Despite all that had happened, Travis grinned. That scientific mind of hers.
“So the lesser morndarion Eldh are similar to those that dwell in the Void between worlds,” Farr said, touching his arm, perhaps unconsciously tracing the scars there. “They were not so powerful that their presence on Eldh caused a great instability.”
“More than that, they were balanced, too,” Travis said. He studied the drawing. If he looked close, around the shapes of the three Great Stones, he could see tiny flecks etched into the wall. “Smaller grains of the First Stone were sent to Eldh along with the Imsari–enough to balance out the other morndari. Only they . . . they were taken in by . . .” Again he struggled to describe what had happened.
It was Larad who gave the thought voice. “Runes. They became runes, didn’t they?” The Runelord didn’t wait for an answer. He paced, his gray robe swishing. “There was no Worldsmith, not in the very beginning, not in the first iteration of Eldh. It was the very flecks of the First Stone that brought it into being, trapping the morndarieven as they tried to counter them. Each fleck became a thing, a rune–sea or sky or stone– and was bound into it. The same was true for the Old Gods, and the Little People, and the dragons. There are runes for all of them.”
“Even Sia,” Grace said, wonder on her face now. “There’s a rune for Sia, isn’t there?” She shook her head. “But if morndaribrought blood sorcery into the world, and the flecks of the Great Stone brought rune magic, where did witch magic come from?”
Larad stroked his chin. “Granted, I know little about the magic of witches, even less than Master Graedin. But from what we have recently learned, I imagine the Weirding was an effect of the creation of Eldh. We know from our studies that witchcraft is related to runes. So runes created the world, and–”
“And then the world created witchcraft,” Grace said, tucking her blond hair behind her ears, as if it was in the way of her thinking. “Life gave rise to the Weirding. Just as the blood of the sorcerers, once it was dispersed through the world, gave rise to the New Gods.”
Larad nodded. “It would seem so.”
Travis should have felt amazement at all this. It was as if a curtain had been lifted, revealing mysteries that had existed since the beginning of time. However, his mind hummed, and it was hard to concentrate on what the others were saying.
What does it matter if we know how everything began if it’s all going to be snu fed out of existence? Magic is almost gone. Everything that bound the world together, and what the world itself brought to life, is fading.
Only the Imsari still functioned, and the blood of Orъ–the very oldest of things. But how long did they have until even these things ceased? And when they did, any chance of healing the rifts would vanish.
“There are a few symbols here I do not believe you translated, Travis.”
Farr’s voice jerked Travis out of his thoughts. Farr stood close to the wall, gesturing to a group of symbols contained within an oval shape, like a cartouche. They were the only symbols carved into the wall that Travis didn’t completely understand. He supposed they had not been part of Orъ’s own knowledge. Instead, they must have represented the thoughts of Ti’an, or perhaps the thoughts of the Seven Fateless Ones. The symbols showed the Three coming in contact with the Seven, and jagged rays of power shooting outward. Only there was something else, something between the Three and the Seven. Travis didn’t understand what the symbol meant. It looked like a triangle and nothing more.
“I think those symbols show how the Imsari and the Seven A’naraineed to be brought together,” Travis said. “Only I don’t understand what that third symbol means.”
Or did he? The buzzing in his mind grew louder. He gripped the bone talisman–the one given to him so long ago by Grisla–that hung at his neck, thinking. It seemed he should know what the third symbol was. Could it somehow be related to the Last Rune? The dragon Sfithrisir had said it was the Last Rune that would heal the rifts. Surely that meant bringing the Seven in contact with the Imsari. But Travis didn’t know any rune that was denoted by a simple triangle. Maybe Larad . . .
No. When he glanced in that direction, the Runelord shook his head. He didn’t know what the symbol meant either.
Maybe it didn’t matter. The Imsari were here on Eldh, and the Seven were somewhere on Earth. There was no way to get to them, to bring them together. . . .
By Olrig, Travis, that’s not true!Jack’s voice said in his mind. You’ve quite forgotten. There is a way.
Hope surged in Travis. The answer was here after all. He reached into his serafiand drew out a silver coin.
The others gazed at him, startled, but Farr nodded, drawing out his own coin. Yes, he understood.
“You want to take the Imsari to Earth,” the former Seeker said. It was not a question. “You want to find the Seven of Orъ, to heal the rifts.”
Yes, Travis tried to say. However, the word was lost in a clap of thunder. Beneath their feet, the floor gave a violent lurch. Larad stumbled against Grace, and both fell sprawling. Nim clutched Vani as the T’golbraced her feet. Farr gripped the wall for support, and Travis fell to his knees. Like a candle being snuffed out, the glowing crystal high above went dark, plunging the room into stifling shadow. Travis, with his preternatural eyes, still possessed dim vision, but he could see the others flailing blindly.
“What’s happening?” Grace called out.
Before anyone could answer, the air burst asunder as a circle of blue fire crackled into being on the center of the dais, just behind the golden throne, a window rimmed by sapphire lightning.
It was a gate.
43.
Deirdre paced across the white floor of the hospital’s waiting area, willing herself not to glance at the clock on the wall. How long had it been since the nurse had come to tell her he was out of surgery? She wasn’t sure, but in the meantime night had fallen outside the windows, and the waiting area had steadily cleared out until she and Beltan were alone.
At the moment, the blond man’s rangy form lay sprawled across a bank of plastic chairs. He was snoring. The day’s activities–a mad dash from London to Edinburgh, the struggle at the manor, the ambulance ride to the hospital–had exhausted him more than the warrior in him would willingly admit. Every time Deirdre had told him to get some rest, he had steadfastly refused. However, a short while ago she had gone to get them some coffee. When she returned, he had been out cold.
His face was peaceful in sleep; gone were the lines of worry that had creased his brow ever since Travis, Vani, and Nim fell through the gate. A butterfly bandage covered the gash on his cheek though it hardly seemed necessary. Already the wound had scabbed over; it was healing rapidly.
You should rest as well, Deirdre, a calm voice spoke within her. Her Wise Self. Much work lies ahead. You will need strength to face it.
Only she couldn’t sleep, not now, not when she knew what was going to happen tomorrow in a warehouse south of London. As soon as she could, she would go there. But first she had to see him, to see with her own eyes that he would live.
If you had just listened to your instincts, Deirdre–if you hadtrusted Anders as your heart wanted to–he wouldn’t have been shot, and Marius would still be alive. This is all your fault.