Storm of the Dead - Lisa Smedman [115]
"Why did you do that?" he exploded.
The vision ended.
His apprentices stared at him, waiting expectantly. For once, even Baltak said nothing.
Q'arlynd was still trying to make sense of what he'd just seen. Like the kiira, his future self didn't want anyone to see how he opened the door. But that meant that Q'arlynd himself couldn't see how it was done. Yet someone had to observe how it was done, or the door couldn't be opened.
Q'arlynd stroked his chin, thinking. An idea occurred to him-one that he almost instinctively rejected. Grudgingly, however, he realized it was the only course of action that might work. If he invited the others into his mind, let them watch the vision-Q'arlynd from the future open the door, perhaps one of them might able to recognize the sign from its first, preliminary motions.
He glanced around at his apprentices. At Baltak, his broad chest puffed with his own self-importance. Piri, slinking about in his demon skin. Eldrinn, chewing his lip, no doubt nervous about what his father was going to say about their having abandoned the expedition to the Acropolis. Alexa, standing next to the boy, taller than him by a head. And Zarifar, who stared dreamily at the door, not paying the slightest bit of attention to the others.
"I need your help," Q'arlynd said, each word a stone he had to force out. "Use your rings to join minds with me, everyone. Observe the vision I'm seeing. You're about to see me, in the immediate future, opening Kraanfhaor's Door. Pay close attention to my hand, we need to know what arcane sign is being made."
Eldrinn's eyebrows rose. "So that's how I did it."
"Yes."
The others glanced at the boy, a new respect in their eyes.
"Let's begin," Q'arlynd told them.
A moment later, he felt them slip into his mind, one by one. Thrusting their way in or stealing in on velvet slippers, as was their wont. Baltak had to elbow Zarifar to get the latter's attention, but at last the geometer mage was inside, too-for all the good that would do.
Q'arlynd drew the staff toward himself. "Show me," he commanded it. "Show me the future. Show me myself, opening the door."
As it had before, the vision unfolded. When it finished, Q'arlynd lowered the staff. "Well?"
His apprentices glanced sidelong at one another, stared at the ceiling, or scowled, thinking-all but Zarifar, who swayed back and forth, humming. Then Zarifar struck a pose. He pirouetted on one foot, one hand raised above his head.
Piri eased away, as if afraid Zarifar's madness might be contagious.
Q'arlynd grabbed Zarifar's wrist. "What are you doing?"
Zarifar tugged against the restraining hand as if he couldn't understand why he'd suddenly stopped twirling. "The pattern," he said. His raised fingers twitched. "I'm the pattern."
Alexa signed something to Eldrinn. Q'arlynd caught only the last word and the finger flick that made it a question:… feeblewit?
Q'arlynd sighed and let go of Zarifar's arm. Maybe Alexa was right. Something had stripped both his own and Eldrinn's minds of memories. It was possible that merely observing that last vision might have done the same to Zarifar.
Zarifar stopped dancing and grabbed Q'arlynd's left arm in both hands. "The pattern," he said again, his eyes bright and intense, all trace of their former dreaminess gone. He yanked Q'arlynd's hand up in front of his face and waved it back and forth. "The pattern!"
Q'arlynd scoffed. All he was looking at was his own raised hand and the leather wristband below it, which bore his House insignia.
"Yes," Zarifar breathed. "That pattern."
Belatedly, Q'arlynd realized the apprentice's mind was still touching his own.
Zarifar at last let go of his arm.
Q'arlynd realized his mouth was hanging open. He didn't care. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "That's what opened Kraanfhaor's Door?" He waggled his fingers, pretending to practice a gesture. Silently, he asked Zarifar a question: Have I got it right? The pattern is the glyph for House Melarn?
Zarifar nodded.
Q'arlynd had to fight hard to hide his