The Door Within (16 page)

Captain Valithor released Aidan’s shoulders. Aidan wiped away the last of his tears and said, “But, Captain, so many had to suffer.”

“You are right, Aidan, and that must never be forgotten. But though many were lost and many left behind to grieve, ten times more were rescued from futures more terrible . . . and final.”

Aidan shook his head. There was still so much he could not grasp.

“Take heart, Aidan,” said Captain Valithor, throwing back his cloak and gesturing toward the mountains. The sky was beginning to glow pink. “For Paragor is in exile, and the King is restored!”

Aidan smiled grimly. The Captain’s words were heartening. But also mysterious—like a riddle whose answer was maddeningly just out of reach.

“Captain, what happened? How was Paragor defeated? How did the King come back?”

“How King Eliam returned to us, I cannot say. I can only say that the King is here. And he always will be. But as for Paragor, that tale I know very well. And it is time you know also.”

Captain Valithor drew aside his cloak and removed something from his belt. Aidan knew the shape. It was a scroll.

The Captain opened the scroll and placed it before Aidan. “I will not tell you this tale,” the Captain said. “You must see it for yourself. Reach here, Aidan. Brush your fingers across the words. They are powerful. And they will live in your mind’s eye.”

Aidan let his hand hover over the page of parchment. And slowly, he lowered his fingers to touch the words. A sea of black flooded Aidan’s vision. A long sword blade sliced through the darkness. Then, there was fire, and Aidan lost all sense of where he was.

Paragal passed the throne one more time. He would not sit there.
Not yet.
For one task remained.

He stopped at the foot of the stairs that led to the King’s sacred courtyard, now his own sacred courtyard. A cold draft whispered and pulled at the torches in the passage. And something strange took hold of Paragal there. Looking up at that long stair, seeing the old stone, chipped and flaking, the statues of long-forgotten warriors at each landing—Paragal wondered how history would remember his deeds on this night. And he felt—what was it?
Not fear. History will see me in whatever way I see fit.
Anxiety, that was all, apprehension about fulfilling his destiny at last. That had to be the reason for the disquiet he felt.

Paragal strode very quickly up the stairs, passed through the white flames, and into The Library of Light. To the ninth level he climbed, past tables piled high with scrolls he’d read many times before. Finally, Paragal approached the chest of stone that lay below the window on the eastern side of the chamber.

The chest was gray like granite but as smooth as velvet. It was plain except for the latch and the large keyhole. No key, but Paragal was not concerned. He drew Cer Muryn, its blade stained dark, and delivered a great two-handed slash. The top of the chest fell away, for
murynstil
could carve stone like balsa wood. Within the chest was an enormously thick scroll, rolled tight in a bundle and secured by a cord. And to Paragal’s ruthless satisfaction, there too was a quill pen and a bottle of dark ink. Paragal sheathed his sword, removed the contents of the chest, and sat at a long table near the window.

The cord was untied and removed, but the scroll lay unopened on the table before Paragal. He hesitated to open it, for it represented the ultimate success of his plot and the fulfillment of his ambition. King Eliam was gone. His beloved Elder Guard vanquished without a fight. And the people?
They are sheep
, Paragal thought.
They will fall in line or they will die like the others
.

All that was left to do was to open the legendary first scroll.

If the stories were true, it would contain the entire history of Alleble. And, more importantly, the future of Alleble as well. Paragal knew that with such knowledge, his wisdom would never be questioned, his decisions could never go awry, and his reign would not end until age took back the throne.

As if in a trance, Paragal stared out the tower window. The snowcapped peaks of
Pennath Ador
, the mountains of glory, were outlined in deep pink. Soon the sun would rise between the twin summits and witness the dawn of a new age. Paragal waited no longer. With great eagerness, he stretched flat the scrolls and began to read.

Only a few passages in, Paragal stopped in alarm. He already knew what he was reading. Paragal turned through several pages, but it was unmistakable. He was reading the story of his own life.

It could not be! The first scroll of Alleble could not possibly be all about one Glimpse. Paragal’s mind raced. The legends claimed that the first scroll would reveal the past and the future of every Glimpse who had ever lived. How could it—? And then, he understood. Paragal went back to the first page.

He brought into his mind the image of Rucifel, the lieutenant of his rebellious horde, and suddenly, the text on the scroll changed. It was no longer Paragal’s life story. It was Rucifel’s. Paragal grinned wide. He had often wondered how a scroll—no matter how long or thick—could contain infinite lore.

Now he knew. Paragal began to think of other Glimpses. And with every name that entered Paragal’s mind, the scrolls changed, revealing every moment of every life that he cared to perceive.

Paragal turned the scrolls back to his own story and began searching through the pages. He merely skimmed, for he was not interested in reliving his past. He wanted to discover his future. Paragal raced through his squiring, his training, his knighthood. He saw his recruitment by the Elder Guard and his selection to be sentinel.

Finally, he came to the account of his rebellion—the bloody events that had occurred that very night. He knew he was getting close. One more page.

But the next page was empty. Paragal’s story had run right up to the present moment, with Paragal in the ninth-level tower of The Library of Light reading the first scroll of Alleble. But there it ended. Paragal began to despair. What could this mean? Had he no future? Or was it that the first scroll was in fact only a record of what had been?

As if he were watching through a window, a vision began to unfold in his mind. He saw himself there at the table near the east window with the first scroll stretched out before him. But it was not the present moment, for he saw himself pick up the quill pen that he had taken from the stone chest. He watched himself plunge the pen into the jar of black ink. He saw himself begin to write on the empty parchment. There the vision ended.

Paragal smiled again. He had always assumed that when King Eliam wrote on the scrolls he was simply recording a narrative of what had already happened, like a bard inscribing the events of an adventure for posterity. But it was not so. The King was writing the future!

And now
, Paragal thought,
that power has passed on to me.

Paragal picked up the quill pen and firmly stabbed its point into the ink bottle.

He moved the pen to the parchment and began to write.

But the moment the wet point of the pen touched the page, Paragal froze. The disquiet he had felt before the stairs again took hold of him. A thought clawed into his mind.
If King Eliam saw the future, then he must have known that I would betray him.

Paragal looked down at the parchment. Dark ink pooled where the pen’s tip rested.
Why, then, would he allow me to take his life?

Paragal shook his head. It did not matter why, for King Eliam was dead. The power was Paragal’s now. He cleared his mind and sought to see his future.

Visions erupted in his mind, and Paragal wrote what he saw.

I will be wise.

I will be feared.

I will be powerful.

Paragal wrote these three lines and smiled for the last time.

Something took control of his hand. Paragal cried out, for he could not stop his own hand from writing. The visions that followed pierced him through:

I will never know all.

I will never be loved.

I will never be King.

Crimson light poured through the eastern window as the fierce sun rose between the peaks of
Pennath Ador
. Its rays splashed upon the scroll and seared the ink into the page. When the light of that dawn reached Paragal, it kindled into red fire and began to race up his arms as if he were doused in oil. The hungry flames writhed about Paragal, afflicting him with agonizing pain, but did not consume him. He flailed at the fire, but it could not be quenched. Then Paragal felt himself being lifted.

The crimson flames carried Paragal’s contorting body up, and he passed through the stone of the tower into the blazing dawn sky. Paragal saw through the flames that there were other forms captured in the fire and floating high above the courtyard of Alleble. And Paragal knew that every one of his evil conspirators was captured in the same manner as he. And the last line that Paragal had written on the scroll seared his mind.

I will never be King.

As if catapulted by a gigantic hand, Paragal and all of his horde were flung with tremendous force—an evil red scar tracing high in the sky far from the Castle of Alleble. Finally, they crashed together at the foot of a dark mountain range. The roots of the mountains smoldered like a fire left to burn itself out.

But the impact did not kill even one of the Glimpses who had been cast out. Not one of them perished from the flames or the fall. And Paragal, though he was not consumed by the fire, was changed by it. His sword could no longer be called Cer Muryn, for its blade was charred black. Paragal’s eyes, glassy with shock, flickered red. And upon Paragal’s chest, seared into his pale flesh like a brand, was a jagged scar: the outline of an inverted crown.

Beneath it were symbols from the oldest language in Alleble, in the same runelike manner as those engraved upon The Stones of White Fire. Paragal looked with disgust at the scar but grimly accepted his new name: Paragor.

“Come back, Aidan,” the Captain said gently. Aidan awoke from the vision and blinked. He could still imagine Paragor and the other fallen Glimpses smoldering at the foot of the dark mountains. It made him shiver.

“From that time forward, King Eliam regained his rightful place on the throne. He is different now, of course, and the holy purity of his countenance takes some getting used to. But he is our King, and we love him more than ever for rescuing us from the fate that Paragor had in mind. The Prince, as Paragor calls himself, and his servants, Aidan, are our eternal enemies. And though he has not waged full-fledged war against Alleble, he is massing his forces. And he is ever at work bribing, coercing, and tricking—doing anything he can to draw the loyalty of the free Glimpses of The Realm away from Alleble. And tomorrow, tomorrow we begin a quest to Mithegard to see if we can ruin the Prince’s plans and bring more of the children of Alleble back into the fold.”

“Captain, I’ve seen Paragor.”

“What?” The Sentinel looked up, his eyes narrowed, posture tensed. “Where?”

“It was in a dream I had before I entered The Realm.”

Tension melted from Captain Valithor. He sighed with relief. “That is natural, Aidan. When you read The Scrolls—it is bound to influence your dreams.”

“But it was a dream I had before I found the scrolls.”

Captain Valithor’s eyes widened.

Aidan continued. “I had the same horrible dream over and over again. I was in the ruins of a kingdom. I was captured, and Paragor told me to deny my King. I refused, and . . . and he killed me.”

Captain Valithor staggered backward and steadied himself on the wall of the fountain. “Aidan, I . . .”

“What is it?” Aidan was alarmed.

The Captain swallowed. Then he mastered himself. “Aidan, no matter what, tell no one else of this dream.”

“But, why?”

“No one! Do you understand? I must seek the King’s wisdom, for my own is found wanting in this. Remember, no one!”

Aidan’s gut churned, and the hair stood up on the nape of his neck. “I won’t tell anyone, Captain,” he whispered. “I promise.”

“Good, Sir Aidan,” he replied. And just like that, Captain Valithor seemed back to his own commanding self. He winked at Aidan. “You’ve been trained for this mission, very well trained, in fact. Now what you need is some rest.”