And here an odd circumstance occurred. The dog—my constant companion ever since he saved my life in the Labyrinth—disappeared. I searched for the beast, for though he is a nuisance sometimes, I’d grown used to having him around. He was gone. I felt bad about this, but only for a while. I had more important matters on my mind.
Chelestra is a world comprised solely of water. Drifting in the cold depths of space, its outer surface is made up of solid ice. But inside Chelestra, the Sartan placed a sun that burns magically in the water, lights and warms the world’s interior.
The Sartan intended to control the sun, but they discovered that they lacked the power. And so the sun drifts freely through the water, warming only certain areas of Chelestra at one time, leaving others to freeze until the sun’s return. Mensch live on Chelestra, on what are known as seamoons. Sartan live on Chelestra, as well, although I did not know this at first. My arrival on Chelestra was not propitious. My ship plunged into the water and instantly began breaking apart. The destruction was astonishing, since my ship was protected by rune-magic on the outside and very few forces—certainly not ordinary seawater—could break down the powerful runes.
Unfortunately, this was not ordinary seawater.
I was forced to abandon my vessel and found myself swimming in a vast, unending ocean. I knew I must surely drown, but I discovered—to my pleasure and amazement—that I could breathe the water as easily as I breathed air. I also discovered—with far less pleasure—that the water had the effect of completely destroying my rune-magic, leaving me powerless, helpless as a mensch.
On Chelestra, I uncovered additional evidence of a higher power. However, this power is not working for good, but for evil. It thrives on fear, feeds on terror, delights in inflicting pain. It lives only to promote chaos, hatred, destruction.
Embodied in the forms of enormous dragon-snakes, the evil power very nearly seduced me into serving it. I was saved by three mensch children, one of whom later died in my arms. I saw the evil for what it was. I came to understand that it was intent on destroying everything—including my people. I determined to fight it, though I knew I could not win against it. This power is immortal. It lives within each of us. We created it.
At first, I thought I fought alone, but someone joined me in the battle—my friend, my enemy.
Alfred, too, had arrived on Chelestra, at about the same time I did, although we landed in far different places. Alfred found himself in a crypt similar to the one where most of his people lay dead on Arianus. But the people in the crypt on Chelestra were alive—the Sartan Council, those who had been responsible for the sundering of the world centuries ago.
Threatened by the evil dragon-snakes, unable to fight them due to the fact that the seawater nullified their magic, the Sartan sent out a call for help to their brethren. Then they placed themselves in suspended animation to await the coming of other Sartan.
The only one who came—and he did so by accident—was Alfred.
Needless to say, he was not quite what the Council expected. The head of the Council, Samah, is a mirror image of my lord, Xar (though neither would thank me for the comparison!). Both are proud, ruthless, ambitious. Both believe that they wield the ultimate power in the universe. The thought that there might be a stronger force, a higher power, is anathema to both of them.
Samah discovered that Alfred not only believed in this higher power, but that he had actually come close to contacting it. Samah considered this open rebellion. He attempted to break Alfred, destroy his faith. It was rather like trying to break bread dough. Alfred meekly absorbed every punch, every blow. He refused to recant, refused to accept Samah’s dictates.
I must admit I almost felt sorry for Alfred. At last he had found the people he so longed to find, only to discover that he couldn’t trust them. Not only that, he came to learn a terrible truth about the Sartan’s past. With the help of an unlikely confederate (my very own dog, to be exact), Alfred accidentally stumbled (literally) into a secret Sartan library. Here he discovered that Samah and the Council had discovered the existence of this higher power. The Sundering had not been necessary. With the help of this power, the Sartan could have worked for peace.
Samah did not want peace, however. He wanted the world his way—and only his way. And so he broke the world apart. Unfortunately, when he tried to put it back together, the world crumbled into smaller and smaller pieces, began to slip through his fingers.
Alfred now knew the truth. Alfred became a threat to Samah.
But it was Alfred—meek, bumbling Alfred, who fainted at the very mention of the word “danger”—who joined my fight against the dragon-snakes.[4] He saved my life, the lives of the mensch, and very probably the lives of his own ungrateful people.
Despite this—or perhaps because of it—Samah sentenced Alfred to a dire fate. Samah cast Alfred and Orla, the woman who loves him, into the Labyrinth. Now I am the only one left who knows the truth about the danger we face. The evil forces embodied in the dragon-snakes do not seek to rule us—they desire nothing that constructive. Suffering, agony, chaos, fear—this is their goal. And they will attain it, unless we all join together to find some way to stop them. For the dragon-snakes are powerful, far more powerful than any of us. Far more powerful than Samah. Far more powerful than Xar.
I must convince my lord of this—a task that will not be easy. He already suspects me of being a traitor. How can I prove to him that my loyalty to him, to my people, was never greater than it is now?
And Alfred, what do I do about Alfred? The kind, vague, and bumbling Sartan will not long survive the Labyrinth. I could return there to save him ... if I dared.
But—I must admit to myself—I am afraid.
I am more afraid now than I have ever been in my life. The evil is very great, very powerful, and I face it alone, as my name foretold.
Alone, except for a dog.
Prologue
I write this as I sit in a Sartan prison cell, awaiting my freedom[5]. It will be a long time coming, I think, for the level of the seawater that will free me is rising very slowly. Undoubtedly the water level is being controlled by the mensch, who do not want to harm any of the Sartan, but merely rid them of their magic.[6] The seawater of Chelestra is breathable as air, but a wall of water sent crashing through the land would cause a considerable amount of destruction. Remarkably practical-minded of the mensch to think of such an angle. I wonder, though, how they have managed to force the dragon-snakes—the serpents—to cooperate.
The serpents[7] of Chelestra...
I knew evil before them—I was born in, survived, and escaped the Labyrinth. But I have never known evil like them. It is these creatures who have taught me to believe in a higher power—a power over which we have little control, a power that is inherently evil.
Alfred, my old nemesis, you would be horrified, reading that statement. I can almost hear you stuttering and stammering in protest.
“No, no! There is a corresponding power for good. We’ve seen it, you and I.” That is what you would tell me.
Did you see it, Alfred? And if so, where? Your own people denounced you as a heretic, sent you to the Labyrinth, or so they threatened. And Samah doesn’t seem to me to be the type who makes threats lightly. What do you think of your power for good now, Alfred? ... as you fight for your life in the Labyrinth. I’ll tell you what I think of it. I think it’s a lot like you—weak and bumbling. Although I must admit that you came through for us in our fight against the serpents—if that was you who turned into the serpent mage, as Grundle claimed.
But when it came to standing up for yourself against Samah (and I’ll lay odds that you could have taken the bastard), you “couldn’t remember the spell.” You let yourself and the woman you love be led meekly away, sent to a place where, if you are still alive, you probably wish you weren’t.
5
Written in the human language, in Haplo’s hand, the entry can be found in the back of the journal left the Patryn by the dwarf maid, Grundle. Patryns typically use mensch language to record events and thoughts, considering their own magical nine language far too powerful to be used indiscriminately.
6
Reference to the fact that the seawater on the world of Chelestra nullifies tile powerful magics of both Sartan and Patryn. See
7
“Dragon-snake” is a mensch term, coined by Grundle. The Sartan word for the creature is “serpent.” Haplo adopts the Sartan word used in this volume, a change from his previous work. Why he made the change is unclear. One reason suggests itself—he did not want to confuse these false “dragons” with the true dragons who inhabit the worlds. Haplo used a Sartan word because the Patryns, having never encountered this evil, have no word for it.