ZYGRADON (10 page)

"What about you? Is your mother inside?" Endor walked away and stood at the
doorway of the long, rush-thatched dormitory. The two boys were alone. Nearly
two-thirds of the students on Wynystrys had already gone home for the winter, and more
than half had left their dormitory. He pushed aside the triple layer of oxhide that served
as a stiff doorflap and stared out at the icy rain.

"No. She died when I was born. She and my father were joined in their souls
and when he died, she died."

Mrillis struggled to keep his voice even, as he had seen Breylon struggle for calm
when dealing with arrogant Noveni noblemen who demanded knowledge, healing and
magic that Wynystrys either would not or could not give them.

Instead of life becoming sweet and easy after the disappearance of the Nameless
One, the destruction of his fortress on Flintan and the crushing of the Encindi invasion,
the tensions spanning Lygroes had increased. It wasn't just because no one knew where
the rebel Rey'kil enchanter had gone, or they had no clue when he would re-emerge to
rebuild his army. Mrillis had overhead Breylon tell the other masters he feared there
would soon be war between Rey'kil and Noveni. With the Encindi cowering on their
disintegrating continent, offering no threat, there was no battle to ease frustrations and
reduce the numbers of selfish, aggressive fools on both sides. Noveni had renewed the
ages-old complaint that the Rey'kil
could
do something about the star-metal
poisoning Moerta, but they refused. Mrillis didn't know much about the ancient scourge,
but even he knew it couldn't be handled that simply.

"He died fighting my father." Endor turned from the door and fixed Mrillis with
that piercing, too-old stare that sometimes made the other boy think someone else
looked out through his friend's blue eyes. "Don't you hate me for that?"

"It happened when we were babies. Do you hate me because my father spied
on yours?" Mrillis spoke with the same scorn he had heard some fighting masters on
Wynystrys use when discussing whether it was wise to make the two boys
companions.

"Don't be a stupid mudhead." The other boy snorted and spat for emphasis on
the straw-covered floor. He grinned to take the scorn from his tone. "He would have
killed my sisters, and then me, to stop the Warhawk's warriors. That just means the
Warhawk is stronger and smarter and the one to ally with."

Mrillis shifted uneasily but said nothing. He believed the Warhawk had won
because he fought on the side of right, on the side of life, because he served the Estall,
and because the Nameless One relied on blood magic and death for his strength. Being
stronger and smarter wasn't always the answer. He lacked the right words to convince his
friend, so he kept silent.

Mrillis didn't go home to the Stronghold through the tunnel from Wynystrys.
High Scholar Breylon announced that he had been asked to meet with the Warhawk in
his winter quarters, in the center of Lygroes. He thought it would do Mrillis good to see
something more of the land before spending the winter in the Stronghold. Mrillis was
delighted, and relieved that most of the other boys had left Wynystrys already. Because
of Endor's presence, he had come to the attention of older, stronger and larger boys and
it wasn't always pleasant. Nixtan was no longer there, ready to step forward and use
scorn or his fists to get the older, nasty boys to leave him alone. The privilege of riding
with the High Scholar would only earn him more teasing and nasty tricks if those older
boys heard about it.

Kathal and Tathal rode with Breylon and Mrillis. The boy bubbled with glee at
riding in such favored company. It was hard to hide his excitement from Endor so he
wouldn't hurt his friend's feelings.

His awe for Breylon combined with the thrill of this chance to learn from the
High Scholar without other students interrupting or mocking him. Mrillis indulged in
questions he hadn't dared ask during the lectures and lesson times, simply because the
teachers wanted to touch on other topics. He usually saw more of the High Scholar
when the man visited the Stronghold, because Breylon rarely had much time to spare for
the younger students on Wynystrys. His time was devoured by queries from the
Warhawk or lesser kings and chieftains among the Noveni and the Rey'kil elders.

Now, Mrillis had Breylon to himself and he felt as if his mind had sprouted the
wings of an eagle, letting him soar anywhere and everywhere he chose. In later years, he
sometimes writhed in embarrassment at the immaturity of his questions and curiosity, but
he still laughed, remembering the eagerness. He laughed too, remembering how Breylon
had seemed younger, how he laughed more in that trip than in all the previous years
Mrillis had been going to Wynystrys for lessons.

"
The Book of Stars and Beginnings
," Mrillis said, when they stopped
for lunch their first day on the road. "Where did it come from?"

The warrior brothers laughed. Breylon pretended to scowl at them, because
Mrillis cringed, believing he had embarrassed himself in front of men he admired.

"Most boys don't think to ask that question until they're five or six years older,"
Breylon explained after a moment. "Some say
The Book of Stars and Beginnings
existed before the Estall brought Noveni, Encindi and Rey'kil to the World. It was given
into the care of the first Star Mother, to record all the history, the glories and failures,
mercies and crimes of all three peoples. Though the book never grows larger, all
memories are contained in it, with enough room for millennia to come."

"How is it recorded? The Star Mothers and Star Fathers don't actually write in it,
do they?"

"They write in it with their souls, with their thoughts." Breylon tipped his head
to one side and studied the boy, waiting while Mrillis rolled that idea around in his head
for a while.

"It's like Lady Le'esha does with the mist when she has a Seeing," he murmured,
thinking aloud. He watched Breylon carefully, trying to see in the man's reactions if he
had come close to the truth.

"Something like." He nodded. "
The Book of Stars and Beginnings
is
powerful and dangerous. It's said that some Star Mothers and Star Fathers weren't fully
honest, when they went to ask questions of the book or to record history. They were
punished, burned from inside, so bereft of their
imbrose
that they went mad.
That is why we were worried when you rescued Ceera. We didn't want you to lose your
imbrose
before it had even awakened."

"And the prophecies about what I will--what I might do someday?" Mrillis
blurted.

"Exactly. What we are, all our talents and strengths are gifts from the Estall.
Treasures entrusted to us, to use wisely. It is a serious crime to waste what the Estall has
given you to guard. If you should ever stand before the Book, you must always seek
wisdom more than knowledge." He chuckled when the boy frowned. "Do you know the
difference, lad?"

"I'm not sure."

"Knowledge is a sharp knife," Kathal said. "Wisdom is the proper training, so
you can use it to shave without cutting yourself, and slit your enemy's throat before he
cries warning."

"Ah." Mrillis nodded and tried to look as if he understood. He did grasp a little
of the concept; enough to know it would take him years to comprehend
completely.

Perhaps that was wisdom in and of itself?

"How were the people punished, when they lied to the Book?" The boy leaned
closer, eyes wider.

"The Book is made of star-metal," Tathal said with a hush in his voice.

"How? Star-metal destroys anything that comes close to it."

"Not everything," Breylon said, and fine lines appeared around his mouth and
eyes, revealing that something troubled him. He shook his head, like their horses shook
off flies, and tried to smile. "Lygroes is pitted with star-metal, just as Moerta is, but the
Rey'kil are not killed. I do believe our presence makes the land safe. That is why the
Noveni live among us, even though they resent our charity.

"But Tathal is right.
The Book of Stars and Beginnings
is made of
star-metal. The Estall tamed its destructive powers and put it in a place where all the
imbrose
of Lygroes gathers, like streams running to a low spot in a valley to
form a lake. The book is fed by magic, and gives out magic for healing and knowledge.
In the same way, we Rey'kil are fed and sustained, so we can perform healing and speak
to each other in our thoughts."

"There should be a way we can tame star-metal, so we can use it, and it will
stop destroying Moerta," Mrillis said, thinking aloud again.

"That would be a blessing," Kathal muttered. "We could send the Noveni back
where they belong. Lygroes is too crowded by half."

"Lygroes could well be the only land any of us can live on," Breylon said, his
tone gently chiding. "We must learn now to share it, or we will have another war like
the one that just finished."

"But is it finished, Master?" Tathal asked. "The Nameless One could have
foreseen his downfall and he's on the other side of the world, on a continent we know
nothing about, plotting more evil." He spat into the dust beyond his horse's feet.

"Does the star-metal draw the magic in, for the book to use?" Mrillis knew he
had crossed another threshold in learning when Breylon's eyes widened and the man
paused before nodding. "If star-metal doesn't hurt Lygroes, because the Rey'kil are here,
maybe we could learn to use star-metal to gather
imbrose
in other pools and
make it stronger?"

"If anyone can learn to do such a thing, it will probably be you, lad," Kathal
said, and reached across the circle to tousle the boy's hair.

He scowled at the man, hating the feeling of being patronized. Then a moment
later, Mrillis laughed at himself. He was barely ten years old--who was he to worry
about his dignity?

The four left their resting place soon after that and continued on their way.
Mrillis found he was more eager every day to reach the Stronghold. This winter he
would turn ten. He would be halfway to adulthood. Halfway to the first step of his
journey of destiny.

What great things had the Estall intended when he was formed in his mother's
womb? Mrillis couldn't wait to find out.

* * * *

After the fourth day of the journey, Mrillis' flood of questions slowed to a
trickle. He had been scolded often by his teachers, on Wynystrys and in the Stronghold,
to pause and observe and study his surroundings before bursting forth with questions.
Now was as good a time as any to increase his powers of observation, he reasoned. No
one fascinated him more than Breylon, so the boy studied the High Scholar.

After mimicking how his adored teacher sat his big-boned gelding, so every step
seemed like a gentle, rolling glide, Mrillis noticed other things that had escaped him. To
his delight, the longer he sat still and focused all his attention on Breylon, the stronger
the sense of some subtle humming of power grew. After hours of watching and listening,
trying to reach out from the place inside him that had lunged to rescue Ceera, he sensed
a not-quite-musical note that was specifically Breylon and no one else. After that
discovery, no matter how long his attention shifted to something else on the trail--the
discussion between the riders, stopping to eat or sleep--Mrillis only had to think of that
note and he heard it and felt the tingling of magic in his fingertips.

He sensed that if he could only stretch his senses a little harder, he could feel the
imbrose
as it spilled into Breylon. Or was it more like the threads of a spider's
web, feeding into the old man?

Mrillis nearly laughed aloud when an image filled his mind, of threads gleaming
silver and gold, emerald and blue, radiating through the air above the landscape of
Lygroes. When those threads touched Breylon as their party of four rode along the trade
road, they changed color. No matter what color they had been before, the threads
turned pure white, almost transparent, until Breylon passed them by. Then slowly, like
color returned to a room at dawn, their original tints appeared.

It occurred to the boy that perhaps the Rey'kil who couldn't draw on the
imbrose
as they needed it were the ones who couldn't see, couldn't touch the
threads filling the air everywhere. They even went through trees and the sides of hills,
across streams, slicing through their horses and saddles, without doing them a flicker of
harm.

"What's so amusing, lad?" Breylon asked, when Mrillis' speculations ran so wild
he snorted, trying to hold back a burst of triumphant laughter.

"Are the threads more solid than we are, and we're only mist?" he said without
thinking. "Or are they made of light, so they don't hurt us when we walk through
them?"

"Threads?" The High Scholar tugged abruptly on the reins, making his horse
snort and toss its head as it halted. "Oh, my dear boy..." He shook his head, and a
crooked grin lit his face. "Le'esha isn't going to be happy. Not at all." His grin widened,
assuring Mrillis he wasn't in trouble in the slightest.

"What did I do, Master?"

"You found Le'esha's birthing day gift." The High Scholar chortled, the sound
echoed by the twin warriors. "Well, let's see how clever you are, then. What colors can
you see? How many Threads do you see around us, eh? And how, by the blessings of the
Estall, did you find them in the first place?"

"You lost your wager with the Lady, didn't you?" Kathal said with a smirk.

"Wager?" Mrillis glanced between the three men and wondered if he should be
pleased or dismayed.

"Most Rey'kil don't learn to find and tap the Threads that feed the
imbrose
until we're old enough for beards and breasts," Tathal said, and
swatted at his twin to stop his snickering. "Our Master was sure you'd find them on your
own before your voice started to change. The Lady was sure, with your penchant for
mischief, you'd see the Threads much sooner. She wanted to start training you sooner
than most, so you wouldn't wreak havoc on the whole land. They couldn't agree, so
they wagered on it."