Tanya Huff - The Last Wizard (Wizard Crystal)

The Last Wizard

By

Tanya Huff

Copyright 1989 by Tanya Huff. All Rights Reserved. Cover art by Dennis Nolan. DAW Book Collectors No. 775.

For Fe, who freed the emotions and refuses to let me lock them away again.

First Printing, March 1989 1 23456789 Printed in the U.S.A.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Doris Bercarich for technical assistance above and beyond the call of friendship. I wouldn't have lent me a disk drive.

Contents

Progenitor

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Interlude One

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Interlude Two

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

End

Progenitor

Seven were the goddesses remaining when the gods were destroyed. Seven they were and these were their degrees: Nashawryn was the eldest; ebony haired and silver eyed, ruler of night and darkness, concealment and safety held in one cupped hand, a dagger of fear clenched tight in the other fist.

Zarsheiy, who closely followed night in age, ruled fire, and, claimed her dark sister, was ruled by it. Flame her hair and flame her eyes and flame, they said, her heart. Passionate and unpredictable, one moment giving, the next destroying, Zarsheiy's temper was legend amongst both Mortals and the deities they had created.

Most loved of all the seven was Geta, Freedom, who watched her twin brother Getan, god of Justice, destroyed by his Wizard son and so hid her grieving face from Mortals all the long years the Wizards ruled.

Gentle Sholah held hearth and harvest in the bowl of her two hands. Her dance turned the seasons, and she was the first who dared deny Nashawryn and have Zarsheiy heed her call.

Tayja was Sholahs daughter, carved for her of mahogany from the heart of a single tree by Pejore, the god of art. It was Tayja who dared go into Chaos and bring out the skill to harness Zarsheiy and she who fought always to strike the dagger from Nashawryn's hand. Craft and learning were her dominion and although she demanded much of those who worshiped her, of all the goddesses, save perhaps Geta, she gave the most in return.

Youngest of the seven was Eegri, and on her realm of chance even Tayja's reason blunted. She went where she would; into night; into flame; now revering freedom, now denying it; tripping through field and forge with equal abandon. She had no temples and no priesthood, but her symbol was etched over every door and among Mortalkind there were many who lived by her favor.

The last of the seven claimed to have been present when the Mother-creator lay with Chaos and bore him Lord Death, her one true son. She claimed to be more passionate than fire, to be more necessary than freedom, to be the moving force of hearth and harvest, to be more a fickle power than even chance herself. Of craft and learning she claimed to be the strength, lending to poor Mortals the incentive to succeed. Her name was Avreen, and she wore both the face of love and of her darker aspect, lust.

As the dark age of Wizards ended, these seven were all of the pantheon that survived; no longer worshiped, seldom remembered. But a goddess once created does not disappear merely because her creator has moved beyond and closer to the truth. As they watched the Wizards rule, so they watched the Wizards die. And they saw that one did not. The most powerful of the Wizards, his father the most powerful of the gods long destroyed, still lived. Throughout the many thousand years during which he hid, the seven watched. When he emerged to rule the earth again, they were ready.

The gods had stood alone, each against his child; and lost. They would stand together.

The Mother-creator's eldest child, immortal first created, died for love of a mortal man. The seven used that lovefor was not Love one of themand formed a vessel into which they poured all that they were. They caused that vessel to present their essence back to the Mother's youngest, to a mortal woman, to the only aspect of all the Mother's creation that was in turn able to create, and she formed that essence into a child.

And the child, unique in creation, won where the gods had failed.

One

"You waitin' for someone?"

"No."

"Mind if I set?"

"Yes."

The beefy faced man opened and closed his mouth a few times and a wave of red washed out the freckles sprinkled liberally across his nose and cheeks. "Think you're too good ta set with me?" His hard miner's hands clenched the edge of the small table "No." But the tone said yes.

It said other things as well, spoke a coldness that caused the miner's balls to draw up, even under his thick sheepskin trousers.

She lifted her head just a little and let a ray of lantern light fall within the confines of her hood.

The man's eyes widened. For a moment his jaw went slack, and then his sandy brows drew down in a puzzled frown. He knew something was happening; he didn't know what. An instant later, he lost even that and turned away, knowing only that his advances had been rejected.

She lowered her head and her face was once again masked by darkness.

"Not very polite," said her companion as the miner returned to his own table amidst the jeers and catcalls of his friends. "I never thought to see you use your power on such a trivial thing."

Crystal shrugged but kept her voice low as she answered. Although she had no objection to being thought overly proud or even peculiar, it wouldn't do to have the whole tavern think her insane; sitting and talking to a companion only she could see. She said as much to Lord Death, adding: "I wish to be left alone. That is not, to my mind, a trivial thing."

Lord Death drew his finger through a puddle of spilled ale, making no mark. "And your wish is to be that poor mortal's command?" His hair flickered to a bright red-gold, and for a heartbeat his eyes glowed a brilliant sapphire blue.

The hiss of breath through Crystal's teeth caused several patrons to turn and peer toward the dim comer. She quickly dropped her gaze to her mug of ale until. curiosity unsatisfied, they returned to their own concerns.

"You dare?" she growled when the attention had shifted away. "You dare show that face to me? To criticize my actions with it? To dare suggest I walk his road? Kraydak's road?" Kraydak of the red-gold hair and sapphire eyes and silken voice and blood-red hands. Kraydak, the most powerful of the ancient wizards, dead now these dozen years- Her hand had set his death in motion, but his arrogance had killed him in the end. His arrogance. His concern had been solely for himself, all others existing only to serve.

Lord Death sat quietly, chin on hands, watching the last of the wizards work her way through his accusation to the truth. In spite of a parentage that tied together all the threads of the Mother's creation, and more power than had ever been contained in a mortal shell, she was as capable of lying to herself as any other. But she seldom did and he doubted she would now. He'd spent a lot of time with her over the last few years, drawn by something he was not yet willing to name, and he'd come to respect her ability to see things as they were, not as she wanted them to be.

"Fin sorry." The whisper from the depths of the hood was truly contrite and both slender hands tightened about her mug.

The pewter began to bend and she hurriedly stroked it straight. Forgetting how it must appear to anyone watchingand there had been inquisitive eyes on her since she entered the innshe turned to face Lord Death. The shadows of the hood could not hide the brimming tears from one who walked in shadow. I...I seem to be losing control of things lately.