“You improvised?” Tristan exclaimed. He looked first at his sister, and then to Celeste. “I’m almost afraid to ask,” he said softly.
Without speaking, Wigg again raised his hand. The other, much larger sheet covering the third table rose into the air, revealing what was beneath. Tristan’s eyes went wide.
On the table sat a very large, clear ball. Its interior was separated into two equal parts by a transparent dividing wall. One half of the ball contained what appeared to be an azure substance, waving back and forth gently. The other half contained a darker, rather murky fluid that lay perfectly still.
From the outer edges of the ball ran a great many individual tubes, also made of some clear substance. At the end of each tube was a shiny, silver needle. The strange-looking contrivance seemed to crouch on the table like some kind of horrific, multicolored, crystalline spider, its legs drooping down to the floor.
“What in the name of the Afterlife is that thing?” Tristan asked. He was truly puzzled. “Where did it come from? What is in it?”
“We don’t really know what it is called,” Faegan replied. “Or even if it has a name. Wigg and I have been calling it the Sphere of Collection.”
“And just what does it do?” Shailiha asked.
“Well, for one thing, it helped saved Tristan’s life,” Wigg answered.
“How?” the princess asked.
“Let me begin at the beginning,” Wigg said. “Just after Traax and Ox returned with Tristan, we administered the rest of the antidote to him. But, as I said, he was still dying. While we were attending him, we also sent a force of Minions, again under Traax’s command, to Fledgling House. We wanted to see if there were by chance any children remaining there. They found no children, dead or alive. But what they did find was another small contingent of hatchlings, camped outside, protecting the castle. Apparently Nicholas had planned to return. This time, however, it was the hatchlings that were outnumbered. Surprising them from above, Traax, Ox, and their forces dealt with them swiftly, wisely burning the bodies afterward. When they finally walked inside the small castle, they were astounded at what they saw.”
“And that was?” Tristan asked impatiently.
“In a great hall sat this sphere,” Wigg answered. “On the walls of the room were hung small, coffinlike structures. Remains of endowed blood lay everywhere—on the walls, the floor, and all around the sphere. Supposing it to be a device of the craft, perhaps even something important, Traax and Ox brought it here. Only later did we learn just how important it was.” Wigg glanced at the ominous-looking sphere. A dark look came to his face.
“After examining some of the blood signatures taken from what remained in the sphere, we quickly ascertained that it was into this device that Nicholas had collected the blood of the children. Exceedingly clever, when you stop to think about it. Faegan and I can see many other practical applications that the sphere can lend itself to—applications for good, rather than evil. But I digress.” He returned his attention to the table.
“Just how did this thing save me?” Tristan asked. Clearly tired, he took a deep breath, running one hand through his dark hair.
“Endowed blood can live, albeit briefly, outside the body,” Faegan said. “This phenomenon is witnessed by the blood signature.”
Tristan sat back in his chair, thinking. “But what does all of this have to do with me?” he asked.
“After the failed Confluence, Nicholas’ blood, because it had been infused with such an inordinately vast amount of the power of the stone, lived far longer than normal without its host—his living body,” Faegan interjected. “This amazing precedent, plus the recovery of the Sphere of Collection, got Wigg and me to thinking. We formulated a plan, and then carried it out.” He grinned mischievously at the prince, knowing that in a few moments he was about to shock everyone. Except for Wigg, of course.
“So what did you finally do?” Tristan asked.
Faegan looked across the table at Wigg. Taking a breath, he pushed his cheek out with his tongue and raised his eyebrows. “We used the Sphere of Collection to remove some of your poisoned blood, simultaneously replacing it with an equal amount from the corpse of your son.”
Aghast, Tristan couldn’t speak. He had never heard of such a bizarre thing. It seemed to him as if they had both somehow gone completely, irretrievably mad.
“You did what?” he shouted at last.
“It was your poisoned blood that was killing you, Tristan,” Wigg said. “And it was the very high quality of Nicholas’ blood, empowered by the stone, that was keeping his blood alive long after his body had expired. We believed that if we removed some of your tainted blood, replacing it with an equal amount of Nicholas’, your blood would in turn be ‘healed’ from the poison. We were right. In less than two days following the procedure the dark veins covering your body began to recede, and you regained consciousness. We are sure it shall require at least several weeks for you to return to full health, but we are also equally sure that you shall. No one else—other than Traax and Ox, of course—knew that you were here, alive and under our care. We felt it best not to get everyone’s spirits up, only to have them dashed again. Your funeral pyre and our descriptions of the searches conducted by Traax and Ox were merely window dressing, so that we might work uninterrupted.”
“But why couldn’t you tell us?” Shailiha protested. “What you did seems terribly cruel!”
“I know,” Wigg answered softly. “And we apologize. But we thought it for the best. At the time, we couldn’t be sure there weren’t still hatchlings about, such as those Traax discovered waiting at Fledgling House. Or, for that matter, if Ragnar was dead. Should they have regrouped and come for us again, they wouldn’t be able to torture from you what you didn’t know. Had that happened, and they learned that the prince lived, they would have come for him, and we would have been unable to stop them. Then he would have died in truth. I am truly sorry that we had to cause so much pain with this deception.”
Tristan looked over at his sister. The look on her face was one of both amazement and consternation. She wanted to be angry at the wizards for not telling her, but she couldn’t be.
Wigg then looked into the dark eyes of the Chosen One with a meaningfulness he rarely showed. “In some ways Nicholas will remain a part of your being,” he said. Another long period of silence descended.
“But what are the ramifications of this?” Shailiha finally asked. “Will Tristan’s blood be somehow harmed, or changed?”
“No,” Faegan answered. “You see, Nicholas’ blood was already partly Tristan’s blood, as well. Because of that, they are compatible, so to speak. Also, we did not have to employ a large quantity of Nicholas’ blood. Therefore, the blood of the son shall not overcome the blood of the father. Rather, the reverse will become true. Given time, Tristan’s blood shall be just as it once was. We are certain that a simple test of his blood signature, taken several weeks from now, will confirm this.”
“And then there is perhaps the most important development of all,” Wigg went on. “The improved condition of the Paragon. Blessedly, the stone has completely reclaimed its power.”
“But there is yet another issue that must be dealt with,” Faegan interjected.
“And that is?” Tristan asked.
“Why Nicholas let us have possession of the Tome,” Faegan replied. “We had always considered that to be extremely odd, to say the least. Upon restoring it to its original size and examining it closely, I got my answer.”
“How so?” Shailiha asked.
“Because the great treatise of the craft, the one work we rely on the most for our understanding of magic, has been altered,” Faegan said bluntly. “As Nicholas read the Tome, he was at the same time changing it. Falsifying it, to suit his plans. He no doubt had the power of Consummate Recollection, as do I, and had read the entire treatise. But in his case, the gift of Consummate Recollection would have been vastly more powerful, probably enabling him to recite specific passages, perhaps even entire volumes, immediately. Therefore he no longer required the original. So he altered it, turning it into yet another weapon to employ against us. The concept was fiendishly clever, for the changes he made were not blindingly obvious. They were designed to make us stumble and try again, rather than to fall outright. Such small changes also helped ensure that it would take much longer for us to realize it had been violated. He knew that we would rely on the great book to help us better understand our many problems. What better way to make things more difficult for us than to falsify the very text we needed the most? With great effort, I should be able to use my gift of Consummate Recollection to restore it. But the amount of work and time required will be staggering.”