All turned to regard the utter darkness. For several minutes nothing occurred. As if no air moved in the Garden, there was a profound silence. The observers were acutely aware of their own being, feeling each sensation down to the rhythm of the blood coursing through their bodies. But no sound save their own breathing could they apprehend. Then came the note.
Each was transported, though they moved not a step. A filling joy, a profound sense of perfect rightness, washed over them, beauty too terrible to comprehend. It was as if music, a single flawless note, sounded and was felt rather than heard. Colours more vivid than any pigment were seen, yet only the dark void hung before their eyes. They felt crushed under the weight of indescribable wonder and terror. They were rendered so insignificant in an instant that each of them despaired and felt alone, yet in that crystalline instant each experienced exaltation, touched by something so wonderful it brought tears of joy flowing without stint.
It was impossible to comprehend. There was only a flickering, as if a million lines of force sprang across the surface of the void, but they were gone so quickly the watchers could not apprehend their passage. One instant all was black and formless, then a latticework of countless glowing lines spread across the magnificent void, and light filled the skies, staggering in its purity and strength. All were forced to avert their eyes from that blinding display for a moment. A blaze of stunning energies poured forth, as seen before, but now flowing outward. A strange emotion swept through Pug and his companions, one of completeness, as if what they had experienced was now at an end. All continued to weep in joy at the perfect beauty of the display.
“Macros, what was that?” asked Tomas softly, in awe.
“The Hand of God,” he whispered, his eyes wide with wonder. “The Prime Urge. The First Cause. The Ultimate. I don’t know what to call it. I know only this: one moment, there was nothing, the next, all existed. It is the First Mystery, and even now that I’ve seen it, I do not pretend to understand it.” The sorcerer laughed, a loud joyous sound, and did a little dance.
Pug and Tomas exchanged questioning looks, and Macros saw he was the object of their scrutiny. With an expression of genuine mirth, he said, “It just occurred to me that there’s more than one reason we’re here.” When their expressions betrayed incomprehension, he said, “I cannot imagine even a god to be without vanity, and were I the Ultimate, I’d want an audience for a show like that.”
Both Pug and Tomas began to laugh. Macros continued his little caper while he hummed a merry tune. “Gods, I love a question I can’t answer. It keeps things interesting, even after so many years.” Macros paused in his dance and his face clouded in concentration. After a moment, he said, “Some of my powers return.”
Pug ceased his laughter. “Some?”
“Enough so that I may more effectively manipulate your power when needed.” He gave a sly nod. “And even add something to the total.”
Pug looked upward and regarded the splendour of a newly born universe spreading across the sky. “Compared to that, all our troubles seem pitiful.”
“Well, they may be,” answered the sorcerer, regaining his usual manner. “But there are a few people upon your homeworld who may feel different watching Murmandamus’s army pouring down into the Kingdom. It may be a small planet, but it is the only one they have.”
Without knowing how, Pug felt them moving forward through time.
“We are free of the time trap,” confirmed Macros.
Pug sat in silent wonder. He had felt something spring into being when he had witnessed the Beginning. Now he gave voice to certainty. Looking at Macros, he said, “I am like you.”
Macros nodded, an expression of warm affection upon his face. “Yes, Pug, you are like me. I don’t know what fate awaits you, but you are not like others. You are of neither the Lesser nor the Greater Path. You are a sorcerer, one who knows there are no paths, only magic. And magic may be limited only by the limits of one’s gifts.”
Tomas said, “Can you see your future?”
Pug said, “No, I am spared that.”
Macros said, “See, it’s not an entirely unlucky thing, being a power. Compared to others, a minor power, but still one to be reckoned with. Now we must escape.” He scanned the madness above as the stuff of creation shot outward, filling the heavens with a staggering beauty. Green and blue swirls of gases, red orbs of fiery splendour, white and yellow streaks of light, sped by, obliterating the grey of rift-space, pushing back the boundaries of nothingness. Then Macros suddenly pointed. “There!”