“But the real question is: why should your Dreaming emerge now?”
Why indeed? I’d thought about this for the past several days: “Something triggered the connection, Sir—and it had to be from the other end. I did not—could not—consciously activate what I can’t control and don’t understand. I think it was the woman who sparked a response—and that could only be due to her possessing a similar ability that created a resonance between us, even at this great distance. That’s why I must find her. I have to know who I am and what I can do to make a difference. Otherwise, my existence is meaningless.”
“I see,” the Magister said. Then he sighed, long and loud. “Yet, my judgment remains the same: if the crisis will be as great as you claim, we need you here to cope with it—and to nurture the Queen. The needs of the many….”
“Yes, I know, Minister. I do appreciate your candor, Sir, and I understand your position; but in the end, I have to make my own decision, whatever the consequence. I’ll let you know what I intend to do after I have sufficient time to think on it.”
He gave me his blessing, and I returned home.
But in my heart, I’d already made my choice. I’d follow in the footsteps of my illustrious progenitor, and accomplish something significant with my life, instead of remaining a government functionary.
In my bedroom was a small alcove with a marble bust of Parakôdês. I lit the three candles—ebon, ivory, and emerald—that flanked his image, and bowed my head in respect. Then I spoke the words that my father the proud soldier had given me.
“I invoke the name of he who gave me flesh, faith, and foresight. Parakôdês of the Red-Lands, awake thou from thy sleep!”
The great bearded image shook itself slightly, straightened with a deep groan of stone, and then opened its eyes, in a startling, even blinding flash of blue-green. I avoided their twin gaze, as I’d been told.
“Is this my true path, o grandfather of my soul?” I asked.
“Yes, my brilliant son,” came the reply, a hollow, heavy, hissing sigh with overtones of the æther. “This is what you must do, both to save yourself, the world in which you dwell, and the greater sphere in which your orb is a mere pearl littered upon a beach of worlds. The ætherspace has begun to fracture, and only you can make it whole again.”
“But…but…why me? Why has this fallen to me, o Great Mage?” I suddenly felt overwhelmed by a burden that I neither desired nor felt capable of handling. I heard a small crack, and saw one ear flake from the bust.
“The son must rise to take his place in the cosmos,” he said. “You were born at this time to do this one thing, whatever else you might accomplish. No one else can do it for you.
“But remember, Oridión the Morpheús, that there is a price to be rendered for every action that we take, and you must ultimately pay the ferryman his token, just as I did so long ago. That is why we hypatomancers may not envision our own futures, lest we breach the line that is drawn in the sands of eternity to keep us sane.
“Go now, flesh of my flesh, and do what must be done. Find the Eggs and restore the balance that has been lost.”
“Eggs? What Eggs? Whatever are you talking about, Grandfather?” I was lost again in a mire of self-pity, trying to fathom what the old Mage was saying, and wondering how one man could do anything to save the entire cosmos. Another crack, and the back of the image’s head crumbled into dust.
“The four Eggs of the Elephant—you must find and control them to restore order to the shattered spheres. The First Egg will open the Way. The Second Egg will show you the Way. The Third Egg will find the Way. The Fourth Egg will make the Way One.”
“I don’t understand.” Grandfather’s nose dissolved into eternity in a puff of dust.
“The knowledge will come to you if you let it. When you need some answers, twice more you may call upon me, and twice more will I respond. But should you call my name a fourth time, I will come for you, my child, and that will be the end of it.”
And then he was gone, the statue disappearing like a breath that’s been held a very long time and is suddenly exhaled. Perhaps it was my breath, for I seemed to have difficulty of a sudden regaining my wind. Then I snuffed out the candles in reverse order, and hearing the barest click of claws on stone, suddenly pirouetted.
Scooter was watching me from the doorway, its small, bewhiskered head cocked to one side.
“You humans—always full of surprises,” it said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“‘THE OTHERWORLDS ARE NOT AT ALL WHAT YOU IMAGINE’”
I began making preparations for what I needed to do. I had the training and ability to seal my abode from every interference, both temporal and magical. Already I’d put in place a certain level of protection to preserve my privacy and possessions, some of which could have been dangerous in the wrong hands. No one could now enter my estate without my permission—and this was true even of the greatest Magi Magorum. But I went even further, and restricted access to my home to no one but myself and to those whom I permitted entrance, and even then, only with utterance of certain passwords and incantations. A magical seal of this type was almost impossible to penetrate, for it could be made to loop in upon itself, thereby increasing exponentially the energy required to break it.
I spent the next week doing those things that were necessary to prepare my house and life and laboratory for a prolonged absence. Just once was I called to Paltyrrha, and I dutifully reported to Her Majesty as required, and made those prognostications that were asked of me, politely and skillfully. The Queen was entirely satisfied, even if I wasn’t. I assiduously avoided engaging with anyone else at Court.
I also tried several times to contact the woman held captive in the Otherworlds, but without success. My dream-quests were equally fruitless—and Scooter discouraged me from continuing them, saying that my soul could easily be stolen from me, unless I was anchored to a waking reality.
But before I could proceed, I really needed more information about the Otherworlds, and the place to get it, I knew, was at the University of Julianople, my old Alma Mater. It’d been some years since my last visit—I marveled at the passage of time—and I found myself anticipating the journey with some excitement. Once again I left Scooter in charge of my home—there were things that it needed to do in my absence.
The great city of Julianople was dedicated by the Emperor Constantine i in the year 330, but it was his nephew, Julian i the Great, who built much of the edifice that we see today, making it the largest metropolis of the ancient world, with well over a million inhabitants at the time of its rechristening in the year 411 of the Christian Era. I’d spent six glorious years of my youth exploring its galleries and libraries and performance halls and architecture—and still I never touched more than a fraction of the whole. Who can forget the Bridge of Sighs or the Cathedral of Saint-Sophia or the Barrhônês Garden in the Autokratorial Palace? That time was the happiest of my life, I think.
The man I wanted to see was one of my old professors, Doctor Remírdas Árbogast, who’d been responsible for teaching that most dreaded of courses, Magical Philosophy. I remember suffering through that final exam, the worst I ever took, and having nightmares about it for years thereafter. There were nine students in that class. Three suffered breakdowns before the end of the term, two failed the course and had to retake it—one of them three times—and the other four, myself included, barely scraped by with passing grades.
But we learned—oh, did we learn! We learned about ethics and limits and choices and…so many different things. And we learned about