Just as when we killed Natasha and the sound of thunder and the great gusts of wind came, so, too, it is for these dead sorceresses, he realized.
After what seemed to be an eternity, the shaking and thunder slowly stopped, and the haze in the room began to clear. Dazedly looking around to find the wizard and the dwarf, Tristan saw Wigg and what he saw would remain burned into his memory forever.
Wigg was sitting on his heels before the dead body of Failee, seemingly oblivious to the devastation that surrounded him. He was weeping, his hands covering his face as the tears ran blatantly down and onto his gray robe. Stunned, Tristan couldn’t find his voice to ask the questions. Once again, as if reading the prince’s mind, Wigg lowered his hands and turned his great, wet, aquamarine eyes to the prince.
“I can easily understand your surprise,” he said gently, his body still shaking, tears still spilling from his eyes. “You see, Tristan, once, long ago, before the Sorceresses’ War, Failee was my wife. I loved her dearly. And, in many ways, I always have.”
Tristan simply sat there, shocked, unable to speak, his joy at once again holding his sister at odds with the incomprehensible revelations of the old wizard. Layers of thought and deed, he said to himself.
And then he realized how it all fit together. How it had been right there, before him, his entire life. There had always been Wigg’s dark reaction each time Failee’s name was mentioned, and his reluctance to speak of her. Faegan’s offhand references to Failee during their meeting that night, and the Lead Wizard’s sad, lonely reaction when he had walked to the window to gaze out at the sea, looking east to Parthalon—-just as the prince himself had done that very night when he had thought of his sister. Tristan also recalled the strangely sick, almost loving way Failee had caressed the wizard’s face when he was imprisoned in the gibbet. And finally there was the Directorate’s decision, centuries ago, to ban the sorceresses instead of killing them—and Wigg having been chosen as the one to take them into the Sea of Whispers, no doubt an appointment made out of reverence and respect for their new Lead Wizard and the woman he had once loved.
“Yes,” Wigg said softly. “The signs were always there, despite how hard I tried to hide them. Sometimes it is not a simple thing to put a hand over your heart, even when one is a wizard.” He turned once again to look down at the corpse that had once been Failee.
“She first began to go mad during our marriage, and there was nothing I could do to bring her back, no matter how hard I tried. After she left me, she began teaching other women of endowed blood the workings of the craft. But only those women who would blindly follow her insanities.” The tears started to come again, and Tristan’s heart went out to the old one.
“It was my wife who was responsible for the Sorceresses’ War, Tristan,” Wigg said, his voice almost inaudible. He looked behind him to see Geldon come up and stand tentatively next to the corpse of Failee. “I had no idea,” the dwarf said.
“Nor did I,” Tristan replied.
Wigg turned his attention to Shailiha. “How is she?”
“She is unhurt, but is once again hysterical and doesn’t seem to know me,” Tristan said sadly. “But she doesn’t seem afraid of me, either.” He looked down at his sister as she rocked back and forth in the circle of his arms, rubbing her abdomen, still lost in some world of torment all her own.
He thought of the dreggan in its scabbard on his back, wondering if he could ever really use it to take his sister’s life, yet also knowing that he still might have to. The sorceresses were dead, but he was unsure whether Wigg would be willing to risk taking her back with them in her present condition. She posed a potential threat, and he knew it. Come back to me, he begged her silently. Come back to me, my sister, or I shall have to take the light from your eyes and leave you here, in a foreign land.
“At least she is stable for the time being,” Wigg said, his countenance beginning once again to show the indomitable spirit the dwarf and prince were accustomed to. “I will attend to her shortly, but first there are things that must be done.”
“Your powers have returned?” Tristan asked hopefully, seeing the light returning to the wizard’s eyes.
“No,” Wigg said, standing up, “but when Failee died, so did most of her incantations. Remember, her knowledge of the Vagaries was fragmentary. Therefore, so were many of its applications. But first we must find the Paragon. Quickly. Too much time may already have gone by.”
Tristan left Shailiha in Geldon’s care and went to search the carnage. After a few moments he found the stone, still on its chain, lying in a corner. It was completely clear, cold to the touch, and covered with dust and soot. Picking it up, he was surprised at how heavy it was as he handed it to the wizard.
Wigg took the Paragon lovingly in his hands, brushed it off, and held it under the light of one of the wall sconces. The infamous eyebrow came up in concern.
“Pray we are not too late,” he said simply as he quickly began to remove his robe.
“What are you doing?” Tristan asked. “You cannot wear the stone until it has been prepared for a new host.”
“Who said anything about wearing the stone?” Wigg said, finally allowing a smile to crease his face. He dropped the robe to the floor and reached for the pewter locket that hung around his neck.
The locket, Tristan thought. I had completely forgotten about the locket!
Wigg unceremoniously removed the top of the locket, then slid the Paragon from its gold chain. After placing the stone into the locket, he carefully screwed the top back on and hung both the locket and the Paragon’s chain around his neck. Last, he put the robe back on. He stood there imperiously staring at the prince, daring him to figure it out.
And then Tristan understood. He found himself smiling at the old wizard. “Water from the Caves,” he said simply as the old one stood there before him, smiling back. “From Faegan.”
“Yes,” Wigg replied. “The rogue wizard in the trees tends to be quite clever, you know.” Tristan could tell from the tone in his voice that Wigg had long since decided to forgive Faegan for whatever had transpired between them so long ago.
“But aren’t you now wearing the stone?” Tristan asked. “After all, it is around the neck of one of endowed blood.”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Wigg asked impishly. “The pewter insulates the stone from my blood. It is the only substance other than the water of the Caves that can do so. Another nugget of wisdom from the wizard in Shadowood. Shortly, we shall know the fate of the stone, and therefore also the fate of my powers.” Then his expression grew more serious.
“By the way, I am most relieved that you were able to decipher my riddle and use your gift to move the stone.” He pursed his lips and looked narrowly at the prince. “As you can imagine, there is much to be said of your first use of the craft, but right now time does not permit it.”
“But how did you know?” Tristan asked. “How could you have possibly realized that moving the stone was the answer?”
“I couldn’t be sure,” Wigg told him. “But I did know that the only time the Coven was vulnerable was when the stone was off Failee’s neck. And the Communion apparently needed the stone not just to begin the ritual but also to sustain it. Removing the stone while the Communion was in progress seemed the only solution. But even I did not know that the Paragon could be sustained by the light itself until I saw its color begin to reappear.” His eyebrow came up as he looked at the prince.
“What kept Failee from simply putting the stone back around her neck?” the prince asked.