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  She then reached out and turned up the two Obverse cards in the Cycle of Time. As she revealed the final one, she gasped uncontrollably and looked straight at Aravan—through Aravan—her eyes wild and unfocused, and she hoarsely cried, “Introrsum trahe supernum ignem—pyrà—in obscuram gemmam!”

  And then her eyes rolled up and she fell forward unconscious, Jinnarin shrieking her name.

  CHAPTER 17

  Streams

  Winter, 1E9574–75

  [The Present]

  Aylis!“cried Jinnarin, leaping to her feet as the seeress swooned and fell forward, scattering cards across the table.

  Cat quick, Aravan was at her side, scooping her up in his arms. “Brandy, Alamar,” he barked, and he bore her toward the captain’s stateroom.

  Inside, as Aravan gently lowered Aylis to the bed, Alamar stepped to a cabinet and took from it a decanter of brandy, pouring a bit into a small glass and holding it out to the Elf. Cradling Aylis, Aravan gauged her pulse—“It’s steady”—and waited until he saw her eyelids flutter, then he took the jigger from Alamar. Aylis opened her eyes and looked into Aravan’s.

  “Chieran,” murmured the Elf, lifting her to a sitting position. “Here, drink.” He held the shot to her lips.

  With shaking hands, she reached up and took the glass from him.

  “Steady, Daughter,” said Alamar.

  Aylis took a sip and grimaced, shivering.

  “All of it, chieran,” whispered Aravan. “Drink it all.”

  Again Aylis sipped, once twice, then downing the last, squinting her eyes and shuddering, her lips pursed in a moue.

  Aravan handed the glass back to Alamar. “Another?” asked the Mage, pouring.

  “N-no,” said Aylis. “Please, no more.”

  Alamar looked about, as if seeking another who needed a drink, then downed the dram himself.

  “What happened?” asked Jinnarin, standing on the bed beside Aylis.

  Aylis looked nonplused. “Why, I don’t know. One minute I was turning over cards, and the next I was in here. I think instead it is you who must tell me what happened.”

  “Thou swooned, chieran,” said Aravan.

  “Swooned?”

  “Aye, swooned.”

  Alamar poured himself another dram and set the decanter aside. “Fainted dead away, Daughter. Took one look at the cards and fainted dead away.” The Mage sat in a chair and took a sip of brandy.

  “But first you said something,” added Jinnarin.

  “Blurted it out, in fact,” declared Alamar.

  Aylis looked at Aravan. “What was it? What did I say?”

  Aravan shook his head. “It was in a tongue I know not, chieran.”

  “You said,” proclaimed Alamar, downing the last of his brandy, “Introrsum trahe supernum ignem—pyrà—in obscuram gemmam!”

  Aylis’s eyes widened, as Jinnarin looked at Alamar and nodded vigorously. “Yes,” said the Pysk. “It sounded like that. But, tell me, what does it mean?”

  “It means,” said Aylis, “Draw the heavenly fire…um, something…into the dark gem.” Aylis turned to Alamar. “Father, do you know what pyrà means?”

  Alamar sighed and seemed weary. “Yes, Daughter, though it is only by happenstance that I do. It is a word the Black Mages use, and it means fire.”

  “Pyrà is fire?”

  Alamar nodded. “Ignem, pyrà: I am certain they are the same.” He poured himself another dram of brandy. “Comes from the word pŷr, I suspect.”

  Jinnarin looked at the eld Mage. “Speaking of samenesses, Alamar, is ‘heavenly fire’ the same as the astral fire you told me about?”

  Alamar shrugged then cocked an eyebrow. “Seems likely.”

  Aylis glanced at Aravan. “I’m all right now, love.”

  He kissed her on the forehead then released her, and she swung her feet to the floor. As she stood, she fixed Alamar with a puzzled look. “Tell me this, Father: why would I use a word of the Black Mages?”

  Again Alamar shrugged, a frown on his features. “Daughter, you are the seer, not I.”

  Jinnarin hopped down from the bed. “Perhaps, Aylis, it is something you saw in the cards.”

  “Yes,” said Aylis, standing. “The cards. I must see them.”

  “They are scattered,” said Aravan.

  “Nevertheless, I must see them.”

  She stepped to the door and out, Jinnarin at her side, Aravan and Alamar following. In the captain’s lounge they found Tink, the cabin boy, with the deck in his hand—reassembled. “Hullo, Cap’n. Just straightening up, I was.”

  “Do you remember any of the cards?”

  Aylis’s question hung on the air as Jinnarin, Aravan, and Alamar looked at one another.

  “More importantly, Daughter, do you remember any of them?”

  Aylis shook her head. “No, Father, I don’t. All I remember is that I was turning up the Obverse cards—the hidden factors.”

  “They were all faceup when you fainted, Aylis,” said Jinnarin.

  Aravan nodded and gestured at the table. “Thou hadst just turned up the very last when thou swooned.”

  Aylis looked from one to another. “Surely you remember some of the cards…don’t you?” Silence answered her. “Not even one?”

  “The Hidden Mage was in his usual spot,” said Alamar at last.

  “There was a—no, wait, that was in my Spread,” murmured Jinnarin. “Oh, Aylis, when you fell across the table, whatever cards were laid down, well, it was knocked right out of my head.”

  They sat in despondent silence for a while, Aylis finally asking, “What was the last card I turned up?”

  Aravan glanced at the others. “It was the key moment in the Cycle of Time.”

  Both Jinnarin and Alamar nodded their agreement, the Mage saying, “It was then you seemed to be gripped in a trance.”

  “And you called out those words,” added Jinnarin.

  Aylis took Aravan’s hand in her own. “Try to remember: what was the card?”

  Aravan closed his eyes. “A dagger, a sword, I think. A blade of some sort.”

  “No,” said Jinnarin. “Not a sword. Instead, it was two swords crossed. I remember now. Two swords crossed. Definitely.”

  Aylis riffled through the deck, withdrawing a card. “This one?” She laid down a card depicting crossed blades, but they were daggers, not swords.

  Aravan looked at Jinnarin, and they both turned to Alamar. The eld Mage shook his head and turned up his hands in a gesture of I-don’t-know. At last Aravan said, “Mayhap, Aylis. All I remember was that it was a blade or blades.”

  Aylis held up the card. “This is the only one with crossed blades. If this was the card, then it signifies combat, personal combat, such as a duel, a match, one opponent against another.” Aylis took a deep breath. “Tell me, was it Upright or Inverted?”

  “Upright.—No, wait. Upright to me but Inverted to thee.”

  Aylis grew pale and her voice was grim. “Inverted to me means the outcome is unfavorable to you, Aravan. Unfavorable to you.”

  “Bah!” barked Alamar. “First of all, we don’t even know if that was the card or not. Second, the Hidden Mage, whoever he is, is blocking all critical readings. Who’s to say that he isn’t also sending false information?”

  Aylis leaned forward on her elbows, her head in her hands. At last she looked up. “Father is right. The cards are unknown. In fact, they may have had nothing at all to do with my rede. Seers under stress have at times spontaneously foretold the future, and Adon knows, we are—I am—under stress.”

  As they pondered Aylis’s words, Jatu entered the salon. “My Lady Jinnarin, you are needed on deck; the northern lights have begun to flicker.”

  “Aylis,” asked Jinnarin, not taking her eyes from the sky, “are the cards always right?”

  Aylis looked down at the Pysk. They stood on the deck of the Eroean, the aurora flaming overhead. “Jinnarin, the cards only tell what might be, not what must be.”

&nbs
p; “But I thought your seer castings were—were—” Jinnarin searched for the right word.

  “Infallible?” asked Aylis.

  “Yes, infallible.”

  “No, Jinnarin, seer castings are not infallible. Oh, a divination by a skilled seer is indeed a powerful thing, and most likely to have been, to be, or to become true, depending upon where within the Cycle of Time the seer looks. Regardless, the futures presaged by the cards are not immutable…especially not in this case, for I am thwarted by an unseen power, and the cards make no more sense than were they dealt by random chance.”

  “But, Aylis, surely you saw something in the Spread you dealt Aravan.”

  Aylis shrugged. “Perhaps, Jinnarin, yet we will never know.”

  “Unless it comes true,” said Jinnarin, scanning the skies.

  Aylis inhaled deeply, then exhaled, her breath white in the winter air. “A losing duel?”

  Jinnarin nodded. “Or something about heavenly fire and a gemstone. —Wait! Do you think the heavenly fire could mean the aurora?”

  Aylis’s eyes flew wide, and she gazed at the burning display above.

  Though the boreal lights shuddered and shifted throughout the long winter night, no plumes did they see, and in the hour ere dawn, the aurora faded until it was gone. Weary, the watchers made their way unto their beds.

  It was nigh noon when Aylis awakened, and after she had completed her toilet and dressed, she found Aravan and her father on deck with Jatu and Bokar, Jinnarin nowhere to be seen. As Aylis joined them, Jatu repeated his question: “And just how does one go about ‘drawing heavenly fire into a gemstone,’ eh? Answer me that, Mage Alamar.”

  The elder ran his finger ‘round the dull red stone in his gold bracelet. “For me, it would be a matter of discovering the proper casting. But for you, the gemstone would need to be special, a token of power, one you could invoke by Truenaming it.”

  Jatu raised an eyebrow. “Truenaming?”

  Bokar looked up at the black Man. “Like Durek’s Axe. It has a Truename. Speak it and the axe will cleave through stone or metal…or so they say.”

  “Ah,” said Jatu, his face lighting up with understanding. “Like Nombi’s Spear: it never missed, did you call it by its secret word.”

  “A Truename, no doubt,” said Alamar.

  Jatu turned to the Mage. “How do these ‘special’ things acquire a Truename?”

  Alamar glanced at Aylis, and she nodded, as if giving permission, or as if agreeing that the knowledge should be shared. Alamar cleared his throat. “A very simple token of power is sometimes simply found in nature and requires no crafting at all. Other simple tokens can be made by a single crafter, an artifactor, usually a Mage, but sometimes not. Some of these are continuously active and do not need to be Truenamed—such as your blue stone, Aravan—whereas others do. Examples of a single artifactor’s work which are invoked by a Truename are the swords made by Dwynfor, the Elven smith, as is perhaps Durek’s Axe, Bokar…or Nombi’s Spear, Jatu. More complex tokens of power usually take two or three Mages to complete the crafting—an alchemist, an artifactor, and someone to embed it with its special power. A very potent token, however, requires the crafting of many Mages, or even the crafting of a god.”

  “A god?” Jatu’s eyes widened.

  “Adon, Elwydd, Gyphon, the Others.”

  Bokar took off his winged helmet and looked within, as if seeking something inside. “Tell me, Mage Alamar, what kind of a gemstone could draw fire into itself?”

  Alamar shrugged. “I don’t know, Bokar. There are many kinds of gems, any one of which might be made into a token: adamas, crystallus, smaragdus, carbunculus, sappirhus, corallum—”

  “Argh,” growled Bokar. “You name gemstones I am unfamiliar with.”

  “My father gives them their Magenames, Bokar,” said Aylis. “You know them as diamond, crystal, emerald, ruby, sapphire, and coral.”

  “Hah!” exclaimed the Dwarf. “It sounds as if any gemstone will do.”

  “That’s what I was telling you, Dwarf,” retorted Alamar peevishly.

  Bokar bristled, then settled. “Well, Mage Alamar, what I was wondering is whether or not the dark gemstone of Seeress Aylis’s rede could be the stone Aravan wears about his neck?”

  Alamar’s eyes flew wide, and he turned to Aravan. “Let me see it,” he demanded.

  Aravan fished out the stone from beneath his jerkin and slipped the leather thong over his head, handing it to Alamar. The Mage studied the blue rock for long moments. “Wrong fire,” he muttered. “Entirely the wrong fire within. Aylis was right when she examined it before: this is a warding device, pure and simple, one that will detect creatures of Neddra, and a few of this world as well.” He handed it back to Aravan, who threaded it over his head and slipped it back beneath his jerkin. “Nevertheless, Bokar,” added the Mage, “it was a clever thought.”

  “Those gemstones, Alamar,” asked Aravan, “know thee the gemstone names in the speech of the Black Mages?”

  Alamar shook his head, No, then asked, “Why would that matter?”

  Aravan glanced at Aylis, then said to Alamar, “Thy daughter spoke a word in the tongue of the Black Mages, and I thought the name of the dark gemstone might be called in that tongue as well.”

  Alamar slowly nodded, saying, “Perhaps. Were we in Kairn, Aylis and I would visit the library at the college of Mages. There we might find reference to those names. Still, though, it would be at Fortune’s whim for us to find anything worthwhile, for we do not even know what kind of gem or jewel the dark gemstone of her rede is. And there are tens, even hundreds of types of gems, and to discover the Black Mage words naming all of them is most unlikely. And even should we find a name of a gem or two, and even should the name we find be the correct one, to infer from that a Truename, well, I would say it is a virtual impossibility, especially since we are being blocked.”

  Days fled by, winter deepened, and often the spectral lights of the aurora burned above in the long cold nights. Yet no plumes did they see. Jinnarin’s moods swung between glumness and cheer, depending upon whether she dreamt of a black ship or not, the nightmare coming sporadically. December arrived, the first week passed and then another, and the tempers of all began to fray, crew and officers alike snapping at one another. Alamar’s complaints and criticisms grew by leaps and bounds, and Jinnarin thought that she would scream whenever he opened his mouth. Finally Aravan held a shipwide meeting, and even as he climbed upon a table to speak, someone called out, “‘Ow much longer we goin’ to ride at bloody anchor, Cap’n?” A concurring murmur of discontent rumbled through the crew.

  Aravan spotted the complainant. “That’s what I am here to talk about, Geff.”

  Aravan slowly turned, his gaze seeking the eye of every Man and Dwarf. Some returned his scrutiny straight on; others glanced down at their feet, as if ashamed or guilty of some unspecified infraction. When he had turned full circle, he spoke:

  “I know we are all impatient to get on with the mission, and that sitting at anchor off the coast is wearying to the spirit of each and every one. Yet, heed, we may be here all winter—another full hundred days.” A groan rose up at this pronouncement, then quickly died as Aravan held up his hands for silence. “We seek to see the same as Lady Jinnarin’s mate saw—plumes from the aurora. Mayhap in but a night or so they will come; mayhap in a week or two; mayhap not at all. Yet, sitting here may be the swiftest way for us to find Farrix, can we find his plumes.

  “Do we not succeed in seeing what he saw, then will we hale anchor and go aroving, seeking instead the pale green sea.

  “I know ye chafe to be off and running, for I do so myself. There is little to occupy us while riding at anchor, and loitering about is not a thing we do gracefully. For we are folk of action, folk who are used to roving the waters of the world and seeking the truth behind legends, we who if we are not sailing the seas are instead striking inland on the trail of wonder.

  “Yet now we find ourselves sitting id
le, waiting for an event that might never come.

  “But we are sworn to serve the Lady Jinnarin, and at this moment we serve her best by waiting. But we serve her not at all with our bickering, and I would that we set these petty things aside.

  “And so, I charge us all with the following: to find again our good spirits; to find again that fellowship which draws us together; to find again our good cheer; and to find again our sense of mission, of purpose, of direction—of our service to Lady Jinnarin.”

  Aravan paused, and in the silence someone—Geff, it was—called out, “Hoy, the cap’n’s roight, ‘e is. ‘Tis only a ‘undred days we’ve to wait—that or less. Hi can do that standin’ on me ‘ead—”

  Jatu called out, “Now that’s something I’d like to see: Geff standing on his head for a hundred days.”

  A roar of laughter burst out, and Aravan let it run its course. When it died down, he said, “I ween Geff’s words ring true: on our heads or not, we can easily put up with a hundred-day wait. What say ye all?”

  Geff called out, “Hi say let’s give the cap’n three cheers—roight?”

  Hip-hip, hooray! Hip-hip, hooray! Hip-hip, hooray!

  Geff himself led the cheering.

  Smiling, Aravan stepped down, but as the crew began to disband, Jatu sprang to the table and called for quiet. When it fell, the big black Man said, “I say we get up a lottery as to when the first plume will be seen.”

  “A hundred days,” roared Bokar, agreeing, surging forward to participate, his warband crowding in after. “A hundred-day lottery for all!”

  “With two hundred numbers,” shouted someone else, “two numbers for each night, one before the midnight hour and one after.”

  “Pick ’em out of a hat!”

  A general shout of agreement rose up, and Aravan smiled as he left the meeting. It seemed as if morale had been restored—perhaps for one hundred days.

  The next day Jinnarin sat with Jatu at the stern of the ship and watched as the crew clambered up the rigging to clear the ice that had accumulated overnight, and one of the Men was canting a chantey, and the others responded in chorus.