I hiss the final word. The council members shiver, as if I’d brought the cold back in a cage and set it loose in the Council Chamber. They stare at me in silence, astounded, appalled, the full understanding of what I am telling them slowly working its way, like an arrow tip lodged in an old wound, into their minds.
“How is such a thing possible?” The king is the first to break the silence. “How can it happen?”
I pass a hand over my brow. I am weary, drained. My magic may have been strong enough to sustain me, but its use has taken its toll. “I have spent long hours studying the matter, Your Majesty. I plan to continue my research to confirm my theory, but I believe I have determined the answer. If I may make use of this parfruit?”
I lean further over the table, grab a piece of parfruit from the bowl. I hold up the round, hardshelled fruit, whose meat is much prized for the making of parfruit wine, and—with a twist of my hands—break the fruit in half.
“This,” I tell them, pointing to the fruit’s large red seed, “represents the center of our world, the magma core. These”—I trace red veins that extend outward from the seed through the yellowish meat to the shell—“are the colossus that, by the wisdom and skill and magic of the ancients, carry the energy obtained from the magma core throughout the world, bringing warmth and life to what would otherwise be cold and barren stone. The surface of Abarrach is solid rock, similar to this hard shell.”
I take a bite of the fruit, tearing through the shell with my teeth, leaving a hollowed out portion that I exhibit.
“This, we will say, represents the Celestial Sea, the ocean of fresh water above us. The space around here”—I wave my hand around the parfruit—“is the Void, dark and cold.
“Now, if the colossus do their duty, the cold of the Void is driven back, the ocean is kept well heated, the water flows freely down through the tunnel and brings life to our land. But if the colossus fail...”
My voice trails off ominously. I shrug and toss the parfruit back onto the table. It rolls and wobbles along, eventually falls over the edge. The council members watch it in a horrible kind of fascination, making no move to touch it. One woman jumps when the fruit hits the floor.
“You’re saying that is what’s happening? The colossus are failing?”
“I believe so, Your Majesty.”
“But, then, shouldn’t we see some sign of it? Our colossus still radiate light, heat—”
“May I remind king and council that I commented on the fact that it was the top of the cavern only that is rimed in ice. Not the cavern wall. I believe our colossus are, if not failing utterly, at least growing weaker. We do not yet notice the change, although I have begun to register a consistent and previously inexplicable drop in the average daily temperature. We may not notice the change for some time. But, if my theory holds true ...” I hesitate, reluctant to speak.
“Well, go ahead,” the king orders me. “Better to see the hole that lies in the path and walk around it than fall into it blindly, as the saying goes.”
“I do not think we will be able to avoid this hole,” I say quietly. “First, as the ice grows thicker on the Celestial Sea, the Hemo will continue to dwindle and eventually dry up completely.”
Exclamations of horrified shock interrupt me. I wait until these die down.
“The temperature in the cavern will drop steadily. The light radiated by the colossus will grow dimmer and soon cease altogether. We will find ourselves in a land of darkness, a land of bitter cold, a land with no water, a land where no food will grow—not even by means of magic. We will find ourselves in the land that is dead, Your Majesty. And if we stay here, we, too, will perish.”
I hear a gasp, catch a glimpse of movement near the door. Edmund—he is only fourteen—stands listening. No one else breathes a word. Several of the council members look stricken. Then someone mutters that none of this is proved, it is merely the gloom—and-doom theory of a necromancer who has spent too much time among his books.
“How long?” the king asks harshly.
“Oh, it will not happen tomorrow, Your Majesty. Nor yet many tomorrows from now. But,” I continue, my fond gaze going sadly to the door, “the prince, your son, will never rule over the land of Kairn Telest.”
The king follows my glance, sees the young man, and frowns. “Edmund, you know better than this! What are you doing here?”
The prince flushes. “Forgive me, Father. I didn’t mean to—to interrupt. I came looking for you. Mother is ill. The physician thinks you should come. But when I arrived, I didn’t want to disturb the council and so I waited, and then I heard ... I heard what Baltazar said! Is it true, Father? Will we have to leave—”
“That will do, Edmund. Wait for me. I will be with you presently.”
The boy gulps, bows, and fades back, silent and unobtrusive, to stand in the shadows near the doorway. My heart aches for him. I long to comfort him, to explain. I meant to frighten them, not him.
“Forgive me, I must go to my wife.”
The king rises to his feet. The council members do likewise; the meeting is obviously at an end.
“I need not tell you to keep this quiet until we have more information,” the king continues. “Your own common sense will point out to you the wisdom of such an action. We will meet together again in five cycles’ time. However,” he adds, his brows knotting together, “I advise that we take the recommendation of the Farmer’s Guild and make an early harvest.”
The members vote. The recommendation passes. They file out, many casting dark and unhappy glances back at me. They would dearly love to blame this on someone. I meet each gaze with unruffled aplomb, secure in my position. When the last one has left, I glide forward and lay a hand on the arm of the king, who is eager to be gone.
“What is it?” the king demands, obviously irritated at my interruption. He is much concerned about his wife.
“Your Majesty, forgive me for delaying you, but I wanted to mention something to you in private.”
The king draws back, away from my touch. “We do nothing in secret on Kairn Telest. Whatever you want to say to me should have been said in the council.”
“I would have said it in the council, if I were certain of my facts. I prefer to leave it to the wisdom and discretion of His Majesty to bring up the matter if he thinks it proper that the people should know.”
He glares at me. “What is it, Baltazar? Another theory?”
“Yes, Sire. Another theory ... about the colossus. According to my studies, the magic in the colossus was intended by the ancients to be eternal. The magic in the colossus, Your Majesty, could not possibly fail.”
The king regards me in exasperation. “I don’t have time for games, Necromancer. You were the one who said the colossus were failing—”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I did. And I believe that they are. But perhaps I chose the wrong word to describe what is happening to our colossus. The word may not be failure, Sire, but destruction. Deliberate destruction.”
The king stares at me, then shakes his head. “Come, Edmund,” he says, motioning peremptorily to his son. “We will go see your mother.”
The young man runs to join his father. The two start to walk away.
“Sire,” I call out, the urgency in my voice bringing the king again to a halt. “I believe that somewhere, in realms that exist below Kairn Telest, someone wages a most insidious war on us. And they will defeat us utterly, unless we do something to stop them. Defeat us without so much as letting fly an arrow or tossing a spear. Someone, Sire, is stealing away the warmth and light that give us life!”
“For what purpose, Baltazar? What is the motive for this nefarious scheme?”
I ignore the king’s sarcasm. “To use it for themselves, Sire. I thought long and hard on this problem during my journey home to Kairn Telest. What if Abarrach itself is dying? What if the magma heart is shrinking? A kingdom might consider it necessary to steal from its neighbors to protect its own.”