In fact, Chedan had not visited Ahtarra for many years, but the roads had changed little. Every other step he took was dogged by echoes of lost youth, lost love, lost lives…Chedan paused alongside the vine-draped northern wall of the new Temple. Hoping he was in the right place, he swept aside a handful of vines and found a side door. It opened easily enough. It was more difficult to close it again.
Inside it was dark, save for a faintly glowing line of stones in the floor that delineated the way through a narrow service corridor lined with unmarked doorways. Chedan was able to move along the path quickly, until he suddenly came to the low stone archway at its end.
I am getting too old for such shortcuts, the mage thought ruefully as he rubbed his head. I might have gotten there faster by the front door.
Beyond the archway was a cramped, vaulted chamber, lit by the glowing steps of a spiral stair. Chedan carefully ascended two flights and emerged through another arch to reach the common reading room, a broad pyramidal room almost at the top of the building. Designed to catch the maximum daylight, it was now almost entirely in shadow. Only a few reading lamps burned here and there.
Beneath one such glow, the Vested Guardian Ardral sat alone at a broad table, examining the contents of a wooden chest. Moving closer, Chedan could hardly see the tabletop for the clutter that covered it: tattered scrolls, fragments of inscribed stone tablets, and what looked like strings of colorful beads.
Ardral’s attention was bent upon the prize of the collection, a curious sort of long, narrow book made of bamboo strips sewn together with silken threads.
‘I didn’t know you had the Vimana Codex here,’ Chedan commented, but Ardral ignored the attempt at polite interruption.
With a grimace, the mage appropriated a small bench nearby and dragged it noisily to a spot beside Ardral. ‘I can wait,’ he announced.
Ardral looked up, with an outright grin. ‘Chedan,’ he said softly, ‘I really was not expecting you until—’
‘I know.’ Chedan looked away. ‘I suppose I should have waited, but I’ve just come from the council meeting.’
‘My condolences,’ Ardral interjected. ‘I hope I succeeded in providing everyone with whatever information they needed.’
‘I thought I saw evidence of your work,’ Chedan put in.
‘But I simply could not face another rehearsal of the inevitable platitudes.’
‘Yes, there was a lot of that. They’re afraid,’ said Chedan.
Ardral rolled his eyes. ‘Afraid they might remember why they still aren’t ready? This has been coming for a long time, nephew. And it’s just as Rajasta predicted – even if he was a little wrong about the date. With the best will in the world, in the Temple as on the farmstead, most people simply cannot go on year after year, looking for a way out of an impossible situation that fails to develop at the expected time! The urge to resume the routine of life—’ Ardral broke off. ‘Well there, you see, even I do it. Speaking of which, I have something put aside that you used to enjoy very much. Perhaps we could go solve the world’s problems in private, eh?’
‘I—’ Chedan blinked, then looked about the gloomy chamber…For a moment, seeing his uncle, he felt very young again. ‘Yes,’ he said, with a chuckle, and then a real smile. ‘Thank you, Uncle.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ Ardral approved, and standing up, proceeded to put the strange book into the wooden chest. ‘Just because eternity is trampling our toes, doesn’t mean we can’t live a little before—’ Locking the chest, he gave Chedan a wink. ‘We do whatever dance comes next.’
During Chedan’s last visit, Ardral had occupied a rather decrepit dormitory, some little distance from the temple. Now, as curator of the library, he had a spacious room within its very walls.
A fire blazed up in the hearth as they entered, or perhaps it had already been burning. Chedan glanced at the sparse but tasteful furnishings, while Ardral brought out two filigreed silver cups, and opened a black and yellow jar of honey wine.
‘Teli’ir?’ the mage exclaimed.
Ardral nodded. ‘I daresay there are no more than a dozen bottles in existence.’
‘You honor me, Uncle. But I fear the occasion will not be worthy of it.’ With a sigh, Chedan settled upon a cushioned couch.
In his uncle’s company, drinking teli’ir, it was almost as if the Bright Empire still ruled both horizons. Time had hardly passed at all. He was no longer the learned Chedan Arados, the great Initiate of Initiates, the one who was expected to set forth answers, solutions, hope. He could be himself.
Although the two had not been particularly close before the fall of the Ancient Land, Chedan had known Ardral all his life – indeed, years before he became an acolyte, his uncle had briefly been his tutor. Many years had passed since then, yet Ardral seemed no older. There were, no doubt, new lines and creases in the mobile, expressive face, and the shock of brown hair had faded and thinned…If Chedan looked closely, he could find such marks of age, but these slight details did not change his inner identity which had somehow remained exactly the same.
‘It is good to see you, Uncle,’ he said.
Ardral grinned and refilled their cups. ‘I am glad you got here,’ he answered. ‘The stars have not been reassuring for travelers.’
‘No,’ Chedan agreed, ‘and the weather is little better, though Tjalan tells me not to worry. But since you raised the subject, let me ask you – your head is always clear—’
‘For another moment only,’ Ardral joked, and quickly sipped more wine.
‘Hah!’ Chedan scoffed. ‘You know what I mean. You have never been one who is easily misled by presumptions or legends. You see only what is actually before you, unlike some – but never mind that.
‘Once, years ago,’ Chedan persisted, ‘you spoke to me of Rajasta’s other prophecies, and your own reasons for believing them. Have those reasons changed?…Have they?’ he repeated, leaning closer to his uncle. ‘No one living knows Rajasta’s works better than you.’
‘I suppose,’ said Ardral distantly, as he ate a bit of cheese.
Undeterred, Chedan continued, ‘Everyone else has focused on the tragic elements of the prophecy. The destruction of Atlantis, the inevitable loss of life, the slim chance of survival. But you if anyone understands the larger scale of the prophecy – what was, and what is, and—’
‘You are going to be a pest about this, aren’t you?’ Ardral growled, without his usual smile. ‘All right. Just this once, I will answer the question you cannot bring yourself to ask. And then we will put the matter aside, for this night at least!’
‘As you will, Uncle,’ said Chedan, as meekly as a child.
With a sigh, Ardral ran his fingers through his hair, further disarranging it. ‘The short answer is yes. It is as Rajasta feared. The inevitable is happening, and worse, it occurs under just the sort of conditions that give mediocre horologers fits. Bah. They’re so easily distracted from the many positive influences – it’s as if they want to think the worst. But yes, yes, we can’t deny it, Adsar the Warrior Star has definitely changed its course toward the Ram’s Horn. And this is precisely the alignment the ancient texts call the War of the Gods. But the ancients plainly do not say that such a configuration will mean anything to the mortal world! The usual human vanity. So predictable.’