The Last Talisman (11 page)

Nihal stared back at her, listening intently.

“You've come to believe that all evil springs from the Tyrant. They've promised you that once he's defeated, peace will return to the world. But these are false beliefs, Nihal. This world has never known peace.”

“But what about Nammen, the fifty years when he was ruler?” Nihal asked in disbelief.

Thoolan smiled. “Nammen ruled for a decade, yes, but then he was killed by a mortal fever at the very peak of his reign. After his death, a despot ascended to the throne, ruling as if air, water, soil, and life itself were all his private possessions. To ensure the supremacy of his power, he killed and exiled hundreds of sorcerers and destroyed their reputations. He led a war against his detractors, splitting the Land of Days in two. In this same period, Marhen came to power in the Land of Fire, spilling the blood of Moli's father, Daeb, who himself had become king by way of patricide. Meanwhile, in the Land of Water, men and nymphs turned against one another, each determined to banish the other. And so it was throughout the Overworld. There was no war between the lands, but each land was riven with injustice or infighting.”

“That can't be true,” Nihal protested. “Everyone told me that the Overworld lived in peace before the Tyrant came to power.”

“That's what Soana told you, isn't it?” the old woman countered. “But Ido made it clear that the truth was otherwise. Though the lands themselves were not at war against one another, that doesn't mean that there was peace. Those who weren't around to witness those years speak of them as if they were happy, but because that's what they wish to believe. If the people of today knew that peace has never existed, they'd lose all hope and surrender.”

“It can't be true,” Nihal repeated, this time with less conviction.

“Hate and cruelty are rooted deep in the hearts of all the creatures of this tortured world, and the Tyrant is nothing other than the product of that hate. It generated him and nurtures him. Even if you destroy him today, another Tyrant will rise tomorrow. Life and death have always followed each other; evil has always fought with good. This is the nature of our world. It wasn't the Tyrant who brought evil to the Lands.”

Nihal no longer knew what to think. “Are you telling me that I'm doing all of this for nothing?”

“What I'm telling you is that there's no need, if it's not what you want.”

“But my people were massacred, and every day, people continue to die.”

Thoolan smiled. “You know well that nothing can be done for those who have died already. As for the living, you cannot save them all, and I know that this was never your intention in the first place. You set off on this mission because you had no other choice. You've never truly felt it to be yours.”

Nihal didn't know how to respond. The old woman had spoken the truth. She was gathering the stones because it was her destiny to gather the stones, because that was her sole purpose, because if she didn't, she wouldn't know what else to do with her life.

The old woman observed her with compassion. “I know how much you've suffered—Livon's death, the slaughter of your people, your fear of having lost your way. I know well every recess of your heart, and all the pain it holds.”

Nihal could sense the look of pleading in her own eyes, the profound desire to be understood, to be consoled.

“I know, too, that you've often longed for death in the throes of battle.”

“No, you're wrong,” Nihal retorted. “I've never once longed for death. How could I, knowing that my death would mean the extinction of my people?”

“Why lie to me? To what end?” Thoolan asked, her voice sorrowful. “When you went off to fight against Ido's will, you hoped to be killed as you killed. When you fought with the ghost of Fen along the border of the Land of Water, you looked on with great joy as his sword pierced your flesh. In that moment, you wanted nothing other than to be erased from this world. And you were happy to die at the hand of the man you once loved.”

“You're wrong. It's not true.” Nihal responded, but her voice quaked with uncertainty. How was it that this old woman knew things that she was afraid to admit to herself?

“There is no shame in longing for death, Nihal.” The old woman spoke softly. “It's perfectly understandable and right that someone like you, someone who's suffered so much, would seek release from such tremendous pain. Besides, every creature is endowed with the right to happiness, and to flee from an evil is always a good thing.”

“Why are you telling me all this? Why won't you just give me the stone?”

“I'm telling you this because I care for you, Nihal, because I want to offer you the chance to find happiness for yourself, the happiness you deserve.” Thoolan went on. “This is my realm. I am ruler and sovereign. The past and future don't exist here. Nor do high and low. Everything here is in my hands and functions according to my wishes. Nihal, I'm offering you the chance to stay here with me for all eternity.”

“You've lost your mind!” Nihal gasped. “Just like Glael. Are you tired of the solitude, too?”

“Not at all. I cherish this place and its silence. Solitude is a balm for my soul because it allows me to discover myself and understand the world. I have no need for the company of others. I am proposing something far different from what Glael asked of you. I'm asking you to stay here, to allow yourself to feel joy. Time doesn't exist here, and so nothing that has happened in your life matters here. Your father is still alive, your people were never annihilated, Fen lives and loves you as you love him.”

As Thoolan spoke, the arched niches in the walls slowly began to fill with figures. Nihal saw Livon at work in his shop, city streets and squares filled with half-elves, Fen in his golden armor. The images stirred up emotions Nihal had long forgotten. When she reached out to touch her father, busy forging a sword, Livon turned to her and smiled. “Why won't you stay here at the workshop with me? Don't you remember how much fun you had when you used to help me as a little girl?”

Frightened, Nihal withdrew her hand, but Livon's eyes remained fixed on her. “Since when have you been scared of me?”

“None of this is possible,” Nihal muttered. She turned toward Thoolan. “I saw Livon die with my own eyes, and Fen, and the half-elves don't exist anymore. These are just stupid illusions!”

An enigmatic smile lit up Thoolan's face. “How could you call these illusions stupid? These are the people you loved. You can touch them, talk with them. They're waiting for you, Nihal.”

“But they aren't real!”

“Perhaps they aren't real outside of here, but within these walls, they most certainly are,” the old woman answered. “And even if these are illusions, how much different are they than the reality you know? If you choose to stay here, this will become your reality, and what you now call illusions will become a real part of your life. Who's to say whether reality is the world of suffering outside or the comforting beings that inhabit this sacred space? Only you can choose, and now you must decide.”

Nihal stared into Livon's eyes. All he wanted, it seemed, was for her to step through the arch and go to him.

“Here, I would satisfy your every desire. You can begin again from scratch, as if nothing had ever happened. No longer will you suffer such horrifying memories. You'll be the normal girl you've always wanted to be.”

The image of a young girl with pointed ears and blue hair appeared in the archway in the ceiling. The girl was busy tidying up, bringing a tray of food to a host of squealing children.

“That could be you,” said Thoolan.

It was true that Nihal had often had thoughts like this, dreamed of having a family, of being like any other girl, of leading a normal life. Hadn't she lived with Eleusi in the hopes of making that dream a reality?

“Nihal, I'm offering you what you've always wanted: death without death. Not long ago, in the desert, as the voices of spirits raged in your head, you longed for peace, a peace beyond all time. I hold that peace in my hands now, and I would like to reward you with it. All you have to do is reach out and take it.”

Peace … Was it peace she longed for? Yes, she wanted peace. Did she long, too, for the chance to start over from scratch? Yes, it was the only thing she had ever truly desired.

“Your search would come to an end here, Nihal, for here there's nothing to seek, and life is simple. Beyond these palace walls, more suffering awaits. I know, because I've seen it. But here, I would protect you from all harm.”

Nihal reached out toward the image of Fen. Two years had gone by since his death—but now, with him here before her, she felt her old love for him bloom. Fen stretched his hand toward hers, and their fingers brushed. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, their faces almost touching. And then he kissed her, as he'd kissed her so many times in her dreams. Only this time she wasn't dreaming; it was real—the feeling of his lips on hers, the rapid beating of his heart, his hands caressing her back. Yes, this was really peace. Why should she say no to this dream? She'd already suffered enough, and her search was leading nowhere. Her life was all wrong, and the only way to be happy was to flee it. After all, Thoolan had said the very same thing, hadn't she? When one's suffering is great, it's right to flee from the pain.

It was true, everything around her was real, and even if it wasn't, the joy she felt in the company of these images was. Yes, she'd accept Thoolan's offer, she'd smash the cursed talisman to pieces, she'd forget the world and stay here forever. To refuse would be sheer madness. She drew her face back from Fen's. He smiled affectionately at her and she returned the smile, utterly at ease. She was just about to turn to Thoolan and accept her offer when she heard a voice echo through her head.

“What's wrong, Nihal?” Fen asked anxiously.

“I …” she began, but she didn't know what to say. The voice went on.

“Stay here, Nihal. Please, stay with me. Nothing else matters except for you and me,” Fen pleaded.

Nihal cast him a preoccupied smile, but there was something about the voice, something pressing, that was growing clearer with every second. She untangled herself from Fen's embrace.

Someone was calling her name, desperately. Nihal focused on where the voice was coming from and turned. Before her loomed one of the room's great arches, and just beyond its towering columns stood Sennar, wandering around the palace and hollering her name. It was his voice. He was the one calling her.

“I'm here, Sennar,” Nihal shouted.

She passed beneath the arch and ran to him.

Sennar wheeled around and eyed her in astonishment. “Where did you come from?”

“I was with the guardian,” Nihal answered. As she spoke, she remembered Thoolan's offer, Fen's lips, and all the rest. She turned and found Thoolan standing behind her.

“Is this the choice you've made?” Thoolan asked gravely.

Nihal nodded. “Yes.”

A smile of understanding lit up Thoolan's face. “Well then, if that's what you truly want …” She plucked the stone from between her eyes. “Here is the stone. I put you to the test, today, Sheireen. But please know that I truly wish you joy, and that if you'd have accepted my offer, I'd have done everything in my power to keep my promise.”

Nihal took the stone, while Sennar observed the exchange with mounting bewilderment.

“Why do you care so much about me?” Nihal asked the old woman.

“Because I loved the half-elves very much and wanted to protect them by looking after you.” She sighed. “Nonetheless, I know you must find your own way. Now, though, you've made your choice, you've decided to take the more difficult road. Remain true to your choice and always seek happiness. It won't be easy, because you will suffer much before your journey ends, but I have faith in you. Be strong. I'll do my part to guard you from your dreams. In truth, there's not much I can do, because Reis sealed her enchantment with a curse, but I can at least keep them from tormenting you night and day. My stone, from its place in the amulet, will carry out my will.”

Nihal regarded her with profound gratitude. “Thank you,” she said.

“What are you waiting for?” the old woman huffed. “Perform the sacred ritual.”

Nihal pulled out the talisman, but suddenly hesitated. “One last thing before I go. Was is true what you said about the fifty years of peace under Nammen, or was that just your way of testing me?”

“Unfortunately, it's all true, Nihal. And it will do you good to reflect on this truth if you wish to comprehend your mission fully.”

Nihal stood still for a moment, the talisman dangling in the air.

“Don't delay any longer. The world you've chosen awaits you,” the old woman urged.

Nihal lifted the stone and recited the sacred words. “
Rahhavni sektar aleero
.”

She felt the stone's energy flow into her hands as the stone settled firmly into its niche. In that moment, Thoolan and all the rooms of her enigmatic palace were swept away in a sudden gust of wind.

When the wind finally settled, Nihal and Sennar found themselves standing in the center of a dark, barren hall. No stairs, no doors, no rooms. The spell that had held them in its grip for the past two days had faded at last.

14

A Toast with the Enemy

“How are you feeling?” Sennar asked Nihal once they'd stepped out of the sanctuary and back into the desert.

Nihal was silent for a moment. “Fine,” she replied, at last. Indeed, the haunting voices had diminished to a faint echo.

Sennar sighed in relief, only to begin peppering her with more questions. Who was that old woman? Where had she been all that time he was looking for her? What was the “choice” the woman had mentioned?

Nihal wasn't sure how to reply. Her mind was still whirling. She explained that Thoolan was the guardian of the stone in the Land of Days and told Sennar about the various rooms and images she'd encountered. She even told him about Fen, but left out the part about the kiss.

“Why didn't you choose to stay?” Sennar asked.

“I don't know. … It just seemed … too fake, I think,” she answered, though she wasn't entirely sure of what she was saying. “Come on, we need to get moving again,” she added, attempting to bring the conversation to an end.

Thoolan had left them with a precious parting gift: jugs full of water and a small ration of food. They would manage to cross the desert.

For six days, they marched across the desolate landscape, wind scraping the ground and kicking up sand. Nihal hardly spoke the entire way.

On the sixth evening, they stopped to consider their next move.

“If we continue straight through the desert,” Sennar proposed, “we'll be sure not to run into any enemies.”

He pulled out the wrinkled map they'd been using throughout the journey. It was very old, but it was the only one Sennar had been able to find that included the territories conquered by the Tyrant. In over fifty years, not a single map had been made of the occupied territories. But then again, the mountains hadn't shifted much in the past fifty years, either.

“If we head due south, we'll run into these mountains here, the …” He squinted to read the name.

“The Rehvni,” Nihal interrupted. “It means ‘southern.'”

He looked at her. “Exactly. In any case, with a bit of sacrifice and smart rationing, I think we can manage.”

Nihal's attention was elsewhere.

“If you could give me ten seconds of your time, I'd appreciate it,” Sennar snapped. “You've hardly even glanced at me since you came out of that darned sanctuary.”

Nihal shook herself back to reality and met his gaze. “If you think that's the best route to take—”

“Of course it is,” Sennar cut her short, fed up with her lack of interest.

He folded the map and they set off walking again.

The farther they traveled, the less Sennar was convinced of the path he'd chosen. Mile after mile they encountered nothing but more flat land, more stones, and the white gleam of bones among the rocks. In silence, they plodded along.

“I want to go to Seferdi,” Nihal blurted one evening, out of nowhere.

Sennar lost his grasp of the piece of dried meat he was preparing to eat. “Huh?”

Nihal lowered her eyes. “You heard me.”

For days it had been her only thought. She knew it was a wild and foolish idea, that hardly anything remained of the half-elves' city, that it would make for an agonizing trip, but her need to go was almost crippling. The visions Thoolan had conjured of her massacred people and the voices of the spirits that had tormented her mind for so long had left a mark on her soul that she could not ignore. As they grew closer to crossing the border and out of her Land, Nihal was overcome by a kind of nostalgia and by the need to see something, anything at all, that brought back the memory of her people.

“No, I didn't hear you right,” said Sennar. “At least I hope I didn't hear you right.”

“I know it's madness, but … I can feel it. I have to go there.”

“Just a few nights ago I asked if you thought it was a good idea for us to cut across the desert and you said yes. You almost killed yourself back in the Land of Water trying to rush us along. Now all of a sudden you want to linger in enemy territory?” Sennar's tone was cutting.

“Fine, you're right, I haven't been very considerate of you these days,” she admitted, responding to the accusation hidden in his words. “And I know it might be dangerous, but …”

“I just don't get it,” said Sennar, his anger subsiding. “What makes you want to take such a risk?”

“I want to understand where I came from, to find my roots.”

Sennar shook his head. “Now I understand you even less. You were raised by a human, you've spent your whole life among humans—why can't you just think of yourself as one of us? You won't find anything in Seferdi that you don't already know. Only more suffering and death.”

Nihal stared at the ground. “Maybe you're right, but I can't just let this go. It's not easy to explain. My roots are here; I can feel it. Who I am is tied to this land, who I could have been, who I will be. I want to see what remains of my people.”

“Why do you want to torture yourself?” Sennar asked, his voice pained.

“I have to go there. I'll never be a human, and I'll never be a half-elf, either, if I don't see Seferdi, the White City, rise up in all its brilliance from out of the forest. Try and understand.”

“If that's what you want, then.” Sennar gave in.

They headed west, and after two days' travel, they were out of the desert. But as they emerged, they were met with a view that almost made them wish they were back in the arid wasteland: a vast, barren plain, dotted with black protrusions. Towers rose up out of the plain and were connected by scars of white roads and surrounded by clusters of disordered structures piled one atop the other. Not a tree in sight, only the plain's blinding gray. The desert, for all its desolation, had at least offered safe passage. This place would be crawling with Fammin.

“Think it over,” Sennar said to Nihal at the edge of the plain. “If you want, there's still time to change your mind. I'll go and gather provisions from one of these … these cities, and you can wait for me in the desert. Then we'll head south.”

Nihal pulled the hood of her cloak tight around her face. “The sooner we go in, the sooner we get out,” she declared, stepping onto the plain.

The last day in the desert, they had been forced to fast. They had but a few drops of water. Now they were hungry, and they wouldn't be able to avoid the settlements for long. Luckily, during their first few hours of travel, they met with no Fammin. In the afternoon, however, they spotted a few silhouettes in the distance, and were shocked to discover that the approaching figures were humans.

The first man, armed and on horseback, didn't honor them with so much as a glance. He trotted past, undisturbed. The second man was driving a cart carrying ten Fammin in chains. At the sight of them, Nihal gripped the handle of her sword and waited for the cart of loathsome beasts to fade from view. Only when they had disappeared completely from their view did Nihal give a sigh of relief and relax.

Toward evening, they came to one of the clusters of buildings that passed for a city. It was a fortified citadel, with squat buildings, houses, inns, and armories, all surrounded by a high wall. A massive tower, the citadel's central nervous system, rose up out of the center of the cluster. Everything was built of dark stone—basalt, most likely, which lent a grim aspect to the city. A dense, rainy mist began to soak the dry ground, filling the air with a faint smell of rot.

“We have no choice,” said Sennar. “We have to go in.”

They circled the high city walls and found only one entrance, a gate guarded by two Fammin. Slipping through unnoticed was out of the question. They would have to pass through the gate.

“I'll do the talking. You cover up and keep quiet,” Sennar ordered.

They made their way warily toward the gate. At the sound of their approach, one of the watchmen raised his lance.

“Who's there?” he grunted.

“Weapons merchants,” Sennar answered.

“From where?”

Well then, his cover might work, after all.

“From the Land of Fire.”

“You don't look like dwarves.”

Nihal brought her hand carefully to her sword, a cold sweat forming on her forehead.

“We aren't, in fact. We are men from the Land of Fire. We're in need of lodgings for the night.”

The Fammin eyed him with suspicion. “What's that your companion's carrying under his cloak?”

Before Nihal could react, Sennar pulled back her cloak and revealed her sword. “My own handiwork. Gorgeous, isn't it? The finest black crystal in the Land of Rocks. A little taste of our quality for potential customers.”

The Fammin lowered his lance. “You may enter,” he said, opening the heavy gate.

Sennar hurried through and Nihal followed.

Just beyond the gate was a low, black wall, built so close to the surrounding city walls that it left only enough space for one man to pass through. Farther along, it opened out into a series of narrow alleys squeezed in tight among low walls.

Sennar took a few cautious steps before shoving Nihal down one of the narrow alleyways.

“What's gotten into you?” she blurted.

She despised this place. The walls made her claustrophobic, and the rain was beginning to drive her mad. Even the barren desert was preferable to this eerie and Fammin-infested citadel.

“Quiet,” Sennar hushed her, raising a finger to his lips. He closed his eyes and began to recite a spell. When he opened his eyes again, he placed his hand on her forehead. Nihal felt a strange, warming sensation.

“What did you do to me?” she asked, terrified.

“It's a spell Flogisto taught me in the Land of the Sun. A camouflage spell that allows you to take on any disguise. You now have the face of a handsome boy,” said Sennar with a grin.

Nihal ran her hands over her face and traced her unrecognizable features. In place of her soft skin, she felt a rough, wild beard. Her nose was larger, her forehead higher. Her hands went immediately to her ears. Round. The effect was unnerving.

“It will last the rest of the evening, but no longer. When we get to the inn, don't say a word and don't show your face. Just concentrate on eating. The camouflage spell is just an extra precaution—it's best we keep to ourselves.”

Sennar threw his cloak back over his shoulders and began walking.

They wandered up and down the alleyways running between the buildings for a long while. It was an impossible maze of narrow lanes and backstreets that intersected at the oddest angles. It was almost impossible to find their bearings, and they soon realized they were lost.

“I don't know where we are anymore,” Sennar admitted.

Nihal kept silent and forced herself to repress the irritation and loathing she felt. She walked with her head bowed, doing her best to ignore her surroundings. Suddenly, she heard a dull sound and halted, her hand on her sword.

“What is it?” Sennar asked.

Nihal looked around, but saw nothing. It took her a minute to realize that the noise was coming from within the buildings. She pricked her ears and heard what sounded like several bodies, jostling around in a small space, labored breathing, grunting. A painful sensation crossed through her mind, the air caught in her lungs, and an anguish of empathy for the prisoners gripped her.

They wandered for nearly an hour, soaked to the bone by the sluggish but relentless rain. They were about to give up when they spied a figure approaching. Nihal stopped short.

“Who's there?” asked the shadow, by now just a few steps away. The voice did not sound menacing; if anything, it was jovial.

Sennar took charge of the situation. “Merchants. We're trying to find an inn for the night.”

The shadowy figure stepped closer. “If it's an inn you're looking for, how in the devil did you end up around here? There are no inns here in the barracks.”

Now that he was closer, they could distinguish the stranger's features. The man was draped in a hefty, red cloak. His hand held a lance. He must be a guard.

“It's our first time here, and we don't know the lay of the land,” Sennar replied, his tone already less confident.

The man looked them up and down, pausing for a moment to examine Nihal. Then he shrugged to shake off the rain. “It's obvious you're newcomers. Here there's nothing but cells for the Fammin. If you want to find an inn, you'll have to go up into the city, though it's a bit of a climb. Just keep going toward that incline; you can't miss it.”

Sennar thanked him, took Nihal by the arm, and ambled off in the direction the man had indicated.

Nihal was shaken. The sensations she had perceived had come, then, from Fammin. It didn't seem possible. This wasn't just anger; she had felt the creatures' feelings of abasement and suffering over something ineluctable.

They had to walk a great distance before the cells gave way to a citadel clinging to the hillside. The houses, humble and identical, crouched in the shadow of a small fortress that was probably the command center.

Before long, they came across what appeared to be a tavern. From within, they could hear whistling and shouting. Nihal and Sennar entered.

The pungent smell of beer assaulted them the moment they stuck their noses through the door, along with a cacophony of howling and coarse laughter. The tavern was tiny, clouded in thick smoke from too many pipes, and overflowing with soldiers huddled around the tables.

Nihal would have liked to run out, but she held back. After all, she was the one who'd gotten them into this situation. Sennar headed straight for the man he took to be the innkeeper. The clatter of voices was so deafening, Nihal couldn't make out a word of their conversation. She followed Sennar's lead.

The sorcerer led her to an isolated corner table. Nihal took the seat that struck her as most sheltered. Sennar sat in the chair beside her.