Читать книгу Ringwall's Doom - Wolf Awert - Страница 7

Ringwall’s dark shadows lay behind him. Nill struggled to remember when he had last felt as free as he did now, the warm wind blowing in his face, telling him tales and fables. The smells it brought were fresh and young, and the sounds came from far away. It felt as though with every step he took, he was taking off dark, heavy layers of clothing and leaving them on the ground.

Soon I’ll be all naked, he thought merrily.

He had not dwelled long on which direction to take. The name Perdis and the knowledge that this Perdis had written in the old runes of the Fire Kingdom were evidence enough for him. And so he followed the sun at its highest point. While he had promised to help Ambrosimas in his search for the five Books of Prophecy, that had to wait. The books could be anywhere. And if even Ambrosimas had not been able to find them so far, Nill himself would be even less likely to. Unless they just happened to come to him. Fate would decide, as with everything else. Nill decided to take the easier route, likely due to the sun, the light and the happiness he felt.

Nill avoided the paths and roads. His steps were long and light, like those he had admired of Dakh-Ozz-Han, his first mentor. Dakh’s steps left no trail; he left no footprints on the earth and left the grass unbroken. A stride like this made the wanderer invisible to hunters and trackers. Only dogs or arcanists could find him, for they could follow the magic that remained on his invisible footprints before it blew away with the wind. By the time Ringwall came to realize his disappearance, every hint of his trail would be gone, and so he hurried through the fields and meadows where the grass was tall, and past bushes and copses where his sharp shepherd’s eye spotted the fruits the birds had missed.

“I have the power of magic!” Nill cheered as he rejoiced in his newfound freedom.

He avoided the many small villages as well as he could, and the larger settlements in particular. It seemed the better choice to avoid other people, even if it meant not taking the faster roads. He ate what he could find on the land and slept wherever there was enough space and shelter, and so it took just a few days before he was outside of Ringwall’s province. The distances between villages grew, and so too did the lonesomeness of the landscape; in place of fields there was now tall, wild grass, its many blades caressing his legs and stretching to all sides like a vast green ocean. Only near villages was it cut. Away from those it belonged to the wild animals, rams and herds of ruminants. As they were easy game for any hunter, Nill avoided them too.

He stopped and looked back. Alone and oddly lost, he stood in the middle of the untouched grasslands, calmly swaying like the sea that barely remembered the last storm.

Moments of harmony like these were rare even in the untouched wilderness, for there was always something that disturbed the peace. A sudden gale, fighting cocks or a freak rainstorm were never far away.

Well, Nill thought, it doesn’t look like rain. But I don’t seem to be the only wanderer around here.

His sharp eyes had spotted small whirls in the steady swaying of the grass. Now and then it parted like a maw to swallow its prey, then fell back into unnoticeable calm as it waited for a new victim. Nill observed the grass with caution, but he was not afraid; whatever it was, it was not troubling to remain hidden.

The motion stopped once Nill was barely twenty steps away. His mouth fell open in a surprised laugh. He knew this distance.

“Come out, you,” he said hoarsely, but his spirit’s call was all the louder. The grass parted again and out of the green trudged an old ram with great horns and grumpy-looking, slanted yellow eyes, so starved that Nill could count every rib in its side.

Only now that he was reunited with the old ram did Nill realize how lonely he had been in Ringwall. His heart lifted as it had not since he was still a child in Grovehall.

He patted the ram’s coat, gripped its horns and knocked gently against its bony brow as if it was a door and he was asking to enter. The ram accepted all of it without losing a trace of its grumpiness.

“What are you this time? A stubborn old sheep or a Demon Lord’s vessel?”

He immediately regretted the careless question, but it was too late. A fleeting shadow flitted over him and he shivered. Jesting about the lords of the Other World was foolish; he cast a protective spell on himself. The shadow vanished.

“Come on, then,” he said to his ram. “We have a long way ahead of us.”

Nill could attract most small animals and even bind some to him. The larger ones were too strong, but he still felt them. But this ram, his old companion from his younger days, lived its own life, and Nill had no idea why it had decided to follow him all the way from Earthland to Ringwall, and now had suddenly reappeared. There was a mysterious connection between them. Another obscure secret in Nill’s life, which truly did not struggle to attract the inexplicable.

He set off again and the ram walked in circles around him. Nill began to worry. Shepherd’s dogs behaved this way to protect their herd, but a ram was not a dog, and Nill was not a herd. A ram stood still in vigil, or it kept the rear of the herd safe as it traveled. Nill looked around and allowed his senses to wander across the grassland, but he found nothing.

If you go looking for adventures you’ll find them. If none exist, you make them up in your head, Nill attempted to soothe his troubled thoughts, but he could not shake off the strange uncomfortable feeling. Even the next few uneventful days did not change that.

Sleeping in tall grass had certain disadvantages. Often his clothing was soaked with dew when he woke up, for the days grew shorter and the nights colder. The feeling that he was being followed surrounded him like flies on carrion. The grass concealed the hunter as much as the prey, and the air was heavy and threatening on his shoulders. Nill noted with displeasure that there were always small wild cats or birds of prey around him. They were not dangerous, but they knew where he and his ram were. He was not worried for himself, but a pack of leonpedons would judge a ram to be easy and tasty prey. Nill called for the ram to stay close, and to his surprise the stubborn old animal obeyed. From now on Nill followed the narrow hunter’s tracks, and they had soon left the plains surrounding Ringwall.

The terrain began to rise and soon the bald stone heads of the hills broke through the grass. One evening he made a wondrous discovery. Glittering like precious jewels in the last rays of the evening sun, small droplets of water clung to the grass. It could not be dew – it was too early in the evening, and the air was far too warm. Out of curiosity he decided to taste it. It was normal water apart from a subtle, yet impossibly sweet note. Nill caught the droplets in the palm of his hand. Twenty each made a tiny mouthful that filled his mouth with a flowery, mellifluous taste. Nill did not know that people called it dreamwater. Those who bought it paid a high price, for the gathering was an arduous process, and nobody was quite sure when the droplets came forth to breath the silent evening air. And so he simply enjoyed their sweetness and their smell, and the happy thoughts that followed.

*

The archmages of Ringwall had convened around the Onyxian Oval. Gnarlhand, Archmage of Earth, had worked his element tirelessly to rebuild it from the three fragments it had shattered into. But the magic that could have undone the conflict in the High Council was beyond any of them. The splits in the stone stood out more clearly than scars left by a blade. They would forever serve as a reminder that conflict and disunity are the parents of weakness.

The seats around the table were throne-like, each attempting to outdo the others in grandeur. The five elemental archmages sat opposite the magon. Beside him were the Mages of the Spheres – Keij-Joss, he who read the Cosmos; Murmon-Som, Archmage of the Other World; and Ambrosimas, whose magic was of thoughts and words. The Archmage of Nothing was absent. His chair, plain and without embellishment, was empty. The circle was incomplete.

The Onyx’s scarred surface crackled and blew sparks as the archmages took their seats. Gnarlhand worried how long the stone would last as his eyes wandered across the cracks and gouges. Now and then he shook his head unnoticeably. It did not look good, not good at all. What worried him even more were Ambrosimas and Keij-Joss. Ambrosimas had wrapped his aura around himself like a cloak and was barely visible beneath the dancing symbols; Keij-Joss was so pale he looked as though he would evaporate at any moment.

“I have asked you here today because Nill, our Brother of Nothing, seems to have gone missing.”

The airy tone Gwynmasidon affected stood in stark contrast to the pulsing vein in his temple.

“Can any of you tell me where he is, or the last time he was seen?”

The magon’s tone had not lasted for more than a sentence. He was angered, and he showed it.

“I have felt a weakening of the circle for only a few days,” Queschella answered. She was the Archmage of Water and the only woman on the council. “I never considered it important; Brother Nill’s contribution to the circle’s power was never great,” she muttered with a disapproving glance at Ambrosimas, who showed no sign of having listened.

“Although, the blame is not his own; the young man had no example to follow in that regard,” Nosterlohe added haughtily.

Ambrosimas remained impassive.

Bar Helis slammed his fist down on the magical Onyx. “Enough. We all know what to think of Brother Ambrosimas, but our dear Archmage of Thoughts is not what we’re here for. We were talking about our Brother Nill.”

My Brother Nill, your Brother Nill, our Brother Nill. Don’t make me laugh, you puffed up, pompous prattler, Ambrosimas thought. He did not have the time to finish his thought; Bar Helis rode his attack in a full gallop.

“I agree with you, Sister Queschella. Nill’s contribution to the circle was small. But if I may remind you all, the boy succeeded in killing Mah Bu, and Mah Bu was an archmage. Powerful and experienced.”

Bar Helis observed with satisfaction that several faces around the table darkened.

“Mah Bu was a fool, and now he’s dead. Of course his experience was undeniable. But the powers of the Other World cannot always be tamed. Every Archmage of the Other World lives a dangerous life.” Ambrosimas’ voice was flat and dispassionate. Such an Ambrosimas was a new appearance at the High Council, and everyone wondered what game the Archmage of Thoughts was playing this time.

“Is that right? A fool, was he?” Bar Helis flared up. “To me, there are only two explanations. Either Brother Nill received aid from within the council, or…”

Bar Helis did not have the opportunity to finish his sentence. Beneath the weight of this accusation the Onyx heaved and fired flashes through the room. Gnarlhand leapt up and laid his hands on the stone, sending all his power into the cracks. He would not be able to save it again.

“Magon!” he shouted agitatedly. “You cannot allow such suspicions to spread! We need the stone.”

The magon jerked up. Nobody knew where he had been in his thoughts. Several of those present noted that his face had gone gray. His features were, as always, straight and angular, but the skin sagged a little here and there. The visions must have cost the magon dearly.

“We should hunt Nill down and force him to admit he is the Changer.” Fiery in spirit and mind, Nosterlohe always preferred quick and effective solutions, but the magon disagreed.

“You think it is so easy. Nosterlohe! Bar Helis! You seek the Changer and so everything unusual is your quarry. But the world is not so simple, fate is not so transparent. Even if our brother is the Changer, he does not know it. No one could live with the knowledge that they must one day destroy the world. Questioning will lead nowhere. And remember, Brothers and Sisters, my visions have not changed. The figure has barely left the mists, and all around him rages the din of war. These images do not match Brother Nill.”

“Why give fate a chance?” To everyone’s surprise Nosterlohe did not give up. “As easily as we made him an archmage, so too can we banish him from our midst. Thoroughly, if you understand my meaning. We would be rid of many troubles and could focus on more important things once more.”

The Onyx understood Nosterlohe’s meaning and creaked ominously.

Ambrosimas’ voice added little. “Such as?” The acerbic derision cut through his densely-woven aura.

“Brothers,” Gnarlhand said soothingly. “Our disunity has broken the Onyx once before. What do you think will happen if we decide to eliminate one of our own?”

The Onyx had stopped sending out the bolts and flashes. Its sudden silence was only interrupted by an occasional crackling.

“There is, of course, another possibility.”

Ambrosimas had chosen to speak in thoughts, countering Nosterlohe’s loud voice with his own silence. A wave of pale blue light shot through the Onyx. In silence there was often more strength than in thunder.

“The Archmage of Nothing was chosen by fate, and is on our side. He will know what to do. We should let he go wherever he wants. He will guide us to the right place and show us what he seeks. I will send a follower after him, so quiet that even the snakes cannot feel its steps, so quick that the wind believes it doesn’t exist.”

Bar Helis’ expression darkened further still, and sparks shot out of the stone before him, but it was Murmon-Som who spoke.

“Nill, our savior and the answer to destiny itself. Please, Brothers. This is children’s talk, fairy-tales for the gullible. And to send a follower after him – as if we are a horned husband, jealously running after an unfaithful wife. Brother Ambrosimas, please.” Murmon-Som smiled. Several archmages chuckled, and Ambrosimas’ aura grew denser. “But there is one more thing to consider, something none of us can explain.”

Eight pairs of eyes looked expectantly at Murmon-Som. Only Ambrosimas kept his gaze fixed on the Onyx.

“It is the magic of Nothing,” Murmon-Som answered the unspoken question. “It entered into our world, found a place in the Sanctuary and pushed its chair into our circle. In the beginning, I heard, it was just a small space between two chairs. As long as we fail to understand why the Nothing is among us, and Brother Nill is the only one who is in no danger when contacting this mystifying magic, it would be unwise to… remove him. I therefore suggest we send out our hunters and beg Nill to return. Should we still believe Nosterlohe’s idea necessary, we might yet act upon it at a later date. But in a time of such danger as we are in now, when our entire future hangs in the balance, we would do well to keep our young archmage at our side. At all times.”

Murmon-Som’s words crept across the table and unfolded their potential slowly, like a delicate poison. The first heads began to nod in agreement without noticing it, for none of them liked Nill’s absence. Others saw only precious time lost and hesitated. In the end, even Bar Helis agreed.

Murmon-Som hid his satisfaction masterfully, aided in no small part by his sickly appearance. Rarely were the eyes of the council upon him, and if they were, it was a mere formality. The shadow Mah Bu had cast upon the circle was long, and Murmon-Som would need time to be heard. He did not mind. Being underestimated was a strength he could use.

Only the cracked Onyx spoke a different language. It had thrown wild sparks when Bar Helis’ passion had got the better of him. It glowed in a pale blue light before the chair of Nothing, as though Nill was still there. Only in front of the magon and Keij-Joss it showed nothing but a gray shimmer, and it seemed to avoid Ambrosimas altogether. Occasionally there was a flash of light in the darkness, or a crackle along the fractured edges. Murmon-Som looked over at Ambrosimas concern. At first it had bothered him that he could not read the Onyx – now it was a real worry. But he seemed alone in this; the others did not appear to care.

After a short moment in which those present either followed their own thoughts or waited attentively for a decision to be made, the magon arose from his chair.

“All have said what they had to say. Nill, our Brother and Archmage of Nothing, is still at his core a mage, and the place where a mage fulfills his duties is in Ringwall. My patience is at an end. Bring him back. I will remind him of his duties personally.”

His use of the word “personally” drove shivers down many a spine. It had never been a good idea to anger the magon, and this time he was quaking with rage.

“I would like to make a suggestion.” Murmon-Som did not intend to let his opportunity slip. “As no one knows where our brother is, nor in what sort of danger he might be, I would suggest that five searching parties follow the five cardinal points to find him. Each search party should be under the command of a grand mage of the elements. They can decide who to take with them. We should also send out the hunters. Even if they are not numbered among the arcanists, there is little their sharp senses miss. Magic need not be the only thing worth looking for.”

Bar Helis’ right hand shot forward as though it could hold back the words. “An excellent idea,” he said. “I would name my deputy, Galvan, the leader of the Metal party. He is a master of the element, one of the greatest mages outside of the council, and possesses abilities he seldom needs to use. He can easily stay in touch with the other searchers.”

“Will you be able to do without him, Bar Helis?” the magon asked. He still stood tall and drew the council’s gaze like a magnet draws iron.

“Of course; he spends no time in my lodge at all. He has his own little kingdom in the forge.”

“The forge will have to do without him, then,” the magon replied. “He is not the only mage there.”

“But he is the only one who knows how to smelt whytcrystals with iron,” Nosterlohe interjected, but the magon ignored him.

“I would name Empyrade,” Ilfhorn said quietly. “She knows Nill well.”

“Of course she knows him well, she taught him all she knows about Wood magic,” Bar Helis boomed. “Are you honestly suggesting having one of his teachers search for him? You might as well send Ambrosimas himself!”

Ilfhorn’s aura darkened as his eyes began to glow green.

Nosterlohe attempted to defuse the tension.

“There are not many mages among us who know the Archmage of Nothing yet aren’t connected with him in some way. Perhaps Brother Ilfhorn would agree to send Malachiris instead. She was, like Brother Nill, successful in the tournament.”

Before Ilfhorn had a chance to respond, Bar Helis agreed loudly.

“Before Brother Bar Helis single-handedly takes the organization out of our hands, I would like to propose a sixth party,” Ambrosimas said quietly. He had no more to lose. “Apart from the five colors, the White mages should also be involved. Perhaps old Infiralior or Morb-au-Morhg would be prepared to undertake the journey. Both are powerful mages, but they have not been in Ringwall long enough to have forgotten the scent of the wild. Infiralior is many winters old, though, so if there are hazardous paths to take, Morb-au-Morhg seems the best candidate for them.”

“Not a good choice, I’m afraid,” Bar Helis answered. “I have been informed that Morb-au-Morhg and young Nill are friends.”

“As I said, Bar Helis would like to put the whole mission together on his own. Please, be so kind and name all your other grand mages – we need just approve your choices. I’m sure the magon will be perfectly happy,” Ambrosimas spat venomously. “Do you think you could spare the time to inform us where you gained this ground-breaking knowledge?”

“Nill and Morb the Mighty have conferred.”

“Oh, I see,” Ambrosimas laughed. “They conferred, of course. You mean, they had a little talk. In public. Atop the battlements. I know this, and everyone else knows this. He ‘conferred’ with Morb-au-Morhg after speaking to Murmon-Som in the Sanctuary. Does that make Murmon-Som his friend and co-conspirator, too? Did not Murmon-Som just advise caution in proceeding? I am sure you found that most suspicious, Brother Bar Helis.” Ambrosimas’ sarcasm grew more biting with every word.

“Enough. Morb-au-Morhg will do. The other leaders I will choose myself.” The magon turned his back on the table and departed. The Onyx had remained oddly calm throughout this last disagreement. Only a soft glow in its veins showed that it was still active.

The very next day the first searching parties departed Ringwall. The first were the hunters. Mucklings, with no knowledge of the arcane, but they saw things the mages overlooked and were always ready to take up a trail, no matter how cold.

Galvan had shouldered his legendary Black Dragon, a poleaxe forged of the baleful combination of steel and whytcrystals. The terrible weapon had to be swung with closed eyes, lest it blind the wielder along with its victims. The black-robed Metal mages left Ringwall as silently as their green-robed cousins. The Wood group was commanded by a slender young woman with green hair and emerald eyes. She looked as fragile as a frozen leaf and was the only one apart from Morb-au-Morhg not to hold a rank. Not only had she belonged to the six winners of the tournament, but she had been the only one not to bear a single scratch on her pale skin. Even Morb the Mighty could not claim the same. She went by the name Malachiris, a name so full of meaning that it could not have been her birthname. It held within it the poison of copper and the sadness of the deathflower, and so combined the magics of Metal and Wood.

Morb-au-Morhg had negotiated some time to consider his choice of followers. The early bird may sometimes get the worm with luck, but it was the sharp-eyed eagle that got the true prey. He asked the twin witches Binja and Rinja for help; they, too, had participated in the tournament. Binja was specialized on Thoughts and agreed immediately, but her sister did not want to leave Ringwall. Binja’s injuries had healed, but Rinja’s blackened skin would not return to its normal color. Not even her powers in the magic of the Other World had helped her. In the end, with much convincing on Morhg’s part, she reluctantly agreed to accompany them.

The magon sent the Fire mages out under the guidance of a grand mage of the lodge. He had had to emphatically insist on his choice, as Nosterlohe was loathe to let his deputy go. The Earth mages set out for the village where Nill had grown up, and the Water mages made their way to the nearest river that would carry them to Waterworld.

Unbeknownst to the magon and the other archmages, Murmon-Som had summoned shadow-riders from the Other World and sent them to bear a message to King Sergor-Don. The summoning had been a difficult and draining business, so they had left much later than all the others. And yet they always reached their goal first, for a shadow does not battle with the wind, and slides over thorns and undergrowth as easily as over rocks and water. But only the Archmage of the Other World knew their intention.

The hunt had begun, a hunt like no other in the history of Pentamuria. The magic preceded the hunters and Dakh-Ozz-Han, the old druid, looked worriedly in the direction of Knor-il-Ank as he felt the magical tides. He decided to go looking too. Only Nill had no inkling of these goings-on. He did not possess the ability to read the magical patterns inherent in Pentamuria; he did not feel the commotion in the elements, and so simply carried on his way to the Fire Kingdom in his search for Perdis and the Runes of Fire.

“You fool,” Ambrosimas thought bitterly as he watched the mages pour out of Ringwall. “You were safer behind the walls, here with me.”

*

There are no footpaths that lead nowhere. Every path ends up somewhere. Even the one Nill and his ram walked at that moment. Like a track left by a serpent it wound its way from the fertile lowlands towards Fire, weaved around the hills that grew greater and more numerous, and took every flat spot to grant the wanderer a moment’s respite. The grass on either side of the track became sparser with every step. Towards Metal and Water it was still green and vibrant, but the fiery side of the hills were dry and yellowish. And yet there were always darker areas between the hills that indicated that people lived here. Nill and his ram arrived at a small settlement of odd little houses just before evenfall. The buildings were simply made of stacked limestone slabs. There was no mortar, and wood for roofs was a luxury the people could not afford, so the slabs grew closer and smaller as they went up, tapering to a point. From a distance they looked more like upright cowls than houses.

They reminded Nill of the White Mages. A cluster of stone mages. He had never seen anything quite like these houses.

The inhabitants were people of few words. They allowed Nill to share in their evening meal, as hospitality dictated, but they asked him to tie his ram to a post outside. The ram allowed it with a venomous glare at Nill.

These were the first people Nill had met since his hasty departure from Ringwall. He would have liked to ask them whether they had ever heard of a mage named Perdis, but caution held him back. He was still too close to Ringwall to be sure his questions would not backfire. The question for Perdis was not meant for the wrong ears. On the way here he had already felt he was not alone, and the feeling had not ceased even here among these people.

“I come from Metal and journey to Fire, but I have no haste in my steps. How can I repay your hospitality and aid you?” Nill asked formally after they had finished their meal in silence. Although hospitality was a sacred law, it was customary in some places to always repay a gift with an equivalent service.

One of the older men, the kind who looked like they were in command, looked at Nill’s hands and furrowed his brow.

“I have nothing to give you for your meal except my labor. But that you can have, as far as I can provide,” Nill said, having noticed the doubtful glances.

“We could use some help, yes,” the man replied hesitantly. “We need to build a new field.”

“It has been a while since I’ve worked outdoors, but I have not lost what I learned,” Nill said, but silently he wondered how one built a field. Houses were built; fields were cropped.

Nill spent the night outside with his ram. He had been offered a camp in one of the stables but had declined with thanks. He rose early and helped the women carry water and break thin branches for the fire. After a meager breakfast he was given a wickerweave basket and followed the others to a depression between three hills where the rare, but always heavy rain had washed the sparse earth from the stony hills.

“Put the earth in your basket and take the small stones to one pile and the bigger stones to the other pile,” one of the men instructed him.

Nill picked up a stone, scraped the earth off it and threw it onto one of the piles, where it landed with an audible clack. He quickly noticed that this was not easy work; along with the weight, the sun burnt hotly in the sky and shortened his breath and dried his skin. But Nill knew a way around it. With a delicate spell, too small to be noticed, he made the earth heavy and the stones light. The villagers nodded in approval as they saw how precisely he could throw even the larger stones over a distance. Nill did not need to worry about keeping his magic a secret. There were no arcanists in the village.

Nill had soon filled his basket with precious earth and attempted to lift it. His back gave a menacing crack.

By the five elements, he cursed in his mind. I never thought earth could be so heavy.

Nill filled basket upon basket and the two stone piles grew higher and higher. His hands burrowed into the pit, pulled out a stone, cast aside the earth and – clack! – the stone fell on the pile. Over and over again.

Nill surrounded the stones in a slight veil of Earth magic. The earth fell into his basket and the stones flew through the air. Nill did not even look anymore. He dug and separated and threw. Clack. The stones left his view and ceased to exist. Earth was left. Dark, reddish-brown earth. Hidden fire, slowly burning out before his eyes as the topsoil darkened. Even the blue sky seemed to be growing darker until Nill entered a world in which his eyes were irrelevant. At first Nill smelled the earth, the spicy scent of hidden life, the bittersweet smell of invisible mushrooms and the aged fumes of disintegrating leaves. But soon the smells vanished too, with a breath of decay that stayed in the air for a few more moments. All that was left was a dull strength that exuded from the earth and surrounded all the life upon and within it. Nill’s hands kept working without his realizing.

As if from a great distance an occasional clack! would reach his ears, but he was unable to say whether he or someone else had thrown the stone. The earth surrounded him on all sides.

Nill loved the magic of Earth, but there was something unknown here, something that threatened to take hold of him. He gave all his attention to a single stone he held in his hand, its white breaking through the earth that stuck to it. A saving white in all the dull brown. It shone in the light of the sun and grew stronger, it gave color back to the sky and the earth and soon overwhelmed it, so bright that he had to close his eyes. But his eyelids could not hold it back. Nill bathed in the light and froze, for the light had no innate strength or warmth. This light had nothing to give. It only took. It wanted to rule and had forced the Earth magic away and taken its place, and now it flowed around Nill as the darkness that had preceded it.

This is even worse, Nill thought. At least, he believed he was thinking, for he no longer knew where he was or how the sun stood. All he felt were small, soft chunks of earth falling through his fingers to the ground. He had raised his hands to his head and now pressed his fingertips against his eyes. Shadows fell over the whiteness and slowly the world came back into focus. Nill opened his eyes and saw that he was sitting in front of a large pile of earth. His basket had toppled over.

“Is everything all right with you?” one of the men asked.

“It is, it is. I suppose I’m not used to so much sunlight,” Nill answered somewhat absently.

As the sun set they admired their day’s work, a large hole in the ground from which all the earth and stones had been removed. The evening meal was simple, but there was plenty – potatoes, dark bread and onions. Nill could not recall having ever eaten a better meal.

“A capable sorcerer or druid here would get a lot of fields done in a short time,” Nill said after a while.

One of the men gave a contemptuous snort. “Where are you from? Can’t be around here; no sorcerer would ever stoop to helping us build a field. The lords and ladies only care about themselves. And druids – I don’t think I’ve seen one all my life.”

“I heard Ringwall lets its disciples go every winter. Some return to their parents to take over tasks for their families. Others, so they say, roam the land to perfect their art and gather experience before taking on more daunting challenges. Do you really mean to tell me that no sorcerer has ever even passed by here?” Nill was chewing on an onion, so his words came a little muffled.

Several of the men muttered to each other, others shrugged or shook their heads. The women said nothing. One did not talk about magic. Nothing good ever came of it. Only the eldest kept his thoughtful gaze on Nill.

On the next day the hole that was to become a field was filled again with the larger stones. On top of the large stones they laid the small ones, then atop that they piled the earth. It looked dark and smelled fresh, and after a few pitchers of water it was moist enough to give the seed life. The new field was small and would likely feed no more than one family, but it had a good and fertile topsoil. It would serve for many harvests.

Nill witnessed none of it. He had barely closed his eyes when the gentle caress of sleep crept over his body and took off his mantle of caution, and the magic of the night fell upon him. Unable to act against the onslaught, he simply let it carry him. Pictures appeared before his eyes, no more than memories in the surrounding blackness; he felt, more than saw them. The white light, that terrible brother of darkness, had no place in the shadows of the night when sleep reigned.

The darkness was not content with surrounding Nill. It seeped into his every pore, filled his ears and shut his eyes. It brought with it its own sounds, smells and images, for which it needed no senses. Nill tossed and turned in his bed and attempted to fend off the darkness with every ounce of magical power he had over the five elements. He had as much success as a person trying to shatter a rock with a small twig. The elemental magic was still there, though; it circled around him like a pack of spectators watching two pitfighters, observing every change and suffering, yet elated, but not part of the battle and unable to intervene.

The night drew to a close. Day came with the light gray of dawn and passed as it had arrived as night fell once more. It took two days for Nill to awaken.

“I’m fine,” Nill reassured his hosts. They finally showed him, not without pride, their new field. And indeed, Nill felt full of strength and life.

What sort of life would it be if I have to make the field before harvesting the plants? he wondered, but at the same time he had great respect for the people who lived and worked here, and also for the food they worked so hard for. In Earthland every bite had been a little treasure too, but his time in Ringwall had made him take food and drink for granted.

How quickly one forgets, he thought as he said his goodbyes to continue towards the Fire. The eldest gazed after him for a long time.

“That was a sorcerer, maybe even higher than that. No smooth-hand can work as hard as us,” he said finally. “And he carries a heavy burden. The air around him flickers and the earth trembles. Nobody could sleep like he did. He probably thought it was best not to show us his true self.”

“Maybe there have been other sorcerers here in the past, and we just didn’t notice,” one of the boys said pertly. The eldest gave him a smack on the back of his head and the boy stumbled forward. “You wouldn’t notice the birds in the sky save for when they shit on your head,” the old man scolded.

More to himself than to those surrounding him he grumbled on. “I was a young man, many winters ago. A sorcerer passed by one day. He was tall and thin and carried a staff that shone in the dark. He healed our oldest and our sick, blessed the children and the animals. The next day he was gone. That was the summer that refused to rain, when many of us starved. I never knew whether he was the one who took the rain in exchange for his healing. You never know with arcanists.”

Nill’s heart was heavy as he left these people of few words yet great hospitality, who fought for life with every dawn, at nature’s mercy without the power of magic. He would have liked to stay for a few more days. If only to give back a little more for what he had received. Distance where respect and courtesy demanded, kindness as should always exist between people, and sympathy where it was needed. These things went without saying for these simple folk, but were a rare and treasured thing in Ringwall.

His dreams drove him onward. The memory of the earthen darkness and the blinding light weighed heavy on his mood.

It’s not right, he thought to himself as he strode onwards. Magic is to come when the mage calls for it. Not the other way around. Not for the first time Nill wondered how these powers always managed to grasp him in their clutches. What use was it to know that he never bore harm from it? The helplessness of being at the mercy of a wholly unknown force was unbearable. Nill remembered that he had fought, but had the white stone saved him from the dark earth’s magic? Could it not be possible that the cold light itself was a part of the darkness, like the sun and moon in their everlasting dance?

Rubbish, he told himself. Light and darkness can alternate light night and day, but it’s either light or it’s dark. Anything else is nonsense.

As determined and final as he made the words sound in his head, they could not quite cover his insecurity. His memories became hazy until he could no longer tell what he had dreamed and what had happened apart. Strange images streamed restlessly through his thoughts, tugging at peculiar feelings. And then there was the constantly increasing fear of being followed. Nill felt it more than he saw it, but there were movements at the fringes of his perception. Where the eye no longer sees color, where it can see movement but not define it; that was where it happened. The ram became infected with Nill’s unrest and began to run circles around him again. There was no doubt that something was afoot, and Nill did not at all like not knowing what it was.

He gave the ram a clap on the rump and muttered: “Whatever it is, we haven’t managed to shake it off yet and we probably won’t at all. We should stay here where our vision is good and the sunlight aids us.”

Nill closed his eyes and sent all his concentration to the point between his brows and the root of his nose, where the corporeal and magical worlds were easiest to join.

His third eye did not need to search for long. It seemed his follower had also grown tired of the game. From the top left, out of the sun and barely visible, came a translucent ball, about the size of a man’s head. Nill barely managed to dodge it by twisting sideways. The ball flew past him with a hiss and stopped in mid-air, looking ominous. The next attack came even faster than the first and Nill put up a Fire shield to protect himself. The shield blocked the attack, but then faded away.

Nill felt the panic rising in his stomach. He had never seen anything like this. Only Water magic could extinguish Fire so quickly. But Nill had not noticed any Water magic. Nill did not have the time to follow this line of thought, for now the ball followed attack with attack. Nill reacted instinctively. He activated his staff and drew up shields of Water, Wood and Metal to block the quick assault. He cursed foully and fluently under his breath.

This isn’t working. Fire, Earth and Metal do nothing. Water gets parried by Metal, I felt it. Wood slows it down, but no more. It’s only a matter of time until this thing exhausts me. Time. That’s it. I need time.

Nill screwed up all his courage and fled to the Other World. He feared this strange attacker more than Bucyngaphos and his legion of demons.

As quickly as he had entered the Other World he left it again and laid a protective barrier of Wood energy upon his body, then he flitted back into the Beyond. The ball had followed each of his leaps and had stopped attacking.

Nill and the ball leapt at lightning speed between the Here and the Beyond, and it was difficult to see who was hunting who. Nill could feel that the ball had even more substance and strength in the Other World than in Pentamuria, and so he made a desperate decision. He had been stuck in the strange in-between that bridges the Here and the Beyond once before, and he decided to try and get there again to observe his opponent from the safety of the mid-realm. It was dangerous – for a moment body and soul would be parted. The soul led, the body followed. Would his body follow to the mid-realm or stay corporeal and unprotected? He did not know, but he decided to risk it.

He leapt.

He felt the resistance and searched for his body. It had not followed him and Nill prayed it would remain safe out there. The mid-realm was small and separated from the Here and the Beyond with nigh impenetrable magical walls. It offered a view into both worlds and was an unwelcome afterlife to the dead, and something that had left the world to the living. Nill remembered far too late that he had once before tried and failed to leave the mid-realm of his own accord.

Too late!

Frantically he attempted to return to the world of the living as the mysterious orb appeared before him. Nill stared in disbelief at the gray flicker. In the Other World the ball was substantially larger than he was. Taller than a man, there was a magical field that distorted his view, and in its middle stood an imposing figure, dressed in a misty-gray robe.

“Who are you?” Nill asked.

“I am magon. So my brothers call me. I am the first of the same. The first and the lord of Ringwall,” the figure answered.

“You,” Nill struggled to find his words, “you are Amargreisfing?”

“I had that name once.”

“You were the one who put the falundron on the lock to the Walk of Weakness.”

Amargreisfing seemed surprised. “Walk of Weakness? What an odd name. In my time we hadn’t named it. So you met the falundron? Then there is hope. Yes, hope.”

The last word sounded oddly hollow and anemic behind the walls of mid-realm. Nill waited expectantly for an explanation, but the magon said nothing.

“Why do you follow me?” Nill broke the silence.

“To kill you.”

“But why? Why do you want me dead?”

“I do not know. I know only that I must.”

Nill considered this for a moment.

“You are banished, correct? Tell me how other forces could come to banish a mage as mighty as you were.”

“In the Other World there are different laws than in the world we came from,” Amargreisfing replied. “Whatever we once were, any power we had, is meaningless here. No more than a faint memory.”

“Can I free you from your banishment?”

“You could. You’d have to destroy me though. Here in the Other World you would not succeed; who could, given that you would have to rid the world of my very memory. In your world, you would not kill memories, but break a mere spell.”

A mere spell, Nill thought desperately. He had fled to the mid-realm because the strange magic was superior to his own out there. And now his only chance was to succeed where he already considered himself beaten.

“I do not mean to kill you. I would never wish to destroy the first master of Ringwall, the paragon of all mages. And even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I have neither the strength nor the knowledge,” Nill admitted quietly.

Amargreisfing laughed, and Nill noted with some surprise that memories had some sense of humor.

“Memories do not simply die. They follow people for generations. But some arcanists know how to reach the memories of others. As long as there are people who remember us, as long as legends are told about us, as long as our names exist on dusty parchments or weathered stones, some who know how can reach us and ask for our counsel. And some can banish us.”

I want to know everything about the founding of Ringwall, Nill thought. But first I have to return to my world and stay alive.

“I cannot stay long,” Amargreisfing called. “You were not the one to call upon me. When the mid-realm releases you and you enter the Other World, nothing but my death can save you from me.”

Heavens and earth! Nill thought despairingly. How am I to defeat a creature from the Other World whose magic I neither know nor understand?

The walls of the mid-realm began to dissolve as Amargreisfing disappeared.

“Back!” shouted Nill and he felt Amargreisfing’s pull. The walls broke and Nill found himself under a merciless hot sun. A last sliver of the Other World ran after him.

Remember the Falundron, a toneless voice cut through his thoughts.

The falundron. What about the falundron? Nill’s thoughts began to chase each other as he tried to remember and keep an eye on all directions at once, as he anticipated a new attack from the dead magon.

What use was his knowledge of the falundron? He was not fighting a being from the Other World. Neither did he oppose a magon of ancient times as his pursuer wanted him to believe. And it certainly was not a demon, a creature he feared above all others. No, behind the figure of the first magon stood a mage or sorcerer of this world. This did not comfort Nill; he was no match for such an enemy.

And yet he felt a certain curiosity. Whoever was hunting him had to be powerful enough to summon a shade, and must also revel in the humiliation of others. Why else would he have picked Amargreisfing as the victim of his magic – the First, of whom even Gwynmasidon only spoke with reverence? That meant that his invisible foe cared nothing for the traditions of Ringwall. Bar Helis was certainly not behind the attempt on his life, and Nill wondered whether it was actually an archmage at all.

I am fighting against the power and strength and magic of the Other World as commanded by an Arcanist of the Here. Whoever summoned the dead magon will try to touch me with his magic and will stop at nothing to tear my life force from me. Just as Mah Bu once did. And he will not be stopped by elemental magic.

Or he will bite, sting and poison me like the falundron, and attempt to destroy my aura. In any case, he will have to use Amargreisfing as a conduit. But why does me meeting the falundron mean there is hope?

Nill observed his surroundings. He was prepared to dodge away at the first sign of Amargreisfing. The falundron had touched him. The resulting poison had nearly killed him. At the same time, it had built a bridge between him and the ancient magic. Darkness and light, hard and soft, august and docile.

The only way to find out if I’m right is to let Amargreisfing reach me. And the best defense against the Other World is a strong presence in this one, Nill thought, so he held out his arms and yelled:

“I am! I am! I am!”

Out of nowhere the flickering orb reappeared, once again shrunken down to head-size. For a heartbeat it took on human features and Nill saw the fleeting image of a contorted grimace. It bore little resemblance to the old magon he had encountered in the mid-realm. The image faded, first the eyes and nose, and finally the gaping mouth.

Now I know what you intend, Nill thought, but then he was hit by the force of the translucent ball. He stumbled back a few paces under the might of the blow and felt the pull again, then he held tight to the orb with both arms. He made his aura grow denser, yet he could not stop Amargreisfing from tearing it apart.

The Mage behind the shade must be so powerful, Nill thought. Amargreisfing’s bite cut deep into his innermost self. A spot right beneath his breastbone felt suddenly cold and then blew apart, making space for a lance-tip that froze all around it. The cold spread through his body and made his muscles rigid and his blood clot. His veins filled with ice and his tendons snapped, bones splintered, and above it all loomed the grasp for his self, the most central part of his consciousness. Nill knew the devouring cold. It was the Falundron’s poison that had changed him and his magic. It had robbed his aura of the five elemental colors and left the strange, opaque, milky-white wreath that had so scared Tiriwi.

Nill took the cold of the Other World inside himself, as he had done before. He had not fought it. How could he? He still lacked the necessary strength. But something had changed. He had learned that the cold was not just cold. It was also a part of the ancient magic. When darkness storms toward you, covering and devouring all, there is a moment when a new light is born. Nill waited for that one decisive moment.

“I AM!” Nill screamed with every fiber of his being. I stand, I stand in the light! his bones screamed back. Nill took ever more of the dark energy on and noticed that he had begun to falter. Time is not on my side. I can wait no longer. Nill buried his head in his opponent’s aura and now began to drain it into himself. A feeling of bursting fullness heralded the reversal. The magic of light and day, of height and hardness, of giving and speaking started anew with a tiny spark. It mended his bones and made the blood course through his veins and flow from his body, pushed by all the dark magic he had absorbed and that now transformed into light. A thunderbolt split the earth and a shining light tore apart the sphere before him, and Nill left behind an empty shell. He saw nothing, heard nothing and felt nothing. The last feeling of gratitude from a fading memory did not reach him. The slammed door of the Other World remained unheard. Nill stood lifeless under a sun that could not warm him. Then he crumpled. The darkness that now enveloped him had nothing in common with the dark magic. It was the thin veil of mercy that now lay across him and hid him from the world.

The shockwave of light and the shattered summoning shook great parts of the magical world and followed Amargreisfing into the Beyond. Bucyngaphos the Goat-Legged and Serp the Mighty paused their incomprehensible dealings and raised their ears. Urumir the shaman shook earth onto his fire and could not extinguish it, and in Ringwall a mage stared into the distance and realized for the first time that fear and anger could coalesce. The meeting chamber of the High Council was empty, but lights shot unseen across the Onyx and threw crackling sparks, and the old cracks were joined by new ones. Countless thin lines made the once-smooth surface look like the face of an old woman. But there was no hand there to feel it. Gnarlhand, Archmage of Earth, would have ever more difficulty in holding the stone together.

The sun rose slowly, reached its peak and continued its journey to the place beyond the horizon where it hid its light and refreshed its strength. Nill lay on the ground, hunched over and motionless. The ram circled around the lifeless body and eyed its surroundings warily. It grew restless, for it had a biting smell in its nose that came not from magic, but wild predators. A pack of leonpedons slunk around nearby, attracted by the thought of easy prey, but held off by the smell of burnt earth. Still they hesitated.

Their first attacks came as playful feints. They ran off and leapt in, then returned to the safety of the pack. With each feint they seemed to gain more confidence and nothing stood between them and Nill except the old ram, himself an easy target.

The ram had stopped circling and now stared into the falling sun. A mighty male roared and made a half-hearted lunge forward. It still hesitated, but this time it did not turn tail. It was only a few leaps away from the ram now. The next attack would strike true. The maned beast seemed to deliberate his next action when the ram stormed off. Its hooves beat the earth and its horned blow would have shattered the leonpedon’s shoulder had it not rolled to the side in the last second. The rest of the pack trembled. The burnt smell in the air, the scent of something foreign to them, and now their prey attacked their lead hunter. It was too much chaos for their world and they retreated hissing. Only their hunger stopped them from giving up.

The ram trotted back as though it knew no dangers in the world. It threw a contemptuous glance back at the leonpedons over its shoulder before returning to its combat stance and considering the male that now strode back and forth, its eyes on the ram. It was not prepared to run away.

Nill opened his eyes, perhaps just in time. Perhaps not – his ram did not look as though it felt inferior to the predators in any way. Which of the two unequal fighters would have kept the other hand would stay a mystery, for Nill raised an arm and threw a bolt of Metal at the leonpedons.

There was a slight hiss and a crackling noise. Several pathetic sparks bounced across the earth and flickered out. As weak as the spell was, it was enough to turn the beasts off their prey for good, and so they ran away as quickly as they had come. The only sound was the sporadic, disappointed roar of the male, until they were too far away. At last it was calm.

Burnt out and hollow, was Nill’s last thought before he fell back into the heavy sleep of exhaustion.

Only the next morning did Nill see the full extent of the havoc he had wrought. Starting from the point where he had fought Amargreisfing there was a gash in the land as far as the eye could see; the grass was burnt and the earth fractured. The neighboring hill had split. One half had sunk deep into the ground, the other had risen. The scar in the land had not yet come to rest. As he watched, stones and mud fell from the higher side into the hole, which slowly ran full of water.

Many generations later the folk would tell of two lovers who could not find each other. The legend says that the Lord of Light sought the Keeper of Darkness whom he had only seen fleetingly in the distance, and had sworn never to rest until he found her. Here he kept watch over the world as a cliff and never noticed that his beloved was always at his feet. Nothing is harder than taking the blindness from one who already sees, and no one is blinder than one in love. And so it took a special spell to bring the two together – but that is another story.

Nill knew nothing of the attraction this place would one day hold for future generations of people. The sun had already risen high in the sky.

He sniffed the air and turned his head this way and that, but there was nothing immediately unusual. But Nill was cautious. It would not be the first time that a second danger hid behind a more obvious first one.

“Send a cutthroat after an honorable warrior.” That was, as Brolok had informed him, one of the guidelines of the royal strategists. “A victor in honorable combat will not expect an assault to follow.” Nill had learned much from Brolok. He wished he was by his side, and if only as a strong shoulder to lean on.

Nill stood up with some difficulty. His legs were stiff and his muscles trembled; he had to fight to regain his strength. His eyes must have suffered from the attack too. At first Nill had assumed it was dusk, despite the position of the sun, for the world around him was darker than usual. But it was not the sun that had forgotten to shine. The plants’ auras had lost their light. Again and again black clouds passed over Nill’s eyes and removed all color. Everything in him hurt, and even the tiniest motion caused pain, yet even the pain was dulled. What would have been biting and searing agony was a mere throb. What should have broken and torn hung limp. Nill felt around his body to make sure everything was still there, so overwhelming was the feeling of emptiness, of insubstantiality.

Burnt out.

A new fear rose like bile in Nill’s throat. There were stories, tales told in Ringwall’s corridors, of mages who lost the ability to use magic overnight. The energy and knowledge was still there, but the pathways of the body were blocked in some places and too wide open in others. The magical streams no longer flowed properly and many who had experienced this were glad to still be able to make a small fire after a cold night.

Nill gathered his thoughts. Plant light, earth heavy.

The blade of grass wobbled, just like when he had first attempted to separate Wood and Earth. No more, just wobbled. Nill hid his head under his arms.

The wind whispered in his ears for a long time before he raised his head again. Burnt out, the words pulsed through him in an intrusive rhythm.

Pulsing and hammering and beating. The contraction and expansion of nature. The pulse of life. The Nothing. The saving grace in his hour of need.

Whenever all seemed lost, the Nothing helped Nill. He could not say he knew it would work so far from Ringwall’s Sanctuary, but what choice did he have? He fell to the ground and released his body from the bonds of the world. He was not sure he had reached the Nothing; his senses dwindled and returned suddenly. He felt like he had taken a short nap and took a deep breath. Weakness and exhaustion were gone. He felt strong, full of vigor and magic. Healthy and invincible.

He raised his open hands and flung fireballs into every direction, raised the flames to the sky and concentrated the water in the air to a cloud that rained down on his head and extinguished the fires with hissing and sputtering – Nill stared around in disbelief. The grass was unburnt, there had been no firewalls around him and above his head there was not even a hint of mist, let alone a cloud.

“Plant light, earth heavy!” he yelled and made a wide, flailing gesture to slice through the dense roots beneath the surface. He failed. Nothing happened. Nill shouted spell after spell. He could feel the energy roaring in his body, but the world seemed unaffected. Nill had no influence on it.

But the young archmage was not easily dissuaded. If his magic no longer obeyed him, there must be a reason for it. He felt around for the elemental magics and to his relief he found them. All five elements were present.

I haven’t lost the gift quite yet, he thought.

There was Fire, red in every aura. Somewhat pale and lucid, but it was there. He also knew the brown of Earth, darker than ever, and so too was the blue Water, closer to a night sky than a still lake. But Earth and Water were there, no mistake about it.

The Metal’s black color had grown pale. As Nill searched for and found it, it had lightened to gray. And Wood? What of the element of life itself? He could see neither the light green of youth nor the rich, full vibrancy of summer. Instead there was a flickering motion, a soft darkness with light tips. Something had changed and Nill did not understand it. All he knew was that he could no longer use magic. He prayed that time would heal it, as it did so many things, but now he had one more worry to care about.

“What do you think, old boy?” he called to his ram. “Will you let me ride on you?”

Although Nill’s body was taut and his gait springy, his voice sounded tired. It was not his body, it was his soul; too caught up with itself and unwilling to take on any more work. Even putting one foot in front of the other was an effort.

The ram turned its back on Nill and threw him a dirty glance over its shoulder, as if to say, “I’d like to see you try, friend. My back is my own.”

“You could at least carry my baggage,” Nill grumbled.

The ram stepped to the side and held a firm distance to safeguard itself from further foolish ideas. Nill sighed and began to walk with sluggish steps.

They continued their way towards the Fire. On the third day after Nill’s encounter with Amargreisfing Nill saw several gray spots dancing in the distance beneath the boiling hot sun. The closer they came, the calmer the spots grew. They sunk to the floor and took shape until they were finally recognizable as small, stout huts. Hastily stacked rocks formed the walls. Atop them lay the most precious treasure in the plains: long wooden beams, carried here from far away, connected to each other with angled bones. They bore roofs made of animal hides that had been sewn together. They offered refuge from the sun, rather than the rain as in Nill’s village. Such houses were quick to build and just as quick to fall apart when the family left.

“Welcome, stranger,” a voice spoke to him from the shade of an entrance. “Come inside and flee the merciless sun. There is always enough tea in my house for visitors. Bring your companion inside, if you will.”

Nill had to hunch over to step through the door. It was comfortably cool in the hut. The stones held back the heat and the gap between the walls and the roof let in a gentle breeze. A man of indeterminable age sat on a pile of skins and furs in the center of the room.

“My name is Mahan, and this is my family’s home until fate decides otherwise. Sit. And you, come closer, let me have a better look at you.”

The ram looked around the strange new environment inquisitively, but stayed resolutely in the doorway. It felt no compulsion to enter the confines of a man-building.

“A proud warrior,” Mahan said with a nod, his voice full of admiration. “Even when you have to sell your herd, or you lose them, you should never part with the guardian. I have never seen one so big.”

“It’s from Earthland. The animals there grow larger than here in the Fire Kingdom,” Nill said calmly. He doubted his own words, however: even in Earthland, the ram had been far bigger than the other males.

“That sounds right.” The old man reached for a slender jug and poured a green liquid into two small cups. His movements were smooth and calculated. Here, where the sun was always bright in the sky and clouds were a rare mercy, the people had learned to move slowly. Nill took a sip and his face contorted. The tea was even more bitter than the one he had drunk at home. Surprisingly, however, it quenched his thirst.

On the plains, the people were not pressed for time, and so Mahan spoke no more. He had said what he wanted to say, and knew that Nill would continue the conversation after a few moments. He would say where he came from and where he was going, that was the way of guests. Honesty was not required.

“My name is Nill.” Nill waited for a second in anticipation of the usual surprise upon hearing his name for the first time, but the old man showed no reaction.

“I come from Earthland, from a small village not far from Metal World. I seek people who understand the script. I have heard that the Fire Kingdom holds such wise folk who understand the gift of writing and reading. But I do not know the kingdom, and so I follow the paths and see where they take me.”