Reunification - (Body & Soul)
By Jeff Grubb
Published in Dragon Magazine number 247 in May, 1998.
Narrated by AJ Pickett
Vartan Hai Sylvar moved surreptitiously down the white marble halls of his god's palace. He moved like a thief and a guilty thief at that. No one would question his presence there, for he was a servant of the god Labelas Enoreth. But, if he were seen, questions might be asked, and those were questions that Vartan did not feel comfortable answering.
He moved through the halls and came at last to a great vault. Vartan unlocked the door with a key carved from unmelting ice. The door, made of burnished gold and carved with the serene likeness of the god’s eye-patched face, swung inward silently. The treasures within glowed of their own light. Vartan entered and secured the doors behind him.
The key had been a gift from the God of Immortality himself, who charged Vartan with the duty of checking on the vault regularly to make sure that everything was in proper order.
Despite his god’s permission, Vartan crept into the vault like a sneak-thief, for his god had said nothing about him using any of the devices contained within.
Vartan passed by the gems of insight and the jewels of power and the long rows of bottles containing living darkness. Vartan passed great beasts frozen in time, still alive but immobile within their undying forms. He passed petrified spirits of ghosts, trapped like spun candy within chunks of amber. And he passed the portals to the Realms and other places where the elven gods were venerated. Some of these portals were shattered and darkened. They would transport the unwary to lands that no longer believed in elves or immortality.
And at last he came to a wall of mirrors, windows into the planes beyond the elf-god’s domain. Most of them were dusty from neglect. Vartan pulled down a small mirror with an ornate ivory frame, one that was in better condition than most of its fellows. Vartan had been using that mirror each time he performed his regular checks on the god’s vault of treasures.
Vartan rubbed the reflective surface with a soft cloth and saw his own face within. It was a narrow face, the brow a bit more care-worn that it should have been for a priest in living service to his god. His blonde hair was braided in a long plait down his back. His ears, still handsomely pointed after all these years, swept stylishly upward and were, in the elf’s opinion, one of his most charming features. Vartan could have spent a few hours contemplating his own image, but he had other concerns.
He thought of his friends and breathed on the surface of the mirror. His image faded, replaced by a scene from the Realms below. The mirror became a window into the mortal world and showed a dockside of some island in the Sea of Fallen Stars. Two figures, a man and a woman, were making their way up a low hill overlooking that dockside. It was early spring, and the grass was a bright shade of green, almost unnatural in its vitality. In the land of enduring continuance, Vartan felt a pang of nostalgia. He had missed springtimes. He missed beginnings.
Looking at the couple, Vartan felt another pang this one of regret for the passing years. Both Agrivar the paladin and lshi the eastern warrior were aging, as all mortal beings aged. Both were still hale and proud, but Vartan could see the first signs of unrelenting years creeping up on them. There were a few lines around Ishi’s eyes, which only made her appear wiser. A touch of gray tinged Agrivar’s
temples, which made the paladin seem all the more noble.
Yet he was still broad-shouldered and strong, and lshi moved with a feline grace alongside him.
The couple moved up a beaten dirt path toward the hilltop, where a metal statue waited. Most would call the bronze-hued female figure a golem. Minder was always the sensible one, the rock upon which all the others built their lives. She would be the one to live forever, trapped within her metal form. As the couple approached, the golem spread her arms wide, and a sad, worn smile spread across her bronze lips.
“Welcome,” said Minder, “I’m glad you made it.”
“We almost didn’t,” said Agrivar with a weary grin. “The ship captain didn’t even want to stop here. There were rumors of a mad wizard in the hills.”
“I wouldn’t say mad,” replied the golem. “Permanently peeved, perhaps, but not mad.”
“How is he?” said Ishi.
Minder shrugged, her muscles moving like molten gold. “Groggy. He’s been in an enchanted sleep for most of the
past year, and he just came out of it two days back.”
lshi nodded, then said, “But how is he?
Minder’s mouth became a thin line. “Tired,” she said at last. “He is very, very tired. This may be our last chance. Omen’s last chance.”
Minder led the two warriors inland to the wizard’s lair, though the couple had tread this path many times before.
Omen’s domain consisted of several buildings that had once been a sea-dog’s inn overlooking the bay. The main inn had been converted into living quarters and libraries, while an adjacent stables were used for experiments. This latter building had been rebuilt several times, and the ground was permanently blackened around it.
The furnishings of the stable changed according to the nature of Omen’s experiments. One time it would be filled with gears and wheels, and the next crammed with bubbling alembics of brightly-colored chemicals. This time it was filled with energy. Squat black boxes were crouched around the perimeter of the room, and cables of spun copper and steel hung from the rafters. Sparks danced along great globes mounted in the center of the room, and the ground reverberated from the humming of the machinery.
The halfling, Foxilon Cardluck, moved among the machinery, a rubber-wrapped spanner clenched in his hand. He wore blue-striped coveralls and had a greentinted visor pulled down over his eyes as he danced from device to device. He would tighten a socket here, tap the glass of a meter there, and occasionally thump the side of a particular device until he got the result he wanted. He greeted the two new arrivals with a cheery wave and turned back to the machines.
In the center of the room, surrounded by the great globes, stood the wizard Omen. Or rather, two wizard Omens. The first was the mortal Omen, and even to Vartan’s eye the specter of death clung tightly to him. The old wizard’s hunched frame was as gaunt as a vulture’s, his cheeks deeply sunken and his eyes bleary. He skin had faded to the color of weather-beaten parchment, and even his hair looked sparse and sickly.
The other Omen, laid out on the table before the emaciated mortal version, was made of brass. This was the Omen that Vartan remembered—the proud captain of the good ship Realms Master. The statue’s face was learned but not ancient, his posture straight but not haughty, and his hair, made of strands of stiff gold wire, jutted from its head like peacock feathers. The Omen on the table looked more like Omen than the pathetic figure leaning over it.
The living Omen hobbled over to the couple. He grasped Agrivar by the arm in greeting and he gave lshi a warm hug. From his vantage point in the next universe over, Vartan noticed that both handled the old man like fine porcelain—fragile and about to go to pieces under the slightest breeze.
“Good that you could make it,” wheezed the older man.
“We’ve always come when you’ve called,” said Agrivar.
“How are you?” said Ishi, her eyes already showing that she knew how he was.
“Good days and bad days,” said Omen. “Good days and bad days.”
More bad days than good, thought Vartan. Omen had a wasting disease within him that resisted all treatment, magical or otherwise. He was cured, briefly, by Labelas, but at a price that was too high for any of them. Labelas was mad at the time, and they had fought against the god, all of them, even Vartan. The battle had cost them their ship, the Realms Master, and nearly their lives.
Labelas recovered from his madness and truly regretted his actions. He had tried to make amends to Vartan and the others. Vartan forgave and entered the direct service of his god, but Omen would never trust the god again, nor accept his aid.
Minder was talking “I cannot talk you out of this, old friend?”
Omen started to argue but was overcome with a coughing fit. The assemblage waited for the racking coughs to subside, then the wizard tried again, “It is the last option we have. We tried all the others and came up with naught.”
“But to put your spirit in an unliving shell of metal ...” said Ishi.
“You will no longer be able to taste, or smell, or feel as a living thing would,” said Minder, “It is not the most pleasant of conditions. Take it from one who knows.”
“It would be an advantage at this point,” said Omen, and fell into another hacking cough, “Are we ready, Mr. Cardluck?”
“As we’ll ever be,” said the halfling, his face showing his own unspoken concern.
“Then let us begin,” said Omen. He turned to Agrivar and Ishi, “I am glad you came. I may need help when something
goes wrong.”
“If,” corrected Agrivar. “If something goes wrong.”
“Of course,” said Omen with a tired smile. “If something goes wrong.”
They took their places. Agrivar and lshi stood by the stable’s entrance. Minder took her place beneath a great crystalline lamp—she would serve as the template for the magical transference. Omen lay down beside his metallic creation. Foxy skittered from machine to machine, spanner in hand, shouting numbers in a code that only he and Omen seemed to understand.
“Three-Four-Nine!” shouted the halfling.
“Good,” rasped the wizard in response.
“Two-five, and amperage thirty over seven,” said the halfling, and the old man raised a withered hand in response.
"Total flow at seventy point seven,” said the halfling.
“Goose it a bit,” said Omen.
“It’s within the optimum parameters,” said Foxy.
“Goose it,” repeated the tired mage.
Foxy threw a few more toggles, and the machine sparked as he did so, “Seventy point nine,” said the halfling.
“Better,” said the wizard.
Near the entrance, lshi said, “This isn’t going to work, is it?”
Agrivar said nothing for a moment, but Vartan liked to think that the paladin was grimly praying that lshi was wrong. At last he said, “If something goes wrong, you get Foxy, and I’ll get Omen.”
“Of course,” said the woman warrior, and a dimension away Vartan could see the woman’s muscles tighten, ready to move in an instant.
The old wizard straightened himself out on the bench, alongside his metallic doppleganger. He crossed his arms over his chest and said, “Hit it!”
Foxy pulled a large scissors-switch shut, and all the machines in the former stables came to life. tights ran along the corners of the various black boxes, and lightning arced between the great metal globes. The light washed Minder with a crimson hue. On the great slab, Omen stiffened as he and his statue were bathed in a blue glow.
Then something unexpected sparked overhead. One of the rafter-strung cables had burned through its insulation, and through its supporting rope. The rope parted with a sharp snap, and an electrified cable of spun copper and steel dropped down on the machinery below.
A circuit closed that was not supposed to be closed. Immediately three of the black boxes along the perimeter exploded in a roar, flames shooting out toward the walls. The light above Minder magnified to a burning sun. She lunged up in pain, smashing the crystal at the heart of the lamp. Foxy remained glued to one of the machine handles, his hair standing on edge from the current passing through him. And in the center of the stables, a fountain of sparks showered the two Omens.
lshi and Agrivar moved immediately. lshi somersaulted over a pile of burning debris, knocking the halfling away from the machine with a deft kick. Foxy tumbled to one side, and lshi was beneath him before he struck. She scooped up the halfling and crouched as another of the machines exploded in a ball of crimson fire.
The building quickly filled with smoke and flames, and there was no sign of the others. There was a crash from the direction of the door as burning rafters tumbled in the entranceway. There would be no escape that way.
lshi grit her teeth and gave a deep-throated shout. Then she leapt against the burning wall of the building, striking it
feet-first. She had chosen her spot of attack well, for the flames had weakened the walls enough for her to breach through, scattering burning splinters in her wake. She cradled the halfling against her stomach. Outside, she gagged on the smoke, sucking air to clear her lungs. She laid the halfling down on the grass and made sure he was still breathing. As she looked up, Agrivar appeared at the fire-framed hole, holding Omen in both his arms. The fringes of the paladin’s tabard were smoking from sparks, and he had a swatch of cloth tied over his nose and chin. He barreled through the opening as part of the old barn collapsed behind him. He staggered forward, and lshi rushed toward him. The paladin handed the old mage to Ishi, then fell to one knee.
lshi laid the old man next to the halfling, who was already awake, shaking himself and patting the smoking bits from his overalls. Omen gave a raspy groan, and looked up at Ishi. Then he gave a weak curse and said, “Didn’t work.”
“I am afraid not,” said the warrior. Omen said nothing more but launched into a prolonged coughing fit.
Agrivar stumbled to his feet as the old barn began to cave in, the flames licking at all sides. There was a crash as the front half of the building collapsed. The remaining roof was a dimpled camel-back as the main supports succumbed to the flames. There was another explosion, and the building collapsed with a outward rush of burning lumber and hot air. The three humans and the halfling all threw up their hands as burning slivers rained among them.
Out of the fireball strode Minder, her metallic skin red from the heat and blackened by streaks of soot. She held the body of the Omen-automaton under one arm and its slightly-melted head in the other hand. Most of the stiff gold wire had drooped like limp noodles, and the metal face was twisted in a obscene leer.
Minder laid the shattered form at Omen’s feet and said, “I’m sorry. I tried to save it before everything exploded.”
Omen only nodded, gagging on the last of the smoke in his lungs.
“Well,” said Foxy tipping back his visor, “Back to the drawing board.”
“No,” said Omen, his voice a rattling rasp, “That was the last one. Even with an enchanted sleep, I won’t live long enough to try again. We are out of options. I am . . . I am going to die.” He looked at the other concerned faces around him. “And I think I’m ready for it.”
In the land of Arvandor, Vartan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Labelas was the elven God of Longevity, and the many years granted to the elven peoples were his gift. To live longer than your compatriots was a normal part of being an elf. An elf might get to know humans, but one never lost track of the fact that you would still be young when they had succumbed to old age.
So why did it bother him that Omen, the old human wizard, was now at the end of his rope? He had fought to live, fought harder than anyone Vartan had known, and had fought with every resource, magical and mundane, at his disposal. He had not accepted the disease within him but rather battled it at every turn. And he was forced to retreat, step by step, until at last he was willing to sacrifice his own body in order to overcome the disease. Perhaps that was why, thought Vartan. He had taken his elven longevity as a given, the gift of the gods that it truly was. In several hundred years, when Vartan’s own time came, would he be as tenacious as Omen? And would he have his friends surrounding him, ready to help, to risk their lives on his account?
Vartan let the mirror fade and sat among the glittering treasures for a long time. Then he got up and went to the shelves near the entrance. He took one of the gems and turned it over in hands several times. Then he went to one of the portals and stood on the brink for a long time. Then he took a deep breath and stepped through. He did not offer a prayer to his god for fear that Labelas might hear him. And Labelas, Vartan thought, would probably not approve of what his trusted priest was planning. The stables were a complete loss and would have to be rebuilt again. Foxy and Agrivar disagreed how many times this had happened, though both knew it was well into the double digits. After ascertaining that everyone was as healthy and intact as they normally were, the paladin and the halfling retired to the kitchen to prepare an afternoon meal. Minder set the fire in the inn’s main room and began polishing the scorch-marks out of her skin. Omen collapsed in a large stuffed chair, and lshi knelt beside him.
“It’s over,” said Omen bitterly.
“It was a setback,” replied the Kozakuran warrior, “There must be other options.”
“It was the last,” wheezed the elderly mage, “There’s no time. There’s no . . .”He let his voice trail off as he looked into the fire, and lshi wondered whether he had lost his train of thought. “Energy,” he finished. “I’m too tired to fight.”
“In the east, death is not something to fear but to embrace, when the time comes,” said the warrior.
The aged man blew the air out of his cheeks and looked like he was deflating. “It’s not death I fear, lshi Barasume.”
“No?”
“It’s the manner of death,” said Omen, “It is one thing to be cut down, but quite another to worn away. And it has been wearing me away, grinding me down bit by bit, until there is nothing left but dust. It is a Beast, and it is finally consuming me.”
The meal was delicious if subdued. Minder finished her polishing (she had no need to eat), while Foxy and Agrivar served up a savory if simple stew. The conversation was polite. They talked around the events of the afternoon and their consequences, instead touching on other matters of gossip—the latest fashions in Waterdeep, Cormyrian politics, the weather, and the wheat crop this year in the Dales. Foxy dredged up shared stories from years ago, of which all had been a part, but they did not interrupt when the halfling exaggerated a few points.
Finally, it was Agrivar who said, "What now?” And lshi saw Foxy and Minder both relax. It was the question they wanted to ask.
Omen shook his head in response, "There is no now,” he said calmly. “I’m going to die, and I’d better get myself used to that.”
The silence draped the table like a shroud. Foxy’s face was pained, and Minder was stern. lshi supposed her own demeanor was closed as well, and she wondered if she would face a certain end with the same resignation. No, she decided, she would want to fight to the last breath.
It was Agrivar who broke the silence. “This experiment failed, but . . .”he began, but Omen raised a bony hand and the paladin fell silent.
“This experiment,” rasped the old man, “And the last one and the last one before that. I’ve tried potions of longevity and magical rings and fields of stopped time. At best I hold the Beast at bay, and at worst,” and here the phlegm built up in his throat and the other four were quiet as he bent double, coughing “At worst the Beast takes more of my life.There is nothing else to try, my friends. It may be hours or days, but I am beaten. I’m going to die, and there is nothing anyone can do about it.”
The old man looked from face to face. Foxy was near despair, Agrivar stern, almost angry. lshi frowned deeply. Minder seemed to take the news calmly, but it was an intense calm, the calm before the storm.
“There is always one more thing to try,” said a new voice from the doorway, a familiar one that none of those pre sent had heard for years. Vartan hai Sylvar, bedecked in his golden armor, stood in the entranceway. lshi and Agrivar rose as one to greet him, but it was Omen who spoke first, his voice a raspy accusation.
“Why are you here, gold elf?” snarled the emaciated old man. “Just thought you’d drop by and taunt me with your youth and good health?”
Indeed, Vartan looked young. Not just young in the terms of well-preserved, or the ageless nature of the elves themselves, which made them thinner and even more ethereal with the passing decades. Vartan looked young, and there was a liveliness in his eye and a lilt in his voice. It was as he had just stepped out of the room for a moment the last time they had seen him. Vartan looked at Agrivar and Ishi. At another time there would be hugs and handshakes, but for the moment there was a wariness in the wake of Omen’s accusation. He smiled at the couple, then spoke to Omen directly, “I’m not here to taunt. I’m here to help.”
Vartan stepped forward and put a large gem on the table. It was a great pinkish stone that seemed to pulse of its own accord. Its facets were incised with forgotten runes and unreadable inscriptions. “It is called a gem of insight,”
the elf said. “It is a tool used by Labelas in Arvandor. And it may provide a solution to your . . . problem.”
Foxy leaned forward, intrigued by the size of the glittering gem. Omen pulled his knees up like a small, petulant child. “Go away, elf. I don’t need your help, or that of your god.”
Agrivar said, “I had heard that you had entered the direct service of your god.”
“I am still in his service,” said Vartan.
The paladin shook his head. “We refused the aid of Labelas, once, when the Realms Master was destroyed. There are too many strings when dealing with your god. We would have to refuse your aid again.”
lshi looked at Omen, his bony knees even with chin, his eyes locked on the gem. Finally she said, “No offer of aid should be dismissed out of hand,” she said, “but I think Agrivar is correct. Your god has dealt badly with us in the past. Even if he means well, what proof could you offer of his intentions?”
Vartan scratched at the skin at the base of his neck and made a embarrassed noise, “Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t know what his intentions are. He doesn’t know that I’ve done this yet.”
There was a silence around the table, then Agrivar said, “He doesn’t know?”
Minder chimed in, “You’ve taken something from your god without asking his permission?”
Foxy looked up over the edge of the gem, “Ooooh, it’s stolen, then. That makes things much better.”
Vartan managed a weak smile, “I knew your plight, Omen, and—like you—could not rest unless every avenue was tried. I know you would not want to deal with my god, so I just . . . neglected . . . to ask permission.” His voice trailed off and he ended the sentence with a shrug.
“A magical item stolen from a god,” said Agrivar. “This bodes ill.”
“We should consider every opportunity,” said Ishi. “And if it does work, this gem might be returned with Labelas none
the wiser.”
“Stolen is stolen,” replied the paladin, “and I don’t think that Omen wants a god’s help, even without that god’s knowledge.”
“How does it work?” said Omen.
Agrivar turned and stared at the older man, who was leaning forward now. The distant and resigned look was absent, replaced with a lean, hungry visage of a man given one more chance.
Vartan looked at Agrivar briefly, then said to Omen,
“The paladin has a good point. Even if it is not the will of Labelas for me to bring you the stone, it does contain some
of his power....”
“I don’t have time,” rasped Omen. “How. Does. It. Work?”
Vartan’s face clouded for a moment. He had forgotten how exasperating the old man could be. “It is used to delve into the soul and psyche of an individual. Often it is used for psychic quests. The user attunes himself to the stone and passes into it, to face whatever matter is troubling him. Often it is used by elven spirits in the outer planes that are afflicted by heartbreak or madness. Through the journey, they confront and defeat their ills.”
As the elf spoke the remaining animation within Omen’s face drained away, and the hope died in his eyes. Finally the old man shook his head.
“Pass within the stone,” said Omen. “Psychic quest.” He held out his withered arms. “I’m afraid I’m not much for traveling at the moment. Your offer comes too late. I cannot make the journey. I was foolish to think otherwise.”
“Can others journey with him?” asked Ishi.
“Or instead of him?” suggested Minder.
Vartan rubbed his chin. “It’s a possibility,” he said, “but there is a great risk. Death or distraction on the journey might kill the traveler.”
“A small risk,” said Minder.
“One worth taking,” added Ishi.
“Can’t be any worse than one more explosion,” said Foxy.
Vartan looked at Agrivar, who had remained silent throughout the discussion, stroking his chin with his knuckles. Finally the paladin said, “I do not trust your god, or anything that is attached to him.”
“All the more reason for you to come along,” said Vartan.
“We need someone who is prepared for anything to go wrong.”
The paladin was silent for another moment, then shook his head and smiled. “You’ve lost none of your ability to argue, Vartan. Because I disagree with you, that’s all the more reason for me to go along with you?”
“Exactly,” said the elf.
“Makes perfect sense to me,” said Foxy. Everyone looked at the halfling, and he said, “Well, it does!”
Agrivar looked at Omen, then at each of the others. At last he said, “Very well, let us try this one last thing. When do we start?”
A wide space was cleared in the center of the sitting room, the low tables and chairs pushed against the walls. Agrivar helped Omen to one of the overstuffed sofas, “I would go if I could,” said the old man weakly.
“I understand,” said Agrivar.
“It’s just that I’m so weak nowadays,” Omen continued plaintively, and the paladin nodded. Omen looked up at Agrivar and said, “You don’t think me a coward for being a weak old man, do you?”
Agrivar opened his mouth, then shut it. Up to that very moment, he did not consider Omen a coward at all. But now, looking into the deep-set eyes of his friend, he saw it. Fear. Omen might be weak, but more importantly, he was afraid of what they would find within his psyche. And he would rather have his friends face it than confront it himself.
“I don’t think you’re weak,” said Agrivar, meaning it to console the wizard. “I never thought you were weak.”
“You stay with Omen,” said Minder to Foxy.
Foxy said, “I don’t see why you and Agrivar and lshi and Vartan get to go. You won’t let me because you’re afraid I’ll break something, or take something or lose something.”
The golem knelt beside the halfling. “Of course not. But I do want someone capable at Omen’s side, someone quickwitted and resourceful and devoted.”
“You forgot handsome,” added the halfling.
Minder managed a warm smile, “And handsome. I want someone I can trust to be by Omen’s side when something goes wrong.”
“If something goes wrong,” corrected Foxy.
“If something goes wrong,” agreed the golem.
Vartan held up the gem of insight and muttered some words in archaic elvish. As he spoke, the pulsing light within the stone increased until the room was filled with hot, strobing shadows of the gathered heroes. Agrivar held a hand before his face to ward off the light, and Ishi’s eyes became hooded slits. Minder stood, an immobile statue, her metallic muscles coiled in worry and anticipation.
Vartan touched the runed gem to Omen’s forehead. Omen seemed to relax at the touch. Minder took two steps forward, but the gem began pulsing again, this time in a low, fluttering light, weaker and slower. Foxy took Omen’s wrist and noted that Omen was unconscious now. The weak flashes of the gem matched those of Omen’s pulse.
Mists began to stream from the pulsing gem now, long ropy strands of steam that twisted upon themselves, doubling and re-doubling until they finally gained solidity. The corded stream of smoke made a low, overhanging archway, and within that arch the lights twisted and melded.
Then suddenly it was a gateway into elsewhere.
Vartan handed the pulsing gem to Foxy, “Don’t let go of it,” he admonished. The halfling nodded as the gold elf stepped through the archway, vanishing among the pulsing colors. Minder went through next, without looking back.
lshi and Agrivar looked at each other, then nodded and stepped through as one.
They found themselves on a black road twisting through an ever-changing landscape. The road itself was of the deepest ebony, ridged with swirls and ripples, much like the back of a tortoise. Surrounding the road was a constantly evolving landscape of swirling colors. The ground itself was more akin to ocean swells rising and falling, with identifiable solid pieces emerging from the ground like flotsam cast about by a storm.
Castles appeared momentarily among the swells and then were covered again. The moving ground quieted for a moment to reveal a pastoral scene of trees and brooks, then these were swept up in another swell that scattered the pieces aside.
Agrivar asked, “Where are we?”
“Omen’s psyche,” said Vartan. “Or at least what we can understand of it. Feelings, memories, emotions, all of it is right here. The black road seems to be the most longlasting piece of the mental fabric. If we keep to it, we probably can . . . ishi?”
The Kozakuran was already kneeling in the roadway, steadying herself with one hand, clutching her stomach with the other. Her face was an unhealthy shade of green.
“Everything moving,” she muttered as Vartan knelt beside her. “Hurts to look at it.”
“Then don’t look at it,” said the gold elf. “Look at the road. Just concentrate on the road. It’s not moving.”
“Stupid,” she said, her breathing short and ragged, “I don’t get sea-sick.”
“This is not the sea,” said Vartan, “Now look at the road and take a deep breath. Two, three, four. Now exhale. And
again. Two, three, four.”
Agrivar noticed that the golem was staring intently into the swirling chaos that lapped at the side of their ebony path, “Are you all right, Minder?” he asked.
Minder nodded. “I understand Ishi’s problem,” she said, “When you are at sea, there are those who see the patterns in the ocean, who seek order among the rising swells and drifting clouds. Once they perceive the order, the sea no longer disturbs them. There is no obvious order here, so it troubles her.”
“And what about you?” said the paladin.
“I see the pattern,” said Minder, “I have served alongside Omen for many years, and the landscape is as mercurial as the wizard. I cannot explain it, but I see the pattern.” She looked at Agrivar, “Vartan is likely protected as a result of his life in Arvandor. But what about you, paladin? You serve the cause of Law. Why does this not disturb you?”
Agrivar shook his head and said in a low voice, “It reminds me of a week-long bender I drank myself into one time in Waterdeep. Not the most pleasant experience in my life.”
Minder nodded and the pair turned back to where Vartan had helped lshi to her feet. Her face was a slightly healthier shade of green, but her eyes were locked on the road. Her breathing was slow and purposeful, and she said, “I’m fine.”
“Perhaps you should go back,” said Agrivar, “We can bring Foxy along. He might be less affected...”
“I am fine,” repeated the eastern warrior, in that tone that would brook no argument.
Agrivar raised his hands before him in surrender. “You’re fine. Totally fine. Never looked lovelier. Let’s move on.”
lshi muttered something in her native language that Minder and Vartan did not catch but which made Agrivar wince. Then she strode forward, head-down, and the others followed.
The heaving landscape lasted for a mile, by Agrivar’s estimate, though distance had little meaning in this non-land. Buildings he recognized from Waterdeep and Shadowdale pirouetted around like dancers, and a squadron of Halruuan flying ships emerged from a fog-bank, only to be swallowed by a hillside, complete with grazing sheep. Once the Realms Master itself topped a great swell, its sails billowing as it ran before the storm. Then a wall of blood-red rain passed in front of it and it too disappeared.
Slowly the landscape began to stabilize, the waves moving more sluggishly, becoming a tarry syrup as parts of Omen’s memory swirled through them. Lights began to appear, like stars in a stormy night’s sky. The lights became more numerous as the roiling landscape finally came to a halt, and Agrivar noted that they were gems, each as large as a man’s fist. As they pressed forward the gems became more numerous and clustered like cacti in thick growths.
“I’m suddenly glad we didn’t bring Foxy along,” said Agrivar.
Vartan nodded, “I don’t know what these gems are, but I don’t think that the halfling could resist the opportunity to pinch one. Minder, what’s the matter?”
Now the golem was standing stock-still, in the middle of the road, a broad smile across her metallic face. “Lilacs,” she said, “I smell lilacs.” And she took a step toward the edge of the road.
Agrivar did not understand for a moment, but Vartan shouted, “Stop her before she steps off the path!”
Agrivar was quick, grabbing the golem from behind, reaching up to grapple her around the neck. He was as ineffectual as a kitten trying to bring down an old hunting dog. lshi was equally fast but more effective. She dove between the golem’s legs and used her body to trip up the huge construct. Minder tipped forward with a shout and went sprawling on the road, inches from the edge, Agrivar still attached to her back.
Vartan joined the paladin, and Minder tried to rise beneath their combined weight. “I’m all right,” she said at last.
“Can you smell anything?” asked the elf.
There was a pause. “No, nothing.” said the golem.
“Are you sure?” said Vartan.
“What’s all this about smell?” asked Agrivar.
“She’s a golem,” said Vartan sharply, “She’s not supposed to be able to smell.”
Minder rose unsteadily to her feet. “Lilacs. I suddenly smelled lilacs,” she said. Agrivar could have sworn she was blushing. They were my favorite flower, and Omen would let me gather them and put them on the ship, even though I could not smell them.”
“Memories are more than just visual illusions,” said Vartan. “Let’s press on.”
The road wove into a great city carved out of a mountaintop. They passed through empty courtyards and markets filled with chattering ghosts. There was a great statue of some fire-eyed wizard, perhaps Omen’s own mentor, and a crypt with a rainbow of fresh flowers. They passed within a great library filled with books. One was within reach, but when Agrivar reached out to touch it, it burned away in blue smoke.
They passed through a great vault marked with a map of the Realms. Those places that they knew were exact to the smallest detail, while those that Omen had not visited were merely lifeless lines on the map.
They passed over the remains of a battlefield. Shattered siege engines and broken bodies were strewn everywhere, and there was the sound of a man screaming in pain in the distance. Agrivar felt the desire to offer aid, but he kept to the road Then the road forked. Looking ahead, the road forked again, and again, and again, forming a great branching tree of paths that separated and re-separated again and again.
“Which way?” Agrivar asked.
Vartan shook his head, “I don’t know. Only one path is right. The rest are illusions. We must be getting close. The disease is starting to manifest its own defenses.”
“This way,” said lshi sharply.
“How can you be sure?” asked Vartan.
“I have been staring at this road for half-past eternity,” snapped the woman warrior, “I know which is the real path. I just know. Follow me.” And she set off along the righthand path.
Vartan looked at Agrivar, who merely shrugged, and the three followed lshi as she chose one branch after another.
After a while the paths began to rejoin the main course, surrounding them with oblivion. Only the rough-patterned road was visible before them.
“We’re getting close,” said Vartan.
The personal demons came. They swooped in from all sides on bat-wings and jabbed at the travelers with tridents and spears. They could not step upon the road itself but lunged at the adventurers, seeking to knock them from the path.
Agrivar knocked back a thrust spear with his own blade and noted that the demons had human faces. Some he recognized, but others were strangers to him. There was one that looked like an ogre mage they had fought, and another a lich, and third the Halruuan captain they had battled. There was one that looked like the fire-eyed colossus from earlier, and several that wore eye patches and resembled the god Labelas Enoreth. And one looked just like Vartan.
The last one, the Vartan-demon, swooped low over the gold elf and let out a long, cackling laugh. Vartan snarled a few elvish words and raised his hands above his head. He snapped a few more words in a precise, measured order, and his hands burst into incandescent light. The light revealed the winged demons to be pale, translucent things, and they fled into the surrounding darkness.
“Shoo!” he shouted at the retreating demons.
“Did you know to do that,” asked Minder, “or were you just angry that one of the Omen’s demons wore your face?”
Vartan shot the golem a telling look and pointed to a larger splotch of darkness, the side of an ebony cliff. The path disappeared into a cavern at the base of the cliff.
“In there,” said the gold elf.
A fetid dampness rose from the cavern’s entrance, and the roadway became slick as it plunged into the heart of the black mountain. Walls rose around them. Tattered, fleshy things hung from the sides. At first Agrivar thought them to be bats, or some hanging moss, but the shreds were parts of the cavern itself, pulling away from the surface as they rotted.
There was a hot, warm breeze in their face, smelling of rancid flesh and spoiled meat. Agrivar put a hand over his mouth and noticed that lshi had already bound a scarf over her nose and mouth. Vartan was looking a bit green now. Only Minder was unaffected.
The road became a stream, a black creek that flowed before them through the ebony mountain. There were cries now-tired, exhausted cries of a man’s last breaths. Agrivar wondered what was happening on the outside world.
Should Omen die, what would happen to them?
The walls opened up into a huge cavern lit by blue veins of radiant flesh among the rotting blackness. The stream poured into a great lake at the center of the cavern, and rising in the center of the lake was a white island. It was a pale island of translucent flesh, its color as sickly as an old man’s eyes, and it was crisscrossed with slender black filaments. Agrivar was not sure if the strands bound the island or merely gave it support, gathering the flesh in on itself again and again. The warm, sticky breeze emanated from great pores along its side and was almost overpowering.
“It’s huge,” said Ishi, her voice lost in the immense space around them.
“I think we’re here,” said Vartan.
“And now that we are,” asked Minder, “what are we going to do?”
As the words left Minder’s mouth, the island shrugged. It was a rippling cascade of flesh that undulated like a wave across its surface. At the center of island, a fold of flesh parted to reveal a huge, throbbing eye, its surface pulsing with ebony vessels. The flesh-island regarded them, for a moment, and in that moment, there was recognition.
The island screamed, mouths opening along its base as it lunged toward the four adventurers. The remaining black strands held it in place. It thrashed, and waves crashed against the shore.
All four took a step back, and the brackish water at the edges of the pools bubbled for a moment, then erupted with tendrils. Each of the tentacles was a thin, pale worm spun off from the main body of the island. They struck like serpents, and each had a human head at the end.
One human-headed snake launched itself at Agrivar, and he met it with his blade. Her reaction was immediate and automatic, and only as his sword passed through the pale worm’s body did he realize that the face at the end of the tendril was Omens.
They were all Omen’s face, he realized. Young Omens, childlike Omens, angry Omens, and sickly Omens—far too many of the emaciated mage’s face—all seeking to ensnare those who invaded their lair.
Another Omen-snake lunged at him and met a similar fate to the first. Nearby, lshi glided nimbly among the snaking tendrils, dodging their strikes and returning with a lethal sting of her own. Minder merely stood her ground and caught the snake faces as they struck at her. She grasped the Omen-faces in her large, metal hands and twisted them off. Already there was a growing pile of Omen heads at her feet.
Vartan was being driven back, away from the pool and the others, by a particularly thick and determined knot of pale Omen-worms. He was bashing each in turn with his great mace, but for every one he smashed, there were two more behind it, and he was nearly at the back of the cave.
The heads bludgeoned Vartan at every chance.
Another snake slithered toward Agrivar, trying to loop around his leg. He brought his sword down on the coils, and black blood poured from the beheaded serpent. That was when Agrivar noticed that the first snake-Omen he had killed had not retreated. Instead, the flesh over the wound had sealed over, and there was already a bubbling of the flesh over the wound. As Agrivar watched, the disturbance formed into another face of Omen. The reformed Omen-snake hissed at Agrivar and coiled for another strike.
There was a tug on Agrivar’s left shoulder, and the paladin wheeled to discover that another Omen-tendril had coiled up along him, encasing his left arm. He tried to pull the arm free, but the Omen-snake merely laughed as it tightened.
His arm felt like it was caught in a vise. Agrivar shouted a curse as he tried to bring his sword to strike. But that limb was caught as well in the pale coils of another serpent, and a third and fourth snake were already coiling along his ankles.
Agrivar shouted for aid, but the others were in little better shape. Vartan had been swamped by coils, pummeling him from all sides and pulling him toward the lake. Minder was buried beneath a huge pile of snakes, occasionally a great arm erupting from the mass, only to be buried beneath a renewed assault. lshi was snared in much the same way as himself, by the wrists and ankles, and being dragged down to the lakeshore. She would pull free, then another tendril would quickly loop around and snare her again.
Agrivar tried to resist, but the pull was too great. He would slide forward a few feet, try to regain his footing, then slide again. Perspiration dotted his forehead as he was dragged slowly, step by step, down to the impenetrably black water.
A familiar voice shouted, “Hold!” And the tendrils, through they kept their firm grip, stopped pulling at him.
“Release them,” said the voice, and the tentacles hesitated for a moment, as if in indecision. “I said release them,” said the voice again, and the tendrils slowly peeled away from his flesh.
Agrivar’s legs and arms felt like dead things, and he managed to gasp out, “Omen?”
It was Omen, standing at the entrance to the cavern. He was surrounded by a yellowish glow that hurt Agrivar’s eyes. He looked straight and tall, but still emaciated and worn, and his eyes had a touch of madness about them.
Foxy peeked out from around the side of the wizard.
The great baleful eye at the island’s center regarded the living Omen and recognized him at once. The mouths along the base of the island let up a tremendous howling of pain, and the tendrils pulled back into the thick viscous water, splashing as they were retracted into the main body.
Agrivar looked at the others. Vartan was unconscious and lshi was slowly pulling herself upright. Minder seemed unaffected and was already remonstrating.
“Foxy,” she said, “You were supposed to stay with him!” “I did!” said the halfling, “He came here, and I stayed with him every step of the way.” He held out his hand. “I kept the gem, too!”
“Omen,” said Agrivar, pulling himself up the shore. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“I had to come,” said the mage calmly, “though I would not have made it without you and the others to lead the way.” He paused for a moment, and added, “I am not a weak man.”
Agrivar nodded wearily. “I never said you were.”
This is my fight, now,” said Omen. “Take Vartan and get upshore.”
Agrivar looked at the old man, then nodded. He grabbed one shoulder of the fallen gold elf, lshi the other, and together they dragged him up toward the entrance.
The pair looked back to see Omen standing at the shore of the black lake, Minder on one side, Foxy on the other.
The island did not attack with its snakes and indeed seemed afraid of Omen’s presence. Great shudders roiled through the black flesh, and the single pale eye spouted a gout of blood-red tears.
Omen began speaking, and Agrivar did not catch the words. Instead, he heard only Omen’s voice rising and falling, the pitch increasing and decreasing. Like waves on a beach, or like the pulsing of a human heart.
The pale island shuddered once more and began to shrink. Slowly at first, but then rapidly. The mouths screamed as it shrank, the voices slowly throttling as the wind ran out of the great mass. It shrank more quickly with each passing moment. Finally it was a mere stump of its former self, and then it disappeared entirely beneath the lake, leaving only a cluster of bubbles.
Omen waded out to his knees, bent over, and scooped something out the water. He returned, with Foxy and Minder, to where the two humans and the elf were waiting. Vartan was just beginning to recover his senses. Agrivar saw in Omen’s hands was the twisted mass that had been the living island. It was a small thing now, squirming between the mage’s cupped palms.
“That is it?” asked Ishi. “Is that the Beast?”
Omen nodded.
“Then kill it,” said Agrivar. “Destroy it once and for all.”
Omen shook his head, and said, “I cannot destroy it, because it is part of me. I have thought of this thing as an opponent, as something outside of myself, an invader. That is why all my experiments had failed, in one way or another. And because I denied it, it grew more powerful. The only way to defeat this thing is to contain it. And there is only one possible prison for it.”
He raised the squirming mass to his chest. lshi shouted, but was not quick enough, for the former island-thing passed into Omen’s chest as if it were made of thin air.
The old man took a deep breath, and the yellow glow around him intensified. When it subsided, he was standing there, tall, straight, and smiling. And healthy. Omen was healthy and whole again.
“Come on,” the mage said, offering Agrivar his hand. “Let us get out of here before some other part of my dark past chooses to show itself.”
They returned to find the room as they left it. They had been gone only a few minutes, according to the clocks.
Omen spent the next hour undergoing every test of health that Minder and Foxy could conceive of, and several that Vartan swore the pair had made up on the spot. It was obvious to the elf that they had succeeded. There was a sense of life about the old man as he grumbled through every exercise and complained about every prodding touch.
Foxy and Minder continued to argue about what a normal human temperature was, while lshi and Agrivar retreated to the kitchen to prepare a feast. Vartan was ministering to his own wounds. The gem of insight was in his pocket, now, and he wondered how he was going to get back to Arvandor before he was found missing. Hehoped the old mage had something in his spellbook that would help.
There was a soft touch at the back of Vartan’s mind, and despite himself, the gold elf winced. It was a familiar touch, and he knew at once that he was in a great deal of trouble. The jig, as Foxy would say, was finally up.
He slowly stood up and moved to the door, ignored by the others. Vartan passed out of the inn and around the side of the collapsed stable. From this side there was a view of the bay below. A tall figure in ornate elven armor waited for him. The westering sun glittered off his armor and his eyepatch.
“My Lord God,” said Vartan, looking at the figure’s feet and not daring to raise his own eyes.
“Greetings, Vartan hai Sylvar,” said Labelas Enoreth. ‘Is the old human all right?”
“Perhaps I should explain...” started Vartan.
“Perhaps you should answer my question,” said the elven god sharply.
“The old human is cantankerous, complaining, and absolutely confident that he has the situation totally in control,” said Vartan. “In other words, he’s back to normal.”
“Good,” said the god.
Vartan looked up and saw that the elven god was smiling. “I am pleased, Vartan,” said Labelas. “Does that surprise you?”
Vartan searched for the words, but for the moment they failed him. Instead he could only open and shut his mouth.
Finally the elf managed, You planned this.” “Yes and no,” said the god, “Yes, I did put you in a position where you had access to all the tools needed to save your friend. Yes, I was aware that if you kept checking on Omen, you would be moved to do something. And yes, even being aware of this, I did nothing to stop you. But no, I did not plan what you would do, nor was I with you on your journey through Omen’s psyche.”
“But, why?” gasped Vartan.
“I could have been less subtle,” said the god. “But that paladin could spot my fingerprints at fifty paces, and if he couldn’t, the wizard could, and all would have rejected any aid I offered. I still owe your former shipmates much. The way things have worked out, I can call the scales even, and they cannot refuse my aid, since I never truly offered it.”
Vartan thought for a moment, trying to digest what the god told him. At last he said, “But you knew what I would do.”
Labelas held up a hand, “I suspected. I believed. I had . . . faith. But I cannot say that I knew what you were going to do.” He smiled again. “That is why you mortals have free will, you know. It gives us gods plausible deniability.”
Vartan took a deep breath and shuddered, “I . . . stole from you, my lord. I took the gem to help my friends.”
“Yes,” said the god, his smile turning wolfish. “Terrible transgression, I’m afraid. And you would do it again, if you had to, wouldn’t you?”
Vartan said nothing, but he nodded.
“And unrepentant, too,” said the god, shaking his head.
“Well, you will have to be punished for your actions. Let’s see, what would be a suitable punishment for someone
who did as you did?”
Vartan shut his eyes tightly. He could think of at least a dozen things that were within Labelas’ abilities that would be eternally painful.
“Yes,” said the god. “I know. The worst thing I can do to a loyal follower. You are hereby banished from my Realm. You are no longer my servant or proxy. You are demoted to mere mortal, and a priest of mine at that. Yes, I think that is suitable punishment.”
Vartan popped open one eye, “That’s it?”
Labelas’ face was an impassive mask. “Is there a greater punishment than to be denied my illustrious presence?”
“Yes,” said Vartan. “I mean, no. I mean— You are most wise in your judgments, my god. May all sing your praises eternally.”
“There will be time for that, later,” said the god. “Now, I am a kindly god and as such will not leave you stranded on this island with mere humans. So I will grant you a suitable manner of leaving this place.”
The god waved his hands, and there was a boat that the side of the dock. Not just any ship, but the Realms Master herself, fully rigged and accurate down to the original figurehead.
Vartan looked in wonderment, but he shook his head, “My god, you know that the others would not accept this gift from you.”
“I am not giving it to them,” said the god sharply. “I am giving it to you. And you, as a good follower, will accept it, won’t you?
Vartan looked at the ship at dock, and said, “Of course. I am indebted as always.”
"Think of it as . . . severance pay,” said the god. “After all, you have lost the best position an elf could have.”
Vartan could only nod, and as he nodded, Labelas started to fade from view, his flesh growing transparent, “One last thing,“ he said, smiling. “You’ll need a captain and crew. I suppose you can handle that, of course.”
And then the god was gone entirely, and Vartan was alone.
Vartan stood for a long time, looking out over the bay and the rebuilt ship. He thought about what he would say to the others. He thought about how much he would tell them of what Labelas had told him.
Finally, he heard Foxy calling his name to come join the celebration. Vartan shook his head, decided merely to state the truth and let them make their own decisions. Smiling he looked forward to introducing the others to the new owner of the Realms Master. The look on Omen’s face would make everything else worthwhile
