Franklin came forward to study Gloria’s letters, corrected one piece of punctuation, altered one word. The memmers gathered around, nodding as they proofread. Once they all agreed on the precise formula and the arcane words, they handed the paper to Nicci.
As she scanned the spell, most of the words were mere gibberish to her. “Nathan might be better informed than I.” She tucked the paper into the fold pocket of her dress, then extended a finger, scolding the memmers. “Ransack all the knowledge inside you. Find some way that we can fix the damage Victoria has caused.”
* * *
From the window alcove on the outer side of the plateau wall, Nicci gazed across the tortured valley, where a crimson sunset deepened like the blood of the sacrifices Victoria had shed. She had given the written spell to Nathan, who read with great eagerness, then deep concern.
“This is every bit as bad as I anticipated. Perhaps worse. The power invoked comes from a language even older than High D’Haran. It will be difficult for us to find a magic powerful enough to overturn it.”
“Richard did not send us out to solve simple problems,” Nicci pointed out.
“Of course. I just wanted you to appreciate the magnitude of the challenge.”
As the red-gold rays of dusk fell over the broad valley, she concentrated on the swarming forest at its core, the primeval jungle that glowed an unhealthy green.
Drawn by the view as well, Bannon joined her, gazing out with a forlorn expression. “First, all life was draining away in the world, and now there’s an unstoppable flood of life. How do we fight it?”
“We will find a way,” Nicci said. “And then I myself will destroy the woman who calls herself Life’s Mistress.”
“I want to do something, too,” Bannon said. “You and Nathan can study all the books to look for a solution. You both understand the magic and can read mysterious languages, but I’m just waiting here, feeling useless. Like I was when we waited for a weapon against the Lifedrinker.” He sighed in obvious frustration. “You admitted that I can be useful, Sorceress. Isn’t there something I could do?”
“Help the farmers harvest crops. Tend the flocks, work the orchards,” Nicci suggested. “Learn a skill, perhaps as a carpenter.”
Anger flashed across his face. “That’s not what I mean! There’s got to be some way to save Audrey, Laurel, and Sage.” His face was wrenched with helplessness. “I love them.”
“And they are hungry for you. Remember what they did to Simon.”
His expression grew steely. “We need to understand what is happening out there, Sorceress. You know I can handle myself. I’m going to go on a scout, and I’ll come back and tell you what I see.”
“That’s a foolish risk,” Nicci said.
“You’ve called me a fool before! I want to do this. Don’t try to stop me.”
“I cannot stop you, Bannon Farmer, but if you are going to expose yourself to such great and unnecessary danger, at least make certain you return with valuable information.”
He lifted his chin, relieved that she didn’t argue with him further. “I will.”
Looking long and hard at him, Nicci added in a softer voice, “And be careful.”
CHAPTER 63
Being surrounded by so many books and so much knowledge usually exhilarated Nathan. The secrets and stories contained in those soft, well-worn volumes had made his centuries of captivity a little more tolerable in the Palace of the Prophets. The Sisters’ huge library held countless tomes describing magic that Nathan could never use, thanks to the wards, webs, and shields woven throughout the palace architecture, not to mention the iron collar of his Rada’Han. Still, reading the legends, histories, even folktales had brought joy to his tedious existence.
When Lord Rahl’s star shift had made all books on prophecy useless and irrelevant, he had offered to let Nathan keep one small library for his own entertainment, perhaps even out of nostalgia, but the wizard soon decided that what he really wanted was not to bury himself in old archives but to go out and live his life, to write his own story. And that was exactly what he did.
He patted the mysterious leather-bound life book the witch woman had given him. Now he had other reading to do. Vital reading.
He let out a weary sigh as dutiful Mia brought him a new stack of volumes. “I have no idea what these contain, Wizard Rahl, but they look interesting.” Mia got directly to work, showing him a tome at random. Many of these new books looked waterlogged, scuffed, or tattered. “Somewhere in our archive we’ll find a way to stop Victoria. Cliffwall has every answer, if only we can find it.”
Nathan chuckled. “Are you suggesting the ancient wizards in the time of Baraccus and Merritt knew all there is to know?”
The studious woman’s brow furrowed as if he had questioned her reason for existence. “Why, of course! This is Cliffwall. All knowledge was placed here for safekeeping. All knowledge.”
He drew two fingers down his chin and gave her an indulgent look. “I’m glad you have such faith in the ancients.”
Mia nodded. “They were much more powerful than anyone alive now.”
“But if they had all that knowledge, then why did they fail?”
She responded with a stern look. “Just because knowledge exists, doesn’t mean people know how to use it.”
“Well, I wish I had your confidence, young woman.” Nathan peeled open the cover of the book he had chosen, frowning to see that the pages were swollen and rippled, as if they had been soaked in water and improperly dried. Some of the pages were torn, the ink smudged and unreadable. He brushed clumpy dust off the cover of the next book in the stack. “Where did these volumes come from? Did you dig them out of a hole?”
Mia looked embarrassed. “After the sorceress opened the sealed vault beneath the damaged tower, our laborers used picks and chisels to break into other previously inaccessible chambers. Some of the books had been partly fused into walls, others buried under rubble. No one has looked at them yet, but I wanted you to see them right away, in case they were important.”
He picked up a third book, trying to decipher the embossed symbols on the cover. “I thought the damaged tower contained only books on prophecy. I doubt they will help.”
“No, the prophecy sections were in the upper levels. In the final days of building Cliffwall, the ancient wizards were in a panic to finish, being hunted down by the forces of Emperor Sulachan. The lower vaults were piled with last-minute additions. No one has seen them except you, Wizard Rahl.”
“Then I am absolutely delighted by the opportunity, my dear.” He patted the empty chair beside him. “Would you help me study them? I only have two eyes, and together we could read twice as fast.”
Mia beamed. “I’d like that.” She sat beside him, chose a book at random, and began working her way through the smudged and faded letters.
* * *
Deep within the resurgent f
orest—which was her heart, her very soul—Victoria felt the magic of reawakened life pulsing through her … and, by extension, through everything she had made, the burgeoning life that came from the stillborn ground. The tortured Scar had been as painful to her as the stillborn baby that she and Bertram had so wanted to have.
But unlike her bloody and painful miscarriages, Victoria now had the power she had always longed to have: a woman’s power to create and nurture life. As proof, she needed only to look out at the flourishing new jungle she had created. The growth charged forth like a wild stampede, but Victoria didn’t want to control it, not at all. She wanted it to fill the valley, roll over the mountains, and sweep across the continent, pristine, primeval, and unstoppable.
Life would triumph over death. Her unquenchable victory would overtake all efforts to stop it. “Victory” … the very word was in her name. She was Victoria. She was Life’s Mistress. Within her, she had a power to rival the Creator Himself.
As she pondered her new role, thickets rose and swirled around her body. Thorny vines and flowers exuded a heady, hypnotic perfume. The trees grew so swiftly they swelled, shattered, and toppled over. And then even the splintered trunks hosted swarming worms and beetle grubs, as well as fungi and molds that churned the fallen tree into mulch, which became fertilizer for more life.
And yet more life.
Her acolytes, who wielded the same energy of vibrant fertility, had gone separately across the primeval jungle. They were stewards of the reawakened life now, nurturing the trees, the insects, the birds, and more. Victoria would see to that. The world would once again be pristine.
As Life’s Mistress, she would never be satisfied to merely return this valley to its former baseline, an exploited landscape with enslaved herds and rigidly defined croplands. Victoria understood now what her true role in the world was. All the generations of memmers and their preserved ancient lore had led to this. Victoria could not be content with memorization for its own sake; she had to find those powerful spell-forms, the maps of magic that would let her accomplish what was necessary.