My entrapment here was, yes. My ability as a seer came to me naturally and was, in fact, partially the cause of the curse. It is a long tale-the story of my entire life-but 1 will tell it to you simply. I was Potentate Sullento's favorite concubine, for more than the usual reasons.
"1 read about you!" exclaimed Lyim.
She continued as if uninterrupted. From the start Sullento believed in and relied heavily on my skills as a seer- ess to manage the city. However, I was not his first or only mistress, but his fifth. The other four, old and fat shrews, grew more and more jealous as he turned all his attention away from them and entirely upon me. For a time I alone satisfied his every need. Not maliciously to deny them, I will tell you, but because it was my duty and my honor.
But they, of course, did not see the diminishment of their power that way. Together, they whispered in his ear, whenever they were near enough, that I was no prophetess at all. They told him I was betraying him with a mage who made my predictions come true. The prophetess shrugged away a span of time and truthlessness with a blink of her eerie eyes. It was only a matter of time before Sullento, who for all his power was no more confident than any man, came to believe their lies, instead of my truthful denials.
"You tried also to warn them of an approaching cataclysm," interjected Lyim.
She blinked again as if nodding. By then, Sullento no longer believed in me. To punish me and warn all others that no one was beyond his wrath, he bade his court wizard cast the curse whose first step imprisoned me thus. In a public ceremony Sullento himself inflicted the harpoon that sealed the curse. You see, he could not bring himself to kill me outright, and yet he knew no human would dare remove the harpoon and free me while he was ruler, for fear of retribution. And then the cataclysm struck, as I predicted, and there were no humans left alive to free me.
"Surely I'm not the first to come seeking answers?"
The first to seek me, no. Many have arrived over the centuries, but Itzan Klertal's underwater inhabitants are even more inhospitable than the surface dwellers of Klertal were. Only two survived to reach me before you. One was a clever little dark-skinned elf named Amurchin, and the other was a denizen of the Abyss in the service of a human mage master. Neither could lift the curse. But you can; the curse will recognize your true human form.
Lyim could certainly appreciate her desire to have
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the curse lifted, but he was reminded again of the useless leads for which he'd paid dearly. "Give me my answer first, and if it is adequate, I will gladly do as you ask."
I will not, she said firmly, the first true inflection in her voice.
Lyim's lips pulled back in a scowl that exposed his needlelike teeth. "I could destroy you with one spell!"
That would be punishment for you and liberation of a kind for me, she said without guile.
"What if 1 refuse?" he demanded, feeling backed into a corner.
Then I will remain here, and you will still have no hand.
Lyim heaved an inward sigh and briefly pondered his options, which were slim to none. He would never willingly leave without his answer. He consoled himself for giving in with the thought that he could always obliterate her afterward, if her words proved pointless.
Planting his webbed feet at the base of the slick, kelp-covered throne, he wrapped the long green fingers of his left hand around the smooth harpoon shaft and tugged. It didn't budge. Surprised at the difficulty, Lyim tucked the pole under his arm more firmly and pulled with all his might. The lance shifted. Summoning even more strength, Lyim was rewarded for his efforts when he felt the weapon shudder slightly. Probably a barb breaking off, he thought. And then it slid back, slowly at first but gaining speed. At last he wrenched the harpoon from the oracle's chest. The effort sent Lyim spinning away from the dais. He dropped the harpoon and righted himself so that his eyes locked on the oracle in the throne.
The vivid coral that crawled across her pale form, pinning her, cracked like glass and sank to the dais at her feet; the bloated woman broke free of the throne. Whatever dress she had once worn had disintegrated during more than three hundred years in salt water. Her hideous, blue-white body spun away, circling the room with a slow, jerky motion.
I had forgot what it felt like to move, she breathed softly, examining every nook and cranny of the room with a child's delight. The oracle paddled slowly, stiffly toward the wide-open door that led out to the sunken city, eager to see what was beyond.
"Wait!" cried Lyim, swimming after her. "I freed you. Now pay me what you owe me!"
The oracle paddled halfway about and regarded him over the hardness of her barnacle locks. You have been searching for a cure without knowing the true cause of your malady. The answer, and your arm, still lie within the dimensional bridge where it was lost. Seek the builder of the bridge.
"Belize?" cried Lyim. "But he's dead!"
The dead are not beyond the reach of those who wield magic. The oracle's eyes were focused over Lyim's shoulder, at the world that lay beyond this room. No one knows that better than I, who have waited more than three centuries to punish the spirits of four shrews. Fare- thee-well, Lyim Rhistadt.
Lyim's dark scrag eyes watched her vaguely as she slithered out the door and disappeared into the murky city. The answer that had eluded him for so long had been under his nose from the start. Strangely, the realization left him with more questions than he'd had before coming to blasphemous Itzan Klertal.
Chapter Three
Dear Maladorigar.
I am writing this without knowing if I will ever be allowed to send it. The rules regarding communicating with people outside Bastion are unclear. Perhaps this will help me sort through my thoughts, at any rate, and then 1 won't feel so lonely.
Zagarus and I arrived five months ago, although you would be able to calculate that better than 1. Time is an odd thing here. There's neither sun nor moons to mark the passing days. I am estimating time by the growth of my hair: one index finger joint every two months. With nowhere to go, it matters very little anyway.
The Council of Three teleported Zag and me to the courtyard, or inner bailey, my bags in hand. It was as dark as ink, for there were no stars above. 1 felt dizzy, and it took several minutes for my eyes to adjust-to the darkness, I thought
first. The immense building before me looked flat and seemed to waver as if in a summer heat wave. I closed my eyes and willed my body to stop swaying, as fustarius had instructed me. I opened them again when 1 could stand still for at least three heartbeats.
The sight took me back five years, to a mountain valley in the morning shadows of Skullcap. 1 couldn't help thinking of Esme and the time we had spent helping to build this marvel. I still miss her.
Bastion's outline fit the pattern in my memory: a short, flat-faced facade leading the way to the disparate designs of the three wings behind it. The facade is made of a mosaic of fired white porcelain, red granite, and black onyx to symbolize the working harmony of the three orders of magic. I could see that gargoyles-real, live ones-had been added to every ledge and arch on all three sections. Topiary trees and odd statues, carefully designed to cast realistic and frightening shadows in the odd, angled light, were also new to my eyes.
One other new feature that I must comment on was almost imperceptible in the wan light until I got very close to Bastion. The entire edifice is covered, top to bottom and front to back, with runes, sigils, and mystic etchings of every variety. I've since spent much of my free time studying their design and have them nearly unraveled. The challenge of it kept me interested and active when I otherwise might have begun seriously missing my home and familiar sights.