“First blood to me, I think,” the Mage muttered grimly. With a sigh of relief she allowed the flames to die from the smooth dark wood with its twining serpents.
“Are you sure you should continue?” Shia’s voice sounded sharply in the Mage’s mind. “Is it not too risky, to undertake this journey when you are uncertain of the Staff?”
Aurian shuddered to hear her own inner fears voiced by the perceptive cat. “I don’t have any choice,” she replied. Quickly, before she had time for more second thoughts, she found a place near the stone where the turf was sufficiently smooth and level to make a comfortable resting place. She lay down on her back with the Staff resting on her breast, her hands clasped tightly around its smooth-worn wood. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, willing herself to relax.
After a time, the Mage felt her inner form become discrete from her corporeal shell. She sat up and opened her eyes. There was no trace of the starry night above her. Instead the entire knoll was bathed in an eerie amber glow that seemed to emanate from the pillar itself. Aurian stood up, still clasping the Staff, whose earthly form had also been discarded. Without glancing back at the body she had left behind, she made her way to the tall standing stone. It was cold to the touch, though not unpleasantly so, and the power that emanated from it sent a thrilling tingle through her hand and arm. As the Mage exerted her will the stone beneath her hand vanished, leaving a dark, narrow doorway in the face of the monolith. Holding tightly to the Staff of Earth she stepped inside, and as she did so the doorway vanished behind her, cutting off all trace of the amber light outside.
Aurian found herself in a narrow tunnel with a low roof that came dangerously close to brushing the top of her head. The walls were featureless black rock, but a faint silver light came from the floor, that was coated with glimmering dust the texture of fine ash. It stirred in clouds about her feet as she moved, sheathing her boots in a skin of starlight.
Sword at her belt, Staff in hand, Aurian moved forward cautiously. After a while, the tunnel grew progressively narrower, until pale light shining through a slim crack finally marked its end. Turning sideways, the Mage slipped through, stepping out into an alien and colorless world. The light was dim and opalescent. Soft grey moss carpeted the ground, and vision was limited by a pale mist that swirled and swelled in an unnerving fashion, though there was not a breath of wind. The depth of silence was sinister and profound.—Aurian grasped the Staff of Earth more tightly and stepped forward. The mist swirled aside, revealing a patch of dark grey turf. She took one step forward, then another—and suddenly her way was blocked by a tall, darkly shrouded figure.
“You know this is forbidden, Mage.”
“I don’t think so,” Aurian told Death flatly. “I have a right. I have passed through one of the Gates of Power, and you cannot turn me back. Besides, you are holding someone who should not be here.”
“No one who comes to this place believes they should be here.”
Aurian curbed her impatience and bit back her anger. “I’m not speaking of belief. I’m speaking of injustice. How can you possibly justify keeping Anvar here?”
The Specter’s voice rang out, chilling and harsh. “I am Death. I justify nothing, and none can gainsay me.”
Fear clawed at the Mage’s heart like a living, feral creature trapped within her. To bolster her courage, she thought of Anvar, alone and lost in this dread place. Death was silent now, awaiting her reply—or her retreat. “True,”
Aurian told him. “No one may gainsay you—even a Mage would be a fool to try.—But surely, a Mage may ask?”
“Temeritous Mage!” The Specter laughed out loud. “Now it comes. I must encourage her effrontery or live forever with my curiosity. Very well, so be it. And what, exactly, would you ask of me?”
Aurian bowed to him. “Two things, in truth. Anvar you already know about; the other matter is also of vital importance—perhaps as much to you as it is to me and the world from which I came. I want to know how this exchange took place between Forral and Anvar, and also, what happened to Vannor, who came here and was snatched away again. Was it Eliseth? Did she use the Caldron of Rebirth?—Is she using it still? If you would permit me, I would like to look into the Well of Souls, and find out what she is doing now.”
Death was silent a moment. “I admit that the Mage-woman Eliseth is involved, but as for the rest . . . You ask much, O Mage,” he said at last.
“Surely this situation must be causing you a fair amount of difficulty?” the Mage suggested tentatively. “People coming here to be reborn, then being snatched away again before they have the chance to reach the Well. People getting into the wrong bodies ... If Eliseth is not stopped, where will it end?”
“This I can not deny.” The Specter seemed to be unbending a little, and for the first time, Aurian dared to hope. “Would that the Caldron were lost again, or even unmade ...”
“Or brought to you?” Aurian put in quietly.
The Specter’s head came up sharply. “Brought to me?”
Aurian nodded. “It’s the only way you’d gain true peace of mind. Otherwise, it will keep turning up across the centuries, and you’ll constantly wonder where, and when, and in whose hands it will appear next.”
“You would swear to this?” Death demanded. “If I help you to regain the Caldron, you will give it to me?” Though she had heard both his anger and his mocking laughter, it was the first time that Aurian had heard genuine eagerness in his cold, unemotional voice.
“Release Anvar, too, and I’ll swear.” She was unable to keep her voice steady.—Death sighed. “Aurian, you do realize that even if I let Anvar go back with you, he must go as a disembodied spirit? Even one with your powers could not see him, or speak to him, in the mundane world. Without the grail he cannot return to his own body—and even then, he may be forced to dispute ownership with the present occupant.”
“But he’d be willing to take the risk, I’ll wager,” Aurian insisted.
“To be with you, my love? I would risk anything.” Anvar, who had been wandering disconsolately over the rolling hills, had come to this place with no idea what had drawn him there, but as soon as he heard Aurian’s voice, everything fell into place. Instinctively, he had sensed his love’s closeness—her very presence had summoned him to her side.
Aurian looked at him, her heart brimming over in her eyes. “What kept you?” she said dryly. With a hoarse, inarticulate cry that held all his past fears and present loneliness, all his love and joy, Anvar threw his arms around her.—It was difficult to embrace Within the realms of Death. Even though he knew he held Aurian, though she was right there in his arms, Anvar could feel nothing.—Just to have her there with him felt wonderful, nonetheless. “I didn’t know how I’d ever find you again,” he whispered into her hair.
“You might have spared yourself the worry.” Death’s sardonic tones cut into the moment. “It seems that not even I can keep the pair of you apart for any length of time. Remember, this is not the first occasion one of you has ventured into my realm in search of the other.”
Aurian faced Death squarely, though Anvar kept an unrepentant arm around her shoulders. “True enough,” she said. “You must be sick of the sight of us by now.”
“Very cunning, Mage—but it will not work,” the Specter replied sternly, and with rising anger. “On the contrary, I do not see enough of you. You come, you go. You have no regard whatever for the sanctity of my office and my realm. I would see you—both of you—come here, remain here, and pass through the Well of Souls to be reborn like any natural beings. Then I might, perhaps, recover some peace and order within my kingdom.”