Chapter VIII: The Observatory
When Jessar awoke two hours after sunrise on the third morning of their journey, Stefir and Ogador already sat around the fire, breakfasting on what looked like pork. The unseasonable chill of the past days had lessened, but the Lynx eagerly sought the fire anyway.
Seeing part of a pig roasting over the fire and several strips of fried ham in a pan, Jessar asked, “Where did you get the pork?”
“I caught a little havalina rooting around in our packs this morning. Of course, none of this is properly cured, but.... We’ll pack what we can, but most of it won’t keep long. So go ahead, stuff yourself.” Ogador fried some ham slices in another pan.
Jessar helped himself to the meat.
Stefir stood, getting the far away look in his eyes momentarily. Silentwing glided to his shoulder, and he rubbed the bird’s chest. “Getting up a little late this morning, Jessar? Is the little book that interesting?”
In response to Ogador’s puzzled look, Jessar pulled the book out of his inner tunic pocket and passed it to the prince. “Actually, it was, Stefir. I’m a little overwhelmed by most of it, though. Before I ask any serious questions, I need to – well, let it soak in for a while.”
Ogador thumbed through the book quickly before looking back at Jessar. “Let me guess – ah, close your right eye in the moonlight.”
Jessar gasped. “How did you know?”
The prince tilted his head at the wizard. “He’s getting predictable in his old age.” He turned to Stefir. “You really must change that, Wizard. The bad guys are eventually going to catch on.”
Stefir glared back and started to raise a finger, but Ogador continued, “I can guess why you’re confused, Jessar. He writes just like he speaks, letting himself get distracted with ancillary details. I’ve watched him work on that little book for many years now. Did you read the parts about West-realm and Galbard?”
“I read it all.”
“Then you understand why my ancestors invaded Galbard?”
“The Great Plunder? More or less. I never really held that against West-realm anyway. I knew there had to be more to it than my countrymen tell.”
“The bad relations go back even farther, though, Jessar.”
“You mean the Sacred Wars?”
“Partly. The Winged Horsemen did fight the Cultists in the wars. Eventually, I believe the Arien Alliance would have won, too. Nagobrin, however, a solowen fighting on our side, aided by the power of two great artifacts, slew another Solon – Molob, the High Priest of Fertility – at the Altar of Despair. So doing, she broke the Creator’s Ultimate Law forbidding Solon to kill another of their own race, and the gods finally invoked the Dooms.”
The prince began to clean up while Jessar struck the tents. “There is one more event at the start of this age that our historian seems to have neglected.”
Stefir poured a pan of water on the fire. A cloud of smoke enveloped the prince, who coughed and glared menacingly at the wizard. “The book is a treatment of the Dooms, not a history of your nation’s sordid past.”
“Really? When I’m finished with my tale then, Wizard, why don’t you tell Jessar how your elves dealt with the tribes living in the lands your people claimed. You know, where they settled when they came west in the Exodus of Dooms?”
Ogador nodded with a broad smiled as Stefir gave a harumph and crossed his arms. “The incident of which I speak occurred when the Exiles also fled west in the Exodus. Ignoring that the lands of the West Veinous belonged to the Winged Horsemen, the elves settled here in Galbard. When my forefathers protested, King Avril tricked King Kalanor into taking Avril’s only daughter in trade for this territory.”
Stefir breathed a disgusted sigh. “As always, you have managed to mangle the truth. Unfortunately, in this particular case, you probably are just parroting what your marms taught you growing up in the palace. Of course, it is a tale your historians altered to protect West-realm’s reputation.”
“Woah now. Wait a moment there. You can’t say the Galbardians—“
“No, you are correct; the ancient Galbardians were hardly blameless.”
“Huh? Say again, Stefir?”
“Have I not warned you, Jessar, that your exclamation is not very socially becoming?”
As the prince and the Lynx finished stowing the gear, Stefir raised his finger. Ogador muttered, “How did I ever get him started?”
“Ogador, your first error was calling Kalanor a king. At the time of the Second Great Exodus, Kalanor merely led the winged horse clans as their chieftain. In fact, Kalanor never claimed the title of king himself; historians later dubbed him King Kalanor. Even his son—“
“Stefir, we really do need to get moving sometime this morning,” Ogador said as he and Jessar sat at their fire ring. “Can’t you give us the short version?”
“I agree. Besides, you said last night you had a spell you’d use this morning,” Jessar said, noticing Ogador’s curious glance.
The wizard glared threateningly at Ogador, but he lowered his finger anyway. “Anyway, King Avril followed the winged horsemen as the peoples journeyed westward. When he reached the North Veinous River, Avril gave his own daughter, Elbrian to the chief of the winged horsemen as a concubine and a sign of truce after their incessant wars during the Sacred Age. The two had fallen in love during the journey, but the horsemen’s customs would not permit them to share the vows of companionship. In exchange for Elbrian, Kalanor allowed the Exiles to camp in the forests between the West Veinous and Galbard Rivers until the elves could find a homeland.”
“Avril, however, still harbored great resentment towards the horsemen, who had defeated him in the Fertility Massacres, and he desired to stifle Kalanor’s plans to take all the lands drained by the West Veinous. The very night of Elbrian’s consummation as a concubine, Avril had the chieftain’s wine drugged. One of Avril’s Law Savants cleverly altered the document of agreement so that Kalanor gave Galbard to the elves permanently. As Kalanor swooned in a stupor, Avril tricked him into signing the document.”
“Alas for Elbrian. Kalanor did not arise for two days, ruining even her consummation. And when Kalanor learned he had been tricked, he spurned Elbrian. She was, however, a concubine of the chief, and, by the laws of the horsemen, no other man could touch her. She died less than a year later of grief because her love for her chieftain never diminished.”
“I never heard the story that way, Stefir. How sad it is.” The Lynx shook his head.
“Yes, though Elbrian died at the start of this age, her tale is like so many in the Sacred Age: tragic but noble.” Stefir leaned his weight on his staff, looking into the embers of the fire.
Ogador faced the half-elf. “Yet you can see, Jessar, why many of my people felt so strongly about invading Galbard. Some have always thought Galbard should be a province of West-realm, while others believe that the Bulk-men’s Dire Forest and Galbard are the promised domains of Prophecy. Although I don’t advocate conquering Galbard, I cannot help but side with the former view, myself. It really doesn’t make sense for the Prophecy to be met by lands that the West Veinous already runs through. Still, however underhanded the deal was, it was legal. And if the legend of Elbrian’s beauty holds any truth, perhaps Galbard was a suitable bargain.”
Stefir breathed deeply and stood straight, staring into the distance at nothing in particular. “Her beauty was matched by only one other.”
The Lynx had never seen the wizard look that way. Was the chronologist turning melancholy?
With Silentwing swooping to his shoulder to break the mood, Stefir said in an overly jaunty tone, “Let’s go.”
Jessar looked at Ogador inquisitively, but the prince only stared after the wizard oddly before marching off himself. Jessar shrugged and moved to catch up, wondering about the wizard’s remark and uncharacteristic grammar.
They didn’t have far to go. In fact, Stefir stopped them at the far side of the gypsy camp.
“Stefir, Sabretha is really going to be upset when she meets us tonight if we delay any longer. What is that?” Ogador pointed to a large wooden disk from a fallen scentwood. A triangular piece of slate stuck up vertically near the center of the smoothly sawed surface of the disk, serving as the gnomon to form the shadow that would determine the time. Three sticks with charred ends about a foot long and one other unburned stick lay side by side close to the slate. A cup, around which a white chalk circle was traced, sat about half way from the rim to the center of the sundial.
“It is the best I could come up with for a makeshift sundial. It is fortunate I found such a large section sawed from the tree trunk. Of course, I had to do quite a bit of hacking to get the piece thin enough for my purpose.”
The Lynx noticed the coarse irregularity of the underside of the dial’s disc. Also, the slate appeared to be secured to the disk with heated pine resin.
“I can see that, Stefir. What I really meant was – why?”
Jessar grabbed the prince’s shoulder. “Ogador, after you went to bed, Stefir and I decided we should take a little trip back in time.” He leaned over to his friend’s ear, whispering, “Don’t kid him about the crude dial. He’s a chronologist, not a carpenter.”
“Step on to the disk, Ogador, over there,” Stefir indicated. The disk teetered precariously as the prince stepped aboard. “No, more toward the center. Now, Jessar you stand right about here at the very edge of the disk while I get over here.”
The prince twisted his head around dubiously. “Why am I in the middle?”
“So Jessar and I could more effectively counterbalance your oppressive weight,” the wizard said as he drew a tiny feather out of an inner pocket of his tunic.
“Woah, I don’t like the looks of this. The last time you took one of those hummingbird feathers out of your cloak we spent an hour drifting over the Warlock Cliffs before we finally floated into a tree high enough to catch us.”
“Well, that was because I did not have the other item I needed then.” The wizard opened his other hand, which held a spool of sturdy twine.
“And why not? String too expensive for you?”
“Okay, so I failed to take the winds into account. This is not a spell I use every day,” Stefir admitted defensively. “Now, if you will just be quiet so I can work. Jessar, lean over and tie this twine to that boulder behind you and hold on to the coil of line.”
The chronologist extracted a piece of chalk from his hip pocket and passed it to Jessar. “Trace your footprint onto the sundial, Jessar. We must stand in precisely the same location and manner when we get ready to come back to Now after our journey.”
Jessar did as the wizard requested and passed the chalk to Ogador. The prince, shaking his head and muttering something involving the words “stick it,” also complied and returned the soft stone to Stefir. The wizard not only traced his own feet, but drew two small circles by his side.
“You will see what those are for in a moment,” Stefir said in response to his friends’ questioning looks. “Once I start the spells, I must maintain my concentration, so do not attempt to converse with me. First, I am going to cast a levitation spell to carry this entire platform above the forest.”
“Woah, now hang on, Stefir. This is no winged horse we’re on here. I don’t trust this contraption. Why must we go into the air?”
The chronologist shook his head. “Ogador, the area we’re standing in right now is a clearing.”
“Yes, a gypsy camp. So what?”
“Do you know if was a clearing in the past? How would you like to travel back in time, successfully except for the sapling skewering your body because, in the past, there was a tree growing where you’re standing now?”
The prince scratched his head. “I hadn’t thought of that, but it still seems overly cautious. I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“Fortunately, I am the mystic here, and I am going to do it.”
It seemed logical enough, but something still bothered Jessar about it. “Wait, Stefir, what if we get up in the air, then journey back in time—“
“Regress.”
“Huh?”
“Regress, that is what chronologists call ‘going back in time.’”
“Fine, regress then. But what if we regress and there happened to be a bird flying where we materialize?”
Stefir smiled. “Jessar, except for Silentwing, have you seen any birds?”
“No, come to think of it, no.” Now it was Jessar’s turn to look confused.
“It’s the Zone of Protection, isn’t it, Stefir?”
“Yes, Ogador. It is refreshing to see you using your head for something more than a beer receptacle.”
Stefir pointed to Jessar. “Lynx, as we rise, you will have to pay out the line until I stop our ascent. You must not forget how much twine you use; later, when we come back to the present – reinstate, as we chronologists call it – you cannot afford to have out any less string than that.”
“But what if the rock this is tied to isn’t there in the past?”
“Good, you too are thinking, Jessar. You must consider every eventuality if you are to survive for an age as have I.”
“Who said anything about me surviving a whole age?”
“Never mind,” Stefir said cryptically, leaving Jessar with the distinct impression the wizard had hinted at something entirely significant. “That eventuality is the very reason you are holding twine rather than rope. The string will break if the rock is displaced in the past. Otherwise, if it were a rope, it might well pull you off the sundial to your death.”
Despite the chronologist’s assurances, something about it still bothered Jessar. “I don’t know….”
“Trust me, Jessar.”
“You’ve done this before?”
“Well, not exactly. This is a refinement of a similar technique I tried long ago,” Stefir began, finger rising.
“Oh no you don’t, Stefir. We’ve got a long hike ahead of us. We don’t have time for one of your tales right now.”
“Of course,” the wizard agreed with a frown. “Ogador, after I finish the first spell, I will need the use of both my hands. Unfortunately, I will also require my staff—“
“I know, I’ll have to hold it and rest the handle on your shoulder. Remember, I’ve had to help you with your antics before, even if it wasn’t, thank the Starlord, for a venture of this particular nature.”
“Why—“ Jessar began.
“Jessar, we will never get started if you insist on so many questions. But the answer is that the chronological regression spell requires enormous power expenditure. I could never control, let alone muster, the required Flux without my staff, my Symbol of Power.”
“What’s the Flux again?”
“Jessar—“ the wizard said threateningly.
“You’d better let him get on with it, Jessar.”
The chronologist extracted a second feather and placed it between his star ring and finger.
“What’s that for?” Ogador asked suspiciously.
“I may require it,” Stefir said evasively. “Whatever happens when we regress, do not get excited. As the prince has already observed, this platform is not the most stable thing I might have desired. Ready?”
“Yes,” Ogador said, belying his dubious expression.
Jessar nodded. Magic had always fascinated him. Now that it seemed possible he may have had some magical training in his own hidden past, he was especially interested.
“Very well. I will begin.” The wizard closed his eyes and looked skyward. For a moment, Jessar wondered if he was collecting his thoughts, but then Silentwing dove to a precise landing at the edge of the makeshift platform, planting his talons exactly within the wizard’s chalk circles.
Holding his staff in one hand and the hummingbird feather before him in the other, Stefir spoke slowly. “Yu ludro saberien lar largo—“
Again Jessar felt arcane energies gathering. Even the air took on a kind of electric tang. Recalling the trick of using his peripheral sight, he again saw a blue aura clinging to the wizard’s body. Somewhere within his mind, a memory veil lifted, and he translated the chronologist’s words without conscious thought “Solidify, I command thee air.”
“lon gasel bekron roleso lubro,” Stefir continued.
Translating again, Jessar heard “And now upward this do bear.”
The chronologist knelt, licked the feather, and pressed it firmly onto the scentwood platform. “Lavek idron,” he finished, invoking the spell’s power as he turned his left palm skyward, pumping the hand slowly and deliberately, and standing once more.
The precarious sundial on which the three friends stood gave a dangerous pitch as its weight eased, but the time travelers bent their legs reflexively, keeping their footing. Ever so slowly, the wooden disk and its passengers began to rise into the air.
Despite his determination to treat the magic as if it were something he experienced every day, Jessar gasped, then grinned.
After a brief, nervous double take around the platform, Ogador smiled at the Lynx and winked.
As the wizard pumped his palm more rapidly, they rose faster. A sudden tension on the twine prompted Jessar to pay the line out as Stefir had instructed. In moments, they had already reached an elevation above even Ogador’s tall height, and still they ascended.
“Lavek idron,” Stefir intoned again, committing yet more energy into his spell. Their rate of ascent increased.
Once Jessar sensed the wizard had things well in hand, the Lynx couldn’t help scanning around him. Already, they had passed the altitude of his treehome back in Silarom and soon he was higher than he’d ever been, at least as far as he could remember. Realizing his senses were still tuned to the arcane frequencies, the Lynx saw, just short of the horizon everywhere around him as the friends cleared the tops of the trees adjacent to the gypsy campsite, the characteristic blue sheen. Instinctively, he knew the luminescence marked the fuzzy boundaries of the Zone. He guessed the border was about two marches across, and they were near its center. About halfway between the far edge of the Zone and his own location, Jessar saw a second clearing about the same size as the camp below.
Although the Lynx expected to stop rising now that they were above the trees, they continued upward. Jessar shot Ogador a questioning look, but the prince only shrugged. Allowing the spool to spin freely in his hand, Jessar again looked about. From a height he estimated at five hundred feet, he surveyed the changed landscape below. What little undergrowth was visible at the edge of the clearing had begun to look artificial, like something a craftsman of miniature scenery might create. Even the trees took on an insubstantial appearance. Although there were no other people within sight, Jessar imagined that, if there were, they would seem like toy figures. Even the cares of the mortals below loomed less important, as if they too were shrinking. It was only as the affairs of men diminished that the Lynx realized how heavily the concerns of the last three days had weighed upon his psyche. Inhaling, he almost thought he could feel himself inflating back to his previous height, back to the stature he possessed before he’d learned it was up to him to seal the Dooms, before he’d learned of star stones, before the curse, before the devastation of his estate, before his wounding, before—
“Jessar!” the prince bellowed, nodding at the spool in the Lynx’s hand.
The half-elf looked down and saw only a few turns of string remained. Just as he was about to call out to the wizard, however, their ascent came to a smooth halt now that the wizard pumped his hand slower and slower. Then Stefir turned his palm downward and began a slow, horizontally circular hand motion.
The Lynx tied a granny knot in the line at waist height. Ogador carefully leaned over and grasped the staff the wizard had proferred. Just as the chronologist had asked, the prince reversed the gnarled oak and rested its handle on Stefir’s left shoulder.
Again the wizard slowly knelt, this time grasping the four sticks without halting the circular motion of his left hand. The sticks he thrust behind his belt before reaching his hand into one of the myriad leather pouches on a second belt concealed beneath his tunic. He pulled forth a handful of what looked like flour.
His vision still attuned to pneumal energies, Jessar saw the familiar blue glow intensify again around the wizard as Stefir intoned, “Ralieno kubron lon lubron ganovin,” and cast the powder on first Ogador, followed by Jessar, Silentwing, the sundial, and, finally himself.
“Let those and these marked by dust,” Jessar said aloud for the benefit of Ogador.
“Alkabiron fudrok vendar nurin alkorin.”
“Journey to before as time adjusts.”
Taking one of the charred sticks from his belt, the wizard continued, “Talif lubro wilka yer eskabar bekron alin,” while tracing a black arc around one of the rings in the piece of tree trunk serving as their platform.
“If this coal line is now—“
Stefir cast the stick into the distance and retrieved another from his belt. Tapping his foot as he drew a charcoal line radially across each tree ring, as if to count them, he resumed, “Ralieno bruruo kilma alien marin—“
“Let each ring mark how,” Jessar translated, noting the twenty-one rings Stefir’s line crossed. The cup sat next to this line.
Again the wizard cast the crude marker away and pulled out another. “Bruro arpeth wilka zamonin, fudrok wilka bom yer lorafin.” He marked another arc at the end of the radial line toward the center of the sundial.
“—each long year rolls aback, to this second line of black.”
Throwing the final charred stick, Stefir gripped the last branch and leaned over the slate. “Lor yavo fudrok lubro urojon,” he chanted as he touched the tip of the stick to the gnomon’s shadow on the sundial’s surface. He dragged the tip of the stick in an arc, and, to Jessar’s amazement, the shadow followed, mimicking the way the shadow would move if the sun were to pass through its own daily arc. Then the wizard repeated the dragging two more times, and Jessar realized the wizard was simulating the sun’s motion for the three days since his birthday. “Mokrev nurin krasmona kulomon.”
“And add to this the days, o’er which the shadow strays,” Jessar translated both phrases.
The final stick went over the side; the wizard stood straight again and commanded, “Alienuvo alin bekron! Lavek idron!”
“What was now is!”
Jessar would never forget what happened next. Somehow, his mind registered every event, even though the whole sequence lasted only a few moments measured in time as it applied to the three friends and owl on the platform.
First, the world went completely black in an instant, to be chased immediately by sparkling streaks that raced in utterly random patterns as far as the Lynx could see.
Then the world returned, visually at first, but with subtle differences visible even from their great height. The gypsy clearing was smaller. Where before their platform had been hovering over grass, there were now several old scentwoods, inspiring Ogador to mouth what were still silent words. Although the Lynx couldn’t read lips very well, what few words he decrypted were highly uncomplimentary toward the wizard. More astounding was that where the twine left his hand, it was severed as if cut by a razor, but there was no sign of the reeled out remainder. He didn’t waste more than an instant noticing that, however, because the major difference drew his attention like a colossal magnet. Occupying the second clearing Jessar had noticed before they regressed was an enormous dome that could only be the Observatory.
The sense of sound returned next, and the rushing wind noise confirmed what his sight had just identified – the trees below were rushing up at them with shocking and ever increasing speed.
“Stefir, for the sake of Arien, do something!” Ogador shouted.
Smell returned next, bringing with it the pleasant and strong woody wholesomeness of the scentwoods barely one hundred feet below now and racing toward them at a speed Jessar had previously only imagined.
The chronologist, however, was already in motion, extracting the second feather from under his star ring. “My staff!” he demanded, wrenching it from the prince’s grasp.
The prince lurched forward with the unexpected ripping away of the oak. For the next few instants, Ogador bounced about like a marionette. Jessar feared the prince would completely lose his balance and fall over the side, but then he realized they were already falling anyway and it would hardly make a difference unless Stefir did something awfully soon.
At about the same time, the sense of taste returned, and Jessar tasted the familiar electric tang in the air as magical power built within the wizard yet again.
The wizard, looking as clumsy as Ogador, collapsed to his knees. “Yu ludro saberien lar, lon gasel bekron roleso lubro,” Stefir chanted rapidly before licking the feather and pasting it again onto the scentwood platform beside the first feather. “Lavek idron,” he invoked, turning his left hand palm downward and pumping again.
Finally, feeling returned, unfortunately at the same time the spell went into effect. The sense’s return also explained why his two friends had behaved so clumsily: He realized it would have to be hard to coordinate his movement with no sensation in his limbs. In any event, he certainly had it now, and as the sudden force of the platform’s rapid braking struck, he, along with the prince, fell to the disk. He thanked Arien that both of them managed to fall forward, into a pile on the sundial, knocking the slate adrift and over the side.
“Well, that’s just great,” Stefir observed, having converted the pumping motion into the circular motion, keeping them hovering only eight feet above a towering scentwood. “We’ll have to recover the slate before we can reinstate to our time.”
Ogador exploded. “If you’d warned us, maybe we wouldn’t have fallen. Also, didn’t it occur to you when you found the sawed-down scentwood that this might have occurred?”
“You were the one that wanted to start this on the ground, if you will recall. If I had listened to you, right now you would be encapsulated within that tree’s trunk,” the wizard pointed out.
Jessar, noticing that Silentwing had dealt with the entire affair in his routine avian grace, was a little upset with the wizard for not warning them. “You saw fit to warn Silentwing but not us, I see. Look, Stefir, we’re in a mess now. You might notice the string is also gone. Aside from having to find that piece of slate, how’re we going to get down? And what happened to the string anyway?” The Lynx held up the nearly empty spool.
“A miscalculation. I should have rubbed the entire string in flour so it would make the regression along with us. As for how we get down, let me think. But right now, I need to rest a moment. You cannot imagine the amount of energy I expended in getting us here.”
Ogador reached out a hand to push himself up, touching the charcoal line across the tree rings.
Stefir immediately smashed his staff down onto the prince’s hand.
“Ouch. The Pits take you, Stefir! What was that for?”
“Do not touch that line. If you erase it, the magic will be broken, causing our instant return. However, since we do not have the dial pointer with us, the matter deficit would rend the temporal fabric.”
Ogador drew back his hand, rubbing it gently. “What?” he yelled back.
Jessar agreed, “Stefir, that made no sense.”
“It is yet another danger of temporal travel. If the prince erased the line now, when we attempted to reinstate, the missing gnomon would be yanked back with us, but, because of the separation in distance at the instant of reinstatement, the slate would be moving at an unfathomable speed as it was forced to travel back to the disc instantaneously. I presume you have heard tales of how tornadic winds can push wheat stalks through tree trunks?”
“Yes,” Ogador said.
“Well, that would be as nothing compared to how fast the slate piece would be moving. You can imagine that we might not survive the shower of wood shards that would result when the gnomon impacted the dial surface. That is why I made you trace your footprint onto the platform, so that when we get ready to reinstate, we will be able to assume the same position and pose as when we regressed.”
“Well, for a moment there, I didn’t think we were going to survive the plummet into the scentwood tree,” the Lynx said, realizing that the tree was no longer directly below them.
The chronologist nodded. “Good. The gentle breeze is solving our problem for us. As soon as it blows us into the clearing, I can bring us to the ground in a controlled descent.”
“Just as long as we get down before we reach the trees on the other side,” Ogador observed.
“Good point,” Jessar agreed.
They soon found themselves clear of the tree, and Stefir began the palm-downward pumping motions necessary to return them to the ground. The landing was as gentle as a leaf drifting onto the surface of a pond, although the platform was still just as unstable as it had been before they levitated. Ogador leapt off the sundial, whirled on Stefir, and said, “I’ll always think twice now every time I get in the saddle of a winged horse. I have you to thank for that, wizard.”
“While you two argue, I’m going to find that slate.”
Fortunately, Jessar quickly found the flat triangular stone lying on a thick blanket of autumn leaves just a few feet from the scentwood trunk they had regressed above. Silentwing was waiting beside it as if the bird knew they needed it. Jessar headed back to his two friends, who were still arguing.
“Why did we fall; what in the Pits happened to your levitation spell?”
“Ogador, that spell won’t exist for another 21 years.”
“Really? And the Chronologist hasn’t figured out how to carry the effects of a spell back with him?”
“I should not have wasted the energy to bring you back with me.”
“I was in the Zone; you had no choice. And just how are we going to re-affix the stone when we find it?”
“I believe if we just heat the resin again – ah, Jessar, you found it?”
“Yes, it’s right here. The owl was sitting beside it like he was guarding it,” Jessar replied, stroking the bird’s wings as it lighted beside him.
The chronologist reached for the missing piece, turning it over in his hands. “We are fortunate it did not break in the fall.”
“I think the tree’s leaves slowed it down.”
The chronologist placed the dial on the platform and faced the highway. “Is everyone all right? Ready to visit the Starlord?”
“There’s only one thing still bothering me, Stefir. I am still my old, or new, or whatever, self. I am hardly a ten year old half-elf lad.”
“That obviously does not matter, or the Observatory would not be here.”
“Okay, but how does he know? I mean, how could the Starlord tell he needed to be here? At this point in time, I am somewhere on the way to Plasis, probably in a gypsy caravan.”
“And I am on a Border Scout mission in Mutaron.”
“He is the Starlord,” Stefir said, as if that explained everything.
Unsatisfied but excited about the Observatory, Jessar said, “Let’s go.”
The three time travelers set out for the extra-dimensional building, the gleaming white sides of which were visible between the tree trunks on the left side of the road. In less than ten minutes, they stood beside a foot tall obelisk, the Observatory Stone. A cylinder some six knuckles across with a rounded top, it was unadorned.
The Lynx was surprised at its modesty. “I’ve never seen one of them, but I pictured something more grand.”
Scratching Silentwing’s neck, Stefir said, “Nevertheless, there is probably no more universally recognized symbol in all Talan. Jessar, behold the Observatory.” The wizard swept an arm theatrically across the expansive structure as if he had built it personally.
Now that the Lynx was closer, he saw that the upper half of the dome was of a different material than the sparkling white stone below. In fact, the pearlescent appearance reminded him of nothing more than cloudstone. Aside from an arch blocked by a silver panel, the edifice, like the obelisk before it, was unadorned. A sand path led from the road to the arch.
Jessar stepped onto the path, and his friends followed. Just as the Lynx wondered how they’d get through the door, a straight vertical crack appeared in its middle. The crack widened as a panel slid to either side. Some thirty feet beyond the door, the arched passage let out into a cavernous space, the far side of which was indiscernable. The huge room was definitely larger than the building itself, a fact that didn’t seem inconsistent with the nature of the place. From the room, a slow, steady, almost subaural clicking emanated. Ten feet before the visitors, a landing provided access to a spiral staircase of some black metal. The steps wound through the ceiling about fifteen feet and also descended through the floor.
Footsteps rang out on the metallic steps below. Soon a tall elven-looking figure, dressed in a long black smock and calf-length breeches of some glimmering silver fabric emerged onto the landing. Iron-soled sandals, a star ring, and an ivory-brimmed visor completed his ensemble.
Stefir rushed forward, sharing the wrist-shake of friends. “Lufir, it’s literally been an age since I last saw you! I wondered what had happened to you.”
The Starlord, who possessed the angular features common to both the elves and solon, but with an unmistakable distinguished air, accentuated by the unique, almost metallic silver hair, said in a melodic baritone, “Wilkar arono yelderin kelin—Forgive me. I forget that Jessar has yet to recover conscious memory of the Sacred Tongue. Long has it been since I last saw you, Stefir. I, of course, have been expecting all of thee.”
The aged demigod faced the chronologist. “Stefir, it is nigh time. For good or ill, this age shall soon pass, and I am ready, so ready, for thee to relieve me here.”
“What?” Jessar demanded.
Slowly, the elf faced Jessar. “Ah, and Jessar, or shall I name thee Lynx? Did thee not know the Chronologist surviving at the closing of an age transcends, to become the Starlord? How I long to depart Center, to sojourn with the Father of All in his abode Beyond.”
Finally, the elf’s gray eyes fell on Ogador. “Prince, once only have thee graced my Observatory. Welcome back. I am pleased Jessar has such steadfast friends to escort him here for the Viewing.”
Jessar started to ask what the great elf meant, but Stefir caught the Lynx’s eye and shook his head almost imperceptibly.
His penetrating gaze returning to the half-elf, the Starlord turned back to the staircase, beckoning. “Jessar, thee are the reason I commanded the Observatory to this place/time. Follow me. I shall give thee a tour of Observatory.” As an aside to Stefir, he added, “All but the Dwelling, for it I do not seem to find the time to maintain it in a presentable fashion.”
The Lynx shook his head. “But you command time and place itself. How can you not have the time?”
Stefir apologized, “Forgive him, Starlord. He asks more questions than is good for him.”
The Starlord chuckled. “I can remember a time when, before my residence here, thee also asked many things.”
Jessar had never seen Stefir blush, of course, since the wizard had no human blood, but the wizard shifted his eyes from side to side and pursed his lips, which the Lynx had learned was a sure sign of discomfort.
Jessar, Stefir with Silentwing at his shoulder, and Ogador spiraled down the access after the powerful being. Fifteen feet and two orbits of the staircase later, they reached a second landing.
Gesturing down the continuing steps, the Starlord said, “The Dwelling lies beneath. Here,” he waved a hand before another of the silver panels at the narrow landing, and it slid aside to reveal a brightly lit, immaculate workshop, with furnishings of some transparent crystalline material, “is the Practicum.”
They had entered a large chamber, really two rooms combined, which turned out to be an antiseptically clean manufacturing complex. They stood in a large circular part, about forty feet wide, and across from the door was a long rectangular alcove with crystalline furnishings. As for the circular area, a ceramic brick forge dominated the floor. A huge bellows supported by chains fed air to the fabricating facility. Three large iron tables with small anvils attached sat around the forge. Smiths’ tongs, hammers, and a host of other tools hung neatly from hooks on one of the tables. Another table was dedicated to a series of molds stacked according to size. The last table sat beside the hearth in front of the forge, over which a hopper depended from the ceiling. Two steel receptacles brimmed with gold bars to the right. There were six grinding wheels of various sizes and compositions spinning noiselessly and spaced evenly around the room’s periphery. There was no sign of a power source for the wheels, just as there was no coal or any other visible source of fuel for the forge. As with everywhere they’d been so far, the light came from peculiar flat panels affixed to the walls and ceilings.
The Starlord pointed to the forge. “As thee may have guessed, that is the Ring Forge. Come this way; this is where families come for the Ringing,” the Starlord said, gesturing to the rectangular alcove and leading them in an almost jaunty step into the room.
Ogador shook his head. “I can remember the last time I was here how I was so amazed at the cleanliness of this area. I don’t believe Talan has a smithy that even approaches the Practicum.”
They entered the second area, where crystalline workbenches and shelves lined either side. Metal jeweler’s and engraver’s tools lay neatly arrayed here and there. Steel boxes of various shapes and sizes occupied the shelves and, in some places, the benches themselves. Along the back of the left bench was a series of bins with finished cloudstone settings of various sizes. Underneath the same side were several containers holding raw cloudstone gems. Although it was clear the Starlord operated alone, there were easily half a dozen transparent stools tucked neatly below the bench surfaces. A single tome scrawled in the Sacred Script lay open halfway down the bench on the right.
“My Catalog of Stars,” the Starlord said by way of explanation. “And this,” he indicated a series of circular, revolving shelves spaced about a foot apart vertically on a central shaft of silver. The shelves continued on below the floor of the chamber and rose into the ceiling above. Precisely arranged on each shelf was a series of star rings of various sizes. “This is the Ring Bank, bearing the star rings of all the Ringed Peoples who have yet to reach the age of Ringing.”
The Starlord pulled a stool out from below a strange looking metal apparatus affixed to the bench. The device had two side-by-side glass lenses angled at about forty five degrees at its top, and was itself angled similarly with respect to the bench. Generally rectangular in cross section, the device tapered from the surface of the tabletop to a width just sufficient to hold the lenses. Beneath the bench, two glass-looking tubes attached to the bottom of the device curved toward and penetrated the wall. Pulses of varicolored light traveled in both directions inside the capillaries.
Looking at the stored rings, the Lynx couldn’t help thumbing his own ring – surely artificial. “Starlord, if I may, you see that I wear this ring. Is it real?”
The aged elf grasped Jessar’s hand, and turned the ring over and over. “Jessar, I am not a Roving Prophet. My mission is not one of prophecy or even information, although what thee shall see on the Tapestry shall reveal certain things. No, the Creator does not permit me to tap my knowledge to answer that question directly. I will say, however, that there is certainly a place/time wherein it could be real. Whether you are part of that place/time, I may not confirm. It looks genuine enough, and I am, thee might say, an expert in these matters.”
“I have always thought if was fake,” the Lynx said, disappointed the Starlord wouldn’t confirm his suspicions.
“Jessar, peer into the Indexer,” the Starlord suggested, pointing his open hand at the instrument.
Sitting on the stool, the half-elf leaned over the lenses and lowered his brows to the smooth leather pads above them. Looking within, he saw a bewildering series of flashes of the same kinds of multi-colored lights as were pulsing through the tubes below. For a moment there was no visible change, but then the lights ceased their random scatterings and took on an orderly sequence, flashing in four columns from the top of his field of vision to the bottom. At the same time, a whisper of a whir began, and, in his peripheral vision, the Lynx noticed the array of circular shelves spiraling upward into the overhead. Soon, the turntable stopped.
“Jessar,” the Starlord gently grasped his shoulder, “here is the alcove where your star ring was.”
The Lynx sagged, disillusioned. On one of the shelves, a rainbow sequence of lights moved out from the center spindle toward an empty position between two adjacent rings. “Where is it?”
“I do not know, but thy father picked it up, or will pick it up, depending upon how thee look at it, this same day.”
“But why did you give it to him instead of me?”
“Jessar, I know thee are concerned about thy star ring and name. Come with me to the last room on this level and I shall explain.” The Starlord indicated the door at the end of the rectangular section. As they approached, again the panels slid aside.
In the dome-shaped room they entered, a large upwardly curved dish rested atop a pedestal in the center. A tubular device with a glass lens was swivel mounted on a second, taller column affixed to a circular track surrounding the dish. Several of the peculiar light conducting tubes plugged into the bottom of the dish and disappeared into the floor. A complicated metal instrument with hundreds of circular protrusions and a sloped glass face was on the far side, again sporting many of the glass tubes. To its side was a throne-like chair with a ‘U’ shaped head pad.
“This chamber is the Star Study and this,” the Starlord said, striding up to the dish, “is the Celesticon. Part of my duties involves cataloguing stars, and this is where I do so.”
Stefir looked at the equipment with interest. “Lufir, if I am to relieve you as Starlord, can you show me how this works?”
The aged elf put his hands on his hips and paused. “I do not believe a quick demonstration would be a problem.”
The Starlord pointed above, to a cloudy material at the top of the top of the dome. “That is a cloudstone lens, which gathers the image thee shall see on the dish in a moment from the much larger cloudstone thee saw at the top of the Observatory.”
He turned to the metal machine and pushed several of the buttons. Jessar looked at its surface and was astounded to see an image of the heavens there. The elf adjusted a circular dial and the image magnified. Lastly, he pushed another button and a red light beam emerged from the tube atop the column.
“Now, if I want to target a particular star, I point the light at the body of interest,” he said, pushing the column around the track, and tilting the light emitter until it highlighted a bright star near the constellation of the Vixen, “and then register it with the Star Recorder.” He pushed yet another button, and the light beam turned from red to blue. A series of red and white pulses raced back and forth through one of the glass tubes. The light beam then changed back to red.
“Now, I must provide a name for the celestial object. Shall I call it Arkalon?” he continued, hands on his hips as he pondered a name. He turned to an array of buttons labeled with Sacred Script symbols and pushed them as required to spell out the name. As he depressed the buttons, the star name appeared in Sacred Script on the glass surface. Satisfied, he pressed a particularly large button. The pace of varicolored light pulses in a glass tube from the machine to the dome overhead increased dramatically.
“What’s happening?” Ogador asked.
In almost child-like excitement, the ancient machine operator replied, “The Star Recorder and the Great Loom above work in harmony. At the proper time, when the Loom is ready to weave the knot representing the individual who is to bear the name of the star, the Star Recorder will register that fact. Back there,” the Starlord pointed to the room they’d left, “in the Practicum, I would see in the Catalog of Stars a new page. That would show the star chart and star name for a ring I must craft.”
“Fascinating,” Stefir observed.
“I thought thee might find it so.”
The Starlord turned to the Lynx. “After the Indexing, the appointed one, the nearest relative or friend, takes the ring from its alcove and brings it here. The child sits in that chair while the appointed one puts the ring on the child’s finger. That is what triggers the Star Recorder to reveal the child’s patron star name here,” the Starlord indicated the glass face, “and the position of the star there,” he pointed to the dish. “Of course, at that point, the child can see the star chart beneath the cloudstone gem of his ring.”
“So my father was the appointed one?”
“Jessar, in the long history of my role as Starlord, never has anything like thy visit or thy father’s lone visit occurred. As thee shall learn, all things have their nature, that is the way of All, as the Creator’s wisdom fashioned. The nature of Observatory is that the appointed one, thy father, obtained thy ring. And now, here thee are for the Ringing. Since thy father is not present to place the ring on thy finger, all that I may do is show thee the Viewing, what thee shall see on the Tapestry above.”
“Who is my father?”
“Jessar, as I have explained, I am no Roving Prophet. The Creator will not permit me to answer that. I am sorry. Perhaps the Tapestry will ease thy mind. It is the best I can do. Back this way.”
The Starlord led the way back through the Practicum to the level above. They went down the arched way and into the space beyond. Before them, a spool was suspended by some invisible mechanism. A nondescript, patternless rug stretched into the dim distance, winding onto the spool at an agonizingly slow pace.
“Jessar, the Tapestry of Life.”
The Starlord guided them to the left and, suddenly, where before the ends of the spool had faded into the distance on either side of them, now one end of the spool was only a few steps further ahead. A column rose some three feet above the marble floor to support the spool.
As they passed the end of the spool, Jessar leaned down to determine the thickness of the tapestry and was surprised to find that, when viewed from its edge, the weave vanished entirely. The tapestry was infinitesimally thin.
They continued on and, in the same distance-compressing manner as before, the Great Loom appeared out of the dimness only a few feet ahead. The device clicked its inexorable rhythm, advancing the threads that were the foundation of the Tapestry. Towering high overhead, near the transition from the white stone of the dome to the cloudstone lens, was the upper frame bar, holding an array of gray wool yarn for the knots. Several of the by-now-familiar glass tubes conveying the multi-colored lights emerged from the dome wall behind the Loom and attached to the upper frame. Below the upper frame, the Loom’s upper beam clattered in its ratchet and pawl time. Lower down, across the vertical strings a heddle spanned, separating the warps. Wool yarn from the spools overhead unwound of its own accord and tied itself in knots on the warps. A cutter beam swept down periodically, cutting each row of knots uniformly. Beaters on a batten beam compressed the weave after every five rows of knots, and a shuttle passed a weft string across to strengthen the weave. Finally, the woven Tapestry passed across the cloth beam before starting its transit across the immense distance to the spool at the far end.
“The Great Loom manufactures the Tapestry of Life, where each knot represents one individual. Between the Loom and Spool of the Past there are three ages worth of weave, in this case the Sacred Age, the Age of Dooms, and the New, as yet unnamed, Age. Follow me, Jessar and we shall go to the Viewing.”
Counterclockwise they continued, experiencing once more the spatial distortion. It was only a short walk back to the spool again. They returned to the staircase, where they spiraled around more than a dozen times before reaching its upper end. They emerged onto a balcony surrounding the periphery of the dome at the transition to the cloudstone lens. After a quarter orbit of the dome, the party reached a blue circle about two feet across near the edge of the balcony. The railing beside it had a similarly sized gap.
“Jessar, stand inside the circle.”
The Lynx stepped into it. Immediately, a knot illuminated in bright red on the Tapestry about half way across the length of the Tapestry. “That is thy knot, Jessar.”
A bright red line raced toward the Loom but stopped abruptly. “That is thy life line, Jessar. It represents thy minimum life across the range of place/times. Although thy line does not proceed very far into the future, recall that there are place/times wherein thee may find long life.”
Stefir grasped the Lynx’s shoulder. “It is, you might say, Jessar, a worst case scenario.”
“I see. I just wish the worst case kept me living a little longer.”
“Do not fear, Jessar. I will need you to be my replacement as the Chronologist, so I will not permit you to die.”
“Huh?”
“Do not be so surprised. I have already begun your training, and I have mentioned it before.”
The Lynx let the subject drop and turned his attention back to the Tapestry.
Next, a web of red traces began to diverge from the Lynx’s knot in all directions, although their density decreased in the direction of the Spool. Where each trace stopped, one or more narrower, less intense traces began. The process repeated, with the lines becoming dimmer at each intersection. “Those are influence lines, Jessar. They depict, again where they are shared across the range of place/times, those thee shall meet in the course of thy life. The weaker lines show indirect influences through acquaintances.”
Several of the knots and lines changed color to blue. “Those are love lines. They illustrate the females thee shall know intimately. In thy case, there seem to be a great deal of these lines.”
Slowly, all the traces faded into the gray obscurity of the Tapestry’s normal aspect.
“Now, Jessar, thy circle shall take to the air. Thee must lean to control its motion. Behold the Scenes of Convergence, Jessar,” the Starlord swept an arm expansively toward the space over the Tapestry.
The Lynx felt himself rise into the air as the Tapestry returned to its former dull gray. The blue circle accompanied him, although it did not appear fixed to anything other than the air about his feet. Jessar leaned forward slightly, and he and the circle flew over the edge of the balcony.
Immediately, the Tapestry changed character, as if it were a picture window onto another world. For mere moments, he saw on the Tapestry his younger self, holding in his arms an ageless, beautiful elwen in a canopied bed amidst finery such as he’d only imagined. Leaning to the side, he maneuvered to the right and discovered that the scene shifted as if the people and objects there were real. He could see around and behind things as he moved.
The scene shifted again, this time showing a decrepit, large wooden shack. He saw his same younger self through a window, seated in front of a workbench strewn with ceramic and glass equipment, including alembics, flasks, mortar and pestle, and others of unimaginable purpose. A large tome lay open before his younger self, and he scanned the lines of script within. The Lynx leaned again and positioned himself where he could see more of the interior of the shack. An ancient, unnaturally weathered elf stood behind and to the right, shaking a finger and talking rapidly. Jessar wished fervently he could hear those words.
The shed disappeared, replaced by a large dark, dank wooden compartment. This he recognized – it was the hold of the slave ship. There he lay amidst the others soon to be released in Plasis.
Another familiar view melted into being, this time of his treehome. There at the window he stood, with Stefir, Ogador, and Sabretha behind. Leaning hard before the scene vanished, he moved to where he also could look through the window, and he saw the garden below, where a crowd of elves with shadowed faces gathered. Only three had recognizable features, the short scarred elf, his neighbor Mishar, and the Yitrava. Mishar was unconscious on the lawn outside the hedge, and the Yitrava grasped the icon of Urgon preparing her curse.
The picture dissolved into a torch lit cavern. An elwen huge with child lay in agony near one wall. A black-robed man with a necklace bearing the multi-breasted icon of Vyxana stood in a cavern on the edge of a precipice opening onto a volcanic inferno. Beside him, a Bulk, holding one of the star stones in its large palm and a whip in the other, beat an elf lying in front of him. Since it was obvious every scene on the Tapestry had to be one in which he was present, the Lynx wondered where he was. Then it hit him: The elf being beaten was him. But who was the elwen? He leaned until he nearly fell over in an effort to position himself where he could see her face, but the image faded before he could make it. However, just before it disappeared, he thought he saw someone else around a rock outcropping. As he searched his memory, he thought it was – could it really be Sabretha?
The new scene was misty, obscuring the surroundings. Only two people, Jessar and an elwen was in the scene, circling carefully with long swords drawn. The female’s features were vague, so indistinct they were unrecognizable, although she wore clothing very similar to Sabretha’s. She darted in and their swords danced in a dazzling display of sword mastery. He noted with pleasure that his own skill was remarkable. In fact, he got the distinct impression that he was consciously holding back against the female. The two talked as they fought, and he again wished he could hear the words. Then the female said something that clearly surprised him. She pressed the advantage and, in only three strokes, skewered the Lynx in the chest. The scene faded as he collapsed.
He waited for another picture to materialize, but the Tapestry returned to its dull gray aspect. He found himself flying back to the balcony even without leaning to cause it. Soon, he settled gently to the floor behind the railing.
“Now, Stefir, why can’t we fly like that instead of on your rickety scentwood slice?”
“Ogador, this is the Observatory. Can you not put aside your petty gripes even here?”
The governor elbowed Jessar. “I must’ve hit a nerve; he didn’t deny the crudeness of our transportation.”
Jessar was in no mood for their arguments. “Ogador, did you see the pictures?”
The prince, realizing his light-heartedness troubled his friend, stopped smiling as quickly as a thrown rock vanishes beneath the surface of a pond. “We saw most of it, Jessar, but we could not maneuver.”
The Lynx stepped from the circle and turned accusingly to the Starlord. “Is that it?” he asked in frustration.
The Starlord looked uncertainly between Stefir and Ogador, taking a step backwards. “In all my service, anger is not a reaction I have ever seen in my visitors.”
Giving Jessar a threatening glance, the chronologist said, “Starlord, forgive my friend. He has been hoping you would show him something that might help figure out his destiny. If not that, he at least expected information that would unlock the memories of his past.”
Regaining his composure from the unexpected accusation, the Starlord said, “I see. Jessar, thee must understand what thee saw were Scenes of Convergence, things that must happen no matter what place/time thee find thyself in. Since, in the time thee have come from, events have entered a Nexus, there are few commonalities across the spectrum of places/times. Stefir surely has explained—“
Stefir shifted his eyes uncomfortably and pursed his lips. “Well, actually, I, well, we just haven’t had the time.”
In a manner that reminded Jessar of nothing so much as a teacher admonishing his prized pupil, the Starlord said, “Stefir, I shall not remind thee how ridiculous it sounds that the Chronologist cannot find time.” He faced Jessar. “Lynx, thee must have Stefir explain matters temporal and spatial. Thy confusion is understandable.”
“Forgive me, Starlord. My behavior was inappropriate.” Jessar bowed.
“Regrettably, Jessar, that is all I may show thee. I have enjoyed thy visit.”
They walked back to the staircase and the entrance foyer.
The gray elf shook the three travelers’ wrists. “Remember those scenes Jessar, for, few as they may be, they may provide important clues as thee select thy course.”
Stefir smiled. “Then, Starlord, until we meet again.”
“And may that not be so long in coming,” the Starlord agreed, also smiling. “All three of thee shall play key roles in insuring that – if thee make the proper choices. Fare thee well.”
The three travelers left the Observatory, and the great strange tall panels slid silently shut behind them. Following the path, they soon found themselves back at the highway and the gypsy camp.
“Stefir, isn’t there some other way to do this?” The prince looked at the damaged sundial dubiously.
“No.”
“Now why can’t he answer any other questions so easily?”
Jessar shrugged. “I suppose we’ll need a fire to reheat the resin and repair the pointer.” The Lynx gathered a few fallen branches and tinder.
The wizard, in completely uncharacteristic fashion, bent to help Jessar stack the fuel for the fire. “Jessar, when we reinstate in our time, I promise I will explain things.”
The Lynx looked to the west, where the sun was only a few hours from sunset. “Don’t take this wrong, Stefir, but I don’t think we’ll have the time. We spent more of it in the Observatory than I would’ve thought.”
“You may be surprised,” the wizard said cryptically.
Jessar struck up a flame with his flint and steel. “While we’re waiting for some coals, can we at least discuss the things I saw in the Tapestry.”
“Certainly, Jessar. The first scene was obviously from your indentured years. Evidently, the mistress of the house where you lived cared for you a great deal.”
“Stefir, I never thought to hear you lie.”
To Jessar’s amazement, the prince interrupted before Stefir could defend himself. “Jessar, you’re so unlike yourself ever since we regressed. He was simply looking out for your feelings. You were young….”
“Sorry, you’re right. It’s just that it’s so frustrating. In the three days of my journey, I’ve talked with a nine thousand year old chronologist, a mariner who’s sailed most of Talan’s seas, a Roving Prophet, and now, the Starlord, and no one can tell me anything about either my past or my future. I’m trying to be understanding about the future. After all, few can predict that. But most people at least have a past. I don’t even have that.”
The chronologist clasped Jessar’s shoulder. “I try to imagine—“
The Lynx stretched taller. “Never mind. It’s very clear what was going on in that sequence. I’m just not sure what it means,” Jessar said, hoping one of his friends would step in.
Ogador shrugged, while Stefir made a fuss over restacking fuel on the fire.
Jessar could tell the wizard knew more, but it was obvious Stefir wasn’t going to discuss things any further. “The second sequence I thought was more clear. I was studying magic under the tutelage of some unnaturally aged elf.”
“I agree, Jessar. It is unfortunate you could not see the tome.”
“It wouldn’t have done any good. Although it seems I must know the Sacred Tongue, I can’t remember it unless it’s in a spell, and I certainly can’t seem to read the Script.”
Ogador stirred the fire. “The third scene was so dark, but it looked like the hold of a ship.”
“Yes, it was the ship that brought me back to Plasis,” Jessar said, suppressing a shiver at the memory.
“It may be more significant than you think, however, Jessar. Remember, although I have not explained the concept to you, those were Convergences, things that take place in all of the infinite possible futures stemming from a certain point in time.”
“Huh?”
“There you go again, Jessar with your irritating habit. What I mean is that it is significant that, in every possible future stemming from the time when you were ten, you became the slave of that elwen, trained under the tutelage of the elf, and then were released from indenturement prematurely. Something there on Langbard, no matter what course of action those involved pursued, resulted in your release back to Plasis. That is a crucial element in your past Jessar. Some pivotal thing caused your owner or owners to terminate your contract prematurely. Furthermore, Jessar, it may be that the elwen and the mystic training you are somehow connected. Perhaps your association with the female only stems from her relationship to the mystic.”
“Nice try, Stefir, but I don’t buy it. However, I find that the next scene is informative. If I understood it properly, my curse was a matter of Fate. I maneuvered specifically to check if that was the case.”
“We must accept your word on that Jessar. From where we stood, we could see only inside your treehome.”
“Well, I could see the scene in the garden, but, for some reason, I couldn’t make out most of the elves in the crowd.”
“Yes, Jessar, that is the Convergence Uncertainty. It is interesting that you picked up on the fact that Convergences are the only events that are truly a matter of Fate. I take it you realize that everything else, no matter how likely, is still subject to the participants’ exercise of their own free wills. We will discuss these things further when we reinstate. The unrecognizable figures account for the fact that, in the different place/times, or Flows, summed up in the Convergence, different individuals were involved in the episode.”
“The only recognizable people were the crowd leader, Mishar my neighbor, and the Yitrava.”
The wizard looked surprised. “Interesting. It is my experience that those who are party to a Convergence tend to be very important in each other’s lives, even beyond the Convergence itself. Did you have any prior experiences with any of these individuals?”
“Obviously, my neighbor I knew as well as I knew anyone other than my mother and you two. The only other thing about the leader is that he is the one who threw the dagger with the Temple of Fertility symbol on it. The Yitrava, well, you both know very well what she has done since then.”
Stefir put his fingers to his temple. “Well, that may be enough shared experiences, but I would not count on it. You may well run into one or more of them again, Jessar.”
The prince clapped Jessar on the back, prompting the Lynx to cough from the pain on his wound. “Sorry, Jessar. I forgot your wound. I hope it’s doing well. No doubt our good Valkara will be back tonight to give you the treatment.”
Jessar groaned.
“What I was going to say though is I find it encouraging that Fate brought the four of us together in your treehome.”
Jessar brightened. “You mean—“
Ogador laughed. “The wizard himself just said all of us that were there are likely to play significant parts in each others’ lives.”
The Lynx pumped his fist. “Great!”
“Jessar, it may not mean what you think,” Stefir cautioned.
The prince frowned at the wizard. “You are like a bucket of water on a fire. Didn’t you ever dream, Stefir?”
The wizard got the wistful, far away look in his eyes, as he’d done before they regressed when they had been discussing the Dooms. “Yes,” Stefir said, then shook his head and continued, “but I got over it. Jessar, the next episode is one that we must certainly research. I presume you know none of those in the scene.”
“Actually, I thought I may have seen Sabretha, but I don’t know any of the others, although none of them had indistinguishable features.”
“If the Valkara was there, I sure couldn’t see her. The other elwen was heavy with child, that much is certain, but who was she I wonder?”
Stefir answered, “That is clearly something we must discover. The priest was of the Cult of Vyxana, of course, and that is certainly troubling, especially after the dagger with the Temple of Fertility. I fear, Jessar, that you – no, we – have become embroiled in something terrible.”
“A fact that is confirmed by the involvement of Bulks. And here I thought all we had to worry about was the Emperor.”
“I’m certainly not very excited about being whipped either.”
“Unfortunately, Jessar, as the final episode depicted, worse is in store.”
“Thanks for reminding me, Stefir.”
“Jessar, you are assuming that you died in that sword fight. In some Flows, that may well be true, but, remember, there may well be others wherein you do not die. Do not despair.”
“If nothing else, Jessar, you will become a world class swordsman. I don’t know who the female was, but you’d have beat her if she hadn’t shocked you so badly with whatever she said.”
“Great, I can almost beat a female.”
“I would not let Sabretha hear you say that,” Stefir cautioned.
“I hate to break this up, but we have enough coals to melt an entire tree’s worth of resin.”
The wizard grasped a small branch with a glowing tip. While Ogador held the slate in place, Stefir applied the tip to the resin, reflowing it into place. The repair was soon complete.
“Jessar, can you fill up the cup with water from the stream by the edge of the gypsy camp?” Stefir asked.
The Lynx did as the chronologist requested, returning the cup to its circle.
Jessar and Stefir stepped onto the sundial. Stefir shut his eyes a moment, and Silentwing leaped onto the disk, placing his talons squarely into the chalk circles.
Ogador, however, shook his head. “Stefir, I’m not getting on until you tell me if there’s anything else I should know – like whether I might fall off on the other end, as I almost did this time.”
“I was going to tell you when we got aloft again, but I can tell you now if you insist. It is important that we have with us on the platform every bit of matter that we regressed with.”
“That’s easy enough. I know I have everything I came here with. For a pleasant change when it comes to your spells, Stefir, this may not be so bad after all,” Ogador said stepping up and taking position in his traced footprints.
Jessar put the partial spool of twine back into his hand at the wizard’s new caution.
“Well, that is not all,” the wizard said, causing Ogador to step back off again. “You must recall precisely the pose you regressed in. Otherwise, when we reinstate back to our time, your body will be wrenched into position, possibly causing muscle strains or even broken limbs.”
Ogador thought for a moment before getting back on again. “I should have known it wasn’t that easy. Nothing is ever easy when it comes to something you’ve done, Stefir. I’m fairly sure I remember how I was standing when we entered this time, but you’ll have to hand me your staff again. Still, I’ve seen worse with you.”
“Wait, there is another small detail.”
The prince jumped back off again. “Stefir! This is ridiculous. What is it now? Maybe I’ll just walk out of the Zone and make up the 21 years the old fashioned way.”
“This other matter we have only limited control over. When I said we must have all matter with us, that included the air. When we reinstate, the air that regressed with us inside our bodies will travel at incredible speeds from wherever it may be now back to your body. This will cause a great deal of heat within you.”
“Great. We’re going to boil from the inside out.”
“No, you will not. Not if you exhaust most of the air from your body before we return. That essentially cuts the amount of air that must move in half, and you will survive.”
“Fine, we survive, but at what cost? Will my lungs be seared?”
“No. As long as you breathe quickly when we return.”
The Lynx shook his head. “Stefir, I’m all for returning, but something’s bothering me.”
“See, Stefir. Even Jessar doubts your crazy spell.”
The wizard ignored the prince. “Jessar, what is wrong?” he asked, apparently genuinely concerned.
“Won’t the platform have to be in the same exact place?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, you may have something I don’t know about, but how are you going to keep the sundial in place with the wind?”
Ogador laughed at the wizard’s discomfort. “Aha. Good one, Jessar. You got him on that one.”
The wizard whirled on the prince. “Well, do you have any ideas, Governor?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. We can carry the sundial a few hundred feet upwind of where we need to wind up. Then, once we get to the proper altitude – you know the proper altitude and position don’t you?”
“Of course,” Stefir snapped. I remember precisely where we regressed with respect to the tree there,” he pointed to the scentwood over which they had materialized. “Very well then, let us move.”
Stefir picked up the cup, letting Jessar and Ogador pick up the sundial, which was much heavier than the Lynx had expected. “Stefir,” he gasped as they moved slowly upwind, “why can’t you help?”
“I must conserve my energy. I have two more spells to cast. I believe we have come far enough now.”
They stopped, carefully setting down the sundial. Everyone got in position. Stefir took one of the two feathers from the surface of the dial and repeated his levitation spell. Palm facing upward and hand pumping vigorously, the chronologist maneuvered the platform high into the air upwind of where they first entered the past. They slowly drifted on the wind toward the position the wizard desired.
“Now, Ogador, you will find out why I needed the cup. My next spell will push over the cup, spilling the water onto the charcoal lines. This will erase part of the line, releasing the magic holding us in this Flow where we do not belong. Just before I tilt the cup, sniff this,” he reached into a pouch and handed a pinch of pepper to the two friends. “After you sneeze, do not inhale until after we reinstate.”
“What about you and Silentwing, Stefir?” Jessar asked.
“The discharge of the Flux should protect me. Silentwing’s lighter, less dense body is not as vulnerable to the heat from the air exchange. Ogador, place my staff on my shoulder again.”
They waited a few moments for the sundial to drift further. “It is time. Kaluth kubro pavor batir ishma gamoraron ralir.”
“On object shown my force bestow,” the Lynx translated again, no longer even wondering at the ease with which he understood the Sacred Tongue. He and Ogador sniffed the pepper, sneezing violently.
While still rotating his left hand in slow circles, the wizard pointed to the cup, intoning, “Lavek idron.”
Jessar did his best not to inhale while holding the posture he hoped was correct. The cup spilled over, sending water washing over the charcoal lines, lifting just enough of the charcoal to smudge the lines and interrupt the magical force they contained.
Instantaneously, the Lynx felt his lungs inflate with an intense burning sensation. Unlike during the regression, he was in full possession of his senses, which was a disadvantage. He coughed reflexively, breathing rapidly. Looking up, he saw Ogador racked with similar spasms. The owl, true to Stefir’s word, seemed unaffected, although the bird made no move to fly away.
The chronologist was still circling his left hand. Although Stefir looked uncomfortable, he didn’t cough. “Jessar, your hand,” he nodded toward the Lynx’s left hand.
Looking down at the same time he felt the heat, Jessar saw that the twine in his hand was afire. He yelped from the pain of the flames licking at his hand, and he dropped the line, spool and all.
“Do not worry, we no longer require it.” Stefir began the pumping motions to bring them back to the ground.
It was only then that Jessar noticed the aches permeating every one of his muscles. Looking at Ogador, he saw the prince massaging a shoulder.
“Stefir, I feel like I stretched every muscle I have. What’s the problem? Did something go wrong?”
“No, Ogador. Your muscles are sore because of the slight differences in your pose. When your body reinstated, it snapped back to its former position, straining your muscles in the process.”
“How did the string repair itself? And why did it catch on fire? Hey, it’s morning again, what happened to the time we spent back there?” Jessar asked, as the realities of his surroundings flooded back to him.”
“Good, Jessar. You noticed these things.”
The Lynx flashed the upwelling blister on the heel of his hand at the wizard. “I had no trouble noticing the fire.”
“No time has passed here, Jessar. If anyone had been below to observe us, they would never have noticed anything abnormal – well, nothing beyond three people and an owl hovering on a rough hewn log segment five hundred feet in the air.”
The Lynx nodded. “I see. That’s why the string caught fire.”
Ogador shook his head. “Well, I don’t see. Why did it flare up?”
The Lynx looked at the wizard for confirmation as he said, “Ogador, it was like the burning in our lungs. There was some minor misalignment of the piece I held in my hand and the remainder hanging in the air. The same heat that almost seared our lungs as the air moved also happened with the yarn, but since it is heavier than air and flammable, the string caught on fire.”
They bumped to a gentle landing close to the highway. The governor leaped off quickly. “Remind me never to do that again. It’s no wonder people don’t do more time traveling.”
“How many chronologists died before they figured out how to travel time?” Jessar asked.
“Well, that is difficult to say. As far as I know, we are the first to succeed.”
The prince whirled around, flailing his arms. “WHAT? You jeopardized our lives in an experiment? I thought you said you’d tried regressing before!”
“What I said was that what we just did was a refinement of a similar technique I tried long ago. My previous attempt did not work because only the sundial regressed.”
Jessar laughed. “You didn’t use the flour?”
Stefir shifted his eyes and pursed his lips. “I told you this is not something I do every day.”
Ogador, who was far from a laughing mood, exclaimed, “But you are the Chronologist. What do you mean you don’t know how to travel in time? What in the Pits do you do then?”
The wizard’s finger went up. Before Stefir could get started, however, Jessar said, “Okay, Ogador, you’ve earned it this time. And when Stefir answers, I want to understand, so we’re going to let him go this time okay?”
The prince, calming down somewhat, simply nodded.
The Lynx stepped off the sundial beside the wizard. “What I want to know first, however…. I don’t know,” he said, glancing back at the sundial, “ but, look, the lines are back,” he pointed to the charcoal lines which were just as Stefir has inscribed them.
“Yes, when we reinstated, everything that regressed returned to their same point in place/time, including this,” the wizard pulled a feather from under his star ring, revealing an angry red abrasion.
Jessar smiled. “Yes, that’s right, you didn’t use that second feather until we had regressed. I have lots of questions, but I need to think for a while. We should get moving, although my muscles are in no hurry for yet another day of hiking.”
“Of course you and I are the only ones with the muscle pain. The mighty Stefir—“
“Ogador, I do not, as you point out, have the muscle pains, but I am exhausted. Trust me, I hardly feel like a daylong journey. Nevertheless, we must be on our way, so I will push myself on somehow. But for today, our weapons will just have to remain visible, and I will have to carry my staff. Right now, I could not summon enough Flux to light a candle.”