Macros blinked, as if trying to remember. ‘I don’t remember exactly what occurred next. But I think I spoke to Sarig, and either I died and he took me before I went to the Hall of Lims-Kragma, or he got me just before my death; but from that moment on, I was Sarig’s creature.
‘It may be my prayer was the first to him since the Chaos Wars, though someone had to have built that shrine. Maybe someday I’ll know. But whatever else, that dying prayer opened an avenue, a conduit if you will, and from that ruined temple I emerged no longer a boy, but a man of magic. I knew things as if I possessed memories of them, yet I know they weren’t my memories. Sarig was within me, and part of me was within Sarig.’
‘No wonder you had such power,’ said Pug.
Macros looked from face to face. ‘To understand what I’m about to tell you, you need put aside all prejudices and preconceptions.
‘The gods are both real and illusion. They are real in that they exist and exert force over this world and our lives. They are illusions in that they are nothing like what we perceive them to be.’
Nakor laughed his cackling laugh. ‘This is wonderful!’
Pug nodded.
Macros said, ‘Forces exist in nature, and we interact with them. As we think of them, some of them become what we think.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Miranda. ‘You’ve lost me.’
‘Think of ancient humans, huddled in a cave and contemplating the wonder of fire. On a cold, wet night, it’s their friend and a source of life. They give to that fire a personality, and after a while they worship it. Then that evolves into the worship of the spirit of fire, which in turn becomes the god of fire.’
‘Prandur,’ said Pug.
‘Exactly,’ said Macros. ‘And when enough people worship, the energy that we call Prandur begins to manifest certain aspects, certain attributes that match the expectations of the worshipers.’
Nakor was almost beside himself with glee. ‘Man creates the gods!’ he exclaimed.
‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Macros. His eyes reflected a deep pain. ‘For most of my life I’ve been a part of Sarig, his agent on Midkemia and elsewhere, his eyes and ears, and I thought my ultimate fate was to merge with him, to assume his mantle and return magic in all its glory to Midkemia.’ Glancing at Pug, he said, ‘You were one of my better experiments. You returned the Greater Magic to Midkemia.’
‘This is all very interesting,’ said Miranda, ‘but what about Mother?’
Nakor lost his grin. ‘I think Jorna is dead.’
Miranda said, ‘What? How do you know?’
‘When I last saw her, I sensed that another inhabited her body, and that which we knew as your mother was absent. I can only assume she is dead, or hidden away someplace.’
Pug asked, ‘How do all of you fit in this?’
Nakor said, ‘When I was young, I met a girl named Jorna, who was beautiful and smart and who seemed interested in me.’ He grinned. ‘I am not what you would call a handsome man, nor was I when I was young. But as all young men, I wished to be loved by a beautiful woman.
‘She didn’t love me, however. She loved power, and she hungered after what you call magic. She wanted to stay young and beautiful forever. She feared death, and growing old even more.
‘So I showed her tricks. I showed her how to manipulate what I call “stuff,” and when she had learned all I could teach her, she left me.’
‘And found me,’ said Macros. He glanced at Miranda. ‘I met your mother in Kesh, and she was as Nakor described, a beautiful young woman who pursued me with ardor. I ignored her hunger for power. I was blinded by youthful romance. Despite my age and ability, I acted young and foolish. I discovered her deceit later, after you were born, Miranda, but before she could learn all I could teach - she was centuries removed from that possibility, though she didn’t know it - and I refused to show her more.’
Miranda said, ‘So you took me from her and left me with strangers. I was ten years old!’
‘No,’ said Macros. ‘I accepted you when she left us both, and found you good people to raise you. I know I only visited you briefly, from time to time, but . . . it was difficult.’
Pug said, ‘And was this when you became the “Black Sorcerer”?’
‘Yes,’ said Macros. ‘Dealing with humanity at that level was too painful, and I didn’t know it at the time, but Sarig had uses for me. The gods move in ways we cannot understand, so much of what drove me was compulsion or desire, and dear goals were seldom mine. I found that island, abandoned by those who lived there, the people who had built that lovely villa. I assume they were a family of Keshians, probably nobles from Queg, who fled there when the secession occurred. And I built the black castle, to scare away travelers, and life became much as it was when you first came to the isle. Pug. What was that, fifty, sixty years ago?’