Tristan's body shook and the flames licked at his boots. He tried with all his might to enlarge the whirling plume. As he felt the power slipping away from him, he knew that it was time. He dropped his arms.
The plume broke apart, sending a torrential downpour crashing into the city. It flooded through buildings, rushed down the streets, and fell upon every fire. Jubilant citizens rushed out of hiding places to lift their arms and embrace the downpour.
In every part of the great city, the fires went out. Steam plumes rose into the air, blanketing everything for a time. Much of Tammerland lay in ruins, but the eastern half of the metropolis had been spared. And the Sippora River-once destined to annihilate everything it touched-now flowed clean and strong again, just as it had for untold centuries.
Trying desperately to see through the rising steam, Shailiha searched for her brother. At first she couldn't see him. Then some of the haze lifted, and there he was. She stared in horror.
Curled up into a fetal position, Tristan lay unmoving on the bank of the river. His eyes were closed, and it was impossible to tell whether he was dead or alive. It looked like his hands were badly scorched from his untrained use of the craft.
Mad with worry, Shailiha turned to Ox. "You must take me to him!" she shouted. "He could be dying!"
Ox was about to obey when Wigg stopped him. His expression held no room for compromise.
"It's true that he may be dead," Wigg said, "and no one dreads that more than you and me. But under no circumstances are we to go near him. The Scroll Master warned Tristan of this, and the prince explained it to me. His wishes must be obeyed to the letter. If the Jin'Sai still lives, then what he must do, he must do alone."
Putting one arm around her, Wigg looked sadly into Shailiha's glistening eyes. "I'm sorry, Princess," he said. "At this moment in the history of the craft, we are but pawns in the struggle between light and dark. The Jin'Sai's destiny shall be what it shall be. We must accept that." Tristan's mind was feverish and his breathing was irregular, as his body fought to stay alive. Time after time his consciousness struggled to resurface and join the world, only to be dragged back under again. And then-for the first time in his life-Tristan heard the voices of the Ones Who Came Before. They revealed themselves to him gently, soft tones in his mind.
"Tristan…"
His breathing shallow, his heartbeat slow and weak, Tristan did not move.
"Tristan," they called again, more insistently. "You must rise, our son. As the reigning Jin'Sai, you have done well. But you must discover whether you still possess the strength to perform this last deed. The release of your last Forestallment will bring you the acceptance and trust of your subjects that you have so long desired. Rise up, Jin'Sai. Rise and employ this last forestallment, to take your rightful place in your world."
Groaning, Tristan moved slightly. With a supreme effort of will, he raised himself up to his knees. He was exhausted. His body and clothing were both soaked with rain and charred and dirty from the fires. But he bowed his head and answered the call of the Ones Who Came Before.
"I am here," he told them silently.
"You and your sister are the strongest Jin'Sai and Jin'Saiou ever to walk the earth," the voices said. "Our hopes run high that it shall be you and she who finally join the two sides of the craft. But, in truth, your travails have only just begun. If you live through the application of your final Forestallment, you know what your next deed must be, for the Scroll Master has told you. Do not tarry in that mission, Jin'Sai, for there is so little time."
"It shall be as you say," he answered silently.
Tristan got wavering unsteadily to his feet. He pushed his dark, wet hair away from his eyes.
Trying to reclaim his senses, he again drew a knife. He hardly felt the fresh cut he made in his palm. No longer caring what became of the knife, he let it slip from his hand and fall to the wet ground. He closed his wounded fist to squeeze more of his blood onto the ground.
Raising his arms, he closed his eyes.
With the release of his final Forestallment, the small pool of blood on the ground began to glow with the aura of the craft. The azure pool grew larger and larger. It soon split into crooked lengths that looked like lightning branches. There were hundreds of them now, their ends starting to snake through the streets of Tammerland. Other tendrils traveled across the surface of the moat and invaded the palace grounds.
Raising his hands higher, his body trembling and his mind pushed to the limit, Tristan silently ordered the branches to search out their targets. Their speed increasing, they obeyed. Lightning tore across the sky. Thunder cracked, and a stiff, cyclonic wind overtook the city, its ferocity sending the charred, wet debris from the fires whirling high into the air. One by one, the azure branches reached not only the citizens of Tammerland, but his own Minions of Day and Night as well.
The terrified citizens tried to run. But the azure branches were too fast. The exhausted Minions held fast, most of them trying to strike down the snaking branches with their dreggans. But their blades caused no damage. Pandemonium reigned again.
As those on the palace roof watched, they soon realized that the branches were not seeking out all of the people and warriors, but only some of them. Finally understanding, Shailiha's eyes went wide and she looked at Wigg. With a smile, the First Wizard nodded back.
The branches were only seeking out the wounded and dying!
With each caress of the craft, the wounds healed. Burns and gashes closed, bleeding stopped, and broken bones mended themselves. Cries of jubilation rose in the city as the lame walked and the blind saw again. Crutches were cast aside, and tearful mothers and fathers held each other as they watched their stricken children become whole once more.
As the citizens and the warriors came to understand what was happening, they embraced one another. As if they had suddenly found a common thread of humanity that had never before existed, the citizens began to shed their sense of fear, and the warriors gradually cast off the guilt they had felt for so long about what they had once done to these people. Even the stern warriors shed tears.
Unfettered happiness engulfed the city in ways that the fires and the Enseterat's forces had not been able to do. Someone climbed one of the city's still-standing towers and began to ring its bells in celebration. Joy commanded the night.
With tears in his eyes, Wigg looked down at Tristan. The Jin'Sai was still struggling to hold his arms wide. At last, sensing that his work was done, he lowered his arms. He watched weakly as the azure branches faded, then disappeared.
Tristan fell to his knees and hung his head. Citizens and warriors rushed toward him with gratitude. With the end of his final Forestallment, the thunder and wind died away, leaving only the sounds of celebration.
But his heart was not gladdened. Although he was grateful that he had succeeded, the merriment meant little to him. As the crowds formed around him he ignored them, his mind imprisoned by his own grief.
Celeste, he thought. His tears came freely.
His mind turned to the stark image of her azure death mask, hovering in space with so many others in the Well of Forestallments. Was her soul content? he wondered. Did she indeed forgive him from wherever she had gone to rest?
Reaching into his leather vest, with a trembling hand he removed her wedding ring.
Then he lost consciousness and fell to the ground.