Merritt carefully laid the sword on the workbench. Shadow gazed with drowsy green eyes at the blade he laid before her. Merritt finally looked at Magda in a way that told her he expected something from her.
She looked from Merritt to the sword and back again. “What?”
Merritt gestured to the sword. “What does it say?”
She knew very well what it said. She hadn’t been able to get it out of her mind. Still, Magda’s eyes turned to the hilt. She let her fingers lightly glide over the raised gold letters.
“It says ‘Truth.’” She lifted a brow at Merritt. “Are you saying that Baraccus’s words in his note—‘Your destiny is to find truth’—are meant to say that my destiny is to find the Sword of Truth? You really think that’s what he meant? You really think it could be that obvious?”
Merritt shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m a maker, not a prophet. But I made the word Truth on the hilt, and you came to me and found the sword with that word crafted into it. You are the one who named it the Sword of Truth.”
A jumble of thoughts tumbled through Magda’s mind. Was Baraccus saying that her destiny was to find Merritt and the sword with Truth on it?
Or was he saying that this was the beginning of the path to her finding truth, and that path had taken her to Merritt?
Chapter 63
Magda again ran her fingers over the letters as Merritt stepped up beside her at the workbench. His gaze scanned the tools off to the side.
“This is where Baraccus made things, then? This room, this workbench?”
Magda nodded as she gestured to the side. “I used to sit on this crate, here, and watch him work.”
Magda glanced to the ornately engraved silver box to the side of the table that held treasured memories. Baraccus seemed so distant, now. In some ways it was all like only yesterday, but in other ways it all seemed so long ago in her life. She missed him, but even that pain was gradually fading as she worried about all the immediate problems.
“Did he make that as well?” Merritt asked, gesturing to the silver box.
Magda nodded as she pulled it closer to show him. She ran her fingers over the top, much as she had done with the letters on the sword, and then opened the lid.
“It just holds some small memories of things he gave me.”
Magda lifted out the white flower to show him.
Merritt looked somewhat surprised. “That’s pretty rare. I’ve only seen one of those once before.”
Magda twirled the flower between a finger and thumb. “You know what this is, then? Baraccus said it was rare, but never mentioned the name.”
“It’s called a confession flower.”
Magda frowned. “Really? A confession flower? Why would it be called that?”
“Because a confession is a revelation of the truth. Truth is pure. White is pure. Thus the name.”
“That’s a lovely name, for a lovely flower,” she said as she replaced the flower and closed the lid.
“Maybe you could come watch me make something, someday.”
Magda smiled. “I’d like that.” She hopped up onto her seat on the crate and pointed at the well-used collection of exquisite metalsmithing tools, semiprecious stones in divided wooden trays, assorted supplies, and the small books filled with notes that had belonged to her husband.
“I was making an excuse at the time,” she said, “but I think Baraccus would like you to have his tools.”
Merritt’s eyes lit up. “You really think so? Me, have the tools that belong to a First Wizard?”
“I guess that they’re my tools now. I know that I would like you to have them. I really do think that Baraccus would approve. He would want them to go to a good use, to a good person.”
Merritt reached out and reverently touched some of the small tools in the collection. They really did seem to mean a great deal to Merritt. He respected their value.
“These are some of the finest tools I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m glad you like them and that you can put them to good use,” Magda said with a smile.
He pointed, then, at the little books beside the tools.
“What are those?”
Magda lifted her head to see where he was pointing. “Oh, those. Notes he took, I guess.”
Merritt gestured to the books. “May I?”
Magda’s smile widened at seeing how excited he was by such simple things as tools and notes. She leaned forward enough to slide the stack of little books closer to him. “Of course. Maybe they can be helpful to you.”
Merritt picked up the one on top and opened it, slowly turning the pages, taking a look at what was written there. She watched his hazel eyes move as he scanned the pages.
As he read, his smile vanished. His eyes grew wide.
And then the blood drained from his face.
“Dear spirits . . .” he whispered.
Magda frowned. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He began rapidly turning the pages. He studied each briefly, then turned to the next page.
“Celestial calculations,” he whispered to himself.
“That makes sense,” Magda said. She didn’t understand why he was so excited. Baraccus was forever writing down celestial calculations and measurements. He would take distances and angles from stars to stars, or from certain stars to a distant spot on the horizon, or sometimes to the moon. “I often heard Baraccus speaking to other wizards about celestial calculations, measurements, and equations. I thought all wizards knew about those kinds of things.”
“No, you don’t understand.” He tapped the book as he held it before her face, as if maybe she, too, should be able to decipher the tangle of lines and numbers and formulas. “These are celestial calculations.”
“You said that before. I’m sorry, Merritt, but I can’t make sense of them.”
“Magda, these are the rift calculations for creating a seventh-level breach.” His voice broke. “Dear spirits, these celestial calculations are the measurements and formulas from before the star shift. These are the formulas that I knew had to exist, but had never been able to find. These are the formulas that Baraccus said he couldn’t give me because they had been taken away and hidden in the Temple of the Winds.”
Magda felt goose bumps tingle up her arms as she hopped down off her crate. “Are you sure? Are you sure that these are those formulas?”
“Yes. Yes, the very ones.” He tapped the book excitedly again. “This is them. These are the occulted calculations and templates for creating a seventh-level breach. It’s all right here.”
As Merritt dropped heavily into the chair at the bench, Magda looked down at the small open book he was holding. The lines and writing looked like nothing but a bunch of angles and numbers to her, the same kinds of measurements Baraccus took all the time from his own observations. It was like a foreign language to her, but it was a language that Merritt, like Baraccus, understood well.
It came to her, then.
Merritt was still staring at the open book.
“I understand, now,” she said in little more than a whisper.
With a finger, Magda lifted his chin until his gaze met hers. “I understand.”
“What do you mean? Understand what?”
“Baraccus knew that you needed these. He must have brought them back with him from the Temple of the Winds.” She felt the goose bumps on her arms crawl the rest of the way up to the nape of her neck. “Remember what I told you before? That when he went there he found out that the boxes of Orden were gone and he could tell no one but me? He knew they’d been taken. Do you see? He must have brought these back so that the key could be completed.”
Merritt could only stare at her.
Magda swallowed past the lump in her throat. “He brought them back for you, Merritt. He knew what you were making, and he knew that you needed these. He wanted you to be able to complete the key, hoping you could use it to protect the boxes of Orden. He said that my destiny was to find truth. That led me to you, so that I could bring you to what Baraccus wanted you to have to complete the key.”