Vidarian regarded the pile of grass and branches for some time before he reached out with the smaller, brighter sense within him, the erratic one that snapped and snarled as it could against his water sense. In attacking the water within him, as it did perpetually, it turned and lashed out at his own essence, and without quite realizing what he was doing he snarled back at it as he would a dog. It quailed, dipping in what he would swear was apology, and cooperated as he reached out to the stacked sticks. It seized upon them hungrily, and flames leapt up with alarming quickness. As the light and heat flared, something, too, flared inside him, opening, and for a moment every detail of his surroundings was revealed in instant clarity, as if he were more awake than he'd ever been in his life. Then the fire crept back inside of him, coiling, to bicker with his water sense again, and the feeling faded.
// A little rough, but well done, // Thalnarra said sleepily, settling into her bed of grass. Vidarian and Ariadel followed suit, climbing under blankets they'd spread across more of the ubiquitous summer-burned vegetation.
Yes, well done, a voice whispered in his head, half giggling. His arms clenched involuntarily around Ariadel, who looked up at him in sleepy askance, but he forced himself to smile and shake his head, relaxing. She closed her eyes, but as Vidarian looked out over the still waters of the An'durin, spangled over with stars and dark heavens, it was some time before he closed his.
They woke to thin light and cold air, a heavy fog that had obscured the sun and drenched the world in white mist. The fog stopped a spare handspan from the surface of the An'durin, as if some unearthly force kept it from touching the water and what lay beneath. All was quiet.
“We're going to have to go out on the water, to talk to her,” Vidarian said, though none too keen on the idea of piloting a mastless yawl on such a large body of water. The gryphons, with the exception of Arikaree, didn't like it, either; the pelican-gryphon tested the water with his claws, then proceeded to wade in and swim, buoyant as a gigantic duck. Thalnarra watched from the shore, and Altair took to the sky; his long, sharp wings allowed him to hover effortlessly high over the water.
They unloaded the yawl of all its cargo and took supple branches from a young tree, heavy with leaves on their ends, to use as makeshift paddles. The pebbled shore made launching the yawl a simple exercise, and soon they were paddling laboriously for deeper water. While they launched, a wind picked up, swirling from Altair's tiny form high above them; a slow cyclone spun mist away from the surface of the lake in a cone that met his glowing claws at its pinnacle.
Just as the silt-lined sandbar disappeared beneath them, dropping into cloudy depths, An'du appeared.
For a split second she was a shadow beneath them, and then she was breaking the surface. For Vidarian it was a dizzying memory-the massive whale, easily six times the length of their small craft, was exactly as he had pictured her in his vision at the Vkorthan island.
She rotated in the water, her movements turning the yawl as well. In a moment her massive head was at the prow.
Your presence, An'du said, and by their reactions Vidarian saw that Ariadel heard her also-not as gryphons spoke, from a respectful mind distance, but straight inside their heads. I know you. Please, come closer.
“Vidarian-” Ariadel began, but Vidarian was already leaning out across the water.
An'du's great eye rolled toward them as she turned on her side, then gave a powerful pulse of her tail to lift her great anvil-shaped head out of the water. Don't be afraid, she said, as Vidarian drew back into the boat. We are rarely quite what we seem.
When her nose touched his outstretched hand-slick and suppler than the finest leather-she vanished.
Thrashing suddenly in the water was-impossibly-a woman. Her skin was mottled green, a shadow of what An'du's had been, and, as she writhed, it became clear that her whale body remained below her waist, though much diminished in size, complete with broad white tail and frond-like camouflage.
Her head broke the surface, followed by her body, as her powerful tail propelled her up to “stand” above the water. Her hair-a deep green-clung to her face, and as she brushed it from her eyes, she laughed, high and full. She spun in a circle, arms akimbo. Vidarian looked away from her bared chest, though it didn't seem entirely necessary: the skin there was covered with pale mottling, but otherwise smooth, without human feature. When she swam toward the yawl, her size became clearer: she was easily half again the size of a normal woman, and would have towered over Vidarian if they stood side by side.
“It has been centuries,” she said, brushing hair away from her face and opening her eyes, “since I have known my true shape.” An'du's eyes were inhumanly large and without whites, filled instead with deep brown iris and pupil. She smiled at Vidarian and Ariadel, then held the expression, as if testing it.
Vidarian looked at Ariadel, but she only shook her head, as astonished as he. “We came to ask you about the storm sapphires,” he said, stunned into the obvious.
Her smile brightened, savvy. “Of course you would. And I will give them to you, for your coming signals the long-delayed awakening of my people. You have no idea how long we have waited.”
“How many are you?” he asked, before he could help it. “And where?”
“Many,” she said, her smile dwindling at last into seriousness. “And through all the oceans of the world. But the tale is long, and you haven't time.” She dropped down into the water then, and dove. Seconds later, there was a pulse from below the water that rocked the boat again-and An'du was a whale once more. She continued to dive, disappearing from their sight, but in three breaths was returning again, and, as before, when she lifted her head from the water near Vidarian, she became the half-human creature again.
An'du gagged, and Vidarian reached toward her out of reflex, tipping the yawl, but she recovered on her own, spitting out two large blue stones. She touched them to the water, and they shuddered in her hands-deep within, they echoed with lightning and swirled with cloud.
Vidarian held out his hand, but An'du shook her head, closing her hands over the blue stones. “When you depart, so too will my ability to hold this shape, until the gate is reopened.”
“Reopened?” he said in surprise, exchanging a look of confusion with Ariadel.
An'du flicked her tail, sending a ripple through the water. “There are two paths,” she said. “In one, you seal the gate; in the other, you reopen it. You must know the consequences of each.”
“And you can-become yourself-if I'm here…or if the gate is open. But I can't-”
“Certainly not,” An'du agreed, dipping below the water for a moment and surfacing again. “You can't remain here. But part of you can.” She traced the surface of one of the sapphires with a fingertip, and lightning echoed beneath it.
Vidarian's hand went to the pouch at his side. It stayed there, not removing either of the stones that lay inside. He looked at Ariadel.
“It seems a fair bargain,” she offered, still clearly subdued by the thought of opening the gate, and An'du smiled.
“The stone will be destroyed upon my death,” he said. “I think it only fair to warn you.”
“I only need it until the gate is opened,” she said. “If you should do so, the awakening will begin, and I will even return it to you, if you wish.”
“No,” he said, and drew the emerald from his pouch. His heart quickened as he touched it, a tremor of recognition pulsing through his senses. “I give it to you in trade. I've trusted you in my darkest hour, and need all the allies I can get.”
They exchanged the stones, and as the sapphires fell into his hands, it was with a great weight, and he struggled to regain his balance. Overhead, Altair cried out, a piercing cry that cut the air, and the sky darkened.
“You must control them,” An'du warned. “Especially when they're near the sun rubies. The gate must be opened with both, but they will not be content to be near each other.”
Vidarian sat back in the yawl, wrapping his hands around the stones and extending his senses over them. They pulled him in like a funnel cloud, and he fought for control, gripping them in his mind. The sky lightened, reluctantly, and the cold bite that had hung in the air eased. Deep inside him, from within the braided core of his elemental senses, something tested the power of the sapphires, and exulted.
“I wish you luck,” An'du said seriously, rolling the emerald between her fingers in a way that made Vidarian shiver and turn back to her. In the early morning light, her dark eyes cast down and bathed in the light of the emerald, she was strikingly beautiful, if equally alien. “You will have enemies, changebringer, that will not end with the gate's opening-or sealing. Allies you need, and you will have, but the powerful have the most to lose, and so will resist what you bring with all their strength.” Her hands closed around the emerald, dousing her face with shadow. “Luck, indeed, for all of us.”
When they returned to shore with the sapphires, Arikaree, after stepping away from them long enough to shake the water from his feathers and fur, approached Vidarian, his eyes fixed on the blue stones. Vidarian's hold on them felt like pulling a sail filled with the wind; he was not fatigued yet, but he would be. And so when the pelican-gryphon extended his foreclaw, palm open, Vidarian tipped the stones onto it with a measure of relief.
The gryphon inspected the stones for some time. Within, miniature clouds roiled, and the occasional soft peal of thunder even caused them to shudder. // A storm is being a bridge, hurr, // he said, touching a talon to the surface of the stone. The electricity within it shot from the bottom of the stone to the tip of his claw. // The lightning, hurr-the storm being meeting of sea and fire, the lightning a lance between earth and sky. Bridge for gate-opening, bridge for change-bringing. //
“Thalnarra,” Vidarian said, “An'du said that the Tesseract opens the gate-not seals it.”
The gryphoness made a dry clicking noise in her throat, a sound of dissatisfaction that wasn't quite a growl.
// There are-conflicting prophesies, // Altair said.
Vidarian felt his eyebrows lifting.
// According to some prophesies, the Tesseract seals the Great Gate, solidifying the choice made by the PrimeAdepts centuries ago. In others, he opens the gate, bringing its old powers back into the world. // The gryphon's large blue eye turned toward Vidarian, pinning. // A modern theory indicates that the Tesseract chooses the world's destiny. //
// But in either event, // Thalnarra said, her tone not conceding an inch, // your path, and ours, takes us to the gate. //
It seemed too great a simplification for so great a decision, but a look in Thalnarra's eye told him now wasn't the time to press for detail. “An'du said that I would need the rubies as well,” Vidarian said.
“Which means Val Harlon,” Ariadel finished. “And the Quest.”
// We are strong mages, all of us, but not enough to stand up to all that Endera will bring, if she chooses, // Thalnarra rumbled.
“I can't imagine this would come to violence,” Ariadel protested.
Thalnarra turned to look at her, red eyes pinning, but she said nothing.
“Ruby will be docked there,” Vidarian said, talking between them. “If we fly quickly, she won't have waited long.”