The Last Talisman (33 page)

She could hear his voice quavering, despite his efforts to conceal it. “It's not fair to ask me that,” she shot back, shaking her head. “It's not fair to ask me to leave you, just now when I've finally found you! I won't do it!”

“It's not what I want either, Nihal, but there's no other way.”

Tears began to stream down her cheeks. “I don't care what we're out here for. I don't care about everyone else! We're here, in this moment, and nothing else matters. I'm not going to just leave you here, wounded in enemy territory. I can't! I can't and I won't!”

“If it's really me that you've been searching for this entire time, then that's precisely why you have to go,” said Sennar.

“Don't spout dumb prophecies at me like you're some oracle!”

“It's not a dumb prophecy,” Sennar shouted back, his tone suddenly harsh. “You've been searching for a purpose in life, a reason to act and the strength to do it. If you stay here, everything you've found will mean nothing.”

“What's so wrong about wanting to stay here with you? I love you. Have you not seen how ugly this world is? Everyone hating one another and killing one another … Defeating the Tyrant won't change a thing. But as long as we have each other, we can create a world for ourselves, a world worth living in. This world we live in now, it's not worthy of your blood or my sacrifice.”

“That's not true and you know it,” said Sennar. “Laio gave his life so you could keep going, and even now, while we sit around down here, Soana and Ido are fighting to save this world. That's why you have to go now, Nihal. For them. Otherwise, it all means nothing. Every drop of blood spilled in this war will have been spilled in vain.”

Nihal began to sob and wrapped her arms around Sennar, squeezing him as tightly as she could. “I'm begging you, don't ask me to leave. I can't do it without you. The only reason I've had the courage to come this far is because you've been here with me. I need you. …”

Sennar pressed her to his chest. He was breathing heavily, and Nihal could tell how much he was suffering, how much the decision pained him. “Nothing bad is going to happen to me. I'm a powerful sorcerer, Nihal, and you know I can protect myself. On the day of the final battle, I'll be there at your side, and when it's all over, we can celebrate together. You and me. I don't want you to go either, but if you stay here, there will be no world to live in.” He pulled her even closer.

Nihal stepped away and dried her tears with the back of her hand. “If it's not dangerous for you to stay here, then why couldn't I just wait down here with you until you're healed.”

“Because the Overworld can wait no longer. The Free Lands are dropping one by one. Soon enough, they'll all be in the Tyrant's hands. I've dedicated my life to trying to save this place. Don't let that have been in vain.”

“Would you leave me here?” she asked.

Sennar went silent.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” he murmured, but Nihal wasn't convinced. She knew he'd die before he ever left her behind. Sennar gripped her shoulder. “I'm begging you. Go. You'll make it without me. I know you will. Distance won't change the fact that we belong to each other, and you know that. And as soon as I'm healed, I'll meet you back at the base. Nihal, please.”

Nihal turned away, crying silently.

All that morning, Nihal scavenged the forest, gathering as many provisions as possible. Before long, the cave was piled high with her findings, including a supply of water. She calculated how much he'd need to get by for the next month and stocked everything in abundance. Deep down, she knew Sennar was right. But in that moment, she hated her mission, and the talisman weighed on her neck like a millstone. If something were to happen to Sennar while she was gone, she'd never forgive herself.

Throughout the afternoon, they both went on pretending nothing was wrong, while the sorrow of their impending farewell hung almost palpably in the air. Sennar forced himself to remain cheerful, but Nihal knew he was afraid, that he'd have liked for her to stay. Then came the night.

“Take it,” said Sennar, while she was making ready to leave. In his hand was Livon's dagger, the very thing that had brought them together.

At the sight of it, the reality of their separation struck Nihal with its full force and she burst into tears. “Why are you giving it to me?” she asked, between sobs.

Sennar smiled. “Hey, silly … what are you worried about? Don't cry. …” He wiped a tear from her cheek and slipped the dagger from its case. Nihal noticed that the blade glowed with a white light. “I placed a spell on it. As long as I'm alive, the blade will glow, and the light will lead you to me.”

Nihal took it, swapping it for the knife she kept in her boot, the knife she'd used to kill Dola. “You take this one. It's yours to use when you need it,” she said, handing him her own knife. She hugged him and showered him in kisses. “Don't die, Sennar—please, don't die!”

“Same goes to you,” said the sorcerer, giving her one long, last kiss.

When he drew back, Nihal saw that he was crying, too.

“Nihal, if … if I don't make it to the final battle … if I'm not there at the base … don't come looking for me, not until you've defeated the Tyrant. Though, nothing's going to happen to me. You'll see … I'll see you back at the base,” he said, smiling.

Nihal stood and walked toward the tunnel that would carry her to the surface and away from Sennar. She didn't look back, for she knew if she did, she would never leave. After only a few steps, loneliness clamped her in its cold jaws.

The Last Battle

34

Mawas
or On Sacrifice

Nihal tore through the black, starless night. Never had the surrounding silence seemed so oppressive. The first few days, she was tempted to draw the dagger and ensure the blade was still glowing, to ensure her journey still had a purpose. Several times she'd taken it from her boot, hesitated, and then slid it back in place. What good would it do to look? If she found the blade had ceased glowing, that Sennar was dead or that something had happened to him, how would she react? There was no point in knowing. She had to go on, to push forward, to think only of what awaited her on the other end of victory, if victory ever came.

After eight days of travel, on the evening of a new moon, she reached the border of the Land of the Wind. The sky was ink black, and she was forced to use her magic to light the way, hoping no one would see her. The air bore the distinct smell of the steppe and of her childhood, and Nihal hesitated for a moment. Before her lay the land of her dearest memories and most painful, the land where she'd grown up, where she'd met Sennar, where Livon was killed and Salazar razed to the ground more than three years earlier. She trembled at the thought of the ruin that had been wrought upon her homeland. She'd have preferred to avoid the place altogether, to preserve her memories of its former splendor.

She appeared to have crossed the border into the southern part of the Forest. The vivid light of dawn revealed what remained. The trees were mostly bare, many had been toppled; she could see a clear mile into the Forest's depths. When Nihal went to the Forest as a child, quivering with fear, the vegetation had been impenetrably thick. Even to see a foot ahead had been impossible, and the contours of whatever she did manage to see were lost in a blinding green. But who could ever be frightened by the meager woods that stood before her now?

Nihal lay down to rest, pulling her knees up to her chin. As the sun crept above the horizon and colored the desolate landscape, loneliness gripped her with all its crushing force. Sennar's words from earlier in the journey came back to her:
Sometimes I wonder if this world isn't already dead. Maybe there's nothing we can do to save it.
Who would restore the forest to its former splendor? The half-elves would never again rustle its leaves, and some day soon her race would be extinct forever. It would take years for the sacked and pillaged lands to return to their former glory. The world as she knew it was on its deathbed.

After a few minutes, she climbed to her feet and consulted the talisman, though this time no vision came. The amulet provided only a direction. She turned and headed north, winding her way through barren towns, past fallen trees and scarred earth, over miles of lifeless terrain. She passed so many places from her past: the raspberry patch where she'd first picked berries with Sennar, the grove where they'd trained together, spots where she'd hunted medicinal herbs for Soana, the grassy knoll where she'd once frolicked with Phos. To the east, the Fortress loomed, darker than ever.

The amulet glowed through her bodice, lighting the way. Nihal could feel its power, could sense the proximity of the spirits. For the first time on her journey, she was traveling without a vision of where she was headed, and it worried her not to know what awaited at the sanctuary.

But the wait wasn't long. After another three days' travel, Nihal could sense she was nearing her destination. All around her were the singed trunks of the Forest, and the menacing figure of the Tyrant's Fortress to her right. Farther off, she could make out the remains of several towers; among them, she feared, was the familiar outline of Salazar. From what she could remember, the Forest was traversable by foot in four days, and Salazar lay on the prairie at the far edge.

Before long, she arrived at the clearing where she'd been inducted as a sorceress. Nihal's memory held an image of a small, lush patch of earth encircled by trees, with a stone in the middle and a freshwater spring along one of the edges. What she found instead was a tract of gray, dead land, surrounded by burned trees, the spring dried up.

Nihal sat down on the stone. Above her, the moon peaked in and out of the clouds, pale and weary, a sickle moon too thin to light the dark. Staring off between the trees, she thought of the time Sennar had come here to console her. She felt now as she had then: alone, frightened, lost. Only this time there was no one there to comfort her.

The first few days in the cave in the Land of Rocks passed smoothly. Sennar was beginning to think he'd make it after all. When he let Nihal go, he'd been certain it would be the last time he ever saw her. Alone and wounded in enemy territory, his chances of survival seemed slim.

But against all expectations, he'd been holed up there a week and not once had he heard the sound of footsteps, nothing but the deep silence of the stone forest. He decided the time had come to speed up his own healing process. He wanted to reach Nihal as soon as possible.

The eighth day in the cave got off to a calm start and Sennar thought it might even be a beautiful day outside, given the amount of light filtering down into his dark residence. Sennar pulled his tunic aside and examined the wound. It was all he could do to choke back his disgust. The cut on his thigh was deep and encrusted with dried blood. At the slightest movement to the right or left, a sharp pain seized his leg. His initial assessment had been dead on. The bone was broken.

A broken bone and a deep cut—not an easy fix for an enfeebled sorcerer. Beyond simply speeding up his recovery, there wasn't much he could do. So he set to work, employing what little strength he had to cast a basic healing spell. All that morning, he remained absorbed in his labors.

In the end, it was the spell that did him in. The sorcerer had passed out cold. He was tired, his powers even more drained than he'd imagined by the long incantation. Without even noticing it, he slipped into a heavy sleep.

At first, he thought he was dreaming. The earth rumbling rhythmically above his head came to him as a distant, muddled echo. As the sound grew louder, Sennar was still half asleep, wavering between dream and reality.

Only at the shrill sound of blades sliding from their sheaths did he awake, gripped by a sharp sense of danger.

Enemies. And a sorcerer.

In a flash, he realized how vain and foolish his hopes had been. The spell had only served to give away his position. He climbed to his feet in a hurry, ignoring the excruciating pain in his leg, and attempted an impossible escape through the depths of the hideout.

Just then, they burst in. Four Fammin and two men, including the sorcerer Sennar had sensed.

Sennar braced himself against one of the rock walls.

It's over
.

He slumped to the earth. The enemy sorcerer had no need even to cast an attack spell. Pacing slowly, he approached Sennar and planted a foot on his wounded leg. The pain was unimaginable. Sennar cried out, his howl of torment ringing above the enemy sorcerer's contemptuous laughter.

A beam of violet light shot from the sorcerer's hand. Sennar was enwrapped in darkness.

The road veered off to the west, and Nihal soon found herself in a region of the Forest where she'd never previously set foot. At the sight of it, she remembered something Soana had said many years before.

The Forest's center does not belong to men, but to the spirits. It is a sacred place that should not be violated by the tainted feet of the peoples that walk this earth. It shelters the hidden soul of the woods, a secret even to the most powerful of sorcerers. In this world there exist powers beyond all imagination, powers which may not be harnessed by any living creature.

Compared with the rest of the Forest, this area was relatively intact. The trees stood tall, frail yellow leaves still clinging to their branches. Nihal could feel the end of her journey approaching. The sanctuary must be nearby.

With her next step, an unexpected sight came into view: an enormous tree, one that looked like an oak at first glance. Several thick, sturdy branches rose powerfully out of its trunk into the black night. It had thousands of leaves, bright yellow, nearly gold, that flickered in the darkness. A living tree, robust and healthy, flourishing here in a sea of death.

This was no normal tree. Rather than take life from the earth, it seemed to be providing the earth with vitality. At the point where its roots took hold, a lush and verdant patch of grass had sprouted. Nihal stood in awe, staring at the wondrous sight. She felt that hope had not yet run out if something so splendid had managed to survive in that place. It took her a minute to realize that she was standing before a Forest Father. It could be nothing else. She recalled the Forest Father that had come to her aid in her battle against Dola and recognized the same force, the same terrifying power, the same vitality in the tree that stood before her. If this Forest Father was still alive, then the Forest itself was not lost. As long as that tremendous heart went on beating, there would still be hope for the Land of the Wind.

Nihal stepped toward the trunk in disbelief. From up close she caught sight of something she hadn't noticed before. Nested on one of its lower branches was a small, luminous being. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out exactly what it was. Discovery brought a surge of rapturous joy. At last, a friendly face!

“Phos!” she shouted, running toward him.

Without moving from his place on the branch, Phos cast her a warm smile. “Nice to see you again, Nihal,” said the wood sprite.

“What, you can't come over here and say hi to me?” said Nihal.

It was Phos, no doubt, and yet there was something different about him. He seemed too serious to be the old friend she knew. Too sad, too disconsolate. He'd always been funny with his oversized ears, his messy green hair, and his jittery, iridescent wings. Standing before her now, however, he seemed stoic and grim. It was Phos, and yet it wasn't.

The sprite made no movement. “I've been waiting for you, Sheireen.”

Nihal froze. From her chest, the talisman beamed brighter than ever. “How do you know my—”

“Because I've been waiting for you, of course,” he replied.

Nihal froze. “Are you saying that—”

“You've reached the end of your journey, Sheireen. All that remains after this is the final battle.”

“Are you the guardian?”

Phos gave a solemn nod.

“But how can that be? You didn't even know who the half-elves were, you never once mentioned the sanctuaries, and—” Nihal broke off and looked Phos in the eye. “Why didn't you ever tell me about the sanctuaries?”

Phos crossed his legs. Sitting like that, he seemed almost the silly, carefree friend she'd once known. His words, however, were grave. “For too long, I ignored my own identity, my own mission. My father served as guardian of the stone of Mawas for centuries. You wouldn't assume so, but we sprites live lives of great length. I was born even before the last elf came in search of the stone, more than a thousand years ago. But his request was impure and my father denied him. He fought to defend the stone with all his strength, until he was slain by the wicked elf. It was then, at the end of his life, that he spoke to me, using words I was unable to understand at the time. ‘To you I bequeath an object that is both powerful and terrible. It awaits you, dormant, in the depths of the Forest. You'll stand guard over it, and when the moment comes, you alone will be the judge.'

“How could I possibly stand guard over something when I didn't even know what it was, I asked, but he merely answered that in due time all would be revealed to me. And so I became the guardian and the leader of the sprites that call this land home. For a long while, I lived unaware. Not even when I met you was the truth revealed to me. But then when you set off on your journey to collect the stones, something awoke within me and I could hear the voices of the other guardians calling me to my duty. It was then that I came to know Mawas. I returned to the land I'd left behind only to find it destroyed. But still I pressed on and reached the sanctuary, where I've been awaiting your arrival ever since.”

“But where are the other wood sprites from this land, all of your friends?” Nihal asked.

Phos's ears drooped and his eyes filled with sorrow. “They're all dead.”

Nihal recalled the tiny, flitting creatures she'd led out of the Land of the Wind almost three years before. That they no longer existed seemed an impossible thought.

“For a short while we took refuge in the Land of the Sun,” the sprite continued. “That was around the time that you and I saw each other. But then, as I told you at the time, the soldiers slaughtered us one by one, or captured us to use as spies. I informed the Council of our plight, but no one would listen. I was ridiculed and sent away. I returned to my village, to my people, but the massacre continued, and there was nothing we could do to stop it. One after another the other sprites fell before my eyes. The woods where we lived were destroyed. They hunted us down, chased us out. In the end, I alone remained, in the solitude of the forest where we'd taken refuge. I alone.” He looked off into the distance, a desolate expression on his face. “I didn't know what to do after everything had been destroyed. I could have joined forces with other groups of sprites, but I feared that they would suffer the same fate. It was then that the voices began calling out to me and I discovered who I was. That's when I made the journey here.”

“I'm so sorry. …”

Phos smiled again, a resigned smile. “It is the destiny of our world: destruction.”

Nihal cast him a pleading look. “No, that's not how it is. That's exactly why I'm on this journey, to set things right again. Isn't that the point of my mission, to rescue this world?”

“That which has been destroyed can never return,” Phos replied.

It was true, Nihal thought. She'd always known it. “But then why am I doing all of this?” she asked.