Savage Messiah

"The Ones Who Came Before," Wigg said.

"Yes."

"But you are so young," Tristan said. "If what you say is true, then how is that possible?"

"I am aeons old, but for your benefit I have taken a form that your minds could understand and that you would find pleasing," the boy said. "But if this form doesn't suit you, I can take on another appearance.

"It is my task to watch over this place, this wonder left behind by the Ones. It is also my duty to serve those who come here bearing the stone and wishing to serve only the Vigors.

"There is far more history about our land and the craft than you know. Many others who have worn the stone have visited here, long before you. I helped them as well. Even so, our struggle against the Vagaries seems to know no end."

"Are you the one known as the Scroll Master?" Tristan asked.

The boy smiled. "Yes, among other things."

"And what is this place?" Wigg asked. "Is this the Well of Forestallments?"

"Yes," the boy answered. "But as is true with so many other wonders of this world, it too has another name, and another purpose."

"And what is that?" Celeste asked. Her voice was faint, and she clung weakly to Tristan's arm. The prince held her close.

"It is also known as the Abyss of Lost Souls."

"I don't understand," Wigg said.

"The craft is a vast universe, of which you have charted but a little," the boy said. "But you will understand far more by the time you leave here."

The boy gave Celeste a puzzled look. Gliding closer, he examined her, then looked at Wigg again.

"She is of your seed," he said. "And she is dying. What is left of her blood signature is vanishing as we speak."

"That is true," Wigg answered anxiously. "But how could you-"

"And you, Jin'Sai," the boy said, interrupting the wizard. "I see your blood at work there. Did you not know that a union between your blood and hers would result in such a tragedy? Did your wizards not inform you of this? The warning was clearly illustrated in the Scrolls of the Ancients. Is this why you have come to me-to try to save the life of this woman?"

"Yes," Tristan answered. "But we have other reasons for searching you out, as well. The Orb of the Vigors has been wounded and it is bleeding. It wreaks havoc across the land. The Enseterat-my half brother-is returning to Eutracia to oversee its death throes. The Tome states that only the Jin'Sai or the Jin'Saiou might be able to heal the orb, but only after being granted the proper Forestallment. That Forestallment can supposedly be found in the scrolls, but we had no time to search them out. So we chose to find you instead."

"Tristan, my love…" Celeste suddenly whispered.

Finally overcome with weakness, she fainted. Struggling against the pain in his shoulder, Tristan caught her and he lifted her into his arms.

Wigg rushed over. Lifting one of her eyelids, he looked into her eye. What he saw there turned his face ashen. He shook his head.

"She's nearly gone," he breathed.

As tears of desperation welled up in Tristan's eyes, he looked at the boy.

"Can you help us?" he pleaded.

The boy nodded. "You were right to search me out, Jin'Sai," he said.

"I will do what I can. I know that you love her. But if the Enseterat has been loosed upon the world, the task before us has suddenly become far greater than the saving of a single life, no matter how dear she may be to you. Follow me."

With Celeste in his arms and Wigg by his side, Tristan followed the boy down one of the endless hallways.

CHAPTER LXXVI

The outskirts of Tammerland were in flames, and Shailiha, Tyra

When the first Minion reports of the fires had come in, Faegan had ordered the women to go and investigate. Still consumed by their research, he and Jessamay remained ensconced in the Redoubt. But this time the women did not argue when Faegan told them that he and the sorceress must stay behind.

The black, stinking mass that had polluted the Sippora had finally reached the outskirts of the city and the damage it was causing was extraordinary.

For centuries, the Sippora had wound though the heart of the city the same way a major artery traversed the human body-and it was just as important. Although not suitable for drinking, its water was essential for washing, for use in many of Tammerland's hundreds of trades, and for the transportation of goods. Homes and businesses lined both sides of its banks. Many of the structures were wood. Most were old and dried out. It often seemed that little more than a stiff wind would send them tumbling into the water. They were simply no match for the superheated "waters" of the polluted Sippora.

Anyone foolish enough to try to save his or her home or business was quickly consumed. Scorched bodies lay at contorted angles on the banks; survivors screamed and ran for their lives. Even from where they hovered above the holocaust, Faegan's observers could smell the sickly sweet odor of burning flesh-both animal and human.

Shailiha lowered her head and closed her eyes. Tyra

"Look there!" Adrian shouted. She pointed northeast, toward the heart of the city. Shailiha shifted her gaze to peer through the drifting smoke.

A crushing mass of humanity was fleeing the firestorm. Although some moved north or south to avoid the river altogether, the vast majority were ru

But that will only take them deeper into the city and make things worse! Shailiha realized. Can't they see that? What in the name of the Afterlife do they think they're doing?

And then she understood. The terrified citizens were struggling to get to the royal palace, where they thought they might find safety, medical care, and food.

Shailiha's blood ran cold. The palace and its grounds were still crowded with the wounded who had first sought sanctuary from the rampaging Orb of the Vigors. She doubted that many more would fit-certainly not as many as were approaching its gates.

Shailiha looked over at the other women to see their sad faces turned toward hers-as though she might have some solution simply because she was of the royal house. She thought she understood now how Wigg and Faegan felt every time they were turned to for answers simply because they were wizards.

Wulfgar started this all, she thought. But now we are doing these things to ourselves. Can't the people down there see that? What is to become of us?

Leaning out of the litter, Shailiha caught the attention of the warrior commanding her group. "Take us back to the palace!" she shouted. "And hurry!"

With a nod, the warrior barked out orders and the litter turned for home.

"Drink this," Abbey said.

She handed the heady concoction to Jessamay, who was again seated in the familiar chair, surrounded by Faegan's azure wizard's warp. He relaxed the warp just enough for her to use her hands. She took the silver goblet.

A dense, greenish fog rose up and brimmed over the cup's lip to settle on the nearby floor and thread its way around Jessamay's feet. She glanced at the cup with no small degree of trepidation.

"How is it different this time?" she asked.

Abbey smiled. "We have added ground root of cat's claw, and a touch of widow-winkle," she answered. "It is the combination of the two that produces the sage fog. We have further refined the calculations taken from Failee's grimoire, and they led us to this particular combination of herbs." Her face became more serious. "How are you feeling? Are you sure that you have enough strength for another try?"