The Ventifact Colossus (The Heroes of Spira Book 1) (40 page)

“Don’t matter now,” said Kibi. “Sagiro’s dead. I checked to make sure he weren’t clingin’ to the side walls of the chasm, and there weren’t no sign of him.”

“Maybe you knocked him clean to the other side!” Ernie offered.

“Nah. I saw Sagiro go over the edge. Could be he survived a hundred foot drop onto the rocks, but I doubt it.”

“Why did it take you so long to use the Eye?” asked Ernie.

“Damn thing took some convincin’. Kept complainin’ that it would get damaged if I used it as a weapon, but I didn’t see nothin’ wrong with it afterward. I guess we’ll see, but I’d do the same thing over again if I had the choice.”

* * *

Aravia teleported them to the Greenhouse the next morning, and Kibi almost relished the wrenching of his innards since it meant no more carpet flying. Eddings greeted them warmly and offered them breakfast.

“Is Tor here?” asked Aravia.

“No, Miss Telmir. Did he not travel with the rest of you?”

“We sent him on ahead by carpet. He’ll arrive any time.”

Kibi gratefully accepted a plate of scrambled eggs. “Eddings, I don’t suppose the Eye of Moirel in the basement busted out again and possessed Ernie’s bear while we was gone?”

“I am happy to report that it has not,” answered the butler. “Things have been calm in your absence. Abernathy is still asleep, though I have been tending to his survival and comfort. He does not seem to be suffering any effects of malnutrition, which I ascribe to some manner of wizardly preparation on his part. There have been no messengers or visitors. Was your venture more successful than the previous?”

“Yup. Got ourselves a second Eye of Moirel to keep the first one company. Tor should be showin’ up with it any time, and then they can fight over who gets to make Bumbly talk.”

Almost on cue, Tor appeared in the doorway, his hair disheveled and a huge grin across his face.

“That was fantastic! Cold, but fantastic.”

He walked straight to Kibi. “Here’s your Eye. I managed not to toss it overboard.”

Kibi laughed with the boy, who immediately became distracted by the prospect of breakfast.

After the meal Kibi tromped down to the basement and unlocked the iron trunk containing the green Eye of Moirel. It took a bit of feeling around inside the opaque soupy sludge with which he had filled the iron pot, but his fingers found the Eye and he pulled it free.

“Here you are,” he said, taking the purple Eye from his pocket. “We found your brother. Now what?”

The Eyes did not choose that moment to speak.

“I thought there was some terrible rush. You got somethin’ to say, so say it!”

Nor the next moment.

“You’re the one who told me time was short! Ah, a pox upon you. I suppose part a’ the hurry was just to keep Sagiro from getting’ his hands on you, but he’s dead, so no more worry ’bout that.”

He considered storing the Eyes in separate closets, but since his muddy cook-pot had finally done the trick of keeping the green Eye docile, he dropped the purple one in with it, resealed the pot, and locked the trunk.

“I’ll check on you tomorrow,” he promised. Kibi paused once on the stairs up from the basement, still holding out hope the Eyes would say or do something useful after all the trouble Horn’s Company had taken to collect them.

Tor was practically bouncing around the living room. “What next?”

Aravia came in from the dining room and went directly to the bookshelf. “All we have left to go on is Hodge’s prophecy about the Ventifact Colossus,” she said absently. She pulled down one of Abernathy’s tomes. “But until we find out where Ganit Tuvith is, there’s not much we can do about it. In the meantime, if you need me, I’ll be studying.”

Morningstar came down the stairs. “Abernathy is still unconscious.”

What would it mean if Abernathy never snapped out of whatever he was in? Maybe they’d have to find another archmage. And if the old wizard was comatose, what did that imply about Naradawk, the monster locked up in his prison world?

“Looks like we get a day off,” said Dranko. “And a well-deserved one, too. I’m going to go out and buy us some celebratory bottles of wine.”

“And I’ll cook dinner tonight,” said Ernie. “We can save the Icebox for lunch and dessert.”

Morningstar called out to Dranko as the channeler was leaving. “Make a stop at the shrine of Werthis, will you? See if they know anything about a prophecy involving three of their number killing a giant turtle.”

Kibi spent the afternoon relaxing, but his mind kept returning to the Eyes of Moirel. Twice he popped down to the basement to see if they had become communicative, but they remained silent in their closet.

When he closed his eyes and emptied his mind, he fancied he could sense them, two bright little sources of earthy magic, one green, one purple, twinkling in the darkness. They tugged at him, exerting an ineffable sort of gravity on his subconscious.

Dranko came back in the midafternoon, carrying a small straw-lined crate of bottles.

“Decided to splurge on the good stuff.” He pulled out one of the bottles, uncorked it, and took a long swig. When he finally came up for air he gave the rest a defiant look. “Finder’s fee.”

“Did you talk to the Werthans?” asked Morningstar.

“Yeah. And let me tell you, they have no sense of humor. Make one joke about polishing their axe handles and they get all grumpy. Worshiping a god of war must do that to people.”

Morningstar rolled her eyes. “And…?”

“And, huge surprise, they thought I was nuts when I mentioned a giant turtle. They had no idea what I was talking about, and the Stormknights I talked to had never heard of Ganit Tuvith.”

“Then we’ll just have to wait for Previa’s report, assuming she finds anything.”

“And what if she doesn’t?” asked Ernie. “We seem to have come to a dead end. Abernathy hasn’t given us anything more to do.”

“Guess we just stay here in the Greenhouse,” said Kibi. “Somethin’ tells me we ain’t gonna be waitin’ too long before somethin’ comes up. Just a feelin’ I’m gettin’.” He glanced nervously at the basement door. “Just a feelin’.”

After dinner, when Horn’s Company was finishing up a chocolate mousse from the Icebox and getting ready for bed, a messenger arrived from the Ellish temple with a letter for Morningstar. She grabbed it from Eddings and quickly read it.

“So is Ganit Tuvith actually Tal Hae?” asked Dranko. “’Cause that would be very convenient.”

“No,” said Morningstar. “Ganit Tuvith is what Sand’s Edge used to be called, centuries ago.”

Aravia looked up from her book, balanced on one knee while she ate her mousse. “I imagine many cities had different names back when Naloric was emperor of Charagan.”

“So now we know everything!” said Tor. “A giant turtle is going to attack Sand’s Edge, and three Stormknights will kill it, and then the Kivian archway will open up, and we’ll be able to go get the Crosser’s Maze.”

“No, Tor, we don’t know everything,” said Aravia. “We’re missing a critical piece of information, which is
when
that’s going to happen.”

“Or if we’re supposed to do something to help
make
it happen,” said Morningstar.

“Why would we?” asked Ernie. “We’re not mentioned in any of the prophecies.”

“Not by name,” said Dranko. “But the madman wrote that someone would warn the Stormknights. Maybe Tor’s right, and that’s us.”

“In my dream Eddings killed the turtle with a letter opener,” said Morningstar. “Does that mean we should bring Eddings along when the time comes?”

“And where are we going to find a letter opener big enough?” asked Tor.

“Maybe the right thing to do is stop the turtle from being summoned in the first place,” said Ernie. “If the Kivian Arch is going to open down on Seablade Point, I don’t see how a giant turtle smashing half of Sand’s Edge hundreds of miles away is going to bring it about. More likely, Hodge’s prophecy just means the two events are going to happen one after the other. There’s no reason a city needs to get destroyed and who knows how many people killed. Shouldn’t that be what we care about most?”

“I agree with Ernie,” said Kibi. The others regarded him curiously, probably surprised at him offering up a clear opinion. “I said many times before now, and I’m sure I’ll say it again. I don’t believe in no destiny. If a huge turtle is gonna stomp on folks, and we know a way to stop it, we should stop it. Everything else can work itself out after.”

* * *

Kibi had trouble sleeping that night. Every time he closed his eyes, the Eyes of Moirel were staring back at him, glimmering, two crystalline foci of an indescribably powerful magic. Kibi tried to work out his vision’s significance. Perhaps he was supposed to take them to the Seven Mirrors, and they would transport him somewhere important. Or could his stone-shaping skill work on diamond, and he needed to free the little dots of jet inside them? Or had they something of critical importance to say through Bumbly but couldn’t because he had them trapped in sludge?

“Or maybe I have no Gods-damned idea,” he grumbled in his bed. “If Aravia can’t figure this out, how am I supposed to? All this magic business is far beyond me.”

The bells had rung midnight before he finally drifted into an uneasy slumber. The Eyes of Moirel moved in and out of his dreams like colored phantoms. He dreamt of a grandfather he had never met and the earth whispering to him of its pain, of a splinter lodged in its heart. He dreamt that he held the purple Eye in one hand and the green Eye in the other.

“There will be consequences,” said one.

“All the stones know your name,” said the other.

And both Eyes glowed so brightly and with such heat that they melted his bones, and he poured through cracks into the ground until his being had merged with the molten fire at the center of the world.

He woke, sweaty, and heard a noise from downstairs, a sound of splintered wood. He knew immediately: the Eyes had found their vigor. Something momentous had happened, and it terrified him. Through his window the sun was just beginning to rise. Kibi swung out of bed and lurched into the hall, then hammered on the doors of the others.

“Wake up! All of you, wake up!”

Soon the six of them stood in the upstairs hall, dressed in their nightclothes.

“This had better be the best surprise breakfast in history,” Dranko grumbled.

Kibi didn’t bother to hide his fear. “It’s the Eyes. I don’t want to go down there alone.”

The others must have seen how scared he was; they all followed him without question. Together they crept down the stairs, through the foyer, and into the living room.

Eddings stood by the fireplace, looking at them.

His right eye was a green ball of fire.

His mouth opened, and he spoke with a sharp, crystalline voice that was not his own.

THE VENTIFACT COLOSSUS WAKES FROM ITS SLEEP. THE WORLD IS AT A CROSSROADS.

His left eye burned with a purple radiance.

THE GREAT SAND TURTLE ARISES EVEN NOW FROM ITS SLUMBER, AND TODAY DESTINIES WILL SCATTER LIKE GRAINS OF SAND TUMBLING FROM ITS SHELL.

Living green crystal crept down the right side of Eddings’ face as he spoke, covering it like a fast-spreading algae. A skin of amethyst did likewise on the left side. The green and purple Eyes spoke through the butler, alternating which had control.

HEED WELL MY WARNING. THE CHELONIAN HORN MUST BE SOUNDED ELSE THOUSANDS WILL PERISH IN WAR. IF IT IS SILENT, THE FUTURE WILL BE THROWN TO CHAOS TO SAVE AN EPHEMERAL PRESENT.

HEED WELL MY WARNING. THE CHELONIAN HORN MUST NOT BE SOUNDED ELSE THOUSANDS WILL PERISH IN WAR. SHOULD IT BE WINDED, THE PRESENT WILL BE SACRIFICED TO SAVE AN UNKNOWABLE FUTURE
.

MY BROTHER IS CORRECT. THE COLOSSUS WILL RISE AND WREAK HAVOC. BUT ITS DEATH WILL OPEN THE GATEWAY TO SALVATION.

MY BROTHER IS CORRECT. THE COLOSSUS WILL SLUMBER AND THE WORLDS WILL BE JOINED. BUT IN WAKING IT YOU ONLY TRADE CONFLICT FOR CONFLICT, AND FOR THIS PAY WITH TERRIBLE DESTRUCTION.

YOU WILL STOP AKTALLIAN. THE FUTURE IS CARVED IN DIAMOND THAT NONE MAY ERASE OR CHANGE. YOU WILL INTERVENE.

NO. THE FUTURE IS WRITTEN ON WATER, AND YOU ARE ITS AUTHORS.

Eddings’ two-colored harlequin mask was expressionless; it was impossible to tell if the butler was awake or even aware of what was happening. But if the Eyes of Moirel were indeed embedded in Eddings’ sockets, his real eyes must have been burned away.

No one spoke. No one moved. Eddings stood stock still. But just when Kibi was sure they were done delivering their cryptic and contradictory messages, both Eyes flared and their light mixed. They had more to say, and now their voice became doubled, talking in an almost-unison.

YOU HAVE THE FOCUS, IN WHOSE VEINS RUNS THE BLOOD OF SANTO, AND YOU HAVE THE TALISMAN TO PRESERVE YOUR INTEGRITY. BUT THERE IS ONE MORE THING.