In the Cathedral, the Keepers of the Soul, the Book, and the Door all gathered together before the altar of Krenka-Anris to pray.
Now the rain began, slanting from the dark clouds like spears thrown by a fearsome army. Hailstones large as the head of a soldier’s mace pelted the Cathedral’s glass dome. “Krenka-Anris,” prayed Soul, “hear our—”
A cracking sound—loud and violent, like the blast of a pyrotechnic display—split the air. Door gasped. Book flinched. The Keeper of the Soul, shaken, halted in mid-prayer.
“The souls in the garden are highly agitated,” said the Keeper.
Though the souls themselves were not visible to the eye, the leaves of the trees trembled and quivered. Petals were shaken from the flowers.
Another crack, sharp, ominous.
“Thunder?” ventured the Keeper of the Door, forgetting—in his fear—that he was not to speak unless spoken to.
The Keeper of the Soul rose to his feet and looked through the crystal window into the garden. With an incoherent cry, he staggered backward, grasping at the altar for support. The other two hastened to his side.
“What is it?” Book asked, her voice nearly failing her.
“The ceiling!” Soul gasped, pointing. “It is starting to break!”
They could all see the crack now, a jagged line, slanting like lightning, cutting through the crystal dome. As they watched, the crack grew longer, wider. A piece of glass broke loose, fell into the garden with a crash.
“Krenka-Anris, save us!” Book whispered.
“I do not think we are the ones she is saving,” said the Keeper of the Soul. He was suddenly extremely calm. “Come. We must leave, seek shelter in the rooms underground. Quickly, now.” He left the altar, headed for the door. Book and Door hastened behind, practically tripping on his heels.
Behind them, they could hear the shattering of more falling glass, the splintering of the great trees sheltered beneath the dome.
The Keeper of the Soul rang the bell that called the Kenkari together for prayer—except that this time he called them together for action.
“The great dome is being split asunder,” he told his shocked followers. “There is nothing to be done to save it. This is the will of Krenka-Anris. We have been told to seek shelter. The matter is out of our hands. We have done what we could to help. Now we must pray.”
“What did we do to help?” the Keeper of the Door whispered to the Keeper of the Book as they hastened after Soul down the stairs leading to the underground chambers.
The Keeper of the Soul, overhearing, looked around with a smile. “We helped a lost man find a dog.”
The storm grew more and more fierce. All knew now that Arianus was doomed.
And then the tempest ended with the same suddenness with which it had begun. The dark clouds vanished, as if sucked through a gigantic open doorway. Solarus returned, dazzling the dazed elves with its bright light.
The Kenkari emerged from below ground to find the Cathedral completely and utterly destroyed. The crystal dome was shattered. The trees and flowers inside were cut to ribbons by shards of glass, buried beneath hailstones.
“The souls?” asked the Keeper of the Door, awed, stunned.
“Gone,” said the Keeper of the Book sadly.
“Free,” said the Keeper of the Soul.
Appendix I
Being a Concise History of the Seventh Gate, the Sundering, and the Tragic Downfall of the Sartan in the New Worlds compiled by Alfred Montbank
Author’s Note: I wish to gratefully acknowledge the assistance of those Sartan who were witnesses to the events I have endeavored to record in this monograph. Their help and candor have been invaluable.
“We each have within ourselves the ability to shape our own destinies. That much we understand. But, more important, each of us has an equal ability to shape the destiny of the universe. Ah, that you find more difficult to believe. But I tell you it is so. You do not have to be the leader of the Council of Seven. You do not have to be elven king or human monarch or the head of a dwarven clan to have a significant impact on the world around you.
“In the vastness of the ocean, is any drop of water greater than another?
“ ‘No,’ you answer, ‘and neither has a single drop the ability to cause a tidal wave.’
“ ‘But,’ I argue, ‘if a single drop falls into the ocean, it creates ripples. And these ripples spread. And perhaps—who knows—these ripples may grow and swell and eventually break foaming upon the shore.’
“Like a drop in the vast ocean, each of us causes ripples as we move through our lives. The effects of whatever we do—insignificant as it may seem—spread out beyond us. We may never know what far-reaching impact even the simplest action might have on our fellow mortals. Thus we need to be conscious, all of the time, of our place in the ocean, of our place in the world, of our place among our fellow creatures.
“For if enough of us join forces, we can swell the tide of events—for good or for evil.”
The above is a portion of a speech made to the Council of Seven in the days just prior to the Sundering, shortly after the creation of the Seventh Gate. The speaker was an elder Sartan of great wisdom. His true Sartan name may not be given here, since he is still alive and I do not have his permission to reveal it. (His permission cannot be obtained, because he has tragically lost all memory of what he was.) We know him now as Zifnab.
In the remainder of the speech, the elder Sartan—who was formerly Councillor before Samah—goes on to argue passionately against the proposal to sunder the world. Many of the Council members who heard him that day remember being deeply moved by his speech, and more than a few were starting to waver in their decision.
The Head of the Council, Samah—having listened with cold politeness—spoke afterward. Samah portrayed in vivid detail the rising power of the Patryns, how they had taken over mensch kingdoms, how they were raising armies with the intent to conquer and overthrow the Sartan.
The Council members recall being elevated by the elder Sartan’s image of the world and terribly frightened by Samah’s. Needless to say, fear won out over what Samah termed “worthy but impractical idealism.” The Council voted to proceed with the Sundering, the capture and incarceration of their enemies.
Were the Patryns actually plotting to conquer the world?
We have no way of knowing for certain, since—unlike the Sartan—no Patryns remain alive from that period in time. Knowing the nature of sentient beings, I think it quite probable that Samah had his counterpart on the Patryn side. We have some indication of this in the later portion of the elder Sartan’s speech, in which he refers to a now forgotten Patryn leader by name and urges the Council to consider negotiating with this person, rather than fighting.
Perhaps negotiation would have been impossible. Perhaps war between the two powerful forces was inevitable. Perhaps just as much or more destruction and suffering would have come from such a war as from the Sundering. Those are questions to which we will never know the answers.
Having made its decision, the Council was faced with a monumental task, the working of magicks the likes of which had never been seen before in the universe.
First, the Council created a headquarters, an actual structure with a physical presence in the world. This is the room I knew later as the Chamber of the Damned. Samah referred to this room as the Seventh Gate, after the plan proposed by himself for the re-creation of the world, a plan which would in later days be reduced to a meaningless litany.
The Earth was destroyed.
Four worlds were created out of the ruin. Worlds for ourselves and the mensch: Air, Fire, Stone, Water.