Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [2]
The day of the Prophecy came. Ah! How my hand shakes! I cannot contin- [A blot upon the paper, the writing trails off the edge.]
There, forgive me. I am master of myself once more. Our beloved Bishop descended to the holy Well in the heart of the Font. He knelt upon the marble rim of the Well that is, so we are taught, the source of the magic within our world. The highest ranking catalysts in the land had returned to this holy ground, to assist the theurgist in the casting of this spell. They stood around the Well, their hands linked so that Life flowed through them.
Standing beside our Bishop was the old theurgist—one of the last in this world, we fear, since their kind sacrificed themselves in their attempts to put an end to the terrible war. Drawing Life from the catalysts around him, the Spirit Shaper worked his powerful magic, calling upon the Almin to give our Bishop knowledge of the future. To this spell, our Bishop added his prayers, and though his body was weak from fasting, his voice was strong and earnest.
And the Almin appeared.
We, all of us, felt His presence, and we fell to our knees in fear and awe, unable to look at His terrible beauty. Staring into the Well, his face rapt and spellbound and under powerful enchantment, our Bishop began to speak in a voice not his own. What he said was not what we had expected. These are his words. I pray that I have the strength to write them.
“There will be born to the Royal House one who is dead yet will live, who will die again and live again. And when he returns, he will hold in his hand the destruction of the world—”
More there might have been, but at that moment our beloved Bishop suddenly gave a great and terrible cry—a cry that will echo in my heart as his words sound in my ears—and, clasping his chest, he fell forward and lay on the lip of the Well, dead. The theurgist collapsed at his side as if struck by lightning, his limbs paralyzed, his mouth moving but making no sensible sound.
And we knew that we were alone. The Almin had left us.
When will this Prophecy come about? What does it mean? We do not know, though our best minds are studying it word for word, even letter by letter. The new Bishop thinks to undertake another Vision, but that seems unlikely, as the theurgist lies at the point of death and he is surely the last of his kind left alive in this world.
It has been decreed, therefore, that I write these words to you who may perchance see a future many of us do not believe will come to pass. This parchment will be given into the hands of the Duuk-tsarith to keep. It will be known only to them, who know everything, and to the Bishop of the Realm, revealed to him the day of his coronation.
Let it then be kept secret, lest the people rise up in panic to destroy the Royal Households and a reign of terror descend upon our land like that which drove us from our ancient home.
May the Almin be with you …and with us all.
The name penned below is illegible and not important.
Since that time, all Bishops of the Realm—and there have been many—have read the Prophecy. All have wondered fearfully if it would come to pass within their lifetime. All have prayed that it would not …
…and secretly planned what they would do if it did.
1
Catalyst of Merilon
The child was Dead. In regard to that, everyone was in agreement.
All of the wizards, magi, and archmagi who floated in a shimmering circle above the marble floor, the shade of which had been changed hastily the previous night from radiant white to a proper shade of mourning blue, were in agreement. All of the black-robed warlocks, who maintained their attitude of cool aloofness and strict attention to duty as they hovered at their assigned posts appeared, by the even more rigid posture of their stance, to be in agreement. All of the thaumaturgists—catalysts—who stood humbly upon the blue floor, were, by the somber hues of their robes, in agreement.
A gentle