"And there shall come among you the Two, and they shall possess a blood quality so high that those known as the 'partials'-those sole practitioners of certain of the Organics-shall come to dread them. For should those of partial blood signatures attempt to employ their limited gifts upon the Two, the Two's progeny, or others of the same womb from which the Two came, their power shall be reversed upon them a thousandfold, and destroy them. For the blood signatures known as 'partials' shall not be as strong as those of the fully endowed. The Two and their seed may therefore be the partials' mortal enemies, even though the Two may not choose for such a reaction to be so…"
Trailing off, Faegan again sat back in his chair, lost in thought.
"What does it mean?" Abbey asked. At first Faegan said nothing. He was ensconced within the caverns of his amazing mind, and his eyes almost seemed glazed over.
"Such a wondrous, dangerous maze is the craft," he finally muttered softly, half to himself. "After three hundred years of trying, we have barely scratched the surface of the knowledge collected by the Ones Who Came Before."
"Faegan," Wigg said forcefully, trying to bring the old wizard's attention back to the rest of them. "What does it all mean?"
Taking a breath, Faegan finally refocused on the people at the table. "It confirms something that I have long suspected regarding the craft," he answered cryptically. "But more about that in a moment." Then he looked intently at Abbey.
"Tell me," he asked her. "Exactly how did you know that something terrible was about to happen in the courtyard?"
"My gazing flame began behaving far out of the ordinary," she answered. "After the viewing window started to form, the top of the flame began to swell. I have never seen one do that before. It was almost as if it was somehow collecting energy instead of expelling it, as is the norm. When I saw it, something told me it was about to burst, so I threw myself at you and the princess. Apparently when the flame ruptured, it did so at the top, releasing its energy skyward. Had the rent appeared in its side instead, I have no doubt that the three of us would be quite dead. In all my years I have never experienced a release of such boundless energy."
Faegan smiled at her. "Thank you," he said softly. "And we shall never forget what you did."
"So what does it all mean?" Wigg demanded impatiently. "Aren't you ever going to tell us what's rattling around in that centuries-old, overactive brainpan of yours?"
Faegan only gave them that coy, knowing smile of his again. He enjoyed nothing so much as a mystery of the craft-especially when he was the only one who held its answer.
"Just one more question, I promise," he told the table. "Shailiha, do you remember anything out of the ordinary just before the gazing flame burst? Did you experience any unusual or uncomfortable sensations, for example?"
"Now that you mention it, my heart began beating so fast and so hard that I thought I might pass out," she answered. "But I didn't say anything about it before, because I thought it was just caused by anxiety. Was it significant?"
"Oh, yes, my child!" The wizard smacked his palm down on one arm of his chair in triumph. "Indeed it was!" He looked like the cat that had just swallowed the proverbial canary.
"And so?" Wigg asked, crossing his arms with frustration.
"Abbey is quite correct," Faegan began. "This is further evidenced by the princess' extremely rapid heartbeat. Her blood coursed faster through her body in response to rejecting and further empowering a partial adept's spell. And the energy was returned to Abbey's flame by a factor of one thousand times, so says the Tome. How fascinating!" He paused for a moment to let his words sink in.
"Unfortunately, this dangerous practice was exactly what we were trying to accomplish yesterday, in our benign ignorance out there in the courtyard," he continued. "And we succeeded admirably in making fools of ourselves, didn't we? The fact that Tristan's blood is now azure may have only intensified the effect." He looked around the table. "As we have already said, several of us here are indeed lucky to be alive."
He looked over at the herbmistress. "I strongly suggest that you do not attempt to employ any of your gifts on either of the Chosen Ones again, especially before Wigg and I have had a chance to explore these new revelations further," he added.
Abbey rolled her eyes. "Don't worry!" she said, holding her palms upward in a gesture of surrender. "I have no such intentions; I promise!"
"Tell me," Faegan said. "Do you know of any way to circumvent these Furies, as you call them, so that we might still try to locate the prince?"
"There were always rumors among those in the partial community that such a process existed," Abbey answered. "Legend says that it can be done, provided one possesses the proper calculations for it. But I do not know what the formulas are, or where they might be found. They supposedly involved sending the energy back yet again to the original subject, in its newly constituted strength." She thought to herself for a moment. "The possibility of circumventing the Furies also raises another very interesting question," she added thoughtfully.
"And that is?" Wigg asked.
"Whether such a spell, should it in fact actually exist, would fall within the purview of the wizards, rather than the partials," she answered slowly, as if thinking aloud. "Such uses of the craft would seem to reside well outside the realm of the Organic. It sounds far more like one of the Paragon's facets of the Kinetic, wouldn't you agree?"
Faegan furrowed his brow. It was soon clear to the others that he found this last comment to be even more interesting than what had been discussed previously.
"You're forgetting something, aren't you?" Wigg finally asked from the other side of the table. "Or should I say someone?"
"And just who might that be?" Faegan asked.
"Wulfgar," Wigg answered solemnly. Again the room became silent.
Faegan nodded. "Quite right, Lead Wizard," he agreed. "And well done. The quote I just read from the Tome mentioned not only the Two, but also their progeny, and others from the same womb. That would, of course, include both Wulfgar and Morganna." He looked over at Abbey. "For the time being you are to strictly avoid using your gifts not only on Tristan and Shailiha, but on Wulfgar and Morganna, as well," he ordered her. The herbmistress nodded her agreement.
"But still we have failed, have we not?" Celeste asked. "In addition to not finding Tristan, we have no idea where this Scroll of the Vigors may be. It could be anywhere in the world. And unless we find it soon, Krassus will be able to complete at least one portion of the mission originally begun by Nicholas-a mission that we still know virtually nothing about."
Shailiha angrily shook her head. She had been bitterly disappointed again. Her greatest goal continued to be finding her brother, and now it seemed that they were even farther away from it than ever. "I'm tired of sitting here and doing nothing while Tristan is in danger!" she cried out. "Can't you all see that?" Morganna cried a little with her mother's sudden outburst, and Shailiha kissed her cheek to soothe her. "Isn't there anything that can be done?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calmer.
"The herbs and oils we brought back were to have been our solution to that," Wigg said sadly. "However, with this sudden, unexpected appearance of the Furies, I'm afraid we are now forced to discover another way to find him. But hear me when I tell you that Tristan is a very brave and resourceful man, and if there is anyone in this world who can overcome whatever he is up against, it is he. I know that isn't much for you to hold onto right now, but it seems to be all that any of us have." Wigg looked over at Celeste to see a somewhat different, but equally concerned look cross her face.
A growing sense of defeat crept silently over the room.
CHAPTER
Fifty-one
K 'jarr soared high and fast through the fading indigo of the early-morning sky. He wore his dreggan strapped across his back and his returning wheel securely fastened to one side of his belt; a battle bugle was tied to the other side, waiting to be used. Behind him, the sun rose, bringing a welcoming warmth to his ceaselessly beating wings.