The Water Hall was situated deep in the complex. It was circular, and very large – perhaps some eighty paces in diameter. The hall was dominated by a pool in its centre; the water was very still, very green. Gilded columns surrounded the pool, rising to a vaulted ceiling which, like the walls and floor, was carved out of the deep pink rock.
As we entered, and Isphet closed the double doors behind us, four Graces walked out from the shadows. They were dressed in simple robes, but all wore such an aura of mystery and assurance that none could mistake their power.
One was Solvadale, and he greeted us softly, kissing each of us on both cheeks. “You are all well rested. Good. Please, step forward and meet my companions.”
There were two other male Graces, Gardar and Caerfom, and one female, Xhosm. They also took our hands and kissed us gently. There were other Graces, Solvadale explained, but many had sworn to total seclusion, and others were so engrossed in mysteries we would hardly see them.
“We are the four who shall be involved in your training,” he said, leading us to benches placed in a semicircle at the far end of the pool.
All four Graces had carefully accorded each of us the same degree of respect, but as we sat their eyes kept returning to Boaz.
Once we were still, Solvadale again took the lead. “It is so difficult to know where to begin, so perhaps I, on behalf of my companions who are with me today, will commence with an explanation. Yet even an explanation has no clear beginning. If you find questions that demand to be asked as I talk, then do not hesitate to ask them.”
He paused, sighed, then continued. “The Soulenai can at times be obtuse. Sometimes they can leave their explanations a little too long before the airing. It was only the night before last that they told us of your impending arrival, although we’d been aware of your existence for some time. I am sorry that the markers had misled you…had we known you were so close we would have sent help.”
“As it was,” Xhosm said, looking at Boaz, “you found enough help within you.”
“You altered the markers,” Isphet said to Solvadale. “Made them lie. Why?”
“We knew of the trouble at Threshold,” the Grace replied, “and we knew something of what trouble it was. No, wait, I shall talk of that soon enough. We altered the markers because we feared what might slither across the Lagamaal Plains towards us. Again, I apologise for the trouble that caused you.
“Now, it has been impossible for us to remain unaware of Threshold. We live in relative isolation here, but we do have communication with the lands beyond us. We have watched for the last two hundred years as Threshold rose. For the last eighty, we have known that something was terribly wrong with it. Something dark, yet we could not see what. It is only in recent months we learned from the Soulenai that Threshold was to gain its power by accessing the Vale.”
“Will you explain the Vale?” I asked.
“Surely. You will have to know about the Vale, and one day you will see right into it, but that will come much later, after you have completed the major part of your training. The Vale was created at the same time as this physical universe in which we live; it exists alongside it, almost in a different dimension. It is a place that collects darkness into itself, much as the universe collects stars and light.”
“I was once a Magus,” Boaz said, “you know that.”
The Graces nodded, solemn.
“The Magi believed that the Vale contained the power of Creation. Were we wrong?”
“No, not really,” Solvadale said. “The Vale is a peculiar place. Although it was created at the same time as the universe, it remains much ‘newer’, far more vital. It is somehow smaller, more compact – I cannot explain it more than that – and its power remains close to that which caused the Creation. Creation power has diffused very thinly through our physical universe; in the Vale it is far more concentrated…more accessible. Does that answer your question, Boaz?”
He nodded, and Solvadale continued.
“Over the millennia since Creation, the Vale has continued to collect darkness unto itself. Life has formed within it. Dark life.”
“Nzame,” Yaqob whispered.
“Yes, Nzame is one manifestation of it. When we learned that Threshold would ultimately tap into the power of the Vale, then we understood the nature of the threat. We feared what eventually did happen. Something crossed over from the Vale into this world.”
“But that is neither here nor there for our present tale,” Xhosm put in. “Forty years ago we decided to do what could be done, even though we were not sure of the exact nature of the threat. We contacted Avaldamon.”
“Avaldamon was the last known Elemental Necromancer,” Solvadale said. “I will explain necromancy shortly, but for now just listen. He came to us here, noted our knowledge and heard our fears, and suggested a plan.”
“No,” Boaz whispered, and I took his hand. Oh no, surely not. Surely.
“Avaldamon,” Solvadale continued relentlessly, his eyes fierce, “said that Threshold was so powerful it would take one skilled in Elemental necromancy and the power of the One to destroy it. A Necromancer–Magus.”
“‘How will we achieve that?’ we asked,” Gardar said quietly, and his eyes were sympathetic.
Solvadale continued, his gaze riveted on Boaz. “And Avaldamon said, ‘I will breed a son with the blood of a Necromancer yet with the training of a Magus.’ Boaz, listen to me. That you were planned and bred to save us from Threshold does not lessen for one moment the fact that Avaldamon loved and treasured both your mother and you.”
“I was abandoned to the Magi?” Boaz asked. “Left for thirty years to live a lie? To live a life that caused so much suffering? I cannot believe this!”
Strangely, Boaz’s anger was supported by Yaqob. “He was as much a slave as Isphet or myself,” he said. “And yet, somehow, more betrayed even than us.”
“And Yaqob and Tirzah and myself,” Isphet said, “were we all part of this programme, too? Were we ‘bred’ and manipulated so we too could be ‘used’?”
“Not by us, nor by Avaldamon,” Caerfom replied. “But by the Soulenai, almost certainly.”
There was a very long silence after that. The four of us battled anger, resentment and bitterness. The Graces sat and watched us, gauging our reactions.
“You should know, Boaz,” Solvadale eventually said, “that Avaldamon’s death was not part of the plan. It was purely accidental. And catastrophic. It was meant that Avaldamon would stay at court, train you surreptitiously in the Elemental arts and necromancy. Instead you were left directionless. You have survived unscathed –”
“Hardly unscathed,” I said, but Solvadale ignored me.
“– which is a miracle, and gives us hope that eventually you will be able –”
“To do what I was bred for,” Boaz finished, his eyes very, very cold.
“Shetzah, Boaz!” Xhosm cried, shocking us all. “We are all placed into life for a reason! Whether a Grace or a Necromancer or a water-carrier. All for a reason, all reasons equally noble. Accept who and what you are. Have the sense for that, at least! Deny it, rage at it, and watch not only your own life crumble, but those of all about you!”
“We will not apologise for what we have done,” Solvadale said, “and neither will the Soulenai. Accept that.”
It took us a further hour of grating, resentful silence. But eventually, one by one, we nodded. Boaz last of all.
These revelations may have been unwelcome, but they accomplished what nothing else had – they welded the four of us into a tight, intensely loyal group. Many of the grievances that still remained between us this morning had been blasted into oblivion by what the Graces had told us.
Maybe that unity was what they’d wanted to accomplish above all else.
“Very well,” Boaz said. “Explain what we are to do and who we are to become. The Soulenai said we were Necromancers.”
“Yes. We shall talk of the Necromancers now.” It was a safer topic than that
which had preceded it, and Solvadale relaxed. “Caerfom will now speak,” he said.
“There are two higher levels of the Elemental art,” Caerfom said. “That of the Grace and that of the Necromancer. Graces are sages. We think, we study, we advise. Necromancers are ‘doers’. They rarely stay among the community of the Abyss, but travel the world. They are magicians in a manner that Graces are not. Necromancers can manipulate matter, create enchantments – Boaz, you are the best example of that.” His mouth twitched. “Fetizza the frog, indeed.”
“And the stone lock of hair,” I said quietly, and explained that to the Graces.
They all looked surprised, but Caerfom nodded. “Boaz is extraordinarily talented, it is the strong blood of his father. Even without teaching, much of his talent shines through. Tirzah, you also demonstrate this talent.”
“Oh, no. I? Why –”
“The Goblet of the Frogs,” Xhosm said. “That is a magical object such as only one with Necromancer blood could make, and only one with the special talent for creating. You can also read the Book of the Soulenai – until you were born, only Avaldamon had ever read that.”
“It is in the Geshardi tongue,” I said. “Anyone who can read Geshardi –”
“No,” Solvadale broke in. “Only Necromancers can read that book, and then only those gifted in special ways. Boaz, as Isphet and Yaqob, may never find the talent to do so. The book shall remain in your hands, Tirzah. It has picked you.”
“And Yaqob and myself?” Isphet asked.
“You both have Necromancer talent. Bred by long distant blood links to the Soulenai. It will require only very little training for both of you to demonstrate many of the necromantic skills Boaz and Tirzah have already displayed, although you may never achieve their depth and range.”
Boaz spoke next. “You said that Avaldamon was the last known Elemental Necromancer. Explain why there are no others. The four of us…are we the only ones you know of now?”
“Yes,” Solvadale said. “You are the only ones known to us. Necromancers are born, not made, and only born of the ancient blood lines of the Soulenai themselves.”
“You mean we all have Soulenai blood in us?” Isphet asked.
“Yes. You have yours from your father. Eldonor trained with us for some years. We thought for a while he would be a Necromancer, but his blood was too weak. In you, as in your three companions, the Soulenai influence runs thick. We do not know why it surfaces in one generation and not another.”
“Perhaps at the behest of the Soulenai themselves,” Caerfom said. “Even Avaldamon could not be entirely sure that the child he bred would have the blood. But he should have trusted to the Soulenai.”
“We have all spoken with the Soulenai over past months,” I said, “yet they have said none of this to us.”
“It was not ready to be said, Tirzah,” Gardar responded tartly. “Today you have found it hard. How would you have reacted while close to Threshold? How would Threshold have reacted?”
Threshold. I lowered my eyes.
“Enough,” Solvadale said. “We have wearied you. Come back tomorrow after the noon meal, and we will commence your training. We might not be Necromancers, but we do have the skills to make one.”
“Yes,” Boaz said, rising. “Good. I need to learn the Song of the Frogs. I need to understand that.”
“The Song of the Frogs?” Caerfom said. “We do not know that. Why is that important?”
Boaz and I just stared at them.
36
WE sat in the cool of the evening by the green waters at the bottom of the Abyss: Boaz, Yaqob, Isphet and I. Zabrze was off organising with Naldi how returning messengers would be able to find the hills and the Abyss safely; Zabrze hoped that over the next few weeks he would get some word from neighbouring lands, particularly from Prince Iraldur of Darsis, about help against Nzame.
“What is this Song of the Frogs, Boaz?” Yaqob asked.
I had explained something of the story and the song to Isphet, but now Boaz and I told the tale of the Song of the Frogs, explained about the goblet, and how frogs had run through Boaz’s life and through our relationship.
“The Soulenai told Tirzah that I must open myself to the Song of the Frogs, and Avaldamon told me that I must listen to the frogs, learn their song, follow the path it shows me. I had thought that when I arrived here…that the Graces…”
“But there are no frogs here,” Isphet said. “No song to listen to.”
“Not quite,” I replied. “We have the Goblet of the Frogs, the song reverberates through that. And we have Fetizza.”
We all looked at the frog. She sat at the edge of the water, apparently in a half-doze. If anything, in the past day she had doubled in size and was uglier than ever.
“Fetizza has done nothing but eat since her inception,” Boaz said. “And look at her now. If she doesn’t move in the next few minutes then I shall be convinced she’s become part of the rock.”
As if she had heard him, Fetizza slowly blinked her eyes, and hiccupped.
“Did you know what was going to come out of the goblet when you created an enchantment to lead us to water?” I asked Boaz.
“No. I really don’t know what I did – and the same applies for when I changed that stone lock of hair, Tirzah.”
Fetizza hiccupped again, her entire body rocking forward with the strength of it.
“Then we must trust the Graces,” Isphet said firmly, and prepared to rise.
Fetizza hiccupped once more, and this time so strongly she gagged, gagged again, and then almost fell over with the force of a gigantic burp.
A small amber frog crawled out of her mouth, balanced precariously in a sliver of drool on her lower lip, then plopped into the water.
Isphet sank back down, staring.
Fetizza gagged again, rolled her eyes, and spat forth another amber frog.
“Kus!” Yaqob swore softly under his breath.
Fetizza coughed up three more frogs, settled herself against the rock, then went back to sleep.
“Well,” Isphet said, rising to her feet. “It looks as though the frogs have come to the Abyss, Boaz.”
The five amber frogs splashed about in the water at Fetizza’s feet, then they swam out into the centre of the river and we lost sight of them.
That evening, very, very faintly, we heard a croaking arise from the waters below us, echoing through the Abyss.
In the morning, a child who’d been watching Fetizza reported that she’d coughed up several more frogs for breakfast. All amber.
“Necromancers are Elementals, but Elementals who have learned to manipulate the power contained within the elements,” Solvadale explained that afternoon as we sat in the semicircle in the Water Hall.
Gardar took over. “The elements, particularly gems and metals, can be used for magical arts because they still contain much of the energy expended at the time of Creation. That is why they whisper and chatter. They are, as much as we, alive. All of you have felt this.”
We nodded. Boaz now heard the chatter of metals, gems and glass as much as I did. He kept the Goblet of the Frogs by our bed, and last night I woke to find him lying quietly, turning it over and over in his hands, listening to its song.
“Necromancers manipulate that power,” Gardar continued, “to effect changes about them. Boaz, you manipulated the power within the Goblet of the Frogs to create Fetizza – who, it seems, is more than a little magical herself. All of you, including Boaz, must learn to recognise and control that power. That is what we will begin with today.”
Every afternoon for the next three weeks, the Graces taught us meditation exercises. Exercises to put us in touch, not only with our inner strength, but with the energy force within the elements. The exercises sounded simple but they cost us many an hour of effort and the occasional curse before we mastered them. I know Isphet and Yaqob, as Boaz and I, spent hours each evening practising, and many a night Boaz and I would fall into bed too exhausted for loving.
But we were learning. At the end of the three weeks we could touch our inner strength and the power of whatever metal or glass object we held without apparent effort. Boaz remarked to me one evening that it was like seeing into the soul of the object whereas before we had only heard its whispering.
“Their souls glow with such radiance,” he said. “Rainbows of colour.”
I nodded, admiring his ability. I could see something of that, but only glimpses. Boaz was powerful…or perhaps each of us saw and felt something a little different.
When the Graces understood that we had mastered the exercises which put us in touch with the elements’ life forces, they then taught us to manipulate those forces.
More hours of practice, and many more curses. The meditation exercises had been simple compared to what we were asked to do now. We had to become one with the elemental object we held so that we could almost merge with its life force.
“But don’t let it go too far,” Gardar warned, “don’t merge completely, because then you risk becoming so one with the object that your soul and that of the object will merge…and your body will die.”
“And then we would have an object, perhaps a metal band, with the soul of a Boaz or an Isphet,” Solvadale said, “and that would do neither us nor you much good at all.”
This teaching was hard for the Graces, even nerveracking. They could not demonstrate, because they did not have the skills to do so, and they could not completely observe what we were doing or where we were going. They had to trust we would not overextend ourselves.
“Normally a Necromancer would teach a Necromancer,” Xhosm said to us one day. “But you have only us. Eventually we hope that you can take on the task of teaching others.”
“Hold this solid glass sphere,” Caerfom said to me another day, “and ruffle the waters of the pool with the force within it. This should be easy for you, Tirzah.”