The Hand of Chaos

45

He sat on the stairs leading down from the base of the fallen statue into the secret tunnels of the Sartan. Above him, Limbeck harangued, the mensch battled the serpents to save their world, and the Kicksey-winsey stood silent, unmoving. Haplo leaned against the wall, weak and light-headed from shock and loss of blood.

The dog was with him, gazing at him anxiously. Haplo didn’t know when it had come back, was too tired to think about it or what its return portended. And he could do nothing to help the mensch; he could barely help himself.

“It doesn’t sound as if they need any help, though,” he said to the dog. He had closed the terrible wound in his chest, but he needed time, a long time, to completely heal himself. The heart rune, the very center of his being, was torn.

He leaned against the wall, shut his eyes, grateful for the darkness. His mind drifted. He was holding the small book, the one given him by the Kenkari. He would have to remember to turn the book over to Limbeck. He was looking at it again ... he had to be careful... didn’t want to smear blood ... on the pages.... The drawings... diagrams... instructions.

“The Sartan didn’t abandon the worlds,” he was telling Limbeck ... or the dog... who kept changing into Limbeck. “Those on this one foresaw their own demise. Alfred’s people. They knew they would not be able to complete their grand scheme for uniting the worlds, for providing air to the world of stone, water to the world of air, fire to the world of water. They wrote it all down, wrote it down for those they knew they would have to leave behind.

“It’s all here, in this small book. The words that will start the automaton upon its tasks, start the Kicksey-winsey operating, align the continents, bring them all life-giving water. The words that will send a signal through Death’s Gate to all the other worlds.

“It is all in this book, written down in four languages: Sartan, elven, dwarven, human.

“Alfred would be pleased,” Haplo told Limbeck... who kept changing into the dog. “He can quit apologizing.”

But the plan had gone awry.

The Sartan who were supposed to awaken and use the book had not. Alfred, the one Sartan who did wake up, either didn’t know about the book or had searched for it and couldn’t find it. It was the Kenkari elves who had found the book. Found it, suppressed it, hidden it away.

“And if it hadn’t been the elves,” Haplo said, “it would have been the humans, or the dwarves. All of them, too filled with hate and distrust to come together ...”

“Workers of the world!” Limbeck was winding up. “Unite!” And this time, he got it right.

“Maybe this time, they will get it right,” Haplo said tiredly, smiling. He sighed. The dog whimpered, crowded close to its master and sniffed worriedly—flesh twitching—at the blood on his hands and arms.

“I could take the book,” came a voice. “Take it from your dead body, Patryn.” The dog whimpered, pressed its nose into his hand.

Haplo’s eyes flared open. Fear snapped him to full, alert wakefulness. Sang-drax stood at the bottom of the stairs. The serpent had resumed his elf form, looked much the same as before, except that he was wan and pale and only one red eye gleamed. The other eye socket was a dark and empty hole, as if the serpent had plucked out the injured orb and tossed it away.

Haplo, hearing the dwarves shout triumphantly from above, understood.

“They’re winning. Courage, unity—the pain’s more bitter than a sword’s thrust inside you, isn’t it, Sang-drax? Go on, get out. You’re as weak as I am. You can’t hurt me now.”

“Oh, I could. But I won’t. We have new orders.” Sang-drax smiled, his voice lingered over die last word as if he found it amusing. “You’re to live, after all, it seems. Or perhaps I should rephrase that. I’m not the one destined to kill you.”

Haplo bowed his head, closed his eyes, leaned back against the wall. He was tired, so very tired...

“As for your mensch friends,” continued Sang-drax, “they haven’t managed to turn the machine on yet. It may prove to be a ‘jolting’ experience. For them... and for all the other worlds. Read the book, Patryn. Read it carefully.”

The serpent’s elven form began to waver, started to lose consistency and shape. He was visible, for an instant, in his hideous snakelike body, but that transformation, too, was difficult for him to maintain. He was, as Haplo had said, growing weak. Soon, only his words were left, and the faint flicker of the gleaming red eye in the darkness of the Sartan tunnels.

“You are doomed, Patryn. Your battle can never be won. Unless you defeat yourself.”