“We created the Silverkin to challenge the danger of Firekin. We are the Mages of Safehome and thus have we always done.”
Thealos swallowed, feeling gooseflesh prickle down his arms. The voice sounded...almost familiar. He hesitated, listening as it continued.
“The Crystal was forged and laid within a bed of Hothstone so that none could disturb it. Until now. You are here because you have never touched or tasted that which is Forbidden us. Before you can claim the magic, you must receive a Foretelling. Look into the light and see what was, what is, and what may be. Have courage, Son of Quicksilver. The future has yet to be tamed.”
Thealos shivered. The words sent chills through his body. The Mages of Safehome. Who were they? He remembered Jaerod and Justin speaking about them. Both seemed to know what they were. But he knew nothing of their order or what they represented, except a constant struggle against the Sorian. Wishing he had asked more questions, Thealos stared at the chamber walls. One way in. Another way out. The Silverkin Crystal in the crossroads. His heart calmed but his legs felt weak. He had come too far to quit now.
Walking down the thin slope of the bowl, he approached the shaft of light going ceiling to floor. Streamers of light rose and fell. He reached out and touched it, bathing his hand in the brilliance. It was like touching a cloud. The smell of the room was peaceful and inviting. He felt safe, for the first time since he had left Avisahn. He was among his people. Protected and sheltered.
Taking a deep breath, he stood before the pillar of light. Leaning forward, he looked into it.
*
The rush and shock of magic was so strong Thealos gasped. It was like dunking his head into an iced over pond. He couldn’t move or twitch. His eyes burned, but he couldn’t blink to water them. He stood frozen, helpless, and felt a surge of panic rise up in his throat. The glowing pillar held him fast, swirling with color and light. He could not see the rest of the chamber, only the blinding light. He felt eddies of Silvan magic swirl up in the rotunda around him, bulging and burgeoning until it filled the rock with fury. It was like a thousand -Wolfsmen blades singing in his veins at once. He felt something inside him rip loose. Drowning in the magic, he struggled to keep sense of who he was and what he was.
Then he saw it.
A whisper of stillness cracked over the room, taming the surging tide of Silvan magic. He could see again, but he was no longer in the chamber. He was in a foamy-blue sky, soaring like a hawk. The magic buoyed him, easing him gently in its arms. He descended over a lush and beautiful valley, teeming with bishop pine and cedar. Groves of green maple with acres of orchards and grasslands in between stretched for miles and miles. His heart melted at the sight, at the vastness and immensity of it. Then he recognized what he was seeing. The Trident River! There were the granite cliffs of the Ravenstone! Looking to the side, he saw the sprawling city of Avisahn nestled against a bend in the river, parapets and towers lost in a dizzying sprawl of manors, parks, terraced walks, and fountains. It was not the Avisahn that he knew. The forest was too thick and vast, stretching from the Ravenstone to the Kingshadow. It was the land before the humans came. Before Sol-don-Orai was destroyed. The pang of longing filled him with such power that he started to weep. But the magic carried him away, following the twists and bends of the river until it flung him out over a huge bastion at the river’s end, spilling roughly into the ocean. It was Sol, but glittering! Thealos saw a Silvan fleet, dozens of ships hugging the coast all the way to Jan Lee. There were hundreds of them!