In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (69 page)

Tarsh looked up at the man seated on a rather ornate throne across the room.  He was in a bright green tunic, and seemed to be wearing loose-fitting trousers.  On his head was a multi-colored, silly-looking hat.  Glow balls were along the wall hovering on silver plates.  “Who are you?” he asked.

The young man hopped down from the throne and stood in front of Tarsh.  “I am Fate, and you have made it to the top of the Staircase.  Refresh yourself.”

Tarsh tried to walk over to one of the chairs in the room in front of the throne, but he stumbled.  Fate grabbed his arm and led him to one of the chairs.  He said a word and put his hand on Tarsh’s head as he sat down.

The burns all over his body began to heal, as did his shoulders.  The wounds on his chest began to fade into light scars, but the jagged wound from his right eye and down his face to his neck turned into an ugly, raised scar.  Tarsh reached up to feel it.  He still had no hair on his head either.

“If you have the power to heal, can you not return me to the way I was?” asked Tarsh.

“You mean filled with hatred toward your friend?  You are already there,” said Fate, smiling at Tarsh pleasantly.

“You know what I mean.  My face.  My appearance.”  Tarsh narrowed his eyes at the foolish-looking man.

“You knew your appearance would be forever changed when you decided to climb.  This is how you will look.  For now.”

“What do you mean, ‘for now’” asked Tarsh.

“I mean that we all change our appearance.  But yours is what it is.  Such is your price for the power you now wield.”  Fate returned to his throne, located upon a dais facing the chair upon which Tarsh was seated.

“Who are you to decide that my price should be higher than another man’s?  You don’t control my destiny; I don’t care what your name is.  If you can heal me fully, then do so!”  Tarsh stood up, his strength renewed.

Fate just tilted his head, a smile spreading across his face.  “Who am I to decide?  How
amusing.  You have some options; that is true.  But every choice you make is a result of my work.  Every option afforded is of my work.  You think you are in control?  Hah!  I have been weaving the fate of humanity together since it began, and there are hundreds of millions more for me to keep track of now than there were then.  Long past time I should get a raise, don’t you think?”  Fate smiled playfully at Tarsh and leaned forward.  “But, alas, I guess I shouldn’t complain, being immortal and all that.”

“If you are so powerful, th
en why do you make it so that bad things happen to good people?  Why should I live my life out with a hideous scar?”  Tarsh was shaking his hands in frustration.

Fate stood up and slowly began to approach Tarsh.  “Well, when you show me a good person, I will answer that question.  As for you, I see a man unsatisfied with his considerable talent to help others, a man desperate to achieve greater power, despite the warnings of my prophetess that it would start you down a long and painful path—a path you are just now starting down, mind you.  I see a man who puts his own ambition ahead of his friends’ welfare, a man who takes pride in ill-begotten victories, a man who willingly tortures the woman he claims to love for his own advancement.  But please, stop me when we get to the ‘good person’ in your story and I will
gladly heal him of his wounds!”

Fate stood face to face with Tarsh and waved his hand in front of him.  “Go chase your destiny in this Dark World, True Mage.”  He turned to leave by a door that had magically opened, but Tarsh reached out and grabbed his shoulder, but gently.

“Wait.  I have one more question.”

Fate sighed.  “You want to know whether that was really Kari and Magi.  Some tests are real, some are illusions.  Your test was an illusion.  But you and I both know that you were convinced otherwise.  You chose Magi first because of your jealousy and hatred, and you chose Kari second because she stood in the way of your ambition.  It is pointless to try and lie to me, and foolish to try and lie to yourself.  Goodbye Tarsh.” 
He turned to leave before turning and shouting back over his shoulder.  “Just remember:  I influence your fate, and there may be hope yet for your endpoint, if you can find it.”

And then he was gone.

~Marik~

Time had no meaning on the Staircase; Tarsh might have been there an hour or he might have been there a year—it would seem only a few minutes to Marik regardless.  The door would simply disappear should he die.  A few minutes later, the door opened.

“It is done, Master,” Tarsh
said as he emerged.  He was bald now, and a long, angry scar ran down his face, from above his right eye past his mouth and onto his neck.  His tunic was in tatters, slashed repeatedly and bloodstained, with more light scarring visible through the holes in his shirt.  But his eyes were pure white.

He made it
…impressive. 
“Are you hurt, Tarsh?” Marik asked.  It was not false concern.

“I’ll manage.
  For now I am ok; Fate healed me at the top of my Climb.  I did not have a full complement of counter-measures committed to memory, and it left me exposed, as you can see.  But I was not helpless.  With my shoulders pinned, I faced a creature that breathed fire and used his tail and legs to lacerate me.  He was toying with me, singeing the hair from my body before he tore me open with his whip of a tail.  My shield was pointless.”

“How did you escape?” Marik asked, genuinely curious.

“I managed to catch two of its legs, and used every ounce of strength to shock him.  Do you remember the spell I used to eliminate Magi from your tournament last year?  I poured everything into that one spell.  We can discuss more of my Climb later.  For now, suffice to say I made it.  I am scarred, and am told they will be permanent.  But the
power!
  Master, thank you for your faith in me.  I did not let you down, did I?” The eighteen-year-old looked up at Marik.

“
I never doubted you, Tarsh.  I knew you were ready.  Come here, I have a new spell to teach you.  Let us teleport to a tavern in Gaust, where I will buy you a little refreshment to celebrate.  We have much to discuss; my Master, Xaro, will be interested in your progress.  I’ll also introduce you to our travelling companion, a clever little man named Trevor who I trust has made some progress in our search for the magical object I mentioned.”  Marik put his arm around Tarsh and began to walk him toward the large fire that Marik had built for warmth against the bone-chilling cold.

“You never mentioned what
it was, Master.  What are we looking for?” Tarsh asked as he rubbed his hands together.

“Magi’s ring.”

Chapter 25:  Reunions

~Strongiron~

After several days of travelling along a narrow
, largely overgrown dirt path, Niku and his group came to an odd stone bridge after sundown on a cold, wind-swept night.  It wasn’t terribly long, maybe thirty feet, but it was clearly too far to jump.  The bridge was queer looking; it was obviously man-made, yet it appeared to be made from one continuous piece of stone that stretched out across a deep gorge.  It looked like someone had pushed a large piece of rock on its side like one might topple a tree across a small river.  Except it appeared naturally anchored at both ends—as if the earth had split and the rock stretched across the gap in a thin ribbon, like carnival taffy.  Just a narrow, icy flat bridge with nothing to hold onto on either side.

A man on a horse would have difficulty walking slowly across this bridge.  It was too narrow for a cart of any kind.
On both ends stood a pair of arches that had to be passed under to get onto it.  It was covered with strange markings that Niku was trying to read.

“What do they say?” asked Kari.  “Can you read them?”

“Probably telling us to watch our step,” grumbled Phillip.  “I’d bet more than copper that that bridge there is no wider than three feet.”  He stared down at the bottom of the gorge.  Ice and rock awaited anyone who fell, certainly fifty or sixty feet below.

Niku star
ed intently at the markings, and even jotted some of them down.  “The weathering of these arches has made the language unreadable.”  He muttered a few words and threw some silver dust on them.  The runes began to glow green.  “However, the arch and the bridge are unnatural.  There is some form of magic attached to these objects, of this I am sure.”

“Good magic or bad magic?” Rebecca asked.

“Magic,” was all Niku replied.

Kari approached the arch leading on
to the bridge and felt the cold, smooth stone.  Whispering a few words of her own, she looked back at the group.  “It is not an illusion; the bridge is real, and it appears to be the only way across the gorge.”  She looked at Rebecca, Phillip, Strongiron, and Niku.  “I will go first.”

“No!”
was the firm, steady, and nearly consensus reply in unison.  Rebecca was the first to make her voice be heard.

“I shall go first
,” the Ranger said. “It is the most logical.  Kari must reach this Tower, and Niku will be needed—I can’t read this magic writing.  Strongiron is too valuable as General, and Phillip…  I’ll just go first.”  She began walking toward the arch.

Strongiron stepped in front of her.  “Nay, there are other men who could serve as general
—you overestimate my importance.  Besides, if the bridge bears your weight we’ve learned nothing.  If it bears mine—we know it will bear any of us.  This matter is settled—I will pass first, then Kari, then Rebecca, then Phillip, and finally Niku, who could probably levitate himself across if he tried.  What I am unsure of is whether we will be able to lead our horses across or not.  I suspect not.  Each of you dismount and Phillip, unsaddle our pack horse and distribute our supplies among each of us to be carried across upon our backs in case the horses cannot be led.”

Nobody argued with the True Warrior.

He started to step through the arch, but his horse would not follow.  He looked at the width of the animal and decided the animal knew best.  With a gentle pat on the neck, he released the horse, which began backing up from the chasm and the arch immediately.  Strongiron nodded to the others regarding their own mounts and then turned back toward the span of stone. 
The height, width, and length I can take, it’s those damn runes that concern me.
  “Are you sure you have no idea what those runes mean?” he asked.

Niku just shook his head.

Strongiron boldly passed through the arch and stepped onto the stone bridge.  Like when Niku cast his spell to trace magic, the runes lit up and started glowing.  Soon they glowed brighter and brighter, until finally the runes burst into flaming letters, causing all the party to back up.  Strongiron set out across the gorge, looking back to see the flames carved into letters.  He hurried along, completely exposed to wind atop this narrow stone bridge leading to the other side.  Halfway across, and Strongiron began to hear voices.  Screaming up from the cavern below him were voices that echoed off the walls on either side of the gorge.  Wailing voices, moaning, in pain.  Strongiron tried to yell back to his friends, but they couldn’t hear him through the wind and cries.  The horses were terrified, and began galloping away.  Not even the Ranger could maintain control over them if she had wanted to ride back in search of another path.  Strongiron watched all the horses scatter.  Resolute, he hugged his cloak tight to keep it from flapping behind him like a banner, threatening to sweep him off the bridge, laden as he was with heavy packs.  After several white-knuckle minutes, he made it to the other side, passing through an identical arch.  The runes on that arch began to glow as Strongiron passed underneath, then they ignited as well, as if the runes had been painted on the stone in oil.

He shouted across the gorge, but nobody could make out a word.  He gave up trying to caution them and simply waved his hands to send the next one.  Kari, too, froze when she heard the voices crying out to her from the depths of the gorge.  Slowly, she inched her way across, igniting the
runes on the far side anew.

Each proceeded.  Phillip, however, momentarily lost his nerve and tried to shuffle his way back to Niku.  When he tried to pass through the same arch that he had entered, he found
the way inexplicably blocked by some invisible barrier.  Niku’s white eyes became miniature saucers as he began to understand the nature of the magic on the bridge.  He motioned for Phillip to try and resume crossing toward the other side, which he labored to do.  The screams and howls—let alone the ceaseless wind—nearly knocked Phillip to the bottom of the gorge twice.  Down on all fours with his arms and legs hugging the sides of the stone, Phillip inched his way along the bridge like a worm, wriggling across the icy rock, bearing much of their camp on his back.  The howling voices screamed and seemed to be surrounding him, as if they were on the bridge with him.  Bathed in a cold sweat, he finally plunged through the far arch, collapsing on the ground.

Niku seemed to glide effortlessly across the bridge, cross
ing uneventfully.

Teeth chattering, Phillip sat up.  Strongiron handed him a flask, from which he took a long pull.  “What in God’s name was that?  I’ll not soon forget the sound of those voices!”  Another long pull, and the others joined Phillip.

Niku’s face was hard.  “The bridge is cursed, I am afraid.  It is a one-way bridge.  I don’t recognize the type of magic being used, for it is ancient.  Regardless, we won’t be travelling back across this span.  No one may pass through the arch on the far end travelling in the direction from which we came, as Phillip found out when he tried to return.  As to voices…I can’t know for sure, but I imagine they are souls forever tied to the gorge from victims who tumbled over the edge.”

Rebecca, both shivering and exasperated, said, “Who would put a curse like that on this bridge?  It looks like the only way across for miles.”

Niku shrugged his shoulders.  “Whoever wanted to keep people from leaving Shu-Tybor, obviously.  Come, let us move away from this cursed stone, make our camp, and get a natural fire burning.”

No one objected.

~Magi~

“Why did you help me?” Magi asked.  He sat in the study of the Ol’ Shakoor’s hut, sipping ice-cold mountain spring water flavored with crushed pine needles.

The Ol’ Shakoor laughed quietly
and shook her head.  “Still direct.  You come quickly to the point, I’ll give you that.  Would you hand me some water, please?”  She stared out off to the side, not quite sure where the pitcher was.

It was odd seeing
her with white eyes.  Not the pure white eyes that a True Mage wears as a badge of status; her eyes were milky, clouded, and opaque.  Blind—the price she paid for her involvement in the affairs of those whose futures she forecast.

He handed her a
fresh glass of water.  “I thought your amulet protected you from harmful spells, same as my ring.”

She sipped the drink and smiled.  “The pine-water is always its most flavorful in winter, for whatever reason.  A fire for warmth
, and this water for thirst—a woman could feel pampered.  It is—”

“Elsa
,” Magi interrupted.

“Yes, I heard you.  Both times.  Why do you trouble me with such questions?  Is it not enough to know that someone came to the defense of an innocent man?”  Elsa took another sip, and pulled her heavy cloak around her more tightly.

“You and I both know that I am not innocent of some of those charges.  Most, actually.  Again, I ask you—why?”  Magi was growing tired of her evasiveness.

“What I said is true, Magi.
” Elsa sighed slightly. “There is a stain on your soul, whether you see it or not.  I can’t change it, but I can see it.  Blind as I am, I can see it.”

“So I’ve read, so you say.  I see it differently.  There
was
a ‘stain on my soul’, to use your words, but it has only been recently that I’ve been able to scrub that free. 
This
is who I am. 
This
is who I’m meant to be.  And with my ring back, now that I know what it really does—”

“And now what?  What
—Magi?  Why are you here?  You could have teleported anywhere on the continent.  Yet you teleport onto my doorstep minutes after I myself arrive.  What are you looking for here?” The Ol’ Shakoor put her drink down forcibly and stared right at Magi, which was unnerving, given her lack of eyesight.

“Now I can…accomplish a simple task.  Marik will answer for his treachery.”  Magi had balled up his hand into a fist.

“So.  Revenge, still.  What of the task Pilanthas set before you?  When do you plan on pursuing that?”  The Ol’ Shakoor raised a finger and pointed in Magi’s general direction.

“What?  The Staff?  Who knows, who cares
?  How in the world am I supposed to find a piece of wood buried by the ancients that God only knows where….it doesn’t matter.  Marik I will find.  That fool of a Book Keeper told me he’s headed for Sands End, so he’ll be leaving via ship, most likely from Gaust.  I’ve decided that Tarsh must pay also for what he’s done with Kari.  I will deal with Kari separately.  And this idiot self-styled Lord in Gaust, this Corovant—he will suffer greatly for binding me so.  And finally the Queen herself must fall…I will
not
be hunted in every town I choose to lay my head.  I will NOT!”  Magi raised his voice, and Elsa could feel the magic building in him like a static charge waiting to explode.

“Very well.  Go
, use your newfound freedom and make enemies of all men.  Leave a path of death in your wake.  All shall fear you, and you would take over the rule of all of Elvidor by slaying our Queen, proclaiming yourself King.  Do you think this is why I came to your defense?  Do you think this is why I told you about Helmut being in attendance, with your ring in his pocket?  Do you think this is why I bewitched him to come forward and
volunteer
it?  Do you think this is why I gave up my eyesight—to facilitate your pursuit of vengeance?”  Elsa threw her glass at Magi, missing by several feet as it crashed against a wall.

Magi narrowed his eyes, keeping his voice tight and calm.  “No.  That’s not what I think.  Frankly, I don’t know what to think
—that’s why I came here, and that’s the question I have repeated twice now.  Answer me, Elsa.  Why did you help me?”

The Ol’ Shakoor sighed.  “You have your
prophecy.  Nothing, of course, is set in stone.  But Fate did not think that you burning alive was to be your fate.  At least not there and then.  So, I intervened.  I would ask you to consider the cost of what I’ve done for you, but you seem incapable of either gratitude or remorse, so why should I waste my words?”

Magi looked at the Ol’ Shakoor’s timeless face.  Granted, without her brilliant eyes, she was far less attractive.  Still, he paused at her words.  Finally he said simply, “I have considered.  You, who know much more of Fate’s intricate tapestry than we as single threads might see
—you have more responsibility.  You want gratitude?  You want remorse?  How about I allow you to live knowing that you could have acted years ago, knowing Marik for what he was doing, and yet you played along, reading prophesies for all his students, ignoring the truth about him
that you were likely the only one to know!
  Where is your remorse for me, that I have been ‘cursed’ as you say?  Where is your gratitude toward me that I am leaving you off my list of deserved retribution?”  Magi stood up, and though he barely raised his voice, the power in his words was frightful to hear.

Elsa put her head down.  “You are right Magi, at least about one thing.  I do feel sorry for you.”  She looked up.  “You have all the answers, it would seem.  I’ve done what I can.  If you consider there to be any wisdom left whatsoever in my words, th
en I would leave you with this:  go find the Staff of Insight.  You have not even
tried
to look.  Surely with your power and talent, you could piece together some knowledge of where it lay?   Put this vengeance aside.  So you haven’t been treated fairly…life isn’t meant to be fair.  It just isn’t.  Not while we live in a Dark World.”