Authors: Licia Troisi

The Last Talisman (43 page)

BOOK: The Last Talisman

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“I know that many of you remember me, and that the memory is not sweet,” Nihal began, toying nervously with the amulet around her neck. “I know you see me as a murderer, and I'm not asking you to erase that memory. An evil done cannot and should not be forgotten. It lives on in our hearts and burrows into our souls. What I've come to ask of you, instead, is to not seek revenge. Vengeance brings neither rest to the dead nor peace to the living.”

She was silent for a moment, letting her gaze wander among her strange audience. “What I ask is your forgiveness for what I've done and for what my comrades have done and continue to do to your people. In return, I promise that you, too, will be forgiven for what you've done, and with even greater sympathy, for you did not act according to your own will. Now is a time of peace. A time to leave war behind and dedicate ourselves to building a new world in the hopes that it will be better than the last.” She paused again, only to speak even louder. “My people have decided that from now on this is to be your land. Here, you will be your own rulers, your own masters, free to seek out your own peaceful existence. From now on, there will be harmony between your people and ours, and I swear on my honor that I will permit no one to raise a hand against you. I know that you are confused, that you don't know yet what steps to take. We are here to help you find your way.” She turned her gaze to the multitude of timid faces at her feet. “That is all I've come to say. You are free to go. Free forever.”

That day, it felt as if we were truly doing our part to secure peace in the Overworld, but we know now that a new problem was born in that moment, one that to this day remains unsolved. Peace between the Fammin and the other races is nothing but a distant mirage. A silent, insidious war is already slithering its way among the races.

Soon after, Nihal was offered the position of Supreme General at the Academy, though she turned it down.

“I'm too young, too distant from battle anymore to hold such a post,” she said, and in turn the position was offered to Ido. He, too, made a number of objections, claiming over and over that it was beyond his merit, that he had no desire to deal with all the hassles that came with the job. In the end, however, Nihal persuaded him to accept, and now Ido sits on the throne that once was Raven's, Vesa curled at his feet.

At her request, Nihal and I settled in the Land of the Wind. She insisted that it was her land.

Ido comes often to visit us, and he and Nihal spar for countless hoursâthe only time she ever uses her sword anymore. She decided, at least for a while, to lay her weapon down, and her sword now hangs on the wall in our room. Though not a single grain of dust rests on the blade, and soon, I'm sure, she'll pick it up again.

We travel often to the Land of Night to visit Laio's tomb. We miss him so much, his purity most of all. Among us, he's the only one who escaped the war without staining his hands. Nihal left her armor there, and I, the better part of my former hopes.

I'm still a councilor. Held in higher esteem, at last, by the other members, though no less a vexing presence, always struggling against the current. My duty now weighs on me even more so than in times of warâpeace is far more fragile than I'd ever imagined.

The Land of the Wind is a rubble heap. Facing the remains of Salazar again, after so long, was a painful moment for both of us. We entered the charred and ruined city walls, and Nihal recognized Livon's workshop, where her father had been killed and her destiny set in motion.

“Sometimes I feel just like this room,” she said to me, “burned and destroyed. My mission is over, but what happened can never be erased.”

She stepped toward the crumbling corner of the workshop where Livon had once forged his magnificent weapons. The rusted stumps of former swords hung on the walls. Nihal broke into a heavy sobbing.

“There's no reason our future shouldn't be filled with joy,” I said to her. “Yes, to forget is impossible. The pain of torture, the hopelessness I glimpsed in the mind of the Tyrant will never leave my memory. But maybe some good will come of all this pain. Already we're together. Doesn't that say a lot?”

She smiled and held me in her arms.

So here we are, in this broken land, trying to squeeze happiness from suffering. But I know we won't stay long.

“One day, we'll get out of here,” Nihal said to me. “I want to go back to my roots, to my dream as a child, when I longed to be free and to travel. We'll jump on back of Oarf and follow the whirling currents of the Saar. No longer will we be the brave councilor and the glorious knight who saved the world from the Tyrant without knowing how to save it from themselves, but just Nihal of the Tower of Salazar and Sennar the sorcerer, and we'll encounter lands never before seen, terrifying monsters, and wide stretches of forest, too, breathtakingly beautiful. That's what we'll do.”

She's right, and I feel the same desire. I know that day will come soon. Which is why, I think, I felt like I needed to write this story down, so that maybe someone, someday will remember us, long after we've left these Lands. Or so that Nihal will never forget the battle she won against herself. Or maybe just to make sense of all that's happened these past years.

There's a question the Tyrant asked me, one I still don't know if I can answer: Can this world be saved? Sometimes it feels like he was right, that hate is what binds us, that in some ways, we're each of us the victim and the guilty party at the same time. But then I think of Nihal, and I know that life is worth it, that it's worth fighting for, even if that struggle is in vain. And I think that's the true difference between Aster and me. I met Nihal along the way, and he didn't.

Someday soon I'll be gone, and I'll leave this place behind, this world that hangs in a precious balance. Before long, I know, it will tip, and fall again into a bloody war. But then I know that peace and hope will return, and then again darkness and despair.

Isn't that where our purpose lies, somewhere in the eternal circle?

Sennar

Councilor of the Land of the Wind

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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