“Sleep well, Nomad,” she said, stretching out beside him. “We have both earned our rest.” She closed her eyes and thought of the forests of the Ringing Mountains, of the flowing river and spreading canopy of trees. It seemed to belong to another lifetime now. She wondered, briefly, what life would have been like had she chosen not to follow Sorak, but remain at the villichi temple. It would have been, she thought, a pleasant, peaceful and serene life . . . and utterly predictable. She had no regrets. And as she fell asleep, she smiled.
Epilogue
The weary travelers looked utterly exhausted as they fell asleep beside each other on the sheltered rock ledge looking out over the plain below. They slept in shadow, protected by the overhanging rock as the dark sun rose above them, reflecting in myriad sparkles off the vast expanse of salt and quartzite crystal that was the Great Ivory Plain. They would have a long, hard journey ahead of them when they awoke, and when they reached the Mekillot Mountains, they would face still greater challenges. With a sigh, the white-robed figure passed a long and bony hand over the surface of the scrying crystal, and it clouded over. The faces of the weary travelers faded from view, as if disappearing into a mist. The large and perfect sphere went as dark as the black velvet on which its silver stand stood.
“Let them rest a while in peace, Kinjara,” said the Sage, turning from the scrying crystal. “We shall look in on them another time.”
The rare white-and-black striped kirre made a low growling noise, rising in tone. It raised its massive head and its twin ramlike horns and twitched its long, barbed tail.
“What is it, Kinjara? You are hungry?”
The kirre gave an answering growl.
“Well, do not look to me. You know which way the door is. If you are hungry, then you must hunt. That is the way of things.”
The kirre growled plaintively.
“Do not give me that. Yes, of course I am still your friend. But you are a wild creature. Simply because I provide you with shelter and companionship, do not expect me to start feeding you, as well. You would only become spoiled.”
The kirre grunted and exposed its huge teeth in irritation as it rose up from the floor on its eight muscular legs and moved with lithe grace toward the door.
“That’s a good kitty,” said the Sage. “And remember our agreement. Do not kill any birds.”
The kirre gave an answering grunt.
“No, I am sorry. No birds and that is final. I will not have you looking at me hungrily when my wings begin to sprout. I know your sort.”
Grrrrrr.
“And the same to you. Go on now, get.”
Another robed and hooded figure approached from across the room. At first glance, it might have been taken for a human, except that it was very large, just over six feet tall, and extremely wide in the shoulders and upper torso. There were other peculiarities about its proportions. The arms seemed unusually long, and the hands had only four clawlike fingers, ending in sharp talons. The feet, too, were very large and bird-like, more like claws than feet. And from beneath the robe there hung a reptilian tail. As the figure stepped into the light, the face within the hood became visible. It was not even remotely human. The open beak revealed rows of small, very sharp teeth, and the yellow, lizardlike eyes were covered with nictitating membranes. The creature emitted a series of low, clicking sounds.
“Yes, they have secured the Seals,” said the Sage, turning toward the pterran. “You see, Takko, you were wrong. They did survive the Stony Barrens, as I knew they would.”
The pterran spoke once more in its peculiar, clicking, chirping language.
“Yes, I have sent them to see the Silent One, whose help they will require in the next step of their journey.”
The pterran chirruped again.
“No, the Silent One is not crazy. A bit peculiar, perhaps; eccentric, to be sure, but crazy? No, I do not think so.”
The pterran clicked.
“What do you mean, am I sure? How can anyone be sure of anything in this world?”
Click-click, click-click-chirp-click, click-click-chirp.
“I am not equivocating! Life is merely full of uncertainties, that is all. Even I cannot know everything. For certain, that is.”
The pterran spoke once more. “The pain? The pain is not so bad today, thank you for asking. It is just a general, dull ache. I scarcely notice it. It will grow worse with the next stage of the transformation, but I am not yet quite prepared for that. Our friends shall have to provide a few necessary ingredients, first.”
The pterran clicked in an interrogative manner.
“Yes, next they must secure the Breastplate of Argentum.”
The pterran clicked again.
“Yes, in Bodach.”
The pterran emitted another series of sharp sounds.
“I know there are undead in Bodach. What do you want from me? I did not put them there.”
The pterran shook its massive head and clicked several more times.
“They will never make it? That’s what you said when they went across the Stony Barrens, as I recall, and yet they seemed to have survived that somehow.”
The pterran issued a brief response.
“Oh, they were lucky, were they? Well, perhaps they were. But I think that skill, patience, dedication, and perseverance may have had something to do with it, don’t you?”
The pterran shrugged and chirped a reply.
“You always find the dark cloud in every silver lining, don’t you?” said the Sage. “Well, I think you’re wrong.”
The pterran spoke.
“Would I care to wager on it? Why, you oversized, insolent, prehistoric sparrow, you have your nerve. A wager! A wager with me! What insufferable arrogance. What sort of wager?”
The pterran returned a quick response.
“Hmmm, I see. Interesting. And what if you should lose?”
The pterran gave out a raucous caw and clicked again.
“Name my stakes? My, my. Such confidence for someone who cannot even eat without dropping half his food onto the floor. Very well, then. I shall name my stakes. But I shall name them when you lose.”
The pterran threw back its massive head and gave out a long, ululating, piercing cry.
“Laugh all you like, my friend,” the Sage said. “We shall see who winds up laughing out of the other side of his beak.”
Still cawing raucously, the pterran left the chamber.
The Sage grunted irritably, then walked over to the window, moving slowly, a man in pain. He looked out over the landscape toward the rising sun. “Your path is no less arduous than mine, my children,” he said as he gazed out the window. “I shall do what little I can to ease your hardship. But the rest, I fear, is up to you. More depends on what you do than you can know. Our fates are linked now. If you fail, I fail. And if I fail, all is lost for our benighted world.”
He turned away from the window and hobbled over to his chair, sinking down into it slowly. For a time, the pain of transformation had subsided. But soon, it would return again. He gazed into the mirror at his fading humanity. He had almost grown accustomed to it. As he pondered his reflection, he could no longer see any trace of the youngman who had once set out across the world to chronicle the lands and ways of Athas. Now it was for Sorak to follow in his footsteps and go beyond, where he had never dared to go. He fervently hoped the elfling and the priestess would succeed. For now, all he could do was wait. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes as the sun’s rays warmed him through the open window. After a while, the Wanderer slept.