She sucked in a breath, touched her brooch, and without looking back or speaking to him, she sank into Tower of Heavens. The passage was not as fluid as she remembered, but jarred her with sharp edges and the texture of stone scraping her flesh. The voices were there, scratching at her mind, and restless. When she fell out of the wall into the tower chamber, she exhaled in relief, a little disoriented.
“Back so soon?” The sarcasm in Merdigen’s voice was unmistakable. “At least a hundred years or so haven’t passed this time.”
She found him sitting at the table and combing out his beard. A couple long white whiskers drifted to the floor and disappeared.
“Um,” she said trying to organize her thoughts, “there was a storm.”
Merdigen grunted.
Dale joined him at the table, brushing off what must be several hundred years’ accumulation of dust from a chair before sitting on it. Merdigen sneezed at the cloud she raised. “Do you…do you really need to sneeze?” she asked.
Merdigen paused his beard combing. “Usually the polite response to a sneeze is an offering of blessing. You raised dust, therefore I sneezed. You’ve returned for a reason?”
“We had more questions.”
“I see. Then ask them. I haven’t all day.”
Dale wanted to know what on Earth could possibly compete for his time, but she held her tongue. “Alton—the Deyer—and I felt there was much you might tell us.”
“As I’ve said before, I have no idea of how he might pass into the tower, and the guardians want nothing to do with him.”
“We believe there are other things you might be able to tell us,” Dale said, “beginning with very basic information. Over the centuries, a lot of history about the wall has been lost. The more we can find out about it, the better we might understand how to fix it, and we believe there is much we can learn from you.”
Merdigen eyed her with a skeptical gaze. “Tell me what you do know, then we shall see.”
“We know that the wall was built over generations, toward the end of the Long War, to contain Blackveil Forest, to prevent it from spreading out into the world, and that Mornhavon the Black, his spirit or whatever, was also contained behind the wall. We’re aware there are…presences in the wall—guardians—that keep it bound together with song.” Dale frowned realizing how odd it sounded when spoken aloud. She tried to remember if there was more she and Alton had discussed. “Oh, and then there’s you. You’re a sort of tower guardian who can speak with the presences in the wall. That’s all we know.”
“That’s it?”
Dale nodded.
“Seems it’s true you’ve lost a good deal of knowledge.” Merdigen set his comb on the table and it evaporated into nothingness. “One of the greatest works of humankind is the wall, yet its creation is all but a mystery. And still, I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Why is that?”
“Tell me, Dale Littlepage, what you know of the days following the end of the Long War.”
Dale thought hard. “There was sickness, the Scourge, which passed among the people. Many who survived the war died of disease, and it was a long time before the country could rebuild to become what it is now. Otherwise there was peace.”
“The Scourge a sickness? I suppose it could be called that.” Merdigen shook his head. “And peace? It depends on how you define peace. The end of fighting Mornhavon? Yes. Tranquility among the people? Hardly. Though I was not present in the world for all that occurred, I will tell you what you are missing, Dale Littlepage, and you may conclude for yourself whether or not it is useful.”
Dale nodded, intrigued now that the peevish Merdigen had quieted, become so serious.
“The Long War encompassed many long years indeed, but my order, which lived aloof from our fellow Sacoridians high up in the Wingsong Mountains, refused to participate in it. We did not believe in using our powers to kill. Even as Mornhavon’s forces committed unspeakable crimes against our people, we remained solid in our determination not to participate.” His expression became downcast. “Whether we were wrong or right not to defend our homeland, we didn’t believe we had been gifted with powers to be used in violence. They were too great a weapon.
“Unfortunately, Mornhavon’s mages did not share our reverence for life as they lay waste to one village after another.” Merdigen looked down at his knees, his expression one of sorrow. “On our side, there were other great mages who felt that using their powers against the enemy was not murder, but the preservation of Sacoridian life. Even a few among my order abandoned the mountains to join the fight, though a core group of us held out.
“There came a time when, after many years of fighting had elapsed, the people proclaimed that one of their valiant leaders must be high king of the land. His name was Jonaeus, and he sent to us a messenger.”
“A Green Rider?” Dale asked.
“What? No, of course not. The Green Riders were too busy on the field of battle. He sent an eagle.”
“An eagle?”
“A great gray eagle, a denizen of the mountains. They had befriended us over the years, but they also helped in the efforts to repel Mornhavon.”
Then Dale remembered the tale of how a gray eagle had once helped Karigan defeat a creature from Blackveil. It was, until now, the only instance she heard of the eagles helping anyone, but perhaps in the far distant past they’d not been so aloof.