“What puzzles you so this morning, Master… Ven’Dar, I think?”
I didn’t quite jump out of my skin at the quiet interruption. “Ah, my lady, what a pleasure it is - a most profound pleasure - to meet you at last.” I bowed, extending my palms. “I am indeed the one you name.”
I gave her my hand, and she rose from the pallet, returning the politeness. “My thanks are inadequate, Master.”
Her smile was genuine and kind, but her mind was not on our pleasantries, only on the youth who lay unmoving by the stair. She crouched down beside him, laying her hand on his back as if to assure herself he was breathing. Only after a long while did she rise and move to the window slot to survey our green haven. She folded her arms across her breast, one thumb pressed pensively to her lips. Her eyes flicked repeatedly to the boy.
I hated to intrude on her thoughts, but our time was not unbounded. “Please, come and share breakfast, my lady: dried fish, some old, but well preserved bread, and fruit. You need nourishment. As for my small mystery, it is yours to unravel.” I handed her the letter. “The contents are not the puzzle - I’ve not taken it upon myself to peruse your correspondence uninvited - but only the author. The message was written last night here in the tower, for I recognize the paper, and the ink is fresh. But we’ve had no visitors, and that means, eliminating you and me, the scribe must be young Paulo. I believed the boy unschooled.”
She fingered the folded paper, but made no move to read it. “Paulo cannot read or write,” she said softly. “You’ll have to tell me what it means that he could do this.”
“I’m not sure… If I may ask, what transpired last night after I so unamiably collapsed?”
“I was tired, too; it was like a dream. He laid you on the blanket, covered you with your cloak, and then led me to the pallet. The next thing I knew I woke to the sunlight.” She threw the letter onto the writing table. “It’s impossible. Impossible. I won’t believe it.” Her vehemence seemed little related to the matter of Paulo being able to write.
“Perhaps reading the message will answer your questions.”
I busied myself by squandering a small enchantment to heat a cup of water and measuring out chamomile and meadowsweet from the small supply in the leather bag. I offered her the tea along with a chunk of ancient dried fruit that I hoped would not break her teeth. But she had picked up the paper again and was turning it over and over in her hands. What was she afraid of? Finally, after taking one more glance at the sleeping boy, she unfolded the letter.
Though it was only a single close-written page, she studied it for half an hour or more before silently offering it to me. I set aside my cup and took it.
My dearest Mother,
I hope beyond all hopes that this morning finds you completely recovered from your grievous injury. I beg you not to destroy this in disgust at my hypocrisy, or in revulsion at the truth you guessed last night. Rather I ask you to indulge one last time in the love and trust you have so generously - so unquestioningly - given me in the past.
Paulo will tell you of all that has befallen us, and with it of the revelation that has only lately come to me. On my life I swear to you I did not consciously seek your death, nor did I knowingly betray the defense of Avonar. I cannot expect anyone to believe this, save perhaps you, who have always been willing to think the best of me. Paulo, despite his generous service, has doubts. I doubt myself, yet both deeds were so alien to my desires that I cannot admit their possibility. Of course I must, for the future of the worlds is once again at risk because of me, and the remedy is once again in your hands, and, through your intercession, in the hands of my father.
The world that Paulo will describe to you is not Gondai, nor is it the familiar home where we were born. The Bounded is a third world, a world still forming, still growing, peopled with a strange and wonderful variety of beings, who, while bearing little of beauty or grace, are no more evil in their souls than any race of humans. This world was newly born from the chaos of the Breach at about the time we traveled through it on our escape from Zhev’Na. In. some way I do not yet understand, my actions on that journey and the state of my mind at that time have created a profound bond between me and the Bounded, so that I know and feel and experience its life as if it were a part of my own body.
Unfortunately, the magic of the Bounded has shown me the truth of something I have suspected and feared these four years. The Lords maintain their hold on me as well. I believe the Lords themselves discovered this when I crossed the Bridge four months ago and now threaten ruin to all the worlds I touch. If the situation remains as it is now, the Lords will surely gain everything we denied them four years ago. Just as the Prince so rightly fears, they will control me, and they will control the Breach. It seems they can already use me at their will to wreak havoc; you and my father’s counselors and subjects have suffered grievously from it. This is not to excuse myself from those deeds, for ultimately, as with all the evils I have done, I am responsible.
The remedy seems very simple. My death will remove this danger, and if that were the only concern, I would kneel willingly before the Prince and let him finish what he so badly wants to do. But because of my strange connection to the Bounded, I believe thousands of innocents would die with me. I am a conduit of the Lords, and when the Dar’Nethi focus their power against the Lords, it is funneled through me onto that land in a storm of fire. As the land is injured, so I am weakened, and so I believe that when I am destroyed, so would it be, and all who dwell there.
Two things must be done.
First, the attacks on Zhev’Na from Avonar must stop until I am dead. The Lords do not suffer from them, but reflect them on me, using them to return the Bounded to chaos and thereby strengthen themselves.
Second, my father must enter my mind and sever my connection to the Bounded before he slays me. I cannot ask him, because I don’t know how to find my father in Prince D’Natheil, and the Prince will not listen to me before he strikes. You must convince him to do this, if not on the strength of your desire, then in mercy for people he has no reason to hate and no reason to destroy.
Now I wait. I haven’t power enough to stay any longer, and Paulo is at risk every moment I do so. He will be able to reveal my location when he is convinced that all will come about as I have said. But if the time goes too long, more than five days from this, only one course will remain open to me. I will have to send the Singlars into the world where we were born, hoping they can find some haven there once I am destroyed. I have a friend of some influence who says she will do what she can for their safety.
Know that your faith and love have saved me from despair countless times over. When all is done, I would like to think you might visit the Bounded and see its wonders. Have Paulo introduce you to Vroon and his friends, whom I met in my dreams, and Nithea, who spends her life giving what she can never possess, and Tom, the shepherd’s son, who led me there, and will play music for you such as you’ve never heard.
Trust me.
Your loving son,
Gerick
“He was here, then. While we were asleep? Astonishing that he could pass my wards… ”
The Lady knelt by the boy, shaking her head, and my words dwindled away. How foolish is all certainty that can so easily lead us away from the obvious. She kept her tear-filled eyes on him and stroked his hair, and only then did I begin to understand. I recalled how her expression had changed as she looked on Paulo the night before, and the words that had formed on her lips. “Oh, my dear one… ” She had not addressed the boy Paulo, but her son, recognizing him within the body of his friend. Her son had possessed Paulo, displaced a living soul for his own purposes.
I dropped the letter on the floor, overwhelmed by revulsion, the reaction bred into me by fifty years of hearing tales of the Lords of Zhev’Na and their hideous games.