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stood. She crossed to the lone figure in the shadows by the wall. She stood in sunlight while he hid in darkness. He would not meet her face.

Joach, she whispered. It's all right. Deep in her heart, she touched a magick still locked there. The Wit'ch Star would eventually balance and level the magick of the world and make each person equal to another. But there would be one exception. She opened her heart and sailed this gift into her brother. She sensed he would need it maybe not the way he had originally intended, but a necessity nonetheless.

She passed the gift of immortality into him. His body jerked with the touch. His face lifted, with both surprise and horror. She tied the magick to his silvery lifeforce. As the connection was made, their two energies mixed, spreading to the web beyond. For a scintillating moment, they were connected to all in the room. Each one's story, thoughts, feelings swelled into them.

Joach gasped, crawling back, covering his face.

Then it was over. The gift had been passed.

Joach lowered his hands and stared up at her from his dark corner. Wh-what have you done?

What had to be' she thought silently, then whispered softly, Whether curse or blessing, do with it what you want. But when the marching of years weighs too heavy, tell my story tell my story true and you will find your end.

He stared at her with horror and disbelief. A pained laugh escaped his throat. He turned from her.

Elena stared down at him. How she longed to reach to him, but she didn't. Instead she did the harder thing; she stepped back. A moment ago, she had been forced to find her own path out of darkness, a path that none but she could see. Now it was Joach's turn. None could walk his path but himself.

She turned and faced the new world. She lifted her pale hands into the sunlight. They remained pure and white, a woman's hands. She found Er'ril staring at her. She smiled back at him. Here was magick enough for anyone.

And so the story ends'

From that moment, everything changed. We all left the heights of Winter's Eyrie and entered a new world, one forged within a ruby fist. But what became of us all? I can't truly say. I can only tell my own tale.

Shame drove me west, past the mountains, past the Western Reaches out to the lands beyond the setting sun. On this road, Elena's last gift to me, her immortality, proved to be true. I didn't age. I lived countless lifetimes, but only the first ever mattered to me. And though I had enough life energy to revive Kesla, I found I didn't have the will. I didn't even try. I was not worthy of her love. She was better off wherever she now slept whether in the sands of her desert home or in the Mother's gentle arms.

Still, over time, even this choice was taken from me. My dreaming abilities faded, like all the strong magicks of the world. It took several generations, but slowly the world became a simpler and perhaps duller place. Under the glow of the Wit'ch Star, the og'res withdrew into their mountains, the mer'ai into their seas, and the elv'in clans were scattered, never to be found again.

Perhaps someday when the Wit'ch Star dies, magick will return again, surging into peaks and valleys, but for now, it is an age of mankind in all its glory and misery. I've seen golden times and dark pass me by, and still I walked the roads, seeking answers that were always inside me.

Now as I look back at the words I wrote at the beginning of this long tale, I see the anger in my heart. Elena had not cursed me, only given me the opportunity to walk down the dark path that I had started myself. It was a road too long to survive in the span of a single life. There were entire lifetimes of guilt, bitterness, and even madness to survive.

And I did survive, coming at last to the Isles of Kell off the Western Coast. It was as close to Alasea as I could ever bring myself. I had not the heart to walk its lands again, but I could not be far from it, either. So I lived these last centuries in Kell, a drifter among the islands, nameless so none would note my lack of aging.

I stare now at my wrinkled hands that move the quill, the weak scratching at the parchment, the gray hairs that fall like late winter's snow upon the drying ink. Elena's last promise to me has been fulfilled. In that last moment of communion with her, when I touched that silver web, all the stories of the others flowed into me. I packed them away in trunks and cupboards. I did not want to face them in that dark time.

Only after all these centuries did I dare open those secret places in my heart and face those memories, those many lives. I see now why Elena set this task before me, for in these pages, in these stories, I found myself. I saw my journey, not only through the bitter lens of my own heart, but through so many other eyes. And in that moment of clarity, as I finish this story, I finally can do what had escaped me for so many centuries.

/ can forgive myself.

Among these stories, I finally see that I was no better nor worse than my companions. We all had secrets, moments of ignominy and honor, cowardice and bravery even Elena herself.

It is this knowledge that has finally broken the immortal spell. Elena had tied the magick to my heart's guilt. And once this was absolved, the spell fell away.

At last I am free to pass to the Mother, as all good beings are allowed.

Even now, I sense a presence around me. Not the Mother, but something more intimate. Though there is no swirl of spirit nor dance of moonstone, I know someone stands with me. I can almost feel her breath on my cheek.

Elena, I whisper to the empty room.

And no words come, but I still sense some acknowledgment, a warmth in my heart. At the beginning of this tale, I told how I had described the wit'ch in countless ways: a buffoon, a prophet, a clown, a savior, a hero, and a villain. But in all the centuries, I never described her the way my heart knew her best as my sister.

What became of you and Er'ril? I ask' because I never had before. Did you live a long and happy life?

Then came the barest whisper from across the ages, sad and joyful at the same time. We lived' That is all one can as1{.

I cannot stand it any longer. I cry. Tears fall upon the parchment. My heart breaks and re-forms into something new, unstained and full of love.

And though not even a shadow moves, I sense a hand held out toward me. I can wait no longer. This is the end of all, my life, my tale, my place in the world and ways of Alasea.

So let me set aside my pen. I have a hand to take.

The Final Question of Scholarship

Why are the Kehuth Scrolb banned?

Answer this thesis below in ink and seal with a palm print -Do not break the seal on the next pages until you have shown your answer to your assigned proctor.

Afterword

Jlr'rob Sordun, D.F.S., M.A., Director of University Studies (U.D.B.)

Welcome, new scholars of the Commonwealth!

It is with great pleasure that I congratulate those who now read these pages. You have passed the final test and have been granted the crimson sash of graduation. As you are well aware, not all of your fellow students stand beside you. Many have walked the long road only to stumble at the very end. They have failed to answer the final question correctly.

Why have the texts been banned?

Of course, by the sashes you wear, you know with certainty the truth of your own answers, but it is just as important to know what others had written. There is a final lesson yet to be learned from those who were sent to the gallows of Au'tree.

For you see, the most common misconception of your failed brethren is to place too much power in the author of the Scrolls, the purported brother of Elena Morin'stal. They answered the final question by supposing that his words were indeed valid at the end, that magick would again return to the world with the dying of the Wit'ch Star. That is plainly absurd, a sure sign of a weak scholarly mind. They have clearly been duped and swayed by the insidious poison of the author.

No, of course, that is not the answer. The true danger of the text is found in Elena's last supposed act: taking the magick and seeding it as special gifts throughout all lands, all peoples. As she says, making each person equal.

Here is the final and seductive treachery of the author.

Plainly, it is cruel to plant such delusions in some commoner working