The Seneschal turned, and Phae looked up into his face.
She recognized him.
“I write these words in dread of my own safety. Forgive me the gap between entries as much has happened of great concern in the interval. I have hidden my journals and some of the more crucial manuscripts in a secret vault here in the Archives. What I must write here is perilous and may cost me my life. I have just come to learn a tale that has astonished me beyond measure. I have secretly met and been tutored by the Empress of Boeotia and her consort, who was once a Rike here in Kenatos by the name of Mathon. I now understand the legend of the being known as Shirikant. Words cannot express the depth of my feelings of outrage, shock, and sense of doom. We are in mortal danger. I am perfectly convinced that his current manifestation is now the Arch-Rike of Kenatos. I have been a puppet. I have been a pawn. I have been a fool.
Unwittingly, I have aided in the destruction of certain knowledge. The Archives do not exist to preserve memory as I once believed but to sponge away all references to this malevolent usurper. How many civilizations have perished as a result? How many cultures will never be known? I weep at the enormity of this injustice.
I must make amends and restore what I can when the time is right. I will be killed because of this knowledge. The Empress and I have agreed that secrecy is utmost since no one has seen the Arch-Rike in several days. The Empress fears that he is preparing to unleash the Plague on the citizenry of Kenatos, and that if they are infected, the population will flee the city and transmit it through Stonehollow, Silvandom, Wayland, Havenrook, and Alkire. Even Boeotia. We must act wisely if we are to preserve our civilization. I understand now that Tyrus is not a traitor nor ever was. His quest may indeed be our salvation.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXXVI
That she recognized the Seneschal startled Phae. He looked ageless, with smooth skin that marked a man barely middle aged. His hair was long and dark brown. His eyes were blue, a striking color that matched the jewel she had worn around her neck throughout her life. He was somber, with a hint of sadness in his eyes, but when he smiled at her, she felt a thrill go down to her toes. He wore a Druidecht talisman on a chain around his neck.
“Welcome back, Phae.” He greeted her with a rich, melodious voice. “It is wonderful to see you.” He reached out and took her shoulder, his grip firm but excessively gentle.
She felt as if he had grown up in the orphanage with her or had been wandering the Scourgelands alongside her. His presence was striking, causing emotions to bubble and surface as if the two of them had sat around a warm hearth, drinking tea and sharing stories for ages gone by.
“We have and we will,” he said, his eyes crinkling. “If you accept your charge, that is. Phae, I can hear your thoughts. I have followed your life, hidden in the shadows where you sensed me, but you could not see me. I was there when you first used your Dryad powers in an empty wine barrel.” He smiled at her again, caressing her cheek. “But you have many questions. I feel them bubbling inside of you.”
Phae stared at him, no longer feeling soiled or a stranger. There was no strangeness at all about the Seneschal. He was so familiar that she wondered why she could not remember having met him before.
“How can you hear my thoughts?” Phae asked, not certain she understood what he meant. “Is it your magic?”
He smiled and nodded. “As the Seneschal, I have all the gifts bestowed on the races. But before I explain that part to you, let me first explain what Mirrowen is. What you see is a beach. You hear the surf. You see a city full of gardens and waterfalls. You live on a world. It’s a sphere, round like an orange. There are many lands and oceans and peoples you have not met yet. There are many worlds like yours. More than can be counted, yet I know of them. If you were to count the grains of sand beneath our feet across this wide beach, it would not begin to number how many other worlds there are. Some are inhabited. Some are not. I am the guardian of this one, its protector and defender. Huge chunks of rock beyond this sphere hurtle through the expanse. Sometimes, you’ve seen them at night, streaking through the sky, at certain times of the year. You remember them?”
The images came to her mind immediately and she nodded. “We call them falling stars.”
“Yes. It’s not what they are, but it’s what they appear to be. Some are larger than mountains. They hurtle through space and sometimes threaten a world like this one, as the sea tries to unmake the earth. Two forces are at work in this grand, infinite expanse. There is a force that destroys. It is called by many names. Some call it the Abyss. Some call it the Deep Fathoms. Some the Void. It is also called Decay. It is inexorable, like the waters of the surf on the beach.”
She recognized him.
“I write these words in dread of my own safety. Forgive me the gap between entries as much has happened of great concern in the interval. I have hidden my journals and some of the more crucial manuscripts in a secret vault here in the Archives. What I must write here is perilous and may cost me my life. I have just come to learn a tale that has astonished me beyond measure. I have secretly met and been tutored by the Empress of Boeotia and her consort, who was once a Rike here in Kenatos by the name of Mathon. I now understand the legend of the being known as Shirikant. Words cannot express the depth of my feelings of outrage, shock, and sense of doom. We are in mortal danger. I am perfectly convinced that his current manifestation is now the Arch-Rike of Kenatos. I have been a puppet. I have been a pawn. I have been a fool.
Unwittingly, I have aided in the destruction of certain knowledge. The Archives do not exist to preserve memory as I once believed but to sponge away all references to this malevolent usurper. How many civilizations have perished as a result? How many cultures will never be known? I weep at the enormity of this injustice.
I must make amends and restore what I can when the time is right. I will be killed because of this knowledge. The Empress and I have agreed that secrecy is utmost since no one has seen the Arch-Rike in several days. The Empress fears that he is preparing to unleash the Plague on the citizenry of Kenatos, and that if they are infected, the population will flee the city and transmit it through Stonehollow, Silvandom, Wayland, Havenrook, and Alkire. Even Boeotia. We must act wisely if we are to preserve our civilization. I understand now that Tyrus is not a traitor nor ever was. His quest may indeed be our salvation.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXXVI
That she recognized the Seneschal startled Phae. He looked ageless, with smooth skin that marked a man barely middle aged. His hair was long and dark brown. His eyes were blue, a striking color that matched the jewel she had worn around her neck throughout her life. He was somber, with a hint of sadness in his eyes, but when he smiled at her, she felt a thrill go down to her toes. He wore a Druidecht talisman on a chain around his neck.
“Welcome back, Phae.” He greeted her with a rich, melodious voice. “It is wonderful to see you.” He reached out and took her shoulder, his grip firm but excessively gentle.
She felt as if he had grown up in the orphanage with her or had been wandering the Scourgelands alongside her. His presence was striking, causing emotions to bubble and surface as if the two of them had sat around a warm hearth, drinking tea and sharing stories for ages gone by.
“We have and we will,” he said, his eyes crinkling. “If you accept your charge, that is. Phae, I can hear your thoughts. I have followed your life, hidden in the shadows where you sensed me, but you could not see me. I was there when you first used your Dryad powers in an empty wine barrel.” He smiled at her again, caressing her cheek. “But you have many questions. I feel them bubbling inside of you.”
Phae stared at him, no longer feeling soiled or a stranger. There was no strangeness at all about the Seneschal. He was so familiar that she wondered why she could not remember having met him before.
“How can you hear my thoughts?” Phae asked, not certain she understood what he meant. “Is it your magic?”
He smiled and nodded. “As the Seneschal, I have all the gifts bestowed on the races. But before I explain that part to you, let me first explain what Mirrowen is. What you see is a beach. You hear the surf. You see a city full of gardens and waterfalls. You live on a world. It’s a sphere, round like an orange. There are many lands and oceans and peoples you have not met yet. There are many worlds like yours. More than can be counted, yet I know of them. If you were to count the grains of sand beneath our feet across this wide beach, it would not begin to number how many other worlds there are. Some are inhabited. Some are not. I am the guardian of this one, its protector and defender. Huge chunks of rock beyond this sphere hurtle through the expanse. Sometimes, you’ve seen them at night, streaking through the sky, at certain times of the year. You remember them?”
The images came to her mind immediately and she nodded. “We call them falling stars.”
“Yes. It’s not what they are, but it’s what they appear to be. Some are larger than mountains. They hurtle through space and sometimes threaten a world like this one, as the sea tries to unmake the earth. Two forces are at work in this grand, infinite expanse. There is a force that destroys. It is called by many names. Some call it the Abyss. Some call it the Deep Fathoms. Some the Void. It is also called Decay. It is inexorable, like the waters of the surf on the beach.”
