Keys of Awakening

EILO ( N A M I N G )

The Second Power of the Arcanum

Eilo is a Passive power.

This teaching allows one to access the true names of things in the Tongue of the Lost. This tongue comes closest to naming the true names of all things. Knowing a thing’s true name gives us power over it.

Eilo, the power of Naming, must always begin within the Seeker and not without. Mastery over oneself is required before any external mastery can be accomplished.

Application: Eilo is just what it seems, it is the ability to Name things. To learn the seed name of things is an arduous and lengthy process and yet it is unavoidable if one wishes to master the power that follows.

A practitioner of Eilo is known as a Namer.

From The Arcanum of Wisdom – Introduction for the Initiate

It appeared that Undina had slipped out quietly sometime after they had all retired for the night. The most surprising thing was that neither Mist nor Grifor, who had drawn first watch, noticed her leave. In fact, even despite irrefutable evidence to the contrary, the pair insisted that she could not have, unless she had somehow developed a talent for walking through walls.

“So how in Hel did she get past you?” Argolan demanded, her anger seething just below the surface of her unruffled façade.

The two looked at one another. Mist shrugged and shook his head, at a total loss for an explanation. Grifor’s distress was evident in the clenching and unclenching of her jaw as she grappled to make sense of the impossible.

“I do not know, but I stood right here,” she said, pointing firmly towards one side of the only exit from the sleeping chambers. “And Mist stood over there,” she pointed at the position opposite. “A mouse could not have passed between us without being seen.”

“Well, this mouse did and it might be in your best interest to figure out how she did it so that it does not happen again.”

“You must have dozed,” suggested Pell. “There is no other explanation …”

“Go bang your head with a hammer!” snapped Grifor, the blood rising to her face. “I am not a horse who can sleep standing up, stupid oaf!”

Pell smiled, indifferent to the other’s insults.

“Fine, let me know when you find a better explanation …”

“Enough!” Argolan snapped. “Both of you. We will see what the Chosen has to say for herself when we find her …”

Argolan turned and left the ante-chamber.

“Troublesome little tribal!” Mist muttered softly as he turned to follow the Shieldarm.

“Where are Wind and Angar?” Illiom asked.

Mist, almost at the door, turned towards her.

“They have gone to see Undina’s friend. If the descrier cannot find them, no one can.”

Of course, Illiom realised. The descrier will find Undina easily enough. Illiom had another question, but Mist had left so she turned to Tarmel.

“Them?” she asked.

Her Rider shrugged.

“It seems likely that she may have arranged a tryst with that lad of hers …”

Illiom nodded. Why else would Undina leave so furtively? She had likely known that her chances of meeting up with Talluin without an escort were less than slim. So now just one question remained in her mind: how had Undina managed to elude the Riders on watch?

Illiom returned to her bed and tried to sleep, but could not stop thinking of the young tribal girl spending time with her lover. In her mind’s eye, she imagined them entwined in passionate embrace, each giving and receiving from the other freely, ardently, and without complications.

Eventually, she drifted into a fitful sleep.

Sometime later she awoke from a vivid dream in which she had held Tarmel in her arms and was kissing him and pressing her body against his. The hunger in her body was so strong that she leapt out of bed as if she had just awoken in a nest of vipers.

Illiom emerged into the common area to find Tarmel already there.

He looked at her and smiled but she avoided his eye.

“Where is everyone? I am famished,” she said, looking around. “Have you eaten? Ah … has Undina been found?”

“Which shall I answer first?” Tarmel asked with a grin. “Some of the others are breaking fast, others are outside getting the horses ready, no, I have not eaten, and Undina came back of her own accord before daybreak.”

They started to make their way towards the hall.

“What did she have to say for herself?”

The Rider pulled a face.

“Nothing. She has not offered any explanations, neither excuses nor apologies.”

“What about her skilful escape, did she say anything about that?”

“Not a glimmer of an explanation. All she said was that she did what she had to do, and that since no one has been hurt or killed in the process, she could not see what all the fuss was about.”

“I could tell her what the fuss is about!” exclaimed Illiom, feeling the heat rise in her face. “Each of us has had our freedom curtailed and she has simply gone and taken a large dose of it, without consulting anyone or bothering to let anyone know …”

“Illiom!” Tarmel exclaimed with a puzzled smile. “I have never seen you react like this ... is something the matter?”

Remembering her dream, Illiom did not know how to respond.

“What? No, of course not!” she snapped right back and then immediately cringed. Frowning in confusion and embarrassment she clamped her mouth shut and turned away.

She knew that she could have chosen to react differently, that she could have just laughed at Undina’s antics, but she was simply not in a mood for lightness.

The weight in her heart would not allow it.

It was nearing the sixth hour when the party of Chosen and Riders finally made its way towards the western rim of Mount Shantan, making for the place where – they had been told – they would find the Temple of the Goddess.

They travelled on horseback and followed a path that climbed away from the city to accompany the course of a stream. They had just passed the last houses and found themselves facing a wall of dense growth. The path tunnelled through the vegetation and they plunged into a green world that eventually delivered them onto the banks of a small lake. From here they followed the water’s edge, making for the pristine marble structure of Sudra’s Temple, shimmering ahead above the waters like an apparition plucked straight out of a folk tale.

As they narrowed the distance, Iod’s rays glanced off the water’s surface to set myriad reflections dancing upon the rocky shore and upon the temple walls. A resilient layer of mist still hovered over parts of the lake’s surface. All was quiet, peaceful, and there was no one else within sight.

To no one’s surprise, Undina made straight for the water. She slid off her horse and was about to plunge in when something made her pause. She looked down at the shore with a slight frown and then tentatively tested the waters with her toes.

She gave a yelp and pulled her foot straight out again.

“Water is hot!” she complained, her tone full of outrage. She inspected her foot, checking the skin for damage.

“Good thing you did not jump in,” Malco remarked.

“Look!”

Angar pointed to a short distance away, where water bubbled out of the ground and trickled down into the lake. All the water near the shore was bubbling and steaming, like water in a kettle.

What they had assumed to be mist was in fact a layer of steam rising from the lake’s surface.

Undina scowled at the lake as though it had betrayed her.

They continued to follow the boiling beach until they passed a small headland and climbed up towards the white walls that enclosed the temple.

Here the party gathered outside an iron gate and Elan, leaning from her horse, seized the plaited rope that dangled from the clapper of a large bronze bell. The clanging of the bell was still ringing in their ears when a cowled figure emerged from a doorway in the main building and made directly for them.

Malco turned towards Scald.

“A relative of yours?” he asked.

Scald ignored the Blade’s comment.

When the woman reached them she pushed back her cowl to reveal a head of long silver hair framing a thin, weathered, wrinkled face, and eyes that were a very pale wash of amethyst.

“How may I serve?” she asked, looking into their faces. Her eyes lingered for a moment upon Kassargan’s blind eyes.

“I am a Daughter from Kuon’s Temple,” Elan introduced herself. “We have come here on Draca Provan’s advice to meet with the Firebrand. But our main purpose was also to view the Seventy Third Fragment and I ask permission for us to be allowed to enter the chamber where it is kept.”

Illiom saw the elder Daughter’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and perhaps a measure of disapproval. She tilted her head slightly as though she was considering the request.

“You came all this way to see the Fragment? Why?” Her glance flitted over the group, taking in each member of the party.

“We are seeking the Keys to Sudra’s Orb and are hoping that the Fragment will offer us some clue as to their whereabouts.”

The Daughter looked long and hard into the green of Elan’s eyes. In the end she smiled, but her expression was not without condescension.

“Child,” she said after an elaborate sigh, “the Keys to the Orb are merely sacred parable, as is the Orb itself. You will find them neither here nor anywhere else for that matter, for they can only be found within the heart. Surely a Daughter of the Goddess should know this.”

Scald snorted.

“Oh, and you know this for a fact, do you? We should just …”

“Just this once, shut your mouth!” Malco snapped before the other could finish his sentence. The scarred Chosen gave him a recriminating glance but did not persist; instead, he shook his head and pulled his horse away from the gate.

“I understand, revered Daughter,” Elan retorted. “I was also raised to think of the Fragment in this way, but we now have good reason to believe otherwise.”

The Iolan Daughter’s expression betrayed the depth of her incredulous disapproval.

“Please, we have come all the way from Kuon to see the Fragment,” Elan insisted. “We really must see it.”

“Must, is it?”

The woman’s umbrage seemed to grow with every comment Elan made.

“Oh, for Iod’s sake!” Scald snapped from behind them. “Just show her the damn thing and be done with it …”

The Chosen exchanged uncertain looks as Azulya walked her horse closer to the gate.

“You are quite right, Scald,” Elan agreed, and turned to Azulya. “Go on then, show her.”

The Kroeni Chosen rummaged in the bag fastened to her saddle and retrieved an embroidered cloth. This she unfolded until, in its centre, the Key lay revealed.

The Daughter on the far side of the gate leaned closer to peer at it and that was when Azulya touched the Key. The central stone responded with a blaze of violet light.

The old Daughter gasped and leapt back, as if she had just seen an asp. She brought the back of her hand up to her mouth.

“Merciful Sudra! But I have always believed …” she floundered and reached towards the Key with a trembling hand but stopped short of touching it, her eyes shooting up to search Azulya’s.

“But if the Keys are real, then … oh dear Goddess, sustain me!”

Elan waited patiently for the older woman to recover. Eventually she marshalled herself and produced from the recesses of her robes a ring of keys. Her hands were still trembling as she fumbled with the lock, but a few moments later the gate swung open for them. Still the Daughter barred the way, blocking the entrance with her own body.

“Please forgive me, but before you enter I must ask that you leave all your weapons outside. Those of you who bear any will have to either leave them out here or remain outside yourselves.”

They all dismounted then and the Riders took care of the Chosen’s horses as well as their own. Argolan instructed them to wait outside and then the Shieldarm and the Chosen divested themselves of all their weapons, leaving them in their Riders’ care.

“I am Milurien,” the Daughter introduced herself at last, as Elan crossed the threshold. All disapproval had vanished from her expression, to be replaced by a look that was at once hopeful and, Illiom thought, even a little fearful.

“Forgive my earlier stance. I have always been taught that the Fragment is no more than a parable and that, splendid though it is, it was never meant to be taken literally. I was taught from a young age that to do so would be the same as squandering one’s entire life upon a figment of the imagination. And now you come along holding one of its Keys …” Milurien shook her head, her mien drawn as if with exhaustion. “It is almost more than an old Daughter can bear …”

Elan smiled at the other’s words and rested a reassuring hand on her arm.

“And yet, what a revelation to receive!” she said. “Though it may well shake the Temple’s doctrine to the core, this is actually a great boon!”

Milurien nodded.

“And I am glad to have lived to witness it ...“

She then led the way towards the temple’s entrance but went directly past the imposing doors without entering. They followed her along a path that clung to the building’s wall until they reached the rear of the structure. Here the path led through a wild rose thicket that ran riot in the space that separated the temple itself from the stark rock of the crater’s rim.

Here at last, set within the black wall, yet another gate barred the way into the mountain itself. Nothing but darkness could be seen past its iron bars.

Milurien fumbled with lock and key until she pulled the gate outwards with a strident screech of metal against metal. Once they were all inside she pulled the gate closed and then proceeded to lock it again.

“Is that necessary?” Argolan asked her.

“It is protocol,” was all the answer Milurien gave.

The Iolan Daughter walked to a wooden chest that sat opposite the entrance, opened it and retrieved several torches which she dispensed to the visitors. And here an extraordinary thing happened: as each took the torch proffered to them, the head of the brand came alight of its own accord. It blazed with an unusual light: a blue-green flame that licked at the air without emitting any smoke at all.

Illiom looked at hers carefully before asking the Daughter about it.

“They are especially made for us by the alchemists at the House of Wisdom,” Milurien explained. “They imbue the torches with a substance that burns without smoke or soot. This is important, for the Seventy Third Fragment is old and the smoke from ordinary torches would eventually render the writing illegible.”

She led them away from the entrance then and they filed in behind her, descending a tunnel so narrow that they were forced to travel in single file. The gradual descent meandered in a whimsical manner for some time but eventually delivered them onto a rough staircase hewn out of the rock. This spiralled downwards a number of times before its walls fell away and it continued its descent by winding around the broad stem of a thick pillar of solid rock.

At its base they stepped out into the centre of a new chamber.

They fanned out a little as they stepped away from the stairs, and the shadows cast by the ghostly torchlight danced wildly upon the uneven floor.

Here, Daughter Milurien stopped and turned to face them.

“This is the Chamber of the Fragment, and the parable of the Golden Dawn begins right here, just behind me. You will not need the torches to read it, merely to see that you do not trip as you walk …”

Having gained their attention she stepped to one side and then, as if on cue, a light appeared within the depths of the stone wall behind her, a perfect disc that glowed with an eerie citrine light.

After its initial fierce glow, the light suddenly broke loose from the disc’s confines and began to trace an expanding spiral. As it moved it left a glowing trail of light in its wake, one that did not extinguish. It reminded Illiom of the fire twirlers on the eve of the Harvest Moon Fair, when they created circles of fire with their spinning brands.

The light gathered speed and then abruptly broke free of the spiral pattern. Following it, Illiom saw that it now took on the form of a script, shaping word after word, sentence after sentence.

With a collective intake of breath, the party of Chosen gaped at the written passage that was being etched with cold fire on the cavern’s wall.

Illiom began to read the words that appeared.

“O sweet Seeker of Truth, O Wanderer of the Garden …”

The first words of the Seventy Third Fragment caught her eye irresistibly and she reread them several times.

Enraptured, beside herself with wonder, Illiom glanced around the cavern to take in the trail of words as a whole. Row upon row, round and around, the writing flowed to end just as it had started, by eddying into a second and final spiral.

She wondered at the power that had enabled the Fragment to be inscribed as a vein of pure crystal into the smooth dark surface of the wall.

She turned back to the first words and after taking a few steps she raised a hand towards the glowing letters.

“Do not touch it!” Daughter Milurien counselled harshly. Her voice mellowed instantly, however. “If you please... as I have said, it is old and it is delicate.”

Illiom did not turn at the rebuke. She simply dropped her hand and began to read.

“O sweet Seeker of Truth, O Wanderer of the Garden, the path of escape from Ataram’s Great Dream is now open before thee.

"Long hast thou travailed to reach this threshold.

"Long hast thou struggled through all the lower paths only to be led astray, yearning for shadows, chimeras and lesser aspirations.

"Yet all of thine efforts and sacrifices have contrived to bring thee here, to stand in this place, where thou now art.

"Know that the path that opens here is not for those afflicted by any weakness of heart. For it shall test thee in ways that thou canst not yet foresee.

"So look not ahead to where the path may lead, for to do so would daunt thy spirit and whittle thy resolve.

"Likewise, be not tempted to look back to whence thou came, for such a deed would be construed as a sign of attachment or regret, and thou wouldst swiftly become once more ensnared by the very thing thou believed thou hast overcome.

"The path of escape is finally clear; the greatest of treasures is within thy hand’s reach.

"Seven are the Doors that thou must open, and seven the Halls that thou must cross ere thou reach that which thine heart desires.

"Hast thou the first Key?

"Knowest thou its name?”

Here Illiom took pause.

She was already feeling dizzy from reading and walking. Now the writing changed in hue from the translucent crystal glow to a rich, deep-red opalescence. She glanced ahead once more at the flowing text and saw how the script changed intermittently between these two colours. She realised then that this Fragment, unlike any of the previous ones she had read, was in fact a dialogue: a conversation between a Master and a Seeker.

She resumed reading.

Aye, Lord, I have it. It is the Key of Faith that unbars the Door of Doubt and admits the Seeker into the first of the seven Great Halls.

"And to what Hall, O Destroyer of Illusion, does this Key grant admission?

’Tis the Hall of Manifestation, Master, where the power of thought is at last released into the material realms and all of one’s thinking takes form and shape, instantly, before one’s very eyes.

"Thou art blessed indeed to have journeyed thus far, for beneath the vaults of this Hall thou canst perceive beyond doubt the true nature of the great Illusion: the lie that beguiles fools into believing that what befalls them is not of their own shaping.

"Here thou art privileged to shake thyself free of such foolish shackles and proceed, for six more Halls must thou cross before the treasure can be thine to claim.

"What see thou now, O Aspirant of Lasting Wisdom?

My Lord, I see the Door of Apathy firmly fixed within the wall. Its sight alone is enough to sap the will and cause the spirit to quail before it.

"So why dost thou hesitate? Dost thou not hold the Key? Shed thy feebleness now. Name it, use thy Key, and see how its very essence turns the cogs within the wretched lock!

I hold the Key named Passion, Master; for it is said that passion alone can unhinge the fear of purposelessness that burrows within each Seeker’s heart.

This Key fans the fires of inspiration into such a fierce blaze that it may not be quenched by the waters of doubt, for it is informed and sustained by divine insight alone. The Door opens before me as if it were not made of stone, but of yielding reeds, and admits me into the next chamber: the Hall of Creativity …

By now Illiom had walked around the room about five times, but was not certain for she had not bothered to keep count. This Fragment was so different from any of the others that it baffled her utterly. Its archaic language and esoteric content caused her to ask questions she had never sought before.

What was the Orb’s true purpose? Was it not to uplift? Yet this sounded more like some sort of map for a journey. If it was so, then what was this destination, what was this goal that the Fragment referred to?

She pressed on, eager to find out more.

"Enter, then, for thou hast won this prize through thy tenacity and perseverance alone.

"In this Hall thou shalt learn that thou alone hast the power to shape and forge thy destiny. Here thou shalt find solace at last in the understanding that thy created path cannot fail to lead thee to thy purpose, for thou art Light-spawn and the power which dwells within thee is not different from that which fuels the Source that birthed thee.

"So proceed and do not rest yet, lest the powers of darkness ensnare thee into the trap of self-deception where thou canst still easily lose thy way once more.

Master, I heed thy counsel and easily cross this splendid Hall, but now my very Soul quakes at the sight of what bars my passage; a new Door halts my progress with the finality of death. Have I the heart to even gaze upon this dire obstacle? Master, instruct me ’fore I lose my resolve.

"This Door that melts thy mettle is none other than the Door of Fear itself.

"Thou dost well to tremble before it, but thou will fare better if thou recallest the powers that are already thine to wield.

"Draw now the Key of thy Courage and plunge it without hesitation into the fetid lock.

"Watch as the Door trembles upon its hinges and opens, to reveal for all who have eyes to see, that its power is naught but illusion, fanned by hesitation and the lies of thine mind.

"Look yonder! Look into the austere Hall that thou hast opened! Wilt thou not go forth now and meet thy reward?

I see it, Master, and wonder at the veil that has been torn from mine eyes. What seemed like a devouring monster is in truth naught at all. I stride into the Hall of Power where I know myself to be what I truly am. Illusions, swept aside, fall here like sheaves of wheat! I am free as the kite soaring through the skies of the world!

"Not yet, young Seeker.

"For thou dost not yet see what still awaits thee.

"Thou hast come far and bravely, but hast thou now the courage to meet the next demon on the way?

"For few find it easy to cross the Door of Hatred.

"Its thorns tear at embodied flesh and it is not appeased until the whole world is rent and bleeding.

Yet thou hast taught me well, Master. I focus not on the trials ahead but on the gift that now lies within my grasp. With ease I slide the Key of Forgiveness into this grim Door. Eagerly I step through now and find myself in the Hall of Love. And now I know that I am truly blessed and the tears that run from my eyes, I shed with blissful abandon, for they are the gifts of Love, unconquered and pure!

"Seeker! Thou dost well to rejoice, for this is the very middle of thy journey home. With the love that now flows in thy veins thou shalt easily find thy way.

"Yet still thou art cautioned not to fall into the mire of complacency that lays siege to the careless Soul.

"For such is the power of the trials to come, that victory can still be wrested from thy grasp, even within a single breath of thy purpose’s reach.

I hear and heed, Lord. For I recognise all too well the Door now before me. It is the Door of Falsehood that confounds the unwary traveller with its seductive siren-song. But, Master, I wield its balm: the Key of Discernment is in my hand. This Door has no power to oppose me; it opens like melting snow to let me through.

"Well done. For thou hast now gained admission into the fifth chamber, that which is known as the Hall of Truth, where falsehood cannot reside.

"See how everything turns as thou walkest, until what thou believed to be one thing soon turns and shows itself to be another: even its opposite.

"Here grow a thousand flowers of beautiful aspect and heady scent, and yet beware, for beneath the petals of each bloom a deadly snake lies coiled. For many are the truths of this world, yet none of them so vast as to deliver thee to thy final destination.

"So be not ensnared! Do not choose one over the other, for if thou dost thou will be bitten, and once bitten, thy way will be lost, and never wouldst thou even reach the barrier of the next Door.

I resist the pull to linger, Master, for I have not come thus far just to be swayed before the journey’s end. I stride on, ignoring the flowers that beckon my senses until I stand before the Door of Illusion that bars my way more fiercely than dense iron. This is the power that makes the heart see what it wants to see. Here I am seduced to perceive that my journey is at an end, that I have reached the destination. Here I am enticed by the lure of all the rewards bestowed upon me, to simply lay myself down and rest, yet if I do so I shall not rise up again. This Door is even more vicious than the last for it is not deception from the outside, but the very Soul deceiving herself. I tarry not in this wretched place! I have brought the Key called Clarity and use it now to enter the penultimate Hall, the Hall of Wisdom.

"Well spoken. In the Hall of Wisdom there is naught that will stop thee from thy journey’s end, other than a conscious choice; for this Hall is a sweet and comforting place, where the very air gives sustenance to Soul and to body.

"Yet even if thou shouldst remain here and not journey further, know that what thou hast now attained, thou wilt never lose. The vision of truth and wisdom that now fills thine eyes is thine forevermore.

"Here is a place of quiet joy and expansive love, and many are those who have paused here and moved no further.

"For to move further is to move beyond all realms. To continue thy journey is to venture beyond all measures and beyond all laws.

"To traverse beyond is to enter the place from which there can be no return.

"Seeker, art thou ready to breach the final Door?

I am. The Door of Separation is just ahead. I hold the Key of Union in my hand. I am at peace. My mind is still. My heart is open.

I place the Key within the final lock.

The Door opens for me now.

I step through …

With these words the line of script that had flowed through the whole Fragment became a flowing line that swirled into one final spiral.

Having reached the end of the writing, Illiom found herself quite unable, or rather, unwilling, to wrench her eyes away from the crystalline flow, until she had followed it all the way to the very centre of the ending spiral. It was as though to do anything else meant to leave something important incomplete.

When she was finally able to lift her gaze from the Fragment, she found herself standing beside Azulya. Until that instant she had not been aware of the Kroeni’s close presence.

Azulya’s opal eyes were fixed on the writing in front of her, a frown pinching the skin above her eyes, forming a small ridge of concern.

Illiom touched her arm.

“Azulya …?”

“Nothing,” the other replied, without moving her gaze away from the script. “There is no inkling at all about what lies beyond the seventh door. Every other hall is named, only the seventh is not …”

The Kroeni Chosen finally wrested her eyes away from the shimmering spiral in front of her and faced Illiom. But if Azulya turned to face her, it was only her body that did so. Her expression was at once disappointed and hopeful.

“Nothing,” she repeated, looking at Illiom without seeing her, and turned back to the writing.

Illiom looked around the chamber and saw that the others were still either walking and reading or standing still and gazing.

So she made her way back to the beginning to read the Fragment all over again.

She lost count of the number of times the Fragment caught her in its spell; she read it over and over until the tale imprinted itself so deeply she felt confident that she would always be able to recall it, word for word.

When she was done, she returned to the cavern’s central pillar and joined Argolan, Sereth, Elan and Scald where they sat on the steps, silently waiting for the remaining Chosen to join them.

When Azulya joined them at last, they waited a little longer for the Kroeni to emerge from her trance before they began their journey back.

Even Scald sat quietly, as disinclined to talk as the rest of them. He sat brooding, staring at his hands.

The Pelonui was the first to breach the silence.

“My Key is Clarity … open Door of Illusion,” she said, without addressing anyone in particular. “Door lead to Wisdom … but I not understand. Why illusion? Why wisdom?”

The girl shook her head before looking up at them.

“Why Undina?” she asked.

After a few moments of silence, Elan laid a hand on the tribal girl’s shoulder.

“None of us can answer any of those questions just yet,” the priestess said calmly. “But we will. We will follow this path until there are no more questions or riddles or cryptic prophecies to unravel. When we do find the Wizards or the Adepts - or whatever they are - we will ask them. They owe us that much, at least …”

Undina’s question echoed within Illiom’s mind. Why indeed? Looking around at her companions, Illiom imagined that they all probably felt much the same as she, that Undina had touched the heart of the matter.

It was the same question that had plagued Illiom since Tarmel had first come for her, since the Seeking Stone had ignited at her touch only to vanish – absorbed by her body.

Why? And more to the point, why me?

It was now over a moon later and those questions still remained unanswered.

Malco leapt to his feet.

“I have had quite enough!” he announced in a half yell, looking up towards the dark roof of the Fragment’s Chamber. “Every time I think we are getting somewhere, we come up against more riddles!”

Daughter Milurien looked at him in shock. She began to softly protest his disrespect in the chamber but Malco ignored her. Pointing at the words, he talked over the Daughter’s murmurs.

“What have we gleaned from coming here? Other than the fact that the Keys are to be used in a particular order. Have we learned anything useful?”

“Yes, I have,” Elan responded. “We now know the obstacles that the doors represent and the halls that they admit to once they are overcome …”

“Yes, yes,” Sereth interrupted her. “But you are a priestess! Of course you would be interested in that … but we still have no idea of the Orb’s actual whereabouts …”

Elan took a breath, preparing to answer, but Malco raised a hand. “Are you really about to remind us that the Orb is in the Forbidden Lands? We already knew that!”

He closed his eyes for a moment and then, with a grunt of frustration, turned to look at the rest.

“Let us not forget that we still have to find four more Keys!”

He waved a hand in the air, his annoyance visible. With difficulty he checked himself and let his hand drop.

Scald had been watching Malco’s outburst, his eyes wide with surprise, and a strange smile twisted his expression, as if he was actually enjoying it all.

The Blade, pacing around like a caged beast, suddenly turned on Milurien.

“Take us to this Firebrand of yours, this Awoken. Let us find out if she at least has anything of value to tell us, or whether she will just add to the endless parade of riddles ...”

The smile vanished instantly from Scald’s lips. Milurien also blanched.

“No!” she said, taking a step backwards, looking horrified. After a moment she repeated her refusal, though her voice was a notch calmer. “No,” she repeated. “I cannot go there …”

“Fine by me …” Scald interjected quickly.

Malco peered intensely at the older Daughter.

“Cannot or will not?” he asked.

“I … truly cannot, I am sorry. But one of the other Daughters will; Ciara is the one who occasionally goes down to her. But understand that it is not wise to go there uninvited …”

“Oh, we are invited alright,” Scald sneered. “It seems that your Draca had a dream …”

The Daughter took them back to the gate and asked them to wait there while she went to fetch Daughter Ciara.

It was much later than any of them had imagined. Iod, the sun, had moved past the zenith and was already descending westward. It felt to Illiom as though they had only been with the Fragment for an hour or so, but the reality was that more than half the day had already gone.

Daughter Ciara arrived and smiled sweetly at them. She was much younger than Milurien and still bore a freshness of attitude that had long since wilted in the older Daughter.

As she led them back through the gate, Illiom could not contain her curiosity.

“Ciara, why is Milurien so frightened of the Awoken?”

“I have been told that she had a bad experience. It was before I came here and so I do not know the full story. Now she cannot bring herself to go there at all, which is a real shame … the Firebrand can be a little daunting, but she is an amazing being.”

“Do you go down to see her often?” Elan asked.

“Just five times in the nine years I have been in the Temple,” Ciara replied. “And that is several times more than anyone else here, with the possible exception of Draca Provan. But of course he has been here for the whole three hundred years.”

She locked the gate behind them just as Milurien had done and then led the way through the maze of tunnels.

“Explain to me why you lock yourself in here when you are inside,” Scald demanded. “I can understand when you are not here, but when you are … it makes very little sense.”

“To prevent anyone uninvited from entering,” Ciara informed him with a bemused smile. “We have many things to protect in these caverns … although the Awoken is certainly not one of them.”

“Does she ever come out?” Sereth asked.

“The Firebrand? No, never,” Ciara answered over her shoulder.

They continued in silence for a time. Illiom could not remember seeing any side passages when she had followed Milurien to the Fragment’s Chamber, yet now she noticed several. Ciara veered down one of these and they fell in behind her.

The passage descended steeply before levelling out and broadening.

“I have a question,” Malco said, coming alongside Ciara. “If you have seen her more than anyone else in the past nine years, what about the ones who bring her food?”

Ciara laughed.

“No one brings her food,” she explained. “The Firebrand does not eat.”

That effectively brought all questions to an end and they continued in silence for a time. The tunnel, whose floor had been smooth and even to begin with, began to deteriorate as they travelled deeper. Protrusions from the ceiling, as well as the floor, demanded that they be more attentive as they walked.

“What is like, the Awoken?” asked Undina.

Ciara turned to glance at her.

“She is unique and quite strange,” the young priestess offered. “Harmless would not be the word to describe her, for she is far from powerless; and yet I am convinced that she would never harm any living thing.”

Ciara led them on in silence and Illiom thought that she had said all that she was going to say. However, after a time she spoke again.

“I believe that most people would find her quite disturbing. In all of my descents she has never presented in quite the same way twice. One time she was impatient and intolerant, another time she did not speak at all, and yet another time … I have no name for the form she showed me … but the most unsettling experience for me was when her appearance kept changing. I kept seeing her as different people and … creatures, some human, others not. Many I could not identify. ”

The tunnel had opened up into a broad cavern whose floor fell steeply down into pitch darkness. Ciara led them onto a broad ledge that had been painstakingly carved into the wall on their left. This descended into the yawning void at a more manageable gradient. Although their ledge was wide enough for three to walk abreast, the abyss alongside quickly saw them walking in single file.

All conversation ceased.

The cavern around them continued to open up the deeper they went: the ceiling and the farthest wall also receded until they were entirely swallowed up by the blackness. It soon felt to Illiom as if the whole world had been reduced to this ledge, this vertical section of wall, and the small sphere of torchlight that enveloped them.

To make matters worse, an acrid smell intensified Illiom’s longing to be elsewhere.

“I am beginning to see why Milurien does not like coming down here ...” Malco said, his voice so thin that the cavern’s ominous depths swallowed up his words.

No one tried to talk again.

The only sound Illiom became keenly aware of was their echoing footfalls and that of her own heart, hammering in her ears.

The voice of reason and common sense pleaded with her to get out of this place. She wondered how Scald was faring but could not summon the courage to look back even though she knew he was only two paces behind.

Instead, she kept her eyes fixed upon Azulya’s back, riveted to each step the Kroeni took.

The acrid tang in the air grew stronger: a sulphurous stench that made breathing laborious.

The descent continued and the ledge’s slope steepened to the point that it took some effort for Illiom to keep from running into Azulya. She braced herself against the pull of gravity, knowing that her life depended on it.

Ahead, in the flicker of Ciara’s torchlight, a broad landing came into view. From this landing a narrow rock bridge extended out towards a roughly circular platform that appeared almost suspended above the infinite darkness.

There, a lone figure sat on the platform’s rim, her back to them.

Ciara had reached the landing and was carefully making her way across the bridge and towards the platform.

Go back, run!

The voice in Illiom’s mind screamed but the way behind her was blocked by those who followed.

Ciara continued fearlessly until she reached the platform. She was followed closely by Elan. Sereth came up behind the priestess, with the same careful stiffness of one attempting to walk a tightrope.

As she stepped in turn onto the landing, Azulya turned briefly to gaze at Illiom.

“Do not look down, keep your eyes on the path ahead,” she cautioned.

The ordeal ahead occupied Illiom’s complete attention and the distance seemed impossible. Her legs trembled even before she set her foot on the narrow bridge. She felt as if it would take nothing at all to make her fall; a sudden breeze, a spoken word, the smallest pebble underfoot.

In her mind’s eye she already saw herself falling, falling down, falling … an eternity of nothing but endless falling.

She almost froze with fright, but somewhere deep within she knew that if she stopped now, she would never be able to gain the far side. So she found the strength to take a first step, and then a second.

She tried not to look down but something - a glow far, far below, caught her eye and her gaze strayed towards it before she could check herself. Far, far down, further than she could credit possible, the incandescent glow of molten lava beckoned.

She almost obeyed its call. Her raised foot strayed from its intended course and she stumbled. A steadying hand came to rest firmly against the small of her back. It was enough. She recovered her balance, tore her gaze away from the magma, and fixed it upon the landing ahead.

Five paces later she was standing upon it. She glanced back as Scald joined her on the precarious safety of the platform.

Thank you, she mouthed without a sound, and received an almost imperceptible nod in return.

Illiom shifted her gaze to focus on the being who now sat opposite.

The Awoken was nothing more than a dark shape. Ciara, Argolan, and the seven Chosen arranged themselves in a semi-circle around her.

Illiom, still delirious with vertigo and nauseous from the stench of sulphur, dropped to her knees - grateful for the solidity of the rock beneath her. Some of the others did likewise, while Ciara remained standing, as did the Shieldarm and Azulya.

Whether they sat, knelt, or stood, they all waited in silence. The Awoken gave no sign of being aware of their presence, yet no one seemed inclined to speak first.

A deep rumble rose from the throat of the volcano, as if Mount Shantan itself was rousing and voicing its displeasure at their intrusion. The grumbling persisted for a time, growing no louder but somehow becoming intelligible instead.

You have come, the mountain said.

It was not a question.

The woman before them seemed to have nothing to do with the voice that addressed them. Yet it was she who slowly stood and turned to face them.

They peered at her in the flickering torchlight.

Illiom froze, disbelief flooding her mind as she witnessed the impossible standing before her.

It was not a woman who stood there, looking at her, but the last person she expected to see. It was Grael Munn, the old, holy monk who had found her in the mountains and raised her in Iod’s monastery.

Suddenly forgetful of the setting, Illiom leapt to her feet.

She knew that what she was seeing could only be some kind of trick, for Grael Munn was long gone, long dead; yet even so, tears flooded her eyes. Even though this had to be a lie, to see him once again after all these years was a blessed gift she could not resist.

“Grael …” she choked on the name.

The old monk looked at her with infinite kindness, just as he always had in life. He nodded a few times in such a familiar way that Illiom had to remind herself of where she was.

I appear before you as I do now, not with intent to trick you, child, but to show you that the deepest truths within your heart are known to me, for you and I are the same …

With these words Grael’s appearance began to dissolve and shift. His features changed rapidly until they became those of a woman - wrinkled, ageless, and utterly beautiful.

Only in this way will you know that what I say to you is unsullied truth. So heed my words and mark their meaning, for within them lies a key greater even than the one I am about to give you.

She raised her hand and from nowhere held up one of the Orb’s Keys. Illiom looked at it but made no move to take it.

Heed these words now and imprint them upon your heart: the lens of unquestioning acceptance comes before the one of understanding. The lens of gratitude comes afterwards and yet is greater than both. But it is the lens of transcendence, of rising aloft, that is the greatest of all. For from its high vantage you are shown all there is to see: what is, what was and what is yet to be, as well as all that is veiled and hidden. Remember, child, to rise above, and you will change. And, as you change, the world around you will reveal to you how much you have changed, and how well.

The Awoken’s words resounded and echoed inside Illiom’s head and in the very air around her. They wove and spun and enveloped her with such knowing that she felt their substance and their weave as if they were intrinsic aspects of her own Soul. Illiom drank from this well until both knowing and knower merged and became inextricably one.

Illiom reached for the Key that was being offered but before she could touch it the Firebrand seized her wrist.

Eyes of fire bore into her. The hand that held her wrist was scalding hot yet did not burn. Illiom stared deep into those bright burning fire-eyes and as she did she heard silent words within her mind.

Not yet is it time to speak of all that is hidden. Wait a span longer, child. Wait until each holds a Key. That will be the right time: when the keeping of secrets will no longer protect you. Then, only the disclosure of all your secrets will offer you true protection.

The voice that she now heard was no longer the voice of the mountain, nor was it that of Grael Munn. It was the voice of a maiden: young, fresh, and full of tomorrows. And somehow, Illiom knew that no one else had heard what the Firebrand had just told her.

Her wrist released, Illiom took the Key from the Awoken’s hand. The gem encased within the Key exploded with the fire of rubies and rippled and flowed up her arms.

Clutching the Key to her heart, Illiom looked down upon it. Only after some time had passed did she recall where she was and it occurred to her to return to her place.

When she sat down again and looked back at the Awoken, the woman was wreathed in flames; fire danced in her eyes and out of her lips as she spoke again. Illiom stared, unable to look elsewhere.

I thank you, Chosen. Your coming here has released me of my final obligation.

I am now unfettered, free to leave this mortal shell and to roam the higher reaches, beyond even the realm of eagle or kite. Long have I awaited this moment. Now it is here and I am released … I thank you …

With these words, the Firebrand’s entire body burst into flames.

Fire fed ravenously upon her skin, her body, until nothing remained of the Firebrand at all.

In just a few minutes the Awoken was gone and darkness engulfed the place where she had been.

Nothing, not even ashes, remained.