Triumph of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [75]
Though we forgot about them, the world Beyond has never forgot about us. The majority of the magic was shut up, sealed off from them, that is true. But tiny bits of it escape, now and then, seeping through cracks in the barrier. The world Beyond is hungry for Life, and—when it had the means through its advanced uses of Technology—the people of Beyond went in search of the magic.
They found it, of course, but they could not reach it. The magical barrier was too strong for them to penetrate. They did, however, find those who had been cast out, wandering—as did Gwen and I—in the land across our Border. It is a dreadful land, swept almost hourly by terrible storms such as I experienced. There are few people here. It is an outpost, the men who run it have only one objective—to search for a way to gain the magic.
Thus they found us, thus they found others. Alarms—those red flashing lights—are set along the Border, detecting anything that moves. Whenever possible, they have rescued magi, and now these outcasts live in the world Beyond.
Most are insane—as is my poor Gwen. But some are not. Some—one in particular, this man known as “Sorcerer”—are quite sane. He tried, countless times, to get back across the Border. According to him, the barrier is an energy field composed of the magical energy within this world and within each of the Living. The Living who are cast out cannot get back in due to their own energy force. Much as two like magnetic fields repel each other, the magic of the world repelled his magic. All these years, he has waited for this world to make a mistake, a mistake that would let him back inside.
I was your mistake.
A Dead man crossed the magical boundary. The spell was shattered, the lock broken. I myself, having no magical energy, would not be repelled. I could come back. And if I did, it was theorized that I would disrupt the field. I would leave the door open behind me.
As I said, Sorcerer came to this conclusion after months of study. We were not always enemies, you see. Once I trusted and admired him—
But that is another story.
Those in power managed to convince me that the two worlds must meld, become one. I thought this would prove a blessing for Thimhallan. I believed that a blending of the two worlds would bring about a new order in the universe. My dreams were bright. The dreams of others, however, were twisted and distorted.
I came back. … and they followed me, bringing war.
They deceived me and betrayed me. I realize now that they mean to conquer this world as they have conquered others.
Will the Prophecy be fulfilled? Are we hurtling to our own destruction as rocks tumbling down a cliff face? The thought is a terrifying one. And it is made all the more frightening because it seems we have no choice in our own destiny; that some all-knowing and uncaring Master controls our puny lives and has controlled them from time immemorial.
Is there no escape? I am beginning to think there is not. The only two right and good things I have ever done in my life—choosing to leave this world and choosing to return to save it—have apparently only brought the Prophecy that much closer to fulfillment.
If this is true, if our lives are dealt to us like the cards of the tarok, if we are thrown down to take a trick or be lost as our Player deems and there is nothing more to life than that, then I begin to understand Simkin and his way in this world.
The game is nothing, the playing of it everything.
1
The Enemy
Major James Boris, commander, fifth battalion, Marine Airborne, was known among his men affectionately (if unofficially, and never when he was within hearing) as Stump. In build he was short, thick-bodied, and well muscled—physical qualities that undoubtedly helped earn him this nickname. Thirty years old, he kept his body in top condition, and yearly, during the base’s annual inspection by the brass and top