Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) (70 page)

When the joyous Tyrenians poured out to hail us I felt like a ghost — so distant but so close. Like a ghost I longed more for peace than the glad spirit of life displayed all around me.

Ghosts, I have been told, see more clearly than those with living eyes. They’re chained to the past with links they cannot break and are therefor intent observers of the present and cunning predictors of the future.

So it is in my Seer’s robes, my dear Hermias, that I will address you next.

Solaros will make a good king. I’ve watched him closely in the glorious chaos that followed our triumph over Ba’land and his demon hordes. He dealt well with the praise his subjects showered on us all. He showed no jealousy because Janela and I got the greater share. As soon as the long celebration was over while the others slept off drunken cheer he set to work planning a future for those boozy celebrants.

That Tyrenia will be different there is no doubt. With no demon enemy to defend against the kingdom must melt down its weapons and forge a new will. It shall be difficult. These are people who have lived behind walls for more years than it took bricks to build them. They were humiliated long ago by their great retreat, giving up region after region until the only possession remaining was that barricade. The memory of that shame is bound to linger.

As for those who dwell outside Tyrenia — particularly those I love in Orissa — the challenge will be greater. The Tyrenians live in an invulnerable fortress. But even with Ba’land gone your homes are set in a dark and angry wilderness.

There will be many dangers to face, including from within as you quarrel over which direction to take. Be warned, nephew. That kind can be more fearsome than even a demon king.

I have made a pact with King Solaros. All the knowledge Janela gained will be shared with Orissa. A company of wizards will depart soon and I beg you to make them welcome in Orissa. They bring truth two Greycloaks stole from the gods. If that truth is freely and generously bestowed to all then we will at last be free of our masters who so jealously guarded it. There will be nothing you will fear to dare. But if it is kept locked away in a miser’s treasure house there will come the fated day when all will curse the ones who slew Ba’land, and call his lashes a father’s stern kindness.

Now I come to the part I’d most dreaded. I know as you read this you are asking, “But what of you, my dear uncle? What of you?”

Ah, well.

Ah, well.

I plan to end my life.

There.

I’ve said it.

I hope you don’t hate me for it and call me a foolish old man who is too cowardly to face his natural end.

If so, what I have to say next will make you think I’ve gone mad as well.

It is Janela who will kill me.

Why, you ask, would a woman who loves me agree to such a thing? Does she secretly harbor designs for revenge because I killed Janos? Is her love a pretense?

The answer is that it will be her love for me that makes her grant this gift.

She came to me while I assembling my thoughts for the final segment of this journal. She’d seen my mood since our return but said nothing out of respect for my privacy.

“I thought, Amalric will tell me soon enough,” Janela said. “But then you didn’t speak and the longer the silence grew the more I was hurt you hadn’t confided in me.”

“I’m sorry, my love,” I said. “It’s nothing so deep or complicated. It’s only the old malaise that’s crept into my bones again.”

“You are weary of life,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “I was weary when I first met you when you came knocking at my door, saying come with me to The Far Kingdoms, old man.”

“Was it worth it?” she asked.

I sighed. “Of course it was. But I only got the spirit up because I owed it to Janos to finish what we started.”

“And now that it’s done,” she said, “you see nothing that beckons you onward?”

“What else could there be?” I said. “I’m an old vagabond and it’s getting late and I’m anxious to come to a place where I might rest.”

Janela studied me in silence for a time. Then she reached a decision and said: “Do you recall when we last had this conversation, Amalric?”

I said I did. It was when we were waiting for the demon guards to take us to Ba’land.

“Do you also recall that I proposed a second choice?”

“I do. You said you knew how to open the door the Old Ones fled through.”

“But I couldn’t do it,” she added, “as long as Ba’land lived.”

“He’s dead now,” I said, mumbling because my mouth was suddenly dry.

“Yes,” Janela said.

I struggled to answer for it wasn’t the one she wanted to hear.

“You said then it would be a gift,” I finally managed. “But I can’t accept it. I’m nearly done with this life and glad of it. Why should I want to be condemned to toil long in another?”

“Before you refuse,” she said, “do you want to see what you’ll be spurning?”

I shrugged, believing my mind had been solidly cast. “What’s the point in it?” I asked.

“How do we know,” she said, “if we don’t look?”

I hesitated, which made her laugh. “I have you now, Amalric Antero,” she said. “You never could resist a new place, if only for a look at the wares in the market.”

Her response made me smile and with that smile I accepted and was rewarded with her embrace.

That night she dimmed the lights and sat me at a small table. She lit incense then sat across from me so close our knees touched. She set the stone box in the center of the table. She directed me to place my hands on it then put hers on top of mine.

And she said, “Close your eyes.”

I did. I waited, but she said nothing more.

“What do I do next?” I asked, impatient.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Should I think?”

“If you like.”

“What should I think of?”

“Anything you wish.”

“Good,” I said. “Then I’ll think of you.”

I relaxed, building her image in my mind. I found myself peering through the grated window in my garden walls. I saw her mounted on a fine steed, fair of skin and form but with a presence that commanded you to look beyond her beauty. She beckoned and I opened the gate and ran to her. I grabbed her hand and vaulted up behind the saddle.

No sooner had I clutched my arms about her waist then she kicked the horse into a gallop. We thundered along the road to Orissa until it made a fork where no crossroads had been before. We took the unfamiliar path and soon we came to a steep hill. The horse seemed charged by the obstacle and bounded up the rocky trail like a goat in high pasture.

We came to the top and dismounted, Janela taking my hand and leading me to the hill’s edge.

“Look Amalric,” she said.

And I did.

I saw a land of silvery forests, sisters to the tree that humbled Ba’land. I saw a river flowing through those forests, making a golden, shimmering run to a distant sea. I saw ships with marvelous forms and glowing sails the color of the last sky before night falls. And on those ships I saw elegant creatures, neither man or beast or spirit but all those things in one. Creatures of sublime light and curiosity. A wind out of a mariner’s sweetest dreams filled the sails, promising swift passage to ports of wonder.

I longed to go, wept to go.

Janela whispered but the whisper was from a great distance.

And I was back in the room sitting across from her once more.

I was so overcome by the vision I couldn’t speak for a long time. Janela fetched me brandy, curling up beside me until I had sipped enough to find a voice again.

“Did you know it would be like that?” I asked.

“How could I?” she said.

Her voice was rough and I looked up to see she had been weeping as well.

“Can I truly go there?” I asked.

“Yes, Amalric,” she said. “
We
can.”

I was alarmed when I realized she’d included herself in the answer. “But Janela,” I said, “you told me that death was a requirement for that journey.”

“It is,” she said.

“But why should you want to die?” I protested. “You are a young woman. Already you have achieved greatness no one else has ever managed. You have many years to accomplish still more.”

“But I could never match it,” she said, “no matter how long I lived. I tell you, Amalric, when I found the answer my great-grandfather sought I cried from the joy. But then I wept out of despair because there could never be such a great riddle as that. I’ve been your sister in misery since we returned to Tyrenia. I am a seeker by nature and breeding. But I
must
have a goal worthy of the seeking. And what could that be, Amalric? What could that be?”

How was I to answer her, my nephew? Knowing my heart, what could I say?

So we made our pact.

I nearly reneged when I learned how it must be carried out. We would drink wine, drugged just enough to soothe us. We would cushion ourselves on soft pillows. The stone box would be opened revealing the magical rose petal inside. Then Janela would prick my arm to draw a bit of blood and administer the killing potion through the small wound. As I died she’d sprinkle blood on the petal to bless it. And then she’d do the same for herself.

“But I’m not such a coward,” I protested, “I can’t find nerve enough to take my own life.”

“It’s the only way,” Janela said. “You must be a spirit first so you are ready for me to carry away.”

Still I resisted the notion that she should end her span so young. But she begged, saying if I loved her I wouldn’t make her stay in this place alone. And so it was we finally made the plan that would free us from our mortal burden.

Do you see how it is, Hermias? If you do, I love you. If you don’t, I love you still.

I must go now. Janela is waiting and I’ve wrung myself dry of farewells.

The tides are beckoning and the captain’s called the last warning.

Where Janela and I go no sea has known a ship’s rough hull. The wind blows only east there. All shores are legend. And every voyager’s soul flies for the horizon.

Where all dreams await our embrace...

In Far Kingdoms.

THE END

International bestselling authors and screenwriters Allan Cole and the late Chris Bunch were collaborators for over twenty years. Together, and separately, they published over forty novels and sold more than 150 TV and movie screenplays. Their most noteworthy collaboration produced the eight-book
Sten
series
, hailed as “landmark science fiction” by
Publishers
Weekly
, among others.
The Far Kingdoms
series, also critically acclaimed, was their final collaboration. The four books include:
The Far Kingdoms
,
The Warrior’s Tale
,
Kingdoms Of The Night
, and
The Warrior Returns
, which was written by Allan solo. For details about Allan’s life and work, see his homepage at www.acole.com. For information about Chris, see his Wikipedia entry at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chris_Bunch. Both authors are also featured in the International Movie Data Base (IMDB.com)