“I think I did once,” she said wistfully. “I’ve forgotten so much … so much I wonder how I ever knew it all. It seems to me that the wizards who dwelt here long ago used the pyramid and the orb to defend Talis from its enemies. The orb remembered the touch of magic, and when the boy laid a hand upon it, it called down the lightning to protect the city. But you had no idea what was coming, and so were caught by the trap that would have served to guard the wizards of long ago.” She paused, licking her thin lips. “There is a way to rotate the sphere, you know.”
“How?” Mari asked intently.
“A wizard could do it.” She gave Morhion a piercing look. “But you are too weak from the heartroot.”
Morhion took a deep breath. “I’ll try it,” he said solemnly. “Tell me how.”
“It would kill you,” Isela said flatly.
“That is not important.” Anger flashed in his icy eyes. “We dare not delay our quest any longer. If the price is death, then I will pay it.”
Isela gave a derisive snort. “A lot of good that would do your friends. Especially when there is one other who has the power.” Her sharp gaze drifted toward Kellen.
“He’s only a child,” Mari said scornfully. “You would truly have him attempt something so perilous?”
“He has already faced grave peril once.” Isela’s gaze flickered back toward Morhion. The mage fell silent.
“What do I need to do?” Kellen asked quietly.
Mari started to protest, then halted. What choice did they have? All she could do was watch Kellen closely, and stop him if he appeared to be in danger.
“Close your eyes,” Isela instructed in a low voice. “Imagine that you are not inside the sphere, but rather that the sphere is a small black orb you hold in your hand.”
Kellen sat cross-legged and shut his eyes. After a moment, he spoke in a dreamy voice. “I can see it.” He cupped his hand as if holding a ball.
“Now, you must turn the orb a half-turn to the left.”
“It’s hard,” Kellen protested, his brow furrowing.
“Try!” Isela hissed. “You must try!”
Kellen shook his head slowly. “No, it’s too heavy,” he said with a moan. “It’s … it’s crushing me …”
Alarmed, Mari started forward, but Morhion was faster. He knelt beside the boy and whispered in his ear. “Do not fight the weight of the sphere, Kellen. That is its magic you feel. Let that magic fill you.”
“I can’t,” Kellen gasped. “It hurts …”
“Do not resist it,” Morhion said in a chantlike voice. “Clear your mind. Imagine your body an empty vessel. Then let the magic fill you. It will not harm you if you do not fight it.”
A spasm crossed Kellen’s face, then his visage relaxed. “Yes …,” he whispered. He moved his hands, and the sphere lurched into motion. The window—and Isela with it—vanished as the opening in the wall rotated. After a moment the sphere ground to a halt. Kellen’s eyes flew open. “Did it work?” he asked breathlessly.
“Yes, it did,” Mari said in amazement.
The opening in the inner sphere was now aligned with a similar-sized opening in the outer sphere. Beyond was moonlight. Without warning, Isela’s wizened face appeared in the opening. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she snapped. “An invitation?”
Twelve
Isela served them soup as they huddled around a dancing fire. The night was cold, and Isela’s dwelling offered scant protection from the frosty autumn air. The witch made her home in a chamber of what Morhion supposed was once a palace. Only three of the chamber’s walls still stood, and the roof had collapsed in one corner.
The witch shoved a rudely carved wooden bowl into Morhion’s hands. “Eat, wizard,” she said curtly. “You will need your strength for what lies ahead.”
The mage gave Isela a curious look. She made a peculiar figure, with her straggly gray hair, her craggy face, her bony form huddled inside a shapeless mass of dirty rags. Yet the keen light of intelligence in her eyes was unmistakable. Whatever the witch Isela was, she was not crazy. Morhion did not feel hungry—his head ached fiercely from the wound on his brow—but he did his best to eat some of the soup, so as not to offend Isela. The broth was flavored with strange herbs and contained the meat of an animal he did not recognize.
Cormik cautiously stirred his own bowl. “I really hate to complain—”
“Then I suggest you don’t,” Jewel interrupted, digging an elbow into his side as she glanced at Isela.
He shot her a perturbed look. “It’s only a figure of speech, Jewel. You know perfectly well that I actually love to complain.”
“Really, Cormik,” she chided him, “you have no idea what you’re missing.” She scooped up a large spoonful of soup, including the scaly foot of some nameless creature, and ate it with relish. After that, Cormik made only gagging noises, and the others were able to eat in peace.
It was Kellen who broke the silence. “Isela, why do you think I’m the one mentioned in the prophecy?”
Isela fixed him with her piercing gaze. “I do not think you are the one, child. You are the one.” She shook her head wearily, passing a gnarled hand before her eyes. “But I had no idea you would be so long in coming. How I have longed to lie down upon the forest floor, to let my bones sink deep into the ground and nourish my beloved trees. Still I waited, as I was pledged to do.” She lifted her gaze once more to Kellen’s face. “And now my waiting is over at last. The prophecy has come to pass.”
“But what is the prophecy?” Kellen asked.
When Isela finally spoke, it was in an eerie whisper. “Long, long ago, in an age now lost in the mists of time, there was a great oracle who was a leader of his people, a tribe of the Talfirc. The oracle journeyed to this place and said that, one day, there would come a child marked by magic, in whose hands would lie the fate of all the Talfirc. The child would come on a quest to stop a great darkness. Someone must await his coming, to aid him when he was in need. So the Talfirc built a city here, and they called it Talis. They remembered the prophecy and awaited the coming of the child wizard.” Isela sighed heavily. “But the child never came, the city fell to ruin, and the prophecy was forgotten.”
“Except by you,” Kellen said, reaching out to touch her crooked hand.
Isela stared at Kellen in surprise, then her expression darkened. “Aye, I remembered. But what does it matter now if the child wizard holds the fate of all the Talfirc in his hands? There are no more Talfirc. They vanished long ago. They are all gone now. All gone.”
“Except for you, Isela?” Morhion asked softly.
The witch only laughed her dry, cackling laugh and gazed at him with hard obsidian eyes. After that, Isela seemed unwilling to talk. She curled up in a corner and was still and silent. The companions retrieved their bedrolls from the horses outside and readied themselves for sleep.
“Do you really think she’s a thousand years old, Morhion?” Mari whispered as they lay down by the fire. “I know it’s impossible, but I almost believe she has lived in Talis since its destruction, awaiting the fulfillment of the prophecy. She does seem to know a great deal about what happened here a thousand years ago. What do you think?”
Morhion met her gaze. “I think, Mari, that you have answered your own question.” With that he shut his eyes and swiftly passed into sleep.
“Morhion.”
The whisper jolted him awake. His eyes fluttered open. It was Isela. She held a fìnger to her lips, then gestured for him to follow. He slipped silently from his blanket and padded after her in the sooty predawn light. She led him through twisting corridors until they came to another room. He guessed it might once have been a library, though the wooden shelves had rotted to splinters, and the books had long ago become mulch for the fragrant wild mint that carpeted the floor.