When I looked for it now, it was gone, the pit was filled; and the black and fire-yellow and red surface boiled like water, throwing flame aloft here and there, almost like a living tiling. From time to time a gout of flowing red stone would escape away towards the north and run swiftly down the mountain, but on the southern edge—I gasped—the Winds preserve us, there was very little darkness now between the fire and the Grandfather mountain. I could not believe that the slender barrier of stone would hold much longer against that great weight of fire and molten rock.
The peaks on the far northern edge of the firefield held their own silent menace in the great bulges that distorted them, and everywhere I flew that high scream, of rock or fire or the very earth itself, assaulted my ears and rattled my thoughts.
It is difficult to surprise one as old as I, for the years building each upon each tend to even out all things—but the devastation before me shocked me to the bone, and I saw no slightest sign that there was an end in sight. On the contrary, it was vastly, hideously worse than it had been mere days ago. The heat was immense, and the smell of burning rock was acrid in my nostrils and grew only stronger as I fought to hold a steady way through the violent updrafts. At least they helped me put more air between myself and the raging earth. There was also a great deal of steam, which made it harder to see, and the red light was sometimes more hindrance than help.
From what I could make out through the smoke and the stink and trying to see through that dreadful light, Terash Vor, at the centre of the widening ring of fire, was now much larger than it had been, and there was a darkness around and about it. No fire sprang from its top or its sides, but it showed an ominous bulge on its southern flank.
I realised that the terrible high screech was combining now with a rumble deep in the earth, and I banked in panic when I realised that the rumble was directly below me. Even as I flew off, fire spewed beneath me where moments ago there had been only a dark bulge on a mountainside, and I had to swerve again violently to avoid the fire-rock, spurting from the mountainside like blood from a death wound. Despite the height at which I flew I had been singed, tail-tip and wing-tip, albeit not badly. It must have been a quarter as high again as the mountain that had birthed it.
I gave up then, scorched, exhausted, my wings grown as weary as my heart. I turned away south towards the chambers of my people. I had still over an hour to fly, and my new-healed shoulder was aching.
I must tell my people what I had seen. I could not wait an other sevenday.,
This was the death of our home.
Wearily, wearily, sorrow bowing down my heart, I bespoke the Kantrishakrim.
"My people, my Kindred, hear me. It is Hadreshikrar who calls. We have no more time. Come to me at the Summer Plain at dawn."
A confusing babble greeted me, including many voices protesting that I had arranged the Council for half a fortnight hence. I heard their protests for only a moment. "There can be no argument," I said coldly. "Behold what I have seen."
I concentrated on the manifestation of the hells that I had just flown through, on sending the image of that devastation to all of my people.
It was met with absolute silence. I was not surprised. We are not a stupid race and we all knew death when it threatened. "My people, we must leave. I hope that we will have this night to prepare ourselves, but we must all be ready to take off instantly if need be. If there is aught of value you cannot bear to leave behind, bring it, remembering that the journey will take some days and there will be little chance to rest save on the Winds. If you know of any who keep the Weh, call to them and pray the Winds they hear you. If there are any who are not wing-light, tell me that we may find a way to bear them with us.
"If we are to survive, we must leave this place in a very few hours. Kedra?"
"I am here, Father," came his voice. Strong and sure, my anchor.
"Come to me at the Chamber of Souls, my son, once you and Mirazhe have Sherok safe. I will need your assistance to prepare the Ancestors and the soulgems of the Lost for the journey."
I would not listen to any who tried to bespeak me. I was weary beyond belief.
The Place of Exile had been our home for more than five thousand years—it was the only home, the only world, any of us had ever known.
And as I flew, I seemed to hear my own voice chanting to a succession of younglings over the long, long years.
First is the Wind of Change, Second is Shaping, Third is the Unknown, and Last is the Word.
It is the first of the teaching verses, the basis of our understanding of the way the world works, the four Winds that blow through our lives. But she who taught me that verse when I was no more than a killing never told me that the wind of change, on wings of flame, could blow so very, very cold.
The problem of Vilkas has come to a head at last. I have alerted the other Magistri. Finally, the chance to get him and that wretched girl out of my way! Now it has come to the point, it has been so very, very easy. And Erthik and Caillin at a stroke—ah, life is sweet.
Vilkas has been a student here at the College for two years. He tested nearly as high on his entrance as I did all those years ago, a once-in-a-generation power—but I would have wagered a day of my life that he was not working to his capacity for the test. I suspected at the time that he was a powerful wastrel who could not be bothered to exert himself and would come to nothing, for I have seen others of that kind, if never any so strong. Still, his capacity was high enough for me to keep a watch on him. I made certain mat my occasional observations of him were well hidden from the other Magistri, and went out of my way to befriend him. He was not interested in my friendship. Given the power available to him, that made him my enemy.
Not long after he arrived, the girl Aral appeared. She also tested very high, not in the same class as Vilkas but with more real ability than even her test results would indicate. She is not a threat, however, and may even be an asset, for she is his weakness. They are both far too powerful for their good or mine, but they are young and ignorant enough to be outmatched without overmuch effort.
I timed it well. When Magister Rikard unlocked the door this morning and swiftly threw it open we caught them in the very act. Vilkas was surrounded by a brilliant corona, the Healers' Power without a doubt, and he was using it to hold an unconcerned Aral some three feet off the floor.
"Vilkas!" cried Rikard, appalled.
Every member of the Council, assembled for this very purpose, saw the tall young man turn his head, acknowledge us with a nod, and gently lower the girl to the ground. The moment her feet touched the floor she would have started forward, but Vilkas raised a hand and she stopped where she was, bristling with righteous indignation. I suppressed my laughter with difficulty.
Vilkas bowed to the Council, calm and faintly amused. Aral stood unmoving, with a defiant flush on her cheeks. "Very well, gentlemen, you have found us out," said Vilkas with a smile. "I hope you will allow us to explain our actions."
"Vilkas, how could you!" cried Rikard. "When Magister Berys told me I would not believe it. How can you act against all we have tried to teach you?"
Vilkas only lifted an eyebrow. "I have acted against nothing you have taught me, Magister Rikard. We have invoked the Lady with every breath. All is well. And Aral is unhurt, as you see."
"We've done nothing wrong," said Aral. She was bristling now, all five feet of her, in defence of her friend. So, he was her weakness too. I had not known that for certain. "What is it that you object to?"