Rezkin stepped up next to Wesson who was staring disconsolately at the display. He said, “They may yet wake.”
Wesson did not take his eyes from them. “I have never known you to engender false hope.”
“The spell was experimental. We do not know its long-term effects. Therefore, hope and condemnation are equally valid. One of them, however, is counterproductive.”
Wesson drew his eyes from the memorial to look at Rezkin. “You do not think I should be held responsible for this?”
Rezkin tilted his head. “You are responsible for this, but that does not make you guilty. If you feel remuneration is necessary, then ensure this does not happen again by helping to defeat the real enemy.”
Wesson said, “Caydean was not responsible for this, so what enemy am I to fight?”
Rezkin looked to the memorial. “The face was different, but the enemy was the same. Hate. It is a senseless emotion that induces strife wherever it persists.”
“How am I supposed to fight hate?”
Rezkin looked back to him. “Defeat all those who wield it.”
“Then, are we not the same as them?”
Rezkin said, “I do not hate my enemies. I merely recognize the need for them to be silenced in whatever manner is fitting.”
He gathered his reins and mounted one of the Ferélli rockhorses they had brought with them. The rockhorses were sturdy beasts well suited for the rugged desert terrain of Ferélle. Unlike the Gendishen reds, they were not particularly fast, but they were hearty. Wesson followed, mounting his own mare, and they rejoined the cavalcade that was waiting for them on the road that led east to Drovsk. Many of the townsfolk and soldiers gathered to watch the procession in silence, their thoughts expressed by their heated glares.
The commander at Fort Ulep had assigned a unit to escort them, which contained four purifiers. The eclectic party of Ashaiians, Ferélli, Leréshis, and Gendishen traveled east. The one group that was absent was the mages with the exception of Wesson. While he had proven himself capable of fending off the purifiers, he was not sure he could do the same for anyone else. There was also the high probability that Privoth would gather a larger force to attack him this time. The Gendishen with whom they traveled continued to blame Rezkin and Wesson for the fate of their comrades, despite the fact that, since their last visit, authorities had received more reports of drauglics attacking in small numbers.
By day, the groups spread out to keep an eye on each other, but at night the camp was strongly segregated by nationality. Rezkin sat by the fire surrounded by an assortment of guards. Almost everyone was a potential threat, particularly Yserria’s Leréshis, since Erisial had upset her entire culture by marrying him, and the only way to get rid of Erisial was to kill him first. He was surveying the group when something caught his attention. For the briefest moment, it appeared that tiny people danced within the fire. He blinked, and they were gone.
While the brilliant colors associated with Bilior’s fruit had disappeared, Rezkin still felt energized. He was becoming restless from lack of activity after sitting in the saddle for days on end, so he decided to go exploring. His first challenge was to disappear from a camp in which it was the duty of nearly every pair of eyes to remain on him. He decided he should probably tell someone that he was going, or the factions would start a war between them when they realized he had disappeared. He looked around to decide whom he should tell that would not cause them to follow. He settled on Malcius. He made the excuse that he needed to speak with Malcius in private about his union with Yserria but instead explained he was going for a stroll and would return by dawn. Then, to Malcius’s dismay, he slipped away.
Rezkin slithered through the tall grasses of the vast Gendishen plain toward a copse of trees in the distance. They appeared as a dark stain in the otherwise pale landscape, but he was inclined to explore them, either through some inexplicable pull or because they were the only item of any interest in the area. The trees along the perimeter looked young, but as he walked farther into the forest, they grew old and craggy, their gnarled branches bent and twisted in unusual ways. The canopy had grown thick, blocking sight of the stars and moon, but the wooded depths were lit by a soft blue glow from an unknown light source that seemed to emanate from everywhere. The walk through the copse that should have consumed no more than fifteen minutes had claimed hours of his time. Just as Rezkin thought to turn around, he spied a break in the trees. Within the clearing was a massive boulder as large as a two-story inn. A clear pool rested at its base, fed by a trickle of spring water that flowed from a fissure in the floor of the opening to a cave. Shadows cast by the flickering light of fire flitted across the walls of the cave.
Rezkin crept closer, listening for sounds of the cave’s occupants. The hollow gale of air passing through chambers began to produce a melodic tune, a familiar one. He stepped lightly along the watery path into the cave. It branched in several directions, but the other paths were dry, so he followed the water to its source. When he arrived, he saw only a small puddle in the middle of an empty chamber, and he realized a detail he had been missing. The water was flowing into the cave, into the puddle that began to rise in a thin stream beyond the level of the stone in which it sat.
The shadows shifted, and Rezkin noticed that the light source had moved. He turned to find two flames the size of his palm burning over a pile of leaves and sticks on a rock ledge. The flames merged into one and then split again. They morphed into little figures that danced around each other as if putting on a show. Eventually, six smaller flames erupted from the debris. The tiny flames created a ring around the larger two, dancing and spinning to the music of the hollow melody. The ground began to shake, a massive rumble that caused rocks to fall from the ceiling and walls. Rezkin was about to dart for the exit when a stone monster stepped out of the wall beside it. A large serpent slipped into the room through the space between the stone monster’s feet. As it coiled in the center beside the somewhat man-shaped pillar of water, it began to morph into a tree-like creature he recognized.
Bilior blinked up at him from where he crouched low on the ground, but he said nothing. Rezkin glanced at the other beings, the elementals he assumed were Ahn’an.
“Why have you brought me here?”
Bilior tilted his head to look at him sideways. “The paths be open, among them you walk. We listen.”
“I do not understand.”
Rezkin glanced away as a rumble emanated from the stone monster, followed by the sound of bellows as the wind whipped through the fire. When he looked back, Malcius was staring at him.
“What is this?” Rezkin said in alarm.
Malcius ran a hand down his own face and said, “This aura is better suited for discussion. You do not always understand me.” He glanced at the stone monster and shrugged. “You do not understand them at all, so I suppose I should be content with what I have.”
“You sound like him,” said Rezkin.
“We had best make this quick. His aura is more difficult to hold since he does not possess the power. Someone opened the pathways. You stumbled onto one when you left the human camp. We guided you here so that you would not get lost.”
Rezkin glanced around the cave. “I am not in my realm?”
Malcius pursed his lips. “You are in a pocket of your realm, one only those with great power can access. The pathways lead to many realms and many such pockets. He who opened them is inexperienced and dangerous. You are not the only one who may stumble onto a path.”
“You mean other people could be getting trapped in these realms?”
Malcius shook his head. “No. They are not open to all. You must possess the right power to travel the pathways. But, other things may pass between worlds. What is more concerning is that we cannot sense the power used to open them.”