Seven Sorcerers(101)
“I sensed that this was true,” he says. “In the Valley of the Bull I called upon my father’s power again. Yet it was not enough.”
“Your awareness had not fully blossomed,” I say. “Now you are that awareness.”
The forest of ideas fades about us, replaced by a vast network of constellations, gleaming panoramas of light and energy. Countless forms emerging from a single field of infinite potential. We balance between nothingness and everything, floating at the very crux of eternity.
Vireon inhales the winds of understanding that blow between the stars. We glide formless through the deeps of the astral universe, skirting the edges of reality, soaking in the rays of newborn suns.
I am refreshed. Vireon is transformed.
At last we step back into the flow of blood and ages. The world of form, locality, and time emerges from the pulsing cosmos. I guide him toward the threshold of his dying body. Already I am slipping away from him, yet he burns brightly in my wake.
“Use what you have learned,” I say. “Weave the pattern of this torn flesh and make it whole again. Distill the light of these stars and fill your veins with their blood. Heal yourself, Son of Vod.”
I emerge from the wound even as it closes, leaving not even a scar on his broad chest. My spirit-self sinks back into my body, and my eyes flutter open. Still Sharadza holds my hand. The pink light of dawn seeps in through the chamber windows. The braziers burn low.
I stand up between Sharadza and Alua. We watch Vireon’s flesh regaining its healthy shade of bronze. Sharadza gifts me with an embrace. Alua squeezes Vireon’s hand.
Vireon opens his eyes.
His great arms pull Alua close to him. Their kiss is long and deep.
Sharadza kisses me on the cheek. My second gift, though I am undeserving of it.
D’zan and Vaazhia rouse from their chairs. There is joy in the chamber now, and laughter. Even the Uduri smile as they celebrate the risen King.
Dahrima kneels with spear in hand, her face no longer shadowed by a pall of worry. The tears of a warrior swim in her eyes, yet she refuses to let them fall. The mystery of her emotions is her own secret to keep.
Vireon rises from the bed, whole and full of new strength. He is no longer a Man-Giant caught in the immense shadow of his father’s legend. No longer a vessel built to carry the Blood of Vod and wear an unwanted crown. He is reborn.
He is a sorcerer, like his father before him.
Servants bring wine, meat, and fresh loaves to quench his hunger. We drink, eat, and forget momentarily that our enemies will soon be upon us.
In the war room of the dead Emperor of Uurz they gathered about a great oval of black marble. Vireon had risen from his deathbed only hours ago. The news of his recovery had spread across the palace, into the courtyards, and along the streets of the nervous city. Dahrima heard the cheers of commoners and soldiers from where she stood before the door of Vireon’s chamber.
Sharadza had cleared the room so the Giant-King and his wife might enjoy their reunion in privacy, if only for a little while. The Udvorg guarding the outside corridor were replaced by the Uduri. None of them cared to argue against Dahrima’s order that they join the rest of their blue-skin brothers and get some rest.
“Soon you will defend this city against the same forces that slaughtered us in the valley,” she told them. “So sleep, eat fresh meat, and swill royal ale while you can.” They had not forgotten her murder of their shamaness, but they knew that she had saved Vireon from the God-King’s death blow. They took her advice with nary a grumble.
Dahrima had placed her own back to the Serpent-carved doors while her sisters lined both sides of the hallway. Their eyes searched her face for signs of heartbreak, but she gave them nothing. The King and his Queen were reunited, and Dahrima guarded him once again. All was as it should be.
The sun moved slowly across the blue above the golden spires. A sudden shower sent rainbows to gleam outside the corridor’s leaf-shaped windows. After the rain the sky turned to shades of pink and purple, a palette of clouds smeared across the heavens. Dahrima tried not to imagine Vireon and Alua making love in the chamber behind her. She heard no sounds of passion seeping through the doors, and she was grateful for a handful of quiet hours. Soon chaos would rise again to deafen Men and Giants with its red thunder.
A herald came when the sun’s rim touched the top of the western battlements. The pink sky was crimson now, the purple clouds deepened to the black of bruised flesh. The messenger carried word from Lord Mendices: Vireon and Alua were requested in the council chamber at sunset, to meet with the Warlord and his allies. Now that the Shaper and his sorcerers had finally arrived, it was time to plan the defense of Uurz.