One by one they took to the air and flew back through the hole in the wall. The opening returned to its original size, and water began spilling out from the hole once more. Faegan looked down at the treasures lying at his feet.

"May I touch them now?" he asked.

"No," she answered. "They are still wet, and are just as dangerous as ever." The watchwoman reached into her robe again and removed a small, azure-glowing bag. She opened it and held it wide before the wizard.

"Use your gift to place the plants and vial into this bag," she told him. "It will protect your flesh from them until you arrive home. It is also enchanted to absorb the water and render it harmless. Later you will be able to touch them. I have cast a spell of accelerated drying over the herbs; they will be usable soon."

Hearing that such a remarkable spell existed, Faegan was almost overwhelmed by curiosity and the desire to learn, but he managed to drag his attention back to the situation at hand. Doing as she bade him, he focused on the plants and vial and, using the craft, caused them to levitate. They slowly entered the bag, and the watchwoman pulled the cinch tight. She placed the bag on Faegan's lap.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "You have no idea how much you have just helped preserve the practice of the Vigors."

"Your gratitude is not important now," she said. "It is time for you to leave this place and make use of what I have given you. Do not fail, and do not waste what you have been given. There is only enough to make one attempt to separate your herbs and oils. Time is precious."

His mind racing, Faegan looked down at the bag. "And how do I use these gifts?" he asked.

"First make sure the herbs have completely dried. This will require several more days, at least. Then grind them into a fine powder. Mix the powder deeply within your stores, and watch from a distance. Before you do, however, make sure there are sufficient containers waiting nearby. All will be revealed. The oil, however, may be used to separate your other oils right away."

Faegan looked at Wigg, who still lay unconscious in the boat.

"Given Wigg's current condition, I may not be able to levitate him all the way back to the surface," he said, thinking of the narrow, confined stairway they had taken here.

"The Ones understood that anyone who was fortunate enough to survive this place would not possess the strength to leave on their own," she said simply. "There is another way out." She raised her arms.

Light began to flood down from the ceiling, forming a bright, white circle on the floor of the chamber. "Bring the other wizard with you into the light," she said.

Faegan placed the bag she had given him securely in his robe. Then he levitated Wigg's inert body up to his lap and floated his chair into the circle of light. As he did, the white light turned to azure, and his chair began to revolve.

"What is happening?" he asked nervously.

"You are departing the Chamber of Penitence," she answered. "Farewell, wizard."

The chair revolved faster, then rose into the air. As it increased in speed, Faegan feared he would not be able to continue holding onto Wigg. Using magic to augment his strength, he held on as best he could as Wigg's legs, arms, and robe went flying in circles with the dizzying, disorienting revolutions of the chair.

Looking up into the shaft of azure light, Faegan realized that it led all the way to the top, to the fresh air and sunlight of the world above.

Then the watchwoman raised her arms. "Do not forget what I told you of the River of Thought, wizard!" she shouted from far below. "Farewell!"

Faegan desperately wanted to ask her more, but before he could the two wizards soared into the gleaming, azure bolt of light, and were gone.

PART IV

Rebirth

CHAPTER

Forty-two

In a sense, time has no place in the practice of the craft. For to those who shall grant themselves the time enchantments, sometimes a year shall seem as a day, and a day as a mere moment. And the Forestallments granted into their blood shall give rise to great gifts, some wondrous, and some terrible in their applications.

– from the Scroll of the Vigors

A s Tristan walked through the double doors of the Wing and Claw he stopped for a moment, taking in the scene.

The room before him was very large and very dark, lit only by several dim, oil lamp chandeliers. Tables filled the room, and a long bar sat before the wall to his right. In one corner a stairway could be seen leading to the second floor-to the bedrooms, he assumed. Men and women were cavorting loudly. Some, already in varying stages of undress, were locked in passionate embraces. Others were busy drinking and playing at dice or cards, the losers shouting out obscenities and invectives at the Afterlife. One man sat on a chair in the corner, a pipe held between his teeth as he happily ground out ditties from an ancient-looking squeezebox. The entire place smelled of sweat and stale liquor.

No one seemed to take any particular notice of Tristan, and for that he was grateful. As casually as he could, he walked up to the bar. The one-eyed barkeep was a thin, greasy-looking creature who walked with a decisive limp. Where his other eye should have been there was only an empty hole, crudely sewn shut with bits of leather. The stitches looked as if they had been there for a long time.

Forcing down his revulsion, the prince looked steadily into the man's good, blue eye. "Ale," he said simply.

"Don't got none," the fellow said, almost proudly.

"Why not?" Tristan asked skeptically. "They're drinking it on the street."

"Like I said, don't got none," the man repeated. He smiled, revealing the absence of two front teeth. The same man who had taken the bartender's eye had probably gotten the teeth as well, Tristan thought.

"Then what do you have?" he asked.

"Mead," the fellow answered simply, as if it was something the prince should know simply because he was standing in the Wing and Claw. "Produced special on the island, and it's all we sell here."

"Very well," Tristan said. "Mead it is."

"Do you want the cheap stuff, or the good stuff?" the bartender asked.

Tristan reached into his pocket, produced a single kisa, and dropped it on top of the bar. "Cheap," he answered, almost immediately questioning his decision.

Greedily picking up the coin, the bartender bit into it, testing its worth. Apparently satisfied, he walked down the length of the bar a bit and stopped before a great keg that sat atop it. Turning the spigot, he released a dark, amber substance into a tankard that looked as if it had just been dredged up off the floor of the Sea of Whispers. He walked back and unceremoniously deposited the pungent concoction before the prince.

Tristan took a swallow.

Gagging, he immediately spat it back out, sure he was about to vomit. He had had mead before, but never any so vile as this. After a fit of coughing, he glared back up at the man behind the bar. The fellow once again smiled, displaying the dark vacancies between his remaining teeth.

"Takes a bit of gettin' used to, don't it?" he asked happily.

As the prince wiped his mouth, he sensed someone beside him. Turning, he found himself looking directly into the bloodshot blue eyes of a blond woman about his own age. She wore a tattered dress and long earrings, and smelled something like a musty, abandoned candy shop. Smiling, she inched a bit closer, at the same time reaching down to touch his groin.

"You're new here, aren'tcha, love?" she asked. Her hungry, greedy eyes looked him up and down. "Believe me, if I'd been with you before, I'd remember." Brazenly leaving her hand where it was, she looked at Tristan's tankard, then over at the bartender.