“He’ll slice off his foot!” I grumbled, cringing at the wild way he was swinging the ax around.
“Don’t underestimate him,” said Haplo. “I’ve traveled in lands where elves are quite adept at warfare. I suppose they could learn again. If they had someone to lead them.”
“And someone to fight,” I pointed out.
“But your people were ready to band together and fight these dragon-snakes. What if I could prove to you that the dragons aren’t the real enemy? What if I could show you that the real enemy is far more subtle, his intentions far more terrible? What if I brought you a leader of great wisdom and power to fight against this foe? Would your people and the humans and the elves fight together?”
I sniffed. “You’re saying that these dragon-snakes have wrecked our sun-chaser, murdered and tortured our people, just to prove to us that we have a more dangerous enemy?”
“Stranger things have happened,” Haplo replied coolly. “Maybe it’s all been a misunderstanding. Maybe they think you’re aligned with the enemy.” His eyes were suddenly sharp needles again, piercing right through me. That was the second time he’d said something like that. I could see no sense in arguing, especially since I had no idea what he was talking about. I said nothing, therefore, and he dropped the subject.
We had reached the waterlock by this time anyway. I opened the panel just long enough to let water inside—about ankle deep—before shutting it again. I lifted the access hatch, grabbed my bucket, tied it to a rope, dropped it down into the water, filled it, and hauled it back up.
I held out the full bucket to Haplo. To my astonishment, he drew back, refused to touch it.
“Take it in there,” he said, pointing to the hold. I did as he said, growing more and more curious. The bucket was heavy and awkward to carry, water sloshed out, spilled on my shoes and the deck. Haplo was extremely careful to avoid stepping in even the smallest puddle.
“Set it down,” he ordered, indicating a far corner. I put the bucket down, rubbed my palms where the handle had bit into them.
“Thank you,” he said, standing, waiting.
“You’re welcome.” Pulling up a stool, I seated myself comfortably.
“You can leave anytime now.”
“I’ve got nothing better to do,” I said.
He was angry, and I thought for a moment he was going to pick me up and throw me out. (Or try to, at any rate. Dwarves aren’t easy to budge, once they’ve decided to stay put.) He glared at me. I glared right back, crossed my arms over my chest, and settled myself more firmly on the stool. Then, a thought seemed to occur to him. “You might be useful, after all,” he muttered, and let me be.
As for what happened next, I’m not certain I believe it myself, though I saw it with my own eyes.
Haplo knelt down on the deck and began to write on one of the wooden planks, using nothing but his fingertip!
I started to laugh, ended up almost choking to death.
When his finger touched the wood, a thin wisp of smoke curled up into the air. He drew a straight line, left a trail of flame behind. The fire died in an instant, leaving a brown, scorched mark, as if he’d been writing on the planks with a red-hot poker. But he wasn’t. He was only using his own flesh, and it was setting the wood ablaze.
He worked rapidly, making strange marks on the deck, marks that looked similar—I thought—to those blue lines and swirls on his arms and the backs of his hands. He drew maybe ten of these in a circle, taking care to make certain that they were all connected. The smell of burning wood was strong. I sneezed. Finally, he was finished. The circle was complete. He sat back, studied it a moment, and then nodded to himself in satisfaction. I stared hard at his fingers, could see no sign of any scorch marks.
Haplo rose to his feet and stepped onto the circle he’d drawn. Blue light began to radiate up from the markings he’d burned on the deck and suddenly Haplo wasn’t standing on the deck. He floated up in the air, seemingly supported by nothing except the blue light.
I gasped and jumped up so fast I upset my stool.
“Grundle! Don’t leave,” he said hastily. He moved, and the next thing I knew he was standing on the deck again. The blue light, however, continued to glow.
“I want you to do something for me.”
“What?” I asked, keeping as far from the weird light as I could.
“Bring the bucket over and pour water on the circle.” I stared at him suspiciously. “That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
“What will happen?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe nothing.”
“Why don’t you do it, then?”
He smiled, trying to be pleasant. But his eyes were cold and hard. “I don’t think the water agrees with me.”
I thought it over. Dumping a pailful of water on some scorched planks wasn’t liable to hurt me. And, I have to admit, I was extremely curious to see what would happen next.
He wasn’t kidding about being worried about the water. The minute I picked up the bucket, Haplo backed into a corner, crouched behind a barrel, to keep from getting splashed.
I tossed the water onto the circle of strange marks that glowed with a blue light.
The light vanished instantly. And, as I watched, amazed, I saw the burn marks on the plank start to fade away.
“But, that’s impossible!” I cried, dropping the bucket and backing off. Haplo came out from behind the barrel. He walked across the deck, came to stand in front of the rapidly disappearing circle.
“You’re getting your boots wet,” I pointed out.
By the grim expression on his face, he didn’t seem to care anymore. He lifted one foot, held it over the place where the circle had supported him. Nothing happened. His boot slammed down on the deck.
“In all my life, I’ve never seen or heard of anything—” He broke off, started some new thought. “Why? What can it mean?” His face darkened, he clenched his fist. “The Sartan.”
Turning, without a word or a glance at me, he stormed out of the cabin. I heard his footfalls in the passageway, the slamming of his door. I crept over, stared down at the wet deck. The burn marks were almost completely gone. The wooden planks were wet, but unscarred.
The three of us, Alake, Devon, and I, ate dinner alone. Alake tapped on Haplo’s door and called, but there was no answer. She returned, disappointed and downcast.
I didn’t say anything to her or to Devon. To be honest, I wasn’t certain they’d believe me and I didn’t want to start an argument. After all, I have no proof of anything I saw except a couple of wet boards.
But at least I know the truth.
Whatever that truth may be.
More later. I’m so sleepy I can’t hold the pen any longer.
13
Alfred spent many pleasant hours walking the streets of Surunan. Like its inhabitants, the city had awakened from its long, enforced slumber and returned swiftly to life. There were far more people than Alfred had first supposed. He must have discovered only one of many Sleeping chambers. Guided by the Council, the Sartan worked to restore their city to its original beauty. Sartan magic made dead plants green, repaired crumbling buildings, wiped away all traces of destruction. Their city restored to beauty, harmony, peace, and order, the Sartan began to discuss how to do the same to the other three worlds.
Alfred reveled in the tranquility, the beauty his soul remembered. He delighted in the Sartan conversation, the multiplicity of wonderous images created by the magic of the rune language. He heard the music of the runes and wondered, his eyes moist with pleasure, how he could have ever forgotten such beauty. He basked in the friendly smiles of his brothers and sisters.
“I could live here and be happy,” he said to Orla. They were walking through the city, on their way to a meeting of the Council of Seven. The dog, who had not left Alfred’s side since the night before, accompanied them. The beauty of Surunan was food to Alfred’s soul, which, he realized now, had nearly withered up and died of starvation. He could, he noted wistfully, actually walk the streets without falling over his feet or anyone else’s.