5 Chapter 5

Two Loremasters, dressed in hooded black robes, waited nervously outside the door of the King's chambers. Both were tired to the point of exhaustion. The King, sustained by his private Lore, slept seldom, and held his hapless minions hostage to his ruinous obsession. Feeling slightly giddy from having to stand, they took stock of their mean surroundings. There was little to see but the stone hallway, the torches burning in their sconces along the walls, and the heavy oak door. One of them began looking for patterns in the cracks between the stones at his feet, a habit he had adopted to keep his mind from wandering down more evil corridors. Ironically, an ancient arras hung from the wall behind them in plain view. There was something of the nature of this tapestry, however, which caused it to fail to elicit even the remotest interest. Its depiction was of a rustic nature, a representation of a simpler, happier world that was no more. The one Loremaster had, once upon a time, questioned this very observation, and had decided that, when speaking in the present tense, the times themselves are, for the most part, predisposed solely to objects or matters that speak to the casual onlooker in a manner of familiar concern. Through the long period of observation and consideration which had followed this initial observation, he had arrived at the conclusion that conditions must be just so for one's curiosity to be irritated, that while there must be a necessary element of familiarity, familiarity is not enough, and in and of itself breeds that sort of contempt which is synonymous with premeditated ignorance. It must instead be combined with elements which heighten the senses, that evoke moods such as envy, desire, covetousness, and that peculiar sort of recognition which is associated with an equal admixture of surprise and inevitability, when viewing the depiction of new and novel trends, and that those trends themselves must contain equal elements of sociality and materialism; indeed, they must contain those base and superficial elements which give rise to the vice of consumerism.

Eventually, the two Loremasters heard the shuffle of feet approaching from the other side, followed by the sound of the locking mechanism being turned by clumsy, furtive fingers. The bolt withdrew with a sharp snick, and the door opened inwards with a barely audible protestation from its ancient but well-oiled hinges.

Sensing yet another ordeal at the hands of the King, each found himself suppressing his own identity and feelings as he crossed the threshold. It was dangerous to care about a life that was no longer your own, and lethal to forget that one fact.

The King's private chamber was in perpetual darkness, save for the light of a single candle which burned in one corner, set in a sconce which was mounted over a tall oak desk. There, the King was seated, scribbling away with quill and ink, his large eyes liquid and luminous. There was no sign of whomever had opened the door: perhaps it had been the King himself? The room smelled of dust and disuse, was stuffy and close in a way that was stifling: both Loremasters felt a strong urge to throw open a window, to let some sunlight and fresh air into the musty enclosure. This cell has a stink somewhat like a lair or a tomb, one of them thought warily. Such places were never meant for people to live.

'It is time,' the King told them, without taking his eyes from his work. 'Tell me how the invocation will work. Then leave me to perform it.'

One of the Loremasters stepped forward.

'Sire, destroying the Earth Mother . . . it is not possible . . . even to attempt such an act might rend the very Firmament. If She were to raise Her hand in anger against us . . .

'However, we may have discovered an alternative-'

'There is no alternative ' the King cut him off in an ominous, angry whisper. 'Pray continue.'

Licking his lips nervously, the Loremaster said, 'Sire, it may be possible . . . we are sure that we have the ability to . . . though of the consequences there are none who can see-'

'Enough of your senseless prattle Tell me, or I will dispense with both of you.'

Locking his knees in a vain attempt to quell their shaking, the Loremaster said, 'While the Firmament will not tolerate Her destruction, as She is part of It, still we may cut Her off from Her creation, leaving Your Majesty free to act, unhindered.'

Intrigued, the King said, 'Continue.'

'I am told that the completion of the Book of Runes is imminent,' he said. 'When that occurs, it will pass not only beyond our ability to control it, but it will also pass beyond the constraints imposed upon it by the Earth Mother. As we have warned your Imminence in the past, the Earth Mother is vast, and will not brook such a transgression. The Elf Lore is powerful, yes, yet that power would be like a candle in a storm were the Earth Mother to be kindled to fury.

'But we believe that we have found the means to deal with Her. The means is simple enough, though not as apparent as one might think. We need only cast a spell to block out Her voice, so that she cannot be heard. She would not be able to respond to this threat, as Her own creation would be deaf and blind to Her presence.'

Whether the King's hands trembled from excitement or from age, the scribes were unable to tell. His tone was difficult to read as he asked, 'And what of the other matter?'

The Loremaster was silent a moment, having hoped that the King would have forgotten, being satisfied with the ruin of the Earth Mother.

In a dry, empty voice, he replied quietly, 'As we have told You, when the scribe at Nith completes the final illustration, the Lore will pass beyond all constraint. All will be chaos. No living being will be able to make further use of the Lore, or call back its power.'

'Excellent,' the King intoned. 'Proceed. Leave me now. Your presence is a distraction to me.'

When the two had left, the aged monarch allowed himself a moment to gloat.

'I have You at last,' he said to the darkened, empty room. 'They told me that trapping You would be like trying to trap all the winds of the world in a bottle. Well, I will not be trapped in this rotting shell for much longer. Instead it will be You Who is constrained, and left to rot.'

He went back to his scribbling.

'At the last, there will be only You and I. And I will take great pleasure in watching You languish in my prison for all eternity '

The two Loremasters made their way through darkened corridors and down several flights of stairs, until they reached the lowest recesses of the Keep of Valerian.

'So it has come to this,' the one said wearily, as they passed the guards and entered the Vault, the place where the King's private theurgies were practised.

'Are you surprised?' said the other.

'I suppose not,' said the one. 'We have been enacting such crimes with impunity for so long now that I find myself becoming unable to distinguish between right and wrong. It all seems the same to me somehow, yet I feel in my bones that we have come to merit a worse annihilation than that which our race has practiced upon our kindred.'

In a corner of the Vault was a large bulge draped in cloth, and before it a podium, upon which sat the King's own private book of incantations, which had no name: to speak of it carried the penalty of death. The one went to the podium and opened the book, while the other removed the black cloth, revealing a spherical blue stone over two feet in diameter, set into an ornate stand of bronze. The one opened the book to the final entries, the spells that were just completed, while the other made an arcane gesture which brought the stone to life. Taking a deep breath, the one closed his eyes and muttered, 'Mother, You need not curse us for what we are about to do, for we are already cursed.'

Then, he began to read.

The Forest Nymphs gathered in the Circle of Life, their young faces expectant. Already they could feel the surge of the Earth Mother's Vyeddan as it moved from deep beneath the earth towards the surface. Holding hands, positioning themselves, they formed a perfect circle, and held their breath.

And the Vyeddan came, as it had for untold generations, as true as the rising and setting of the sun and moon, and the slow turning of the Seasons.

As the Vyeddan neared the surface, the center of the Circle began to glow with an eldritch green light, which sparkled with piercing rays of warmth and ecstasy.

To some elusive cue that was a hidden act of Nature, they began dancing in perfect unison, acknowledging the Earth Mother on a level as intimate as Mother and Daughter.

As the Vyeddan rose fully from the earth, they transformed as one into tiny gold-green balls of light, and began rising, swirling, coming together, merging into a single star-like cluster of unbearable beauty . . .

Then, suddenly, all was numb, disbelieving silence and darkness.

After several moments, there came a sound from out of that unnatural night . . . small and lost, and utterly heartbroken.