Wheeling his chair away from the table a bit, the old wizard raised his arms in the direction of the hovering scroll. Almost at once a short section of text in Old Eutracian lifted itself from the body of the scroll and came to hover over the center of the table. It glowed magnificently.
Looking over at Celeste, Tristan saw that she was reading the text. Then a sudden look of horror overcame her, and the blood ran from her face. She placed her hands over her eyes, as if looking at it had somehow become unbearable. Not knowing what else to do, Tristan put an arm around her.
"In the name of the Afterlife, will one of you please tell me what is going on here?" he shouted at the wizards. "Can't you see you're upsetting her?"
"Perhaps the best way is to read the passage for you, since you cannot do so for yourself," Faegan answered him softly. Turning his chair, he looked up at the glowing, hovering script and began to read aloud.
" 'And should the Chosen One make use of his gifts before he is trained to do so, the ordeal shall alter the nature of his blood, changing it from red to azure. But with this change shall come a price. For should his seed then mingle with that of any female, the child they might produce would be horrible beyond description, for the blood of the Jin'Sai shall be tainted. And no endowed female in the world, except for the twin of the Jin'Sai, shall carry a blood signature strong enough to keep such a child from possessing the left-leaning signature that shall without question emerge. Such shall always be the case, until the blood of the Jin'Sai can be returned to red. Thus, no seed of the Jin'Sai may be allowed to walk the world at any price, and no practice of the craft shall be able to determine whether the Jin'Sai's mate is with child. Only nature's way of revealing the answer shall be available to those who shall both worry, and wonder…' "
His mind stunned and drifting, Tristan slumped down into the chair. Finally, slowly, he looked over at the wizards. Their faces were very concerned.
"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" he breathed, scarcely able to get the words out. "We could have prevented this… That's why you were examining her, isn't it? You needed to see if she was carrying my child." He paused tentatively for a moment. "Is she-"
"We don't know," Wigg interrupted softly. "We only discovered this message in the scroll this morning, and then called for both of you straight away. It was the best we could do."
"But I thought the scrolls were only a compilation of Forestallment formulas," Tristan countered softly. "Do you mean to say that they speak of other things, as well?"
"Yes," Wigg answered. "The scrolls are much more than they appeared to be at first glance. Not only are they the repository of the Forestallment calculations, but they are informative, as well, much like the Tome of the Paragon."
"And you are unable to use your gifts to tell us if she is with child?" Tristan asked.
"That's right," Faegan answered. "It is just as the scroll said it would be. The only way we shall know is by the appearance of the traditional, natural signs. And that will take some time. I also regret to say that until Tristan's blood is somehow returned to normal, the two of you must refrain from physical intimacy. I'm sorry, but being of the craft sometimes also means making sacrifices. For now, that is how things must be."
Faegan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Aside from the impending arrival of Wulfgar, it now seems that our most pressing concern is the search to unravel the mystery surrounding Tristan's blood." Pausing for a moment, the brilliant wizard thought quietly.
"Who knew?" he asked. "Who knew that Tristan's answer to defeating the Coven of sorceresses-the only answer available to him, and achieved with such great self-sacrifice-would in turn somehow become the greatest, most dangerous riddle of the craft?"
Finally removing her hands from her face, Celeste looked out over the table. Tristan fully expected to see her eyes full of tears, but they weren't. Instead, a look of grim determination had overtaken her. Reaching out, she took both of Tristan's hands into hers and held them tight.
"There has to be a way to remedy this, and we shall find it," she said softly. Despite the gentleness of her tone, her voice carried so much weight that her words sounded like an oath. She looked deeply into Tristan's eyes.
"If I am carrying our child, we shall find a way to safely bring it into this world, regardless of what the scroll may say. I swear it to you, my love," she added.
Tristan tried to speak, but was so overcome he found he had no voice. Narrowing his eyes against the coming tears, he simply nodded.
Then the familiar, hated feeling for his azure blood crept up on him again.
He looked away for a moment, his jaw hardening. And now, it seemed, his blood had caused pain not only to Tristan, but to the woman he loved, and to the child she could be carrying.
His eyes full of tears, he took Celeste into his arms and held her for what seemed forever.
CHAPTER
Sixty-six
T he Minion warrior's name was Osiv, and as his strong wings carried him through the air, his sharp, dark eyes searched the ocean beneath him. About fifty meters away and matching his pace stroke for stroke flew Takir, his scouting partner. The midday sky was only partly cloudy, but heavier, darker clouds loomed to the east, directly across their flight path. Soon, Osiv knew, they would have to turn back to the scout ship from which they had come, empty-handed once again.
Looking down, all Osiv could see were the reaches of the Sea of Whispers. Five days had passed since the main body of their fleet had taken up its position off the coast and the scout ships had been sent on ahead. This was Osiv's and Takir's fourth such mission. They had come upon other vessels, to be sure, but none of them had proved to be slaver ships.
Just then Takir saw a lone frigate plowing her way due west. Running before the wind, she was making very good time. She carried no identifying flag. He signaled his find to Osiv, and the two warriors folded their wings behind their backs and rolled over into free fall, plummeting down to take a closer look.
As Osiv unfolded his wings to slow his descent and make a first pass over the frigate, he thought he must be seeing things. The ship seemed to be completely deserted. There were no sailors on her decks. Nor were there any to be seen in the rigging or in the crow's nest. Even the ship's wheel was unmanned. Still she plowed gamely on through the waves as if tended by the best of seamen, her course never varying.
Despite the fact that he was a Minion officer, Osiv felt a shiver go down his spine. A ghost ship. He had listened to stories about them all his life around Minion campfires, but had never dreamed he might actually see one. Only the graybeards among them had claimed seeing them. As he remembered their stories, one corner of his mouth turned up. As he had grown and become wiser, he had come to realize that the elders always told such stories, the next one always more improbable than the last.
Signaling to Takir, he indicated that they should investigate. Osiv drew his dreggan from its scabbard. Nodding, Takir did the same and warily followed him the rest of the way down.
Buffeting his wings, Osiv landed lightly, carefully, on the pitching stern deck. Takir came down next to him. Still the ship sailed obediently on. The masts and rigging swayed peacefully, and the hull groaned slightly in continual protest as she plowed her way along, the waves parting across her bow. Otherwise, no sound whatsoever came to their ears.
Then they heard a sharp banging noise and they spun around, dreggans held high.
But all they saw was an open stairway, its unsecured door swinging back and forth in the wind. A set of steps led down from the doorway, to the lower deck.