply, to the three humans.

“I owe Xerafu Akeru’s coming here to your involvement,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You owe Xerak’s coming here,” Peg replied tartly, “to the fact that Xerak is so stubborn he should have a bull’s head, rather than a lion’s. I hope you appreciate him.”

“I do. How much I value him, well . . . But I get ahead of my tale. It is a long one, stretching back through more than one life. Avail yourself of refreshments. You may be assured that no harm nor geas nor restriction of any sort will come to you by doing so.”

Uten Kekui gave Xerak a fatherly pat on the shoulder, then moved to take the seat at the foot of the table. He gestured to the okapi-headed wizard, who had seated herself at the head.

“This is Cerseru Kham. Who she is and why she brought me here will be explained in time. However, for you to understand the whys, I must begin well before the day a dragon landed near my hermitage, back to before the building of the Library of the Sapphire Wind.”


“In my last life,” Uten Kekui began. “I was called Dmen Qeres.”

“Dmen Qeres?” Kaj blurted. “As in the founder of the Library of the Sapphire Wind?”

“One and the same,” Uten Kekui agreed. “However, although founding that great research institution is a claim to a certain amount of fame—or perhaps I should say ‘notoriety’—even in that life, perhaps especially in that life, I was prouder of another role. It is only stating facts to say that as Dmen Qeres I was both powerful and versatile. I was also highly inquisitive. These traits led me over time to discover a secret—Society? Organization? I am not certain what to call it, for it was neither social nor rigidly organized.”

“Association,” suggested Cerseru Kham. “Now, stop stalling. You always get pedantic when you try to remember being Dmen Qeres.”

Uten Kekui inclined his head in mute acknowledgement of the truth of this statement, then continued. “Association then. What associated the members was that each one was the trustee of a powerful magical artifact or one of those who might someday become a trustee.”

“We may have come across a reference to those trustees,” Xerak said. “Or at least to some of them. Are they depicted in an ancient mural on the island of Sky Descry?”

“Very good.” Uten Kekui nodded approval. “What you may not have learned is that those artifacts are key to the continuation to life as we know it.”

He spoke as if expecting his words to have a dramatic impact on his listeners. However, although glances were exchanged, the only one who made a sound was Meg, and she merely sighed in the tones of one whose guesses have been confirmed. Uten Kekui looked at Meg, as if wondering if she would say something but, when she simply smiled one of her gentle, enigmatic smiles, he went on.

“I was not the first trustee for Ba Djed of the Weaver, nor was my life as Dmen Qeres the first time I had been entrusted with this duty. However, as Dmen Qeres I made a choice that haunts me to this life. For various reasons that I will not enumerate now, I became convinced that I was the best person to be trustee of ‘my’ artifact. Therefore, I took steps to assure that the artifact would not pass into another’s hands, but would be waiting for me when I reincarnated. In short, I created the Library of the Sapphire Wind.”

“You created an entire research facility library to conceal one magical item?” Grunwold’s voice was incredulous.

“One highly important artifact,” Uten Kekui said. “Yes, that’s right. As I am sure Xerafu Akeru has told you, although it is possible to use magic to search for magic, the more complex and confused the signature, the less effective such a search would be. I already had a considerable collection of magical materials myself—especially books. What I hadn’t anticipated was how many of my associates would wish to donate their own materials. There came a time when I had to charge a fee for archiving and care . . .”

Xerak made a tightly contained but clearly impatient gesture, a motion that said, “Get on with it!”

Uten Kekui frowned, not so much in anger as in confusion.

Teg didn’t bother to hide her smile. You thought you could abandon Xerak for over a year and find him unchanged in his adoration. Maybe at first that was the case, but these last few months have been a crash course in the difference between earned and unearned loyalties.

“Eventually, I died,” Uten Kekui continued, “after a long life. My death came from the natural failure of my body. However, at my death, my plans went awry. Cerseru Kham, you know this part of the story closer to firsthand.”

Cerseru Kham nodded briskly and set aside the miniature pear she’d been about to bite into. “I was alive when Dmen Qeres died, and a member of the association of which he spoke, although I had not yet become a trustee. I was preparing for that role, however, and knew much of the lore associated with the role of trustee. When Dmen Qeres died, my own master waited for the signs and portents that would indicate that Ba Djed of the Weaver had been passed to a new trustee. When several years went by and these auguries remained mute, she began to actively investigate who might now hold Ba Djed.”

“You must have gone to the Library of the Sapphire Wind,” Peg said. “Didn’t you sense that Ba Djed was there?”

“We did,” Cerseru Kham replied, “but ‘sense’ was all we could do. Dmen Qeres had hidden Ba Djed very well, and we could not pinpoint its location any more closely without arousing suspicion.”

“Didn’t your artifact—or rather the one your master held in trust—sense its associate?” Vereez asked.

“Other than confirming our suspicion that Ba Djed was still concealed within the Library of the Sapphire Wind, no, it did not,” Cerseru Kham replied. “You must understand, the great artifacts are not pieces of one artifact, but separate.” She placed her right hand upon the elaborate many-dangled necklace she wore. “The great artifacts are like the pendants on this necklace—associated but wholly independent.”

“Why did you need Ba Djed so badly, then?” Peg asked, her knitting needles clicking busily. “You said they’re independent.”

“Independent but associated,” Cerseru Kham repeated. “If one of these pendants were removed, the necklace would be unbalanced. Lack of balance can be tolerated for a time, but in the end, it causes problems.”

“But . . .”

Cerseru Kham made an abrupt motion. “Please. As much as I appreciate your interest in these arcane matters, let me finish my account. Besides, Xerafu Akeru is growing impatient. He has searched long and exhaustively for his master, and still does not know the full reason why Uten Kekui vanished.”

Peg had the grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry. I apologize. To you, too, Xerak.”

The young wizard forced a smile, but his aura of tension didn’t abate. “That’s all right, Peg. Now, Cerseru Kham-va, please go on.”

“As I said, the hypothetical ‘necklace’ of great artifacts can function with a piece missing for decades. However, when I learned that Ansi Abzu, the trustee who held the second of the triad of artifacts—Qes Wen, the Entangled Tree—was nearing death, I began a serious search for the one who would be Dmen Qeres’s heir. By then, I had come into the role as trustee of Maet Pexer of the Assessor’s Wheel. However, even with it to draw upon, all I could learn was that Dmen Qeres had indeed been reincarnated, and all the signs indicated that he would continue as trustee in his new life. Making matters more complicated was that in the interim the Library of the Sapphire Wind had been destroyed. If we had not been able locate Ba Djed when the Library was intact, we had little chance of finding it among the ruins.”

She looked over at Uten Kekui, and he resumed the tale.

“I have no sure knowledge as to why I was reborn without any memory of my past lives. Cerseru Kham and I have discussed this at length, and our best theory is that my—Dmen Qeres’s—very arrogance in assuming that he/I was the only one who was capable of caring for Ba Djed was the precise reason that I lacked a memory of my past incarnations. In a sense, by assuming I was the only fit trustee, I violated the terms of my role.”

“But . . .” Peg dropped her knitting and slapped a hand to cover her lips. “Sorry.”

“Although each artifact has its own traditions,” Uten Kekui went on, “as Cerseru Kham mentioned, there is a need for balance. It’s highly likely that the difficulty that Sky Descry has had in finding a new Grantor is also a result of my actions, because for many years the Grantor and the trustee of Qes Wen, the Entangled Tree, have usually been the same person, and the disturbance I created flowed into the associated succession as well.”

“They would have taken my little girl’s body as a vessel for their Grantor!” Vereez snarled, her ears pinned back, her eyes narrowed and fierce. “Your ‘association’ has a lot to answer for.”

Uten Kekui closed his eyes and looked impossibly weary. “More than you can know, child. Apologies are empty air, I realize, but still—please accept mine.”

Vereez continued to snarl, leaning forward as if she would snap at him, but Xerak put a hand on her arm. “Please, Vereez. I’ve waited . . .”

She immediately looked apologetic, her ears melting into a less hostile position. “Right, Xerak. It’s your turn. We’ve saved Brunni. I’ll concentrate on that.”

But the look she cast at Uten Kekui was anything but forgiving.

Cerseru Kham took up the tale. “When I became certain that Dmen Qeres had not reincarnated and then hidden his identity—perhaps while he sought to regain possession of Ba Djed—I changed how I was searching. Rather than looking for Dmen Qeres or someone who resembled Dmen Qeres, I began to look for someone who had tremendous magical power, but no previous life to explain it. I had already researched what was known about Dmen Qeres’s past incarnations—often there is a similar interlude between incarnations—and in this way I narrowed my search.”

“As for my side of the matter,” Uten Kekui said, “I had wondered why, despite my considerable magical abilities, I had no memory of my past lives. Wizards are usually among the first to remember at least elements of their past lives, usually sometime in their thirties. By all indications, I should have remembered already, but other than occasional flickers, I did not.

“From my childhood onward, I had been solitary in nature. Now I began to force myself to take students, hoping that in teaching others, I would learn more about myself. Then Cerseru Kham contacted me. She said she had something of great importance to discuss with me. I shied away from her. Perhaps I knew that I would not like what I would learn.”

Cerseru Kham’s okapi ears flicked back in remembered exasperation. “Since Uten Kekui kept avoiding me, eventually, I kidnapped him. Doing so was not as difficult as it could have been. I think that, on some level, Uten Kekui wanted the truth—even as he feared it. I learned his routines and, one day when he was out for his usual walking mediation, I took him.”

“No one saw . . .” Xerak began, then he shook himself. “But I forget. You are trustee of yet another of these great artifacts. We know very little about what Ba Djed can do, but the artifact associated with the Creator’s Visage Isles is used for granting miracles. Seizing even a powerful wizard would be simple for you.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘simple,’” Cerseru Kham replied, “but, as I said, I think on some level Uten Kekui wanted to be forced to confront the truth, to confront his past self. I thought that once I had explained matters to him, he would agree to go through the initiation that strengthens and educates trustees regarding their task, then, together, we could go to Sky Descry and straighten out matters there.”

“When Cerseru Kham brought me here,” Uten Kekui continued, “and I learned about who I had been and what I had done, the more I realized, the more horrified I became. In our efforts to discover what had happened to Ba Djed, we uncovered hints of Emsehu’s role in the destruction of the Library of the Sapphire Wind. However, this did not lead us to Ba Djed.”

Xerak said, “Because not only was Ba Djed broken into pieces, one third of it wasn’t even in this world.”

Peg looked at Xerak for permission to ask a question. When he nodded, she said, “Uten Kekui-va, did you—or maybe Dmen Qeres—realize that Emsehu was your son? He believed you did, and that, despite knowing, you still denied him.”

“No. I didn’t. In believing I deliberately denied him, Emsehu was wrong. However, when I considered how Dmen Qeres had treated his offspring, how I had behaved in my life as Uten Kekui, my belief that I was unsuited to be a trustee grew. Even without any memory of my past selves, I had continued as a self-absorbed, self-centered individual. In my current life, although gifted with considerable magical ability, I had chosen to be a hermit rather than join some larger organization. Clearly, I was no less self-centered in this life than in my former. Even my reasons for taking on students were selfish. So, despite Cerseru Kham’s prompting, I have refused to undergo the initiation and accept trusteeship of Ba Djed, if and when that artifact could be found.”

Cerseru Kham sighed so deeply her large ears trembled. “And no matter how I argue, I can’t budge him from this opinion. The roots of the world are trembling, but Uten Kekui will not assume the role he himself claimed in his last life.”

Meg’s voice was cool and analytical as she asked, “Cerseru Kham-va, do you think it was a coincidence that your kidnapping Uten Kekui-va indirectly led to the restoration of Ba Djed?”

Uten Kekui took it upon himself to reply, speaking with the swift eagerness of one who raises a familiar argument. “Ba Djed was split into parts as a direct result of my self-centered behavior. Although many decades went by, and people ranging from Cerseru Kham and Ansi Abzu to Emsehu to random treasure hunters searched the ruins of the Library of the Sapphire Wind, Ba Djed remained in three parts until the one positive connection I had made in all my selfish existence began the search for me. Then the pieces were reunited.”

Teg frowned. “I’ve been wondering about that.” She turned to Cerseru Kham. “Once we started finding the pieces of Ba Djed, why didn’t you try to claim them?”

“I considered doing so,” Cerseru Kham admitted frankly. “When you six found the Spindle, and I felt its pulse out in the world again, I began searching for the remaining pieces. I spied on you, learned where you were heading, and made my own search in the necropolis. I located the Bird that was in Ohent’s charge, but I could not find any trace of the final segment, so I left it with her.”

Uten Kekui cut in. “I encouraged Cerseru Kham to let you continue your search. I suspected that it was not a coincidence that your mentors were no one of whom we had ever heard, and of mysterious origin—for that much we could learn, although we did not know until you came here that the three mentors were humans. To get Cerseru Kham to agree to leave the search in your hands, I had to promise that if you did not find all three pieces and then make your way here, I would agree to do what she wanted. But you are here . . .”

“And what does she want you to do?” Xerak said. “Somehow, I sense that it is more than merely taking custody of a powerful artifact.”

Does Uten Kekui hear the scorn in Xerak’s voice? Teg wondered. Does he realize how tremendously he’s disappointed that young man?

“There is an initiation,” Uten Kekui explained. “It protects the initiate from the force of association with the tremendous power of one of the great artifacts. A side benefit is that it enables the initiate to draw on the artifact with some degree of safety.”

“And?”

“The difficulty is that it connects the initiate with his or her past selves. As I have said, I do not think that the person I was handled the trust well or responsibly. I do not think he—I— should have another chance. Moreover, I felt certain that the elements of me that were Dmen Qeres would agree when he/I saw what had happened as a result of our selfishness.”

“And so?”

“And so, I want you, Xerafu Akeru, to attempt the initiation and become the new trustee of Ba Djed of the Weaver.”

“What!”

The roar of protest was nearly universal. The only ones who didn’t participate were Xerak and Cerseru Kham. Xerak’s expression became so immobile he looked taxidermied. From the cant of her ears, Cerseru Kham was resigned.

She, at least, knew this was coming. Did Xerak suspect it was?

Grunwold’s bellow dominated the assembly.

“Hey, I’ll be the first to admit that Scraggly Mane here is ferociously talented, but even if he’s the youngest to be certified a full wizard in however long, he’s still a scrawny-assed kid. If you can’t handle this sort of power, Uten Kekui-va, what makes you think he can?”

“I am his teacher. I know better than you do what incredible potential Xerafu Akeru has. When I left him somewhat over a year ago, he was promising but so lacked discipline that his raw talent was more a handicap than a benefit. In the last year, his promise has gone from bud to blossom. He has demonstrated perseverance and loyalty. I would not suggest that he undergo the initiation if I didn’t think he could succeed. Ask Cerseru Kham her opinion of Xerafu Akeru’s ability.”

All eyes turned to the other wizard. She flapped her large ears once, but otherwise maintained her poise of superficial tranquility as she spoke.

“The glyphs sealing the safe deposit boxes at Zisurru University took a master’s skill to undo them. Revealing the stages of the map was, once again, a master’s task. However, working the transport spell—that took a grand master. Despite having just done such a great working, here is Xerafu Akeru, alive and—judging from the power nearly crackling from him—with mana to spare. I will admit, when Uten Kekui told me that Xerafu Akeru would be a fit successor, able to handle the rigors of the initiation, I did not believe him. Now . . . Now . . . I must say, Uten Kekui may be right.”

Xerak shook his head so hard that his mane swept into his eyes. “You don’t understand. I didn’t meet those challenges alone. If Teg, Vereez, and Kaj hadn’t helped me, I couldn’t have worked a single one of those spells. And that’s really the least of it. I’ve needed help every step along the way. As long as I searched alone, I got nowhere. It was only when I decided I needed help that I got anywhere.”

Uten Kekui nodded, pride evident in every line. “And so you proved yourself far wiser than I have become. In my life as Dmen Qeres, I decided that no one but me could be trusted with Ba Djed. In my current life, I chose solitude—a version of the same arrogance, for once again I chose to stand alone. You, though, you have proven you can work with others, take a turn as leader, a turn as follower, even sublimate your private passions to the needs of those around you—as you did when you allowed first Grunwold’s, then Vereez’s inquisitions to come before your own. As you have surpassed me in these things, so I believe you can at least match my past selves and take over as the trustee for Ba Djed.”

Xerak stared at his long-sought master with anything but adoration. “Would I be permitted to take the others with me on this initiation quest?”

“Of course. Isn’t that what I just said? One of the ways in which you surpass me is in your ability to work with others.”

Xerak kept speaking, as if he hadn’t heard Uten Kekui. “I mean, if they would go . . .”

“Of course, we’d go, Xerak,” Vereez snapped. “You helped with our inquisitions. It’s only right we stick with you through yours.”

Grunwold grunted a laugh. “I may not have magic, but you’ll need someone to guard your back while you wear yourself out with the arcane nonsense. Heck, you’ll all need me to assist you, now that you’ve turned Vereez, Kaj, and Teg into wizards. Can’t expect Meg and Peg to drag your carcasses around by themselves when you fall over from overdoing.”

Peg laughed. “Don’t underestimate us two old ladies. We might surprise you. Anyhow, Grunwold, if you’re dragging exhausted wizards around, you’ll need someone to protect your back. Don’t forget that.”

Kaj raised and lowered his broad shoulders in an eloquent shrug. “I pushed myself into this inquisition. I’m not about to back out now.”

“We’re in this until your search is complete, Xerak,” Meg said firmly. “We made that promise at Hettua Shrine, and I don’t think we’re about to quit now.”

Teg only smiled and tapped her pocket where the sun spider amulet rested.

“Thanks, all of you,” Xerak said. Then he turned to face Uten Kekui. “You’ve heard them. Now listen to me.”

“Yes?”

“I refuse.”

Uten Kekui’s mouth hung open in complete astonishment. Looking at him, Cerseru Kham began to laugh, a deep unaffected sound that made Teg suddenly like her.

“I’m sorry, Master,” Xerak said, “but you’re all wrong about how you’re handling this. As Dmen Qeres you took too much upon yourself. As Uten Kekui you tried to take on too little. Neither course of action has worked. You’re going to need to accept your responsibilities. Dmen Qeres may have been wrong in trying to pass Ba Djed on to himself, and himself alone, but that doesn’t change that he named his heir—and that you are that heir.”

Cerseru Kham started to say something, but Xerak halted her with a gesture.

“I’m not finished. I’m willing to assist you, Master. After all, my inquisition was to find you and, if you lived, to return you to where you belong. I’ve found you. Now I know where you belong. If you will accept my aid, then you will have it.”

This time Cerseru Kham remained silent. For a long time, the only sound was the clicking of Peg’s knitting needles and the occasional murmur as she counted off stitches.

Uten Kekui balled his fists and glowered at his apprentice, bending his head as if he were considering bringing his bison horns into play. He stood there for so long that Teg glanced over at Cerseru Kham, wondering if she’d cast some sort of spell of immobility on her colleague, but the thoughtful concern she could read in the okapi’s features—like but unlike Grunwold’s—reassured Teg more than any words that Cerseru Kham had not interfered in this battle of wills.

At the point when Teg was wondering if anyone would care if she pulled out her pipe, Uten Kekui stirred, lifted his head, and focused on Xerak, as if there were no one else in the room.

“Very well. I’ll do it.” He gave Xerak a hard look. “But I’ll do it on my own. Not because I’m rejecting your help, but because you’re right. Once upon a time, I believed that I was the one and only person capable of acting as Ba Djed’s custodian. There must have been some basis for that. If I’ve lost the ability to trust in my own abilities, what sort of custodian would I be?”

Xerak looked worried. “I never meant for you to do this alone.”

“I know. Nonetheless, Cerseru Kham believed I could pass the initiation without aid. Dmen Qeres believed he—I—could do this. Time to convince myself that I am worthy. If I accept your help, I would forever doubt myself.”

Cerseru Kham opened her mouth as if she were about to say something, then stopped. Uten Kekui rose to his feet, then looked in her direction.

“Embarrassing as it is to admit, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Could you point the way?”

“Doing so would have been much more difficult without the presence of Ba Djed,” Cerseru Kham replied. “I would have needed to go with you. Then, together, we would have used my bond to Maet Pexer and your presumed bond to Ba Djed to create a link to Ba Djed. After that, you would have been able to pull the physical artifact, even if it was in parts, back to you. However, with it here, with it intact, Ba Djed of the Weaver will direct you to where you need to go for your initiation.”

“That easy?” Uten Kekui said. Wordlessly, Xerak held out to him the enshrouding container that held the reassembled Ba Djed. “Well, then, I had better be at it.”

He picked up the box, opened it, and touched one finger to Ba Djed. The cavernous space vibrated with a hum Teg felt in her bones, rather than her ears. The roots that walled the cavern moved restlessly, then parted, creating a tunnel. The inference was plain.

“I’ll hurry back,” Uten Kekui said, closing the enshrouding container and holding it firmly in one hand. Then, with an almost jaunty wave, Uten Kekui moved forward and was gone.


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