Savage Messiah

Celeste lay asleep on the floor. Her hair was completely gray now, and her skin was lined with wrinkles. Her face had an unhealthy pallor, and it was growing difficult for her to move. Even so, he loved her as much as ever.

Down on the ground and slightly ahead of the flying Minion cohort, Wigg led the way on Shadow.

Tristan cursed softly. He hated traveling so slowly-especially when every moment was so important to Celeste. He knew that Wigg felt the same way, but what else could they do? Every time Wigg tried to charge ahead, he lost the spell-only to have it return when he slowed. It was an agonizingly frustrating way to travel.

His thoughts again found their way back to Satine. She had perhaps been the best adversary he had ever faced, and he knew that he was lucky to be alive. On their way from the camp, he had seen the simple stone marker that Wigg had erected at her fresh grave. He had used the craft to inscribe the single word "Satine" into its face, along with the date of her death. It was all that they really knew about her. Who was she, and who trained her so well? the prince wondered. He would probably never know.

Below, Wigg brought Shadow to an abrupt stop. For several moments the wizard did not move. Then he looked up and waved the warriors down.

Tristan's heart fell. The sun was setting, and the wizard had chosen this spot to camp for the night. This was the only reason they could be stopping-because there was nothing but grasslands for as far as the eye could see.

He looked down at Celeste as they descended, and closed his eyes against the pain he felt for her.

The Minions and their litters landed. Celeste stirred and sat up. Ru

The wizard dismounted, handing Shadow's reins to a waiting warrior. He looked perplexed.

"What is it?" Tristan asked.

At first Wigg did not answer. He simply stared out over the vast grasslands as if searching for something.

"I've lost it," he said softly.

"Lost what?" Celeste asked.

"The River of Thought," Wigg answered. "Its pull upon me has vanished."

"But how can that be?" Tristan protested. "You weren't traveling fast enough to lose the spell."

Wigg sighed. "There can be only two explanations," he said. "The first is that the spell has been broken somehow-which would mean that we may never find the place we are searching for."

"And the other answer?" Tristan asked.

"The other possibility is that we have arrived, and the pull from the River of Thought is no longer required."

Tristan looked around. All he could see was waving grass.

"But how could this be the place?" he asked. "There's nothing here."

Wigg was about to answer when they all heard a rumbling. Almost simultaneously, the ground began to shake. Shadow and the other horse reared up and whi

The rumbling sound grew louder and the earth shook more violently, making it difficult to remain standing. Tristan was about to order everyone into the air when he saw a pinprick of azure light form in the grass. He pointed it out to Wigg and Celeste. As the light grew in size and intensity, everyone stepped back.

Something emerged from the ground. At first they could see only azure light, but then another form started to take shape. It was like an arrow, with four sides extending down from its pi

Tristan gazed at it in amazement. A shimmering azure pyramid stood before him, its smooth shiny sides reflecting the dwindling daylight.

"I think it's safe to say that we have arrived," Wigg said softly.

Tristan was about to answer when a brilliant white door appeared in the pyramid's wall. The door slowly moved to one side, and a soft blue light spilled out over the threshold and onto the grass. Tristan looked over at Ox.

"Make camp here," he ordered. "Wigg, Celeste, and I are going inside. There is no telling how long we might be gone-or whether we will return. Under no circumstances are you or any of your warriors to follow us inside. You will simply have to wait for our return. Do you understand?"

Ox's face fell, but he knew his duty. "I live to serve," came the standard reply. "Luck with you."

Tristan looked over at Wigg and Celeste and they nodded back. He took each of them by the hand, and together they walked into the magnificent structure. After several steps, by silent, mutual agreement the three of them stopped, breath held, eyes wide with wonder. The inside of the structure was far larger than its outside had led them to believe. Stu

"How can this be?" he asked.

"Nothing is impossible within the purview of the craft," Wigg answered. "But I must admit that this comes close."

They stood in the middle of a huge foyer that branched off into several seemingly endless halls. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all constructed of what looked like azure glass. Soft light of the same color illuminated the place, radiating from everywhere, yet originating from nowhere. The only other color was a bloodred image of the Paragon, inlaid in the center of the floor. Silence reigned.

"What do we do now?" Celeste asked at last. Her voice, brittle and dry, echoed down the halls. Tristan took her withered hand.

"There can be only one answer," Wigg said. "We pick a hallway and begin walking. It seems to me that-"

He stopped in midsentence.

"What is it?" Tristan asked.

Eyes glued dead ahead, Wigg pointed. "Look," he said.

Another pinprick of azure light was forming in the air. As it grew in intensity it spun, and a form started to take shape in its midst. The form grew longer and wider until it was clearly identifiable as a boy. He glowed softly with the color of the craft. Tristan guessed him to be no more than nine or ten Seasons of New Life.

His hair was dark, his eyes were large and expressive. Completely naked, he stood there before them without shame.

Staring, Tristan realized that he could actually see through the boy, as if the boy was made of azure fog. It was like looking at a ghost. Perhaps that is exactly what he is, the prince thought. Suddenly the apparition knelt.

Not knowing what to do, Tristan looked over at Wigg and then back at the boy. "You may rise," he said awkwardly.

"So it is true after all," the boy said. "The Jin'Sai really is of this world. That must mean that the Jin'Saiou-she who was prophesied to be your twin sister-must now also have mortal form. Is that not true?"

"Yes," Tristan answered simply. "But how could you know?"

The boy pointed to Tristan's wound. "The dried azure blood on your vest. It is said that the true Jin'Sai or the Jin'Saiou might possess such blood." He paused. "So you have come to me at last."

He looked at Wigg. "It is also said that the watchwoman of the Chambers of Penitence recently oversaw the requisite trials of an ancient wizard who wore the Paragon. And that as a result of his trials, she provided his friend with herbs and oils that would help them in their struggle against the Vagaries. It was the reenactment of your greatest regrets that she oversaw, was it not?" he asked.

Stu

"That is correct," he answered. "But how did you know?"

"First of all, you wear the stone," the boy answered. "It was the nearness of the stone that alerted me to your presence and activated the structure in which you now stand. And, secondly, the watchwoman and I serve the same masters. We have done so for aeons. They see all."