Voice of the Neopian Pound Circulation: 196,228,680 Issue: 900 | 1st day of Hunting, Y22
Home | Archives Articles | Editorial | Short Stories | Comics | New Series | Continued Series
 

The River that Flows Eternal


by movie138music

--------

PART 10: OUR FUTURE

     Jahbal stood on the balcony of his fortress, his gaze sweeping the snowstorm. Ice and snow were all that the Two Rings knew, here on this high peak. But there was no better place from which to survey his domain. His by rights—his by desire.

     He exhaled and smiled to see his own breath take shape in the cold air. He was alive once more. Sunnytown had been a small setback, yes, but that had only been a test of strength. Even that had nearly brought the jewel of this modern country to its knees. And Jahbal had spent the days since readying his power. On the morrow, his armies would march.

     The only wrinkle was that accursed mage. That traitor who still eluded him, even now. Jahbal spat into the snowdrifts piling up about the railing. Far below, down in that abandoned valley, lay a city he had once known. Perhaps, within those walls… Jahbal scowled. That was the one place his eye would never pierce—not with all the beasts and magic circles in the world. Even if she was there, it would do her no good. She was a relic. A worthless memory.

     Three familiar nuisances had entered the valley today. No doubt they would come greet him soon, laden with all their heroic deeds and dreams. Jahbal turned abruptly and shut the door. And before his great mind went on to other matters, he felt a passing twinge of irritation. Dreams? Only the weak could stoop to dreaming. What Jahbal wished for, he made his own.

     What he wished for…

     ———

     A new wind was blowing out of the north. Evett shivered. The infinite maze of streets passed by. The trio proceeded upward, moving more quickly now that they were protected from the curse. More and more ghosts emerged from the ruins, weeping and moaning in turns. But there was a certain poise to them—something in those formless outlines that recalled what Kal Panning had been. Evett wondered if he himself was among the crowd, or if he had already drifted far away to the cave that would become his refuge.

     “I don’t get it,” Rikti mumbled. “How did all this happen? How did Evett end up here? Why’s he a mage? What’s all this dissonance stuff, anyway?”

     Tylix gave a long sigh. “I think we’re going to find out soon. Though, somehow, I thought it would feel more satisfying.”

     “It’s not fair, is it,” said Rikti quietly, casting a glance at Evett. “After all this time…”

     The crack led them up to the highest quarter of the city. At last they came to a wide, low hill. Once there might have been fragrant grass and trees here, but now it was little more than exposed rock. The cracks ran up its sides, bisecting a crumbling staircase that wound its way to the top. Evett the others clambered up, stumbling on the chipped marble. Mist blocked their sight. The ghosts’ voices led the way.

     And then they reached the top: the palace of Kal Panning, the jewel in Neopia’s crown. Well, Evett assumed it must have been a palace once. Now it was a blighted wreck so complete in its downfall that the rest of the city looked whole by comparison. Everything had been blown away down to the very foundations. Destitute heaps of stone and brick were scattered in the dirt. Weather-beaten relics lay under the open air, giving up their ancient power day by day. Nothing was left of the soaring towers and splendid gardens that might have once adorned the fair capital of Neopia’s empire—nothing, save a single room.

     It had once been richly decorated, though that time was long gone. A few thin tapestries still hung from the ceiling. Half the roof was missing, and the few surviving pillars were left supporting nothing but blank fog and clouds. Sunbeams came through a glassless window high up on the sole remaining wall, illuminating a single ornate chair on the dais. It was the golden throne of Kal Panning. And seated on the throne, legs crossed decorously, was—Eleus Batrin.

     “Welcome,” he said. “You have had a long journey, visitors.”

     Evett, Tylix and Rikti stared back at him. With a short laugh, the Kyrii stood and inclined his head. “I suppose this weaponsmith’s form is no longer of use to me. I merely used it to win your trust. For I needed to ascertain your character, you see.”

     “Shouldn’t you have figured it out from all your spying?” said Rikti angrily. “You knew everything about the real Eleus and our journey. How long were you following us around, anyway?”

     “I only saw glimpses—bare hints given to me as I peered into the river of time. They were promising glimpses, but I did not know then whether I could lay my terrible burden on you. Age has made me cautious.” Eleus exhaled. “But I am settled. It is time.”

     The trio looked on in astonishment as Eleus’ body began to warp and shift. Slowly it reshaped itself into something quite different: a sky-blue Aisha, slender in appearance but holding herself tall and proud. Her cold eyes caught the light and shimmered. This was a great sorcerer, one with a presence that rivaled Jahbal’s. “My name is Faleinn. I am she of the Circle of Twelve. I was named the Witch of Dusk, the Shape-changer, the First Scribe. And, in latter days, the final bulwark against Jahbal. Do you know me now?”

     Tylix and Rikti’s jaws dropped. Rikti looked ready to stuff his foot in his mouth. “Uh—yes—erm, Your Majesty?”

     “Highness,” Tylix whispered urgently.

     Faleinn coughed and relaxed, though not entirely. “Well, enough with the pleasantries. Sit down, you three.” Saying so, she sat primly on the topmost step of the dais. Tylix and Rikti hovered uncertainly for a few seconds before sitting just below. Evett followed suit. He noticed that the ghosts were gathering around on the hill, peering silently into the throne room.

     “So you have grown acquainted with them,” said Faleinn. “Yes, I know them well. I am the reason they have become this way—that you have become this way,” she added, giving Evett a sideways glance. “I made a grave error, and everything that has happened since rests on my shoulders alone.”

     She closed her eyes briefly. “I come to you from the distant past to tell you what must be told. There is little time, but all the answers you seek are here. Let me show you what happened on the last day this city lived.”

     She made a smooth gesture. The scene around them vanished in a flash. Suddenly noise and color flooded Evett’s senses. He looked out upon Kal Panning—Kal Panning at war, a thousand years in the past. The throne room, its roof and pillars restored, was resplendent with banners and tapestries. Outside, Evett caught sight of gleaming metal spires mingling with thatched roofs under a cloudy sky. The snow-white wall, lined with catapults and crossbows, surrounded the city in flawless majesty. Neopets were everywhere: soldiers manning the walls, scouts flying about with messages and reports, ordinary folk scurrying to and fro on the ground. Kal Panning had the majesty of Neopia City; the wealth and vivacity of Sunnytown; even the brilliant spirit of the far-off future metropolis that Evett could no longer remember. Even in the midst of a hopeless war, it was a magnificent city.

     “I was never particularly skilled with illusions, not like some at the Temple of Roo,” said Faleinn. “But this will do.” She flicked her wrist. The scene began to move.

     A guard in yellow livery stepped into the illusionary throne room and made for a wide table in the corner, where several robed Neopians were gathered in discussion. One of them was a blue Aisha dressed in a simple gown. Her eyes glinted with the stern clarity of two brilliant crystals.

     “Your Highness,” said the guard, executing a quick bow. “The materials you asked for have been gathered. Is there anything else you need?”

     “No. We will begin this evening once preparations are complete.” Illusion-Faleinn looked tired, but she tucked her silver hair behind her ear and gave the guard an authoritative nod. “If all goes well, the war will be won before you know it.”

     “That’s wonderful, Your Highness. We’re all with you—everyone in Kal Panning. You’ve given us hope where Lord Rosval failed.”

     “Rosval?” Faleinn paused for a moment. If his words had stirred any emotion in her, she did not show it. “Indeed. How is the gate faring, captain?”

     “Repairs are proceeding apace. The enemy is still recovering from our last engagement. We have an excellent opportunity to re-fortify the entrance.”

     “Good. Dismissed.”

     The guard bowed again and left. Faleinn turned to her advisers and court mages. “Well? Time is short. We ought to start the preparations.”

     There was an excited chorus of murmurs. Some, though, were more hesitant. “My lady. Are you certain this will work?” asked one of the advisers.

     “You dare question our ruler?” shouted a hooded mage. “Her plan is flawless! Let it proceed.”

     “But the scholars all agree that traveling through time is impossible. We can think of a less risky alternative—”

     “What alternative?” said Faleinn softly. “Rosval is gone. The Twelve have fallen. The Temple of Roo is deserted—by our own hand. Xantan was the greatest warrior among us, and he left us long ago. Our strengths are falling away, one by one. How much loss has there been? How many allies have we abandoned in our quest for glory? We have fought for nigh on a decade with no victory in sight. The only way to stop Jahbal now is to go back in time and prevent his destiny.

     “For a single mage, yes, it is impossible. But this is a city of fifty thousand. Just a drop of energy from each of those souls is enough to power the spell. It will work. It must.” She turned and faced the advisers. “I am trained in matters of state, not warcraft. But I will do anything I can to protect those in my care. That is my decision.”

     Though her tone was austere, Evett could feel the intensity in her voice and gestures. She cared deeply, desperately, for the city Rosval had left her. Her advisors sensed it as well. The mage who had spoken bowed, signaling his agreement. Swiftly the others went to work sketching magic circles, bringing in carts full of strange chemicals and jewels, even chanting at the walls. Faleinn oversaw the chaos, calling out instructions.

     “Perhaps that afternoon would have been better spent in the streets of the city, seeing it all one last time,” said the real Faleinn, staring at the illusion with an unreadable expression. “But of course I did not guess what lay in store. It happened just as we were beginning the ritual.”

     The scene changed to evening. Waning sunlight glinted off the spires like flame. Outside, the crowds in the city showed no sign of thinning; the air was buzzing with chatter and the clanking of armor. The throne room was still in an uproar. A circular slab of wood had been brought in, etched with an elaborate magic circle. Faleinn was inspecting each line and stroke carefully. Mages hurried in with torches that burned a luminescent blue. Workers were draping the walls in heavy black fabric adorned with more mystical sigils.

     “Your Highness!” called a soldier. “We’ve placed the boundary gems around the island. Will that do?”

     “Good. That will keep the spell contained. Mages!” Faleinn clapped her hands and waited for the room to quiet. “Is everything else in order?” Nods and murmurs of assent. “Then let us begin.”

     Now that it had come to it, an apprehensive silence fell. Only Faleinn seemed confident. The court mages gathered around the wooden circle, each grasping one of the unearthly blue torches. Faleinn stood in the center. She halted there for a moment with her eyes closed—remembering better days, perhaps, before the Circle of Twelve in all its finery had been shattered. But the moment of hesitation passed. Faleinn gritted her teeth. Twin bolts of magic appeared in her outstretched palms and shot into the wood. As one, the symbols carved in it began to shine.

     Magic radiated over Kal Panning, like a shimmering golden web. And from the citizens down below came an answer: tiny pinpricks of multicolored light floating into the sky. “It’s working,” shouted one of the advisers. “The spell is working!” Faleinn said a few words under her breath. The light began to spiral inward, racing towards the palace. The gathered mages waited with anticipation. But then—

     A great tumult arose from the wall. Shouts and horn blasts rang out. Just beyond the wall, appearing out of nowhere, was an army. “Your Highness—it’s the enemy! They’ve come!”

     “It can’t be,” an adviser cried. “We dealt him a blow not two weeks ago. Surely he lacks the strength to muster his army again so soon!”

     A scout rushed in. “It’s a small force, but Jahbal himself is at the head. He used his own magic to shield the monsters from our sight!” she reported. “The gate cannot stand against them! What should we do, Your Highness?!”

     “Jahbal—is here?” said Faleinn, her breath coming in gasps. The circle was flickering. Magic filled the air with such intensity that, even as a mere illusion before Evett’s eyes, it was almost palpable. “That is not possible. He would not risk exposing himself. Not unless—“

     “—he knew what you were planning.” The hooded mage, hitherto unnoticed, raised his torch high and spoke in a booming voice. “Yes, Faleinn, your council was breached by us long ago. Lord Jahbal sees your mind, and has summoned all his strength to defeat you. Now… let the true king of this land be known!” Blue flame leaped from the torch in every direction. Guards rushed forth and pinned the treacherous mage to the ground, but it was too late. The rafters were set ablaze; the black tapestries on the walls withered and burned. Horrified voices filled the room.

     A tongue of flame struck the slab of wood. Faleinn doubled over in pain, but she could not move from where she stood. “Stop… stop…” Light flashed and flickered beneath her. Something was changing.

     Suddenly a loud crash echoed from outside. The ground shook. Shadows were pouring into the streets. “The gate!” shouted the scout. “It’s fallen! Jahbal’s entered the city!”

     “No,“ murmured Faleinn in her panic. “The spell will be… I can’t…!”

     Her voice was labored. The fire was eating away at the circle, bit by bit. Every new burn made her gasp in agony. The circle was glowing more and more fiercely. Magic from all over the city was pouring into it. There was no reversing a spell of this magnitude.

     Minutes passed with furious speed. Battle was raging all over Kal Panning. The defenders fought hard, but they could not repel the tide of beasts. And then came Jahbal, bringing towers to their knees with one blow from his talons. He was destruction given form. It would take the generals an hour at least to regroup and launch a counterattack, recouping whatever losses they could. It was the desperate strategy they had used all these years. But Faleinn knew that even an hour was too long now.

     “A whole sigil is gone!” cried one of the mages, limping desperately to her side. “Your Highness, the magic is out of control! We must do something—with this much energy, you will—”

     The wall behind them exploded. Stones flew through the air, burying the throne room in a deafening commotion. The already-burning roof groaned and collapsed. Dust rose from the ashes in a bitter cloud. When the noise quieted, after what seemed like an eternity, there was nothing left. Only Faleinn, raising her arms at the last moment to defend herself, was left standing amid the blazing rubble. Below her were the remains of the magic circle, shining more strongly than ever. She bent over, shaking, struggling to regain her composure. For a while there was no sound but her strained breathing. Then with a sudden motion she righted herself and lifted her head as if nothing had happened. For at that moment came striding out of the darkness a broad-shouldered Eyrie in gleaming armor. Evett recognized his piercing green eyes immediately.

     “Good, you’re here,” he said in that silky voice. But it was tinged with unmistakable alarm; he was out of breath. He knew he had narrowly averted his own demise. “Time travel? Really, Faleinn? After all the centuries I’ve known you, I never thought you’d stoop so low.”

     “It would have worked,” Faleinn said. She was exhausted, hardly able to stand, but her voice was iron. The fear and desperation were nowhere to be seen now. “But you, Jahbal, are a fool.”

     “You gambled on an old wives’ tale and paid the price of your naivete. I fail to see how this is my fault, old friend.”

     “I never said it was.” Faleinn’s lips twitched into a wan smile. “Jahbal. You have about a minute left, I think. If you leave now, the World may be spared.”

     “—What are you talking about? I’m in no mood to bargain.”

     “Let me be plain,” she said in a patient voice. “I powered this spell with a sliver of energy from every living thing in Kal Panning. That would have been enough to travel back, oh, a year or so. A ripple in the river, but a small one. Yet the spy you placed in my court wisely decided to destroy part of the circle. It is out of balance, gathering energy beyond my or anyone’s control. Furthermore, you—the strongest mage to ever grace this continent—are here, along with thousands of your demented creatures. The energy within range of my spell has increased a hundred times over. Do you understand, Jahbal? This will create a dissonance.”

     Jahbal understood. His face turned purple with rage. “Was this your plan?” he roared. “To risk time itself just for a chance to best me? I don’t believe it. I refuse to believe it!” But then he stooped to the ground. He was losing energy too, and quickly. There was an audible buzzing in the air. Something was about to snap.

     “Of course it was not my plan,” she said calmly. Her voice was very distant. “As always, you were the disruption. It seems this is the end.”

     “The end? Ridiculous!” Jahbal croaked. He was crawling towards her, a crazed look in his eyes. “A dissonance is—is but a pittance to me. Just a quirk in the books of those blasted scholars. Your absurd schemes will come to nothing!”

     His talons sank into the charred wood. His eyes met Faleinn’s. She gazed down at him. There they were, the last of the great sorcerers, alone in a bleak and empty ruin. Floating above them was a vile cloud of magic: the collected energy of everyone in Kal Panning, down to the very bones. Everything had been taken. Nothing was left. No armies battled for dominance at the gate; no monsters scaled the walls to duel with their sharp spears; no Neopians fled down the wide streets or hid in their little homes. Even the blue flames had gone out, their vitality sapped at the spell’s command.

     “Remember when we first came here all those centuries ago?” said Faleinn finally. “The twelve of us. We were just wandering the forest, fresh off our latest victory, and we stumbled upon this beautiful place. And I called it—”

     “Yes, yes, the Valley of Song,” hissed Jahbal, his voice dry and bare. “You and your ridiculous sentimentality.”

     Faleinn ignored him. The cloud was coming closer, descending in a spiral towards its keeper. She stood unbowed. “The Valley of Song. Because you could always hear something—the trees rustling, the water lapping on the shore, the wind rushing over the grass. The music of the World. Do you remember that day?”

     “This is not over, Faleinn. I will return—”

     He took a shuddering breath. Night had finally fallen. For the first time in all the years Faleinn had known it, since that far-off day when the great capital had been founded and all the legends had sprung to life, the valley was silent.

     “Do you remember, Jahbal?”

     The silence grew into a chasm.

     “…Yes.”

     A piercing sound, like wind coming through a tiny crack, rose into the sky. All at once, the magic rushed into Faleinn. Fissures shot through the earth. Jahbal was gone, his unbodied spirit fleeing back to the safety of the Two Rings. His magic had been stolen from him; never again, not even after a thousand years, would he recover the strength that had made him great. The ground shook. Everything was compressing down to a single point. The lives of thousands—no, tens of thousands—were bound up in Faleinn’s palm. A blinding light flashed once, twice, like lightning with no thunder to follow it. Then, finally, the magic circle burst into pieces. Faleinn fell down on her knees, crumpling like wet parchment in a storm. Then she vanished from sight. The scene went dark.

     Evett blinked. He was sitting in the ruins again—the real ruins, the millennium-old husk of that once-dazzling throne room. It was still light out. The mournful ghosts stood outside, peering in blankly.

     “That’s a brief summary,” said the present Faleinn. “I hope it served you well.”

     Evett had expected to feel something. Some sort of memory, some cobwebbed emotion. After all, this place was where he had lived his life. He had spent his days here, laughing and crying with family and friends, enjoying the plain existence of an average Neopian. He had witnessed the fateful day of its destruction. But there was nothing stirring in him now except loss. His past was gone into the abyss of millennia.

     “It doesn’t make sense,” said Rikti in a small voice. “What’s a dissonance, anyway? And what’s happened to Evett? Erm, Your Highness.”

     “I could explain,” she said. “But I think your bright little friend already knows.”

     Rikti and Evett looked in surprise at Tylix, whose face was pale. “I saw it,” he said. “I had a dream a few nights ago. It wasn’t like the visions I used to have… I saw the river of time itself.”

     Faleinn looked at him appraisingly. “Visions? So you are a natural seer. That is a rare gift.”

     Tylix turned pink. “O-oh, it’s nothing, Your Highness. With all the time travel, it’s stopped working, anyway. But this one was different.”

     He furrowed his brow. “There was a great disturbance in the water, like throwing a rock into a pool. That must have been Lady Faleinn’s spell. All the cursed Neopians were droplets splashing up from the surface. Most of them came back down and faded away, but there was one that survived by chance. It wandered here and there, drifting all alone, into a distant world far beyond ours.” He gave Rikti a grim look. “See? This is Evett’s home. He’s from the past, not the future.”

     Rikti was dumbfounded. “No way. So that’s why he’s becoming a ghost…?” He clutched Tylix’s arm as if to shake the answers out of him. “How did he end up here? Is that the dissonance?”

     Evett was too drained to think. He was tired of answers. But Tylix went on. “It’s like the book in Tower Gaia said: dissonances are great sins against the music of the World, and the World punishes them. Faleinn’s spell must have been a great sin. Evett living for thousands of years might have been another. So him coming here would be the punishment. Why, I don’t know.”

     “You are quite right.” Faleinn leaned forward. “In that single second when Kal Panning was destroyed, I saw the river of time much as you described it. I saw its shape as it traveled into the future. I understand little of that era, but it is one where our magic does not exist.”

     “Ah, right, Evett talked about that before,” said Rikti. “He says he’s got faeries, or something.”

     “Indeed. The nature of magic will change. It is the gift of Neopets alone: when they forget it, its very potency will wither. Even my curse, powerful as it is, will lose its grip. The World will be imbued with new powers that we know not. And a single Lupe, the last living thing still tainted by the old ways, will come into contact with them.”

     “The paint brush,” Evett muttered in disbelief.

     Faleinn shrugged. “The wonders of your time are beyond my understanding. But that meeting of old and new—the primal energies of this planet—is impossible. It is the utmost contradiction of the passage of time. Though the World had hitherto overlooked the small fact of your existence, that dissonance was enough to cause a reaction. It flung you into the past; the exact year was of no concern, so as long as you were no longer a thorn in its side. And it began to strip the future away from you.”

     Strip the future away. So this was his natural state, then. He was to become a faceless void, a creature of mist haunting the wind. How much longer did he have? When would the World make its final pronouncement of doom?

     “But he can do magic,” said Rikti. “Really well, too. Did the capital-W World arrange that?”

     “If I may guess, it was always there,” said Faleinn. “Kal Panning in its last years was a city at perpetual war. All who could learn were instructed in magic. You see, even before I arrived, they were already prepared to sacrifice everything on the altar of hope.” She chuckled. It was a hollow sound that rang over the shattered rocks. “Evett, you were already capable of magic before your journey through time. But you had not used it or even thought of it in many years, I imagine. When the World acted, it corrected this. But it is a blunt instrument with limitless strength, attempting to balance a dissonance of millennia. Your power now is the result.”

     “So it really was just luck,” said Evett. He had gone numb. It was all too much. He was just the World’s plaything after all. Afraid of his own shadow, helpless to decide his own fate. That was how it had always been. Every time he had risen to fight evil, it had been for the sake of his home and his friends. But who was he? What did he want? What did he dream of, if not a life like any other?

     Faleinn went on. “But now let me finish my tale. As you surmised, Tylix, I too am a dissonance. My spell gave me power beyond even my ability to contain. I saw the river, but I did not know where to go. I was loath to wreak further havoc on it. And I could do little, for the World would surely correct itself and send me back before long. Then—I saw you three.”

     “Us?” said Rikti, perplexed.

     “Yes. There was a single point in the river that looked strangely uncertain. A rock wedged in the stream, speaking metaphorically. The water was muddied, and many paths split from it. I looked, and I saw for a brief moment your meeting with Eleus Batrin. Your battle with Xantan—“ she made a complicated face “—and with Korabric of the Institute. And I perceived that I was not the only ripple. There was hope that others could right my wrongs.

     “This is the crucial moment, you see. The natural fate of this era was ordained by the World: a time where Jahbal plunges Neopia into ruin, a time where the survivors claw their way back up to civilization, a time where they live in peace and forget the struggles of their ancestors. But our meddling has erased all the old possibilities. If you defeat Jahbal, the ruin long foretold may be averted.”

     They all met her gaze, even Evett. He had to fight. There was nothing new about that. He was resigned to it, one way or another. And he did love this world, whether it was his or not. That, at least, was something he could take pride in.

     “What about you?” Rikti protested. “—Your Highness, I mean. Will you help us? Last time we faced Jahbal, we could barely keep up with him.”

     “Because you only know of his legend. Yes, he was an invincible terror once. But now he is but a fragment, a ghost like all the rest who has clawed his way back to some semblance of form. You need not fear him, so long as you are daring. He is arrogant—it was his strength, and it will be his downfall.” She tilted her head back, lost in an old memory. “As for me… it took everything I had to reach this time. I am resisting the World’s efforts to remove me even now. In my current state, a mere gust of wind could erase me. And once I have finished this little chat… it will. I shall return to my era, and succumb to the same fate that befell Kal Panning. That doom is certain.”

     “No…” said Tylix. “You’re the last of the Twelve. One of the great…” But then he trailed off. Maybe he was remembering Erick.

     Faleinn’s face softened imperceptibly as she looked over them. “Great? Do you think so? I would have said the same once. Standing on this dais, seeing a crowd of upturned faces, I would have believed in my strength. But greatness means nothing. Long life, wisdom, a blessed fate—all of it burned to ash. We trampled Neopia underfoot, and we betrayed its trust. Fools, every last one of us.”

     “But you were heroes! We still remember you!“ Rikti burst out, forgetting his manners again.

     “A hero need not be great. The hearts of the small, the simple bonds you share, are enough. That was all that my companions and I had, long ago. But we were destined to walk the path we did, until the bitter end.” Faleinn stood and bade them stand as well. She descended to the same step they were on. Her cool, dignified gaze met them directly. It seemed to penetrate into their very souls. “Luck chose you all, not destiny, and that is the greatest gift of all.”

     Though kind, her voice was terrifying in its sternness. Evett understood why Faleinn, of all the Circle of Twelve, had been the one to survive. Not with a hundred armies could Jahbal take Kal Panning; for its queen would never submit, even after a thousand years had crumbled it to dust. This cursed land itself was a testament to her iron will.

     “There is little I can do for you now, but I will give you the last of my power. With it, the shades of Kal Panning will come to your aid when you call for them. Use it when you have need.” She lifted her palm. It gave off a soft golden glow.

     Trading a glance, the three friends reached out and took her hand. Power flowed into them. Rikti gasped. Evett’s fur stood on end. These were the souls of his compatriots; these were their wishes for victory, preserved just as they had been on that lone-gone day. For a moment, the throne room was as warm and bright as the fragment of memory that Faleinn had brought to life.

     The light faded. Faleinn let out a sigh and stood slowly to her full height. Evett realized with a start that she was disappearing. The World was correcting its errors. She looked old, unutterably old, but her radiance was undiminished.

     “What a shame,” she said. “In my heart of hearts, I always hoped I would be the one to land the last blow on Jahbal. That old imbecile.”

     Tylix and Rikti got up hurriedly and bowed. Evett merely looked on. Faleinn was great, no matter what she said. She was a singular existence that would surely never come again. With her, the last living memory of the Old Times—of Evett’s past—would be gone. He loathed and revered her. Why couldn’t this final memory have been his family… his home… his life in the future? Why this, at the end of all his struggles?

     Faleinn surveyed the room with the same regal gaze she had given Jahbal. “I am the root of your troubles,” she said softly to Evett. “I will not ask for your forgiveness. After all, your sacrifice brings with it the chance for something brighter than what any of us, and even the World, could imagine. The Old Times are over, young ones. You must be the ones to lay them to rest.”

     She closed her eyes and vanished. There was no farewell. Tylix started forward, a shout on his lips, but only the dead air and the empty throne answered. Faleinn was gone.

     “…That was really her, wasn’t it,” said Rikti, with a feeble laugh. “The Faleinn. If only the real Eleus could’ve seen it.” His voice sounded oddly loud in the silence.

     “What do we do now?” asked Tylix.

     Evett finally got to his feet and squinted out over the hill. The sun had sunk into the clouds, and a gloomy dusk had settled. “Let’s go. We’ve got everything we came for.” And, keeping his eyes on the decrepit towers and spires, he began the long walk to the gate.

     The others followed uncertainly. Silently, with dread and conviction mingling in their hearts, they passed out of the palace. The ghosts of the city followed them as far as they could, shielding them from the lingering curse. They were soldiers and warriors; children and elders; farmers, scholars, shopkeepers. Evett would have been one of them, if not for the twists of fortune. But he sensed no grudge or resentment now, only a small measure of pity. They felt his pain.

     Evett went down the wide boulevard and over the bridge. The moon was a sliver hanging in the night sky. Its faint glimmer reflected off the lake, never disturbing its tranquil surface. Behind them, Kal Panning returned to its eternal slumber. Someday far from now it would tumble down at last, and the spirits of its last defenders would fade into nothingness. But their land would remain, come what may—their hope would remain.

     The three heroes made camp in the reeds by the lake shore. They had returned to the land of the living. The trees rustled; the wind whistled over the grass. So this was the music of the World.

     Evett stayed awake for a while, watching the stars with Rikti and Tylix beside him. What a beautiful night. This was Neopia, the Neopia he loved.

     A voice rang out in a soft melody. “The days and nights pass by like rain, the river meets the shore. Now turn them back to springs and mist…”

     “To waters known no more,” Tylix finished. His mouth twitched into a smile. “In a singing mood again?”

     “I always am,” Rikti returned. “Songs make the bad times good, and the good times better.”

     “And which one are we in now?” said Evett.

     “Either. Both, I guess.” Rikti took in the night sky wistfully. He hummed for a bit, but gradually the tune died down. “Hey, Evett, remember that time we camped outside Neopia City? When you made the campfire and we looked at the sky, just like this. We were just starting out back then.”

     “Yeah.” It seemed like a century had passed since then. “That was before I realized what I was. What I wanted. What… everything would be like.”

     Tears came to his eyes. “I hated you both back then,” he said. “I wasn’t like you. I didn’t have a goal, or anything I cared for. I never wanted to ask myself what it was I wanted…” Suddenly the dam broke. He was crying. He curled up and let the tears fall, not caring to hold them in anymore. He was driftless, homeless, not belonging even to the World itself. Everything he called his own was an invention of a ghostly hermit in a cave. It didn’t matter—it didn’t matter anymore, but he couldn’t help this one final moment of self-pity.

     Amid his sobs, he heard Rikti’s clear voice. “I didn’t want to save the world either, you know.”

     Evett and Tylix couldn’t resist a laugh. “What? Come on.”

     “I thought I did, back when you met me. I was ready to abandon my family, throw caution to the wind, win glory on the battlefield. But it was all for a dream I didn’t even understand.” Rikti looked at Tylix, then Evett. “I understand it now. I changed. We all did—we chose to fight, simple as that. We chose each other.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an alarmingly dirty handkerchief. “Here, use this.”

     Evett took it gratefully and blew his nose. Tylix patted him on the back. “There. Get some rest, okay? You’ll look awful in the morning if you keep this up.”

     Ritki groaned. “You sound just like Mokti. He’ll never let me hear the end of this.” But he was grinning despite himself.

     They all shared a look between them, and then chuckled a bit. “Good night,” said Evett. “You’d better sleep well too, got it?”

     “Sure, sure. Good night.”

     “Good night!”

     Tylix and Rikti pulled their blankets over their heads and fell asleep quickly. Their faces looked so peaceful. With all the worries of the waking world stripped away, they looked like the innocent children they were.

     Evett was left by himself. His tears dried. He listened to his friends’ slow breathing, mixed in with the breeze. This too was the music of the World.

     Promise me you’ll look after him. The words floated into his head unbidden. He could answer them now, proudly.

     “I will,” he said aloud. “I chose to fight.” Faleinn’s spell had separated him from his home; the World’s design had brought him to this time; but he alone had decided the path he walked now. He had one day to end this. One day to laugh in the face of a thousand curses. One day to use up everything the World had given him. Tomorrow was his own.

     “Tomorrow,” he sighed, and for once the thought gave him not only fear but also a sense of light-headed contentment. For the sake of the past where he had arisen—for the sake of the future he would no longer inherit—for the sake of all times and all worlds, he would face Jahbal and bring him low.

     ———

     Somewhere else, a thousand years away, an Aisha lay on the shattered remains of a wooden slab. Kal Panning had been destroyed seconds ago. There was no one left to send her off.

     She coughed and forced herself to sit up. She owed it to the city to see it one last time. It was much as she had expected. The debris was new, not worn and weathered like it would be a millennium from now, and it looked all the worse. Already she heard the voices of the cursed.

     Nothing, not even the World, could reverse a spell. Kal Panning would always be a ruin. Though she was not given to regret and sorrow, she allowed herself now to mourn. She had failed. The Circle of Twelve had placed its trust in her, and she had failed. The generations to come would never know what she had done, but it was a crime for which she could not atone. So passed the deeds of the great.

     The river of time lay in the hands of those three heroes. She relinquished her grip on it. Placing her head on a nearby rock, she felt strangely peaceful. Not once had she rested all these years. It seemed the World was kind enough to grant her a final moment of contemplation.

     The stars were out—the same stars that Evett would admire a thousand years hence. Faleinn willed her eyes to stay open and take in the sight. The old era was ending. Let its shadow never haunt the days to come.

     To be continued…

 
Search the Neopian Times




Other Episodes


» The River that Flows Eternal
» The River that Flows Eternal
» The River that Flows Eternal
» The River that Flows Eternal
» The River that Flows Eternal
» The River that Flows Eternal
» The River that Flows Eternal
» The River that Flows Eternal
» The River that Flows Eternal



Week 900 Related Links


Other Stories




Submit your stories, articles, and comics using the new submission form.