“I think so,” Erlin said. “The first time all three were together. But far from the last.”
Abruptly the memory shifted, the buildings and the people gone to swirling mist around them, as if they stood at the centre of a vortex though there was no sensation of wind. Soon it slowed, the mist coalescing into the city once more, though now the buildings were all complete. Spring had come to the mountains and the air was fresh, the city lively with people; parents with children, lovers walking hand in hand. Music seemed to rise from every quarter, a man with a harp of some kind singing from a rooftop nearby, a cluster of singers a few streets away adding their own voices. There were also knots of people engaged in animated discussion, gesticulating at each other with scrolls and odd devices Vaelin took to be some form of sextant.
“Put more than one philosopher together and you’ll birth an argument,” Erlin commented. “A truism I’ve observed the world over. In fact, I once saw one argue with himself, it got quite violent in the end.” He moved to the edge of the elevated platform, extending his arm in a broad sweep. “I think that’s why he built this place. A haven for thinkers, artists, scholars. In all my travels, I’ve never seen a city like it.”
An angry voice drew Vaelin’s attention to the approach of the dark-haired woman, striding ahead of the bearded man, hands moving in emphatic, negative slashes. Her brother followed behind at a distance. They were all older than before, though perhaps by only a few years. The younger man’s timidity seemed to have vanished, the weary amusement on his face an echo of what he would later depict on the cave wall.
The woman went to the memory stone and Vaelin saw it now had a twin, identical in shape but not in colour, for this stone was black, its surface free of any flaw or vein. Something black, Vaelin recalled Wise Bear’s deep unease as he touched the space where this thing now stood.
The woman paused to regard the black stone, her face briefly transformed into a mask of confusion before turning back to the bearded man, pointing at the stone, voice raised in emphatic tones. He sighed, moving to stand opposite her with the stone between them. He spoke softly but his words were no less certain than hers, and also carried an unmistakable note of refusal. The woman began to rail at him, handsome features marred by a deep anger. She calmed a little as her brother came forward, moving close to the stone, though Vaelin noted how he put his hands behind his back. He spoke for a short time, shrugging often, his sister evidently annoyed by his apparent lack of concern. Eventually she threw up her hands in an exclamation of angry defeat and strode away.
Her brother and the bearded man exchanged rueful glances but no more words. After a short pause the bearded man extended a hand to the stone, letting it hover over the smooth surface, Vaelin seeing the involuntary shudder in his fingertips. The younger man spoke, just a few short words, but all humour had vanished from his face and the tone was sharp, almost commanding.
The bearded man hesitated, a brief spasm of anger twitching across his features. Then he laughed, withdrawing his hand and moving back, patting the young man on the shoulder before walking away at a sedate pace. He descended the steps to the street below, exchanging good-natured greetings as he moved through the throng, every face around him rich in respect and affection.
The young man watched him go then turned back to the stone, fingers tracing over his chin with brow furrowed in thought. After a moment he brightened and began to walk away, but paused on reaching the steps. His back straightened as if in response to some unheard alarm and he turned, eyes tracking across the platform until they came to rest on Vaelin.
“He sees me,” Vaelin said.
“Yes,” Erlin said. “I always wondered what made him pause at this point. Hopefully, now his next words will make some sense.”
The young man walked forward slowly, his expression one of cautious amazement. He came to within a few feet of Vaelin and stopped, reaching out as if to touch his cloak, though the fingers slipped through the material like mist. He drew back a little, his lips fumbling over a question in a language not his own. “You . . . have . . . name?” he asked in heavily accented but discernible Realm Tongue.
“I have many,” Vaelin replied. “Though I suspect you will know me by only one.”
The young man’s brow furrowed in bafflement. “I . . . Lionen,” the young man said. “I seee you . . . before.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “In dreams . . . In waking . . . Hear your tongue . . . Learn it.”
“You have the gift of scrying,” Vaelin said, elaborating in response to another baffled frown, “You . . . see what is to come.”
“Sometimes . . . Sometimes it . . . changes. You, always same.” His gaze went to the black stone. “So too this.”