very eyes, it rose up. Higher and higher it rose as the rocks beneath
cracked and shattered. Out of the plain there shouldered up mountains
that hadn’t been there before, and they shuddered away the loose earth
the way a dog shakes off water, to stand as an eternal barrier to the
sea that Torak had let in.
Have you ever stood about a half mile from the center of that sort of
thing? Don’t, if you can possibly avoid it. We were all hurled to the
ground by the most violent earthquake I’ve ever been through. I lay
clutching at the ground while the tremors actually rattled my teeth.
The freshly broken earth groaned and even seemed to howl. And she
wasn’t alone. My companion crouched at my side, raised her face to the
sky, and also howled. I put my arms about her and held her tightly
against me-which probably wasn’t a very good idea, considering how
frightened she was. Oddly, she didn’t try to bite me–or even growl at
me. She licked my face instead, as if she were trying to comfort me.
Isn’t that peculiar?
When the shaking subsided, we all regained our composure somewhat and
stared first at that new range of mountains and then toward the East,
where Torak’s new sea was sullenly retreating.
“Remarkable,” the wolf said as calmly as if nothing had happened.
“Truly,” I could not but agree.
And then the other Gods and their peoples came to the place where we
were and marveled at what Belar and my Master had done to hold back the
sea.
“Now is the time of sundering,” my Master told them sadly.
“This land that was once so fair and sustained our children in their
infancy is no more. That which remains here on this shore is bleak and
harsh and will no longer support your people. This then is mine advice
to ye, my brothers.
Let each take his own people and journey into the west. Beyond the
mountains wherein lies Prolgu ye shall find another fair plain–not so
broad perhaps, nor so beautiful as that which Torak hath drowned this
day, but it will sustain the races of man.”
“And what of thee, my brother?” Mara asked him.
“I shall take my disciples and return even unto the Vale,” Aldur
replied.
“This day hath evil been unloosed in the world, and its power is great.
The Orb hath revealed itself to me, and through its power hath the evil
been unloosed. Upon me, therefore, falls the task of preparation for
the day when good and evil shall meet in that final battle wherein
shall be decided the fate of the world.”
“So be it then,” Mara said.
“Hail and farewell, my brother.” And he turned and with Issa and
Chaldan and Nedra and all their people, they went away toward the
West.
But Belar lingered.
“Mine oath and my pledge bind me still,” he declared.
“I will not go to the West with the others, but will take my Alorns to
the unpeopled lands of the Northwest instead. There we will seek a way
by which we may come again on Torak and his children. Thine Orb shall
be returned unto thee, my brother. I shall not rest until it be so.”
And then he turned and put his face to the north, and his tall warriors
followed after him.
My master watched them go with a great sadness on his face, and then he
turned westward, and my brothers and I followed after him as,
sorrowing, we began our journey back to the Vale.
PART TWO
THE APOSTATE
CHAPTER SEVEN
My brothers and I were badly shaken by the outcome of our war with the
Angaraks. We certainly hadn’t anticipated Torak’s desperate response
to our campaign, and I think we all felt a gnawing personal guilt for
the death of half of mankind. We were a somber group when we reached
the Vale. We had ongoing tasks, of course, but we took to gathering in
our Master’s tower in the evenings, seeking comfort and reassurance in
his presence and the familiar surroundings of the tower.
Each of us had his own chair, and we normally sat around a long table,
discussing the events of the day and then moving on to more wide
ranging topics. I don’t know that we solved any of the world’s
problems with those eclectic conversations, but that’s not really why
we held them.
We needed to be together during that troubled time, and we needed the
calm that always pervaded that familiar room at the top of the tower.
For one thing, the light there was somehow different from the light in
our own towers. The fact that our Master didn’t bother with firewood
might have had something to do with that. The fire on his hearth
burned because he wanted it to burn, and it continued to burn whether
he fed it or not. Our chairs were large and comfortable and made of
dark, polished wood, and the room was neat and uncluttered. Aldur
stored his things in some unimaginable place, and they came to him when
he called them rather than lying about collecting dust.
Our evening gatherings continued for six months or so, and they helped
us to gather our wits and to ward off the nightmares that haunted our
sleep.
Sooner or later, one of us was bound to ask the question, and as it
turned out, it was Beltira.
“What started it all, Master?” he asked reflectively.
“This goes back much farther than what’s been happening recently,
doesn’t it?”
You’ll notice that Durnik wasn’t the first to be curious about
beginnings.
Aldur looked gravely at the gentle Alorn shepherd.
“It doth indeed, Beltira–farther back then thou canst possibly
imagine. Once, when the universe was all new and long before my
brothers and I came into being, an event occurred that had not been
designed to occur, and it was that event which divided the purpose of
all things.”
“An accident then, Master?” Beldin surmised.
“A most apt term, my son,” Aldur complimented him.
“Like all things, the stars are born; they exist for a certain time;
and then they die.
The “accident” of which we speak came about when a star died in a place
and at a time that were not a part of the original design of all
creation.
The death of a star is a titanic event, and the death of this
particular star was made even more so by its unfortunate proximity to
other stars. Ye have all studied the heavens, and therefore ye know
that the universe is comprised of clusters of stars. The particular
cluster of which we speak consisted of so many suns that they were
beyond counting, and the wayward sun that died in their very midst
ignited others, and they in turn ignited more. The conflagration
spread until the entire cluster exploded.”
“Was that anywhere near where we are now. Master?” Belsambar asked
him.
“Nay, my son. The EVENT took place on the far side of the universe
–so far in fact that the light of that catastrophe hath not yet
reached this world.”
“How is that possible, Master?” Belsambar looked confused.
“Sight isn’t instantaneous, brother,” Beldin explained.
“There’s a lag between the time when something happens and the time
when we see it.
There are a lot of things we see in the night sky that aren’t really
there any more. Someday when we’ve both got some time, I’ll explain it
to you.”
“How could so remote an event have any meaning here, Master?”
Belzedar asked, his tone baffled.
Aldur sighed.
“The universe came into being with a Purpose, Belzedar,” he replied
with a strange kind of wonder in his voice.
“The accident divided that Purpose, and what was once one became two.
Awareness came out of that division, and the two Purposes have
contended with each other since that EVENT took place. In time, the
two agreed that this world–which did not even exist as yet–would be
their final battleground. That is why my brothers and I came into
existence, and that is why we made this world. It is here that the
division of the Purpose of the universe will be healed. A series of
EVENTS, some great and some very small, have been leading up to the
final EVENT, and that EVENT shall be a Choice.”
“Who’s supposed to make that choice?” Beldin asked.
“We are not permitted to know that,” Aldur replied.
“Oh, fine!” Beldin exploded with heavy sarcasm.
“It’s all a game, then! When’s this supposed to happen?”
“Soon, my son. Very soon.”
“Could you be a little more specific. Master? I know how long you’ve
been around, and you and I might have very different ideas about what
the word “soon” means.”
“The Choice must be made when the light of that exploding star cluster
reaches this world.”
“And that could happen at any time, couldn’t it? It could come popping