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By Root 500 0

were these who had lost their souls to the Ninth Mystery? They must be fiends, devils, and he was alone among them now. Alone, except for Simkin. Who was Simkin? What was he? If Saryon hadn’t dreamed the tree and the faeries, then perhaps the voices he had heard had been real, too, and that meant Simkin had betrayed him. He’s been sent here after you, Joram. There had been no frippery in the voice that said those words. Is it my fault that it is a cruel and vicious world out there? A world into which, I daresay, our catalyst will not soon dare to venture by himself. There was no green lace, no orange silk, no sleek, shining smile. Corpse Blue. As cold and cutting as the iron.

Joram knows who I am and why I am here, Saryon realized, shuddering. He will kill me. He has done murder before. But perhaps they won’t let him. They need a catalyst, after all. At least, that’s what Vanya said. Yet how can I help these fiends, these foul Sorcerers? Will I not be helping them further their dread art? Didn’t Vanya foresee that?

Saryon sat up in bed, struggling to breathe, his thoughts coming sluggishly through the cold in his head. I won’t! he determined. The first time this Joram and I are alone together, I will open a Corridor and return with him. Though he may be Dead, he and I together possess Life enough between us to effect the magic. I will take him back and rid myself of him, let Vanya do to him what he will. Then I will leave their Font and their spies, their lies and their pious, empty teachings. Perhaps I will return to my father’s house. It is empty, the Church owns it. I will shut myself up with my books ….

Saryon lay back down, tossing feverishly. He had the vague impression that Simkin had left the room, flying through the air like some gaudy, tropical bird, but he was too ill and too distraught to pay any attention.

The catalyst sank into a troubled sleep. A vision of a Sorcerer rose up before him, emerging from the flame and smoke of the iron forge—a man whose face was twisted by every evil passion, whose eyes burned red from having stared into the fire day after day, whose skin was coated with the foul soot of his black art. As Saryon stared in petrified fear, the Sorcerer drew near him. In his hand, he held a glowing rod of iron …

“Easy, Father. Do not be alarmed.”

Sitting up without any conscious remembrance of doing so, Saryon found himself trying desperately to throw off his blankets and escape from his bed. The bright glare of flame blinded him in the darkened room. He couldn’t see … He didn’t want to see …

“Father!” A hand on his shoulder shook him. “Father, wake up. You’re having a fever dream.”

Shuddering, Saryon came to himself. Sanity returned. He’d been dreaming again. Or had he? Blinking his eyes, he stared into the flame. The voice that spoke wasn’t Simkin s. It was older, deeper. The Sorcerer ….

As his eyes became accustomed to the light, Saryon saw the glowing rod of iron diminish into nothing but a flaming torch, held in the hand of an old man, whose wrinkled face peered at him benignly. The touch of the hand upon his shoulder was gentle. With a shivering sigh, Saryon sank back down onto his pillow. This was not a Sorcerer. Nothing but a servant, perhaps. Glancing about, he saw that the room was dark. Was it night, he wondered vaguely, or had the blackness of this evil place finally blotted out the light?

“There, that’s better, Father. The lad said you were restless. Lie back and relax. My wife is coming with the Healer—”

“Healer?” Saryon stared at the old man, puzzled. “You have a Healer?”

“A Druid of the Mannanish class, nothing more, I’m afraid. She is quite skilled in herb lore, however, having much knowledge that has been lost in the outside world. Such skills are not needed among the Druids, I suppose, with you catalysts to assist them in their work.”

Padding over to the far end of the room, the old man used the flame of the torch to start a fire in the grate, then doused the torch in a bucket of water. “Perhaps we will not need to rely upon the gifts of nature now since you are among