Serpent Mage (18 page)

“The strange human!” I was gulping for breath. “He's … turned blue!”

Alake gasped, “He's dying!” and raced back down the corridor, toward his room.

We ran after her, Devon remembering just in time to grab his veil and wind it around his head.

I suppose my shrieks must have wakened the man. (Devon
told me later that he thought all the dragon-snakes in Chelestra were after me.) The human was sitting up in his bed, staring at his hands and arms, turning them over and over, as if he couldn't believe the limbs were his.

I don't blame him. If such a thing had happened to me, I would have stared, too. How can I describe it? I know you won't believe me. But I swear before the One that the man's arms and backs of his hands, his bare chest, and neck, were covered with blue picture-writing.

We had all run into the cabin before we realized the man was fully conscious. He raised his head, looked directly at us. We shrank back. Even Alake was somewhat daunted. The stranger's face was stern, grim.

But, as though he sensed our fear, he made some attempt to smile at us reassuringly.

His was a face, I remember thinking, that wasn't used to smiling.

“Don't be frightened. My name's Haplo,” he said to Alake. “What do they call you?”

We couldn't answer. The man had spoken Phondran.

Perfect, fluent Phondran.

And next he …

But that will have to wait. Alake's calling me. Dinnertime.

I'm actually feeling hungry.

THE SARTAN, LED BY THE CAPABLE SAMAH, RETURNED TO
life with an energy that astounded and overwhelmed Alfred. The people went forth from the crypts out into a realm they had built for themselves long ago. Sartan magic soon brought life to their surroundings, which were so beautiful that Alfred often looked upon the landscape through a sheen of joyful tears.

Surunan. The word itself was derived from the root rune meaning center—the heart, the center of their civilization. At least that's what they'd intended it to be. Unfortunately, the heart had ceased beating.

But now it was alive once more.

Alfred walked its streets and marveled at its beauty. The buildings were made of rose and pearl marble, which had been brought with them from the old world. Shaped by magic, their tall spires soared into an emerald and turquoise sky. Boulevards and avenues and magnificent gardens, which had been sleeping as soundly as their makers, sprang into magical life and all led to the heart of Surunan—the Council Chamber.

Alfred had forgotten the pleasures of being with his own kind, of being able to share himself with others. He had hidden himself for so long, kept his true nature concealed, that it was a relief not to have to worry about revealing his own magical power. And yet even in this new and wonderful
world, among his own people, he could not feel quite comfortable, or quite at ease.

There were two cities—an inner, central city, and an outer city that was much larger, if not as fine. The two were separated by high walls. Alfred, exploring the outer city, saw immediately that this was where mensch had once lived. But what had happened to them when the Sartan slept? The answer, from what he saw, might be a grim one. There was evidence, though the Sartan were doing their best to swiftly remove it, that devastating battles had been fought in this part of the city. Buildings had toppled, walls caved in, windows shattered. Signs, written in human, elven, dwarven, had been torn down, lay broken in the streets.

Alfred stared around sadly. Had the mensch done this to themselves? It seemed likely, from what he knew of their warlike natures. But why hadn't the Sartan stopped it? Then he remembered the images of horrible creatures he'd seen in Samah's thoughts. Who were they? Another question. Too many questions. Why had these Sartan gone back into hibernation? Why had they abandoned all responsibility to this world and to the others they had created?

He stood in the terraced garden of Samah's house one evening, thinking that there must be some terrible flaw within himself that kept bringing up such thoughts, some flaw that prevented him from being happy. He had, at last, everything he'd ever dreamed of possessing. He had found his people and they were all he'd hoped: strong, resolute, powerful. They were prepared to set right everything that had gone wrong. The crushing burdens that had been piled on top of him had been lifted. He had others to help him carry the load.

“What is wrong with me?” he asked himself sadly.

“I heard once,” came a voice in answer, “of a human who had been locked up in a prison cell for years and years. When at last they opened the cell doors and offered the man his freedom, he refused to go out. He was frightened by freedom, by light and fresh air. He wanted to stay in his dark cell, because he knew it. He was safe there, and secure.”

Alfred turned to see Orla. She was smiling at him; her
words and tone were pleasant. But Alfred saw that she was truly concerned about his confused and unsettled state.

He blushed, sighed, and lowered his eyes.

“You have not left your cell, Alfred.” Orla came to stand beside him, placed her hand on his arm. “You persist in wearing mensch clothes.” This subject called to mind, perhaps, by the fact that Alfred was gazing intently at the shoes that housed his overlarge feet. “You will not tell us your Sartan name. You will not open your heart to us.”

“And have you opened your hearts to me?” Alfred asked quietly, looking up at her. “What terrible tragedy occurred here? What happened to the mensch that used to live here? Everywhere I look, I see images of destruction, blood on the stones. Yet no one speaks of it. No one refers to it.”

Orla paled, her lips tightened.

“Fm sorry.” Alfred sighed. “It's none of my business. You have all been wonderful to me. So patient and kind. The fault is mine. I'm working to overcome it. But, as you said, I've been shut in the darkness so long. The light… hurts my eyes. I don't suppose you can understand.”

“Tell me about it, Brother,” Orla said gently. “Help me understand.”

Again she was avoiding the subject, turning the conversation away from her and her people, sending it straight back to him. Why the reluctance to talk about it? Except that every time he mentioned it, he sensed fear, shame.

Our plea for help
… Samah had said.

Why? Unless this was a battle the Sartan had been losing. And how was that possible? The only enemy capable of fighting them on their level was locked away in the Labyrinth.

Alfred was, without realizing what he was doing, pulling the leaves off of a flowering vinil. One by one, he tore them loose, stared at them, not seeing them, then dropped them to the ground.

Orla's hand closed over his. “The plant cries out in pain.”

“I'm sorry!” Alfred dropped the flower, looked in horror at the ravages he'd committed. “I… wasn't thinking….”

“But your pain is the greater,” Orla continued. “Please, share it with me.”

Her gentle smile warmed him like spiced wine. Alfred, intoxicated, forgot his doubts and questions. He found himself pouring out thoughts and feelings he'd kept locked up so long, he wasn't fully aware of them himself.

“When I awoke, and discovered that the others were dead, I refused to admit the truth to myself. I refused to admit I was alone. I don't know how long I lived in the mausoleum on Arianus … months, maybe years. I lived in the past, remembering what life had been like when I was among my brethren. And soon, the past became more real to me than the present.

“Every night, I would go to sleep and tell myself that when I woke the next morning, I would find them all awake, too. I wouldn't be alone anymore. That morning, of course, never came.”

“Now it has!” said Orla, closing her hand over his once again.

He looked at her, saw her eyes glimmer with tears, and came very near weeping himself. Clearing his throat, he swallowed hard.

“If so, the morning has been long in coming,” he said huskily. “And the night that preceded it was very dark. I shouldn't be troubling you—”

“No, I'm sorry,” she said hurriedly. “I shouldn't have interrupted you. Please, go on.”

She continued to hold his hand. Her touch was warm, firm, comforting. Unconsciously, he moved nearer to her.

“One day, I found myself standing in front of the crypts of my friends. My own was empty and I remember thinking, T have only to climb back in, shut my eyes, and this pain will end.' Yes, suicide,” Alfred said calmly, seeing Orla stare at him in horror and shock. “I had come to a turning point, as the mensch say. I finally admitted to myself that I was alone in the world. I could either go forth and be part of life, or abandon it. My struggle was bitter. In the end, I left behind all I had known and loved and went out into the world.

“The experience was dreadful, terrifying. More than once,
I thought of running back, hiding myself forever in the tombs. I lived in constant fear that the mensch would discover my true powers and try to use me. Where before I had lived in the past and found comfort in my memories, I saw now that those memories were a danger. I had to put all thoughts of my former life out of my head, or be constantly tempted to use it, to draw on it. I had to adapt to the mensch way of life. I had to become one of them.”

Alfred ceased talking, stared out into the night sky that was deep blue, streaked by lighter blue clouds.

“You cannot believe the loneliness,” he said at last, so softly that Orla was forced to move closer to him to hear. “The mensch are so very, very lonely. The only means they have of communicating are physical. They must rely on words or a look or a gesture to describe what they feel, and their languages are so limited. Most of the time, they are unable to express what they truly mean, and so they live their lives and die without ever knowing the truth, about themselves or others.”

“A terrible tragedy,” murmured Orla.

“So I thought, at first,” Alfred answered. “But then I came to realize that many of the virtues which the mensch possess have grown out of this inability to see into each other's souls, the way we Sartan do. They have words in their languages like faith, trust, honor. One human says to another,
⁴
I have faith in you. I trust you.' He doesn't know what's in his friend's heart. He can't see inside. But he has faith in him.”

“And they have other words we Sartan do not,” said Orla, more sternly. She let go his hand, drew away from him. “Words such as deceit, lie, betray, treachery.”

“Yes,” Alfred agreed meekly. “But, I found that it all balanced itself out, somehow.”

He heard a whine, felt a cold nose press itself against his leg. Reaching down his hand, Alfred absently fondled the dog's soft ears, patted it on the head to keep it quiet.

“I'm afraid you're right. I
don't
understand,” said Orla. “What do you mean by
balanceV

Alfred seemed to have a menschlike difficulty putting
his thoughts into words. “It's just… I'd see one mensch betray another and I'd be shocked and sickened. But, almost immediately after that, I'd come across an act of true selfless love, of faith, sacrifice. And I'd feel humbled and ashamed of myself for judging them.

“Orla.” He turned to face her. The dog pressed closer and he scratched the animal behind its ear. “What gives us the right to judge them? What gives us the right to say that our way of life is the right way of life and that theirs is wrong? What gives us the right to impose our will on them?”

“The very fact that the mensch do have such words as murder and betrayal!” she replied. “We must, by guiding them with a firm hand, train them out of these debilitating weaknesses, lead them to rely solely on their strengths.”

“But might we not,” Alfred argued, “inadvertently train them out of everything—strengths and weaknesses both? It seems to me that the world we wanted to create for the mensch was a world where the mensch were totally subservient to our will. I'm sure I'm wrong,” he continued humbly, “but I don't understand the difference between that and what the Patryns intended.”

“Of course there's a difference!” Orla flared. “How can you even think of comparing the two?”

“I'm sorry,” said Alfred in remorse. “I've offended you. And after all your kindness to me. Don't pay any attention to me. I—What's the matter?”

Orla was staring, not at him, but at his feet. “Whose dog is that?”

“Dog?” Alfred glanced down.

The dog looked up, and wagged its plumy tail.

Alfred staggered back against the rock wall.

“Blessed Sartan!” he gasped. “Where
did you
come from?”

The dog, pleased that it now had everyone's attention, pricked its ears, cocked its head expectantly, and barked once.

Alfred went deathly pale. “Haplo!” he cried. “Where are you?” He searched around wildly.

At the sound of the name, the dog began to whine eagerly, barked again loudly.

But no one answered.

The dog's ears drooped. The tail ceased to wave back and forth. The animal sank to the ground, put its nose between its paws, sighed, and looked up at Alfred dejectedly.

Alfred, recovering his composure, stared at the animal.