Quest for the Sun by V M Jones

Zagros — Argos and Ronel had been their nicknames for each other when they were playmates in Antarion, he’d told me — looked back at me, his eyes crinkling in what passed for him as a smile as he nodded towards the inner door.
    Puzzled, still chewing, I followed his gaze and at the same time a voice — deep, strange and yet familiar — spoke intothe silent room. ‘Well met once more, Prince Zephyr.’
    There in the doorway stood Meirion, Prophet Mage of Karazan.
    I almost choked on my stew. Last time I’d seen him had been at the edge of the shroud after our escape from Shakesh; he’d been filthy and half-starved, wearing nothing but a dirty loincloth. We’d rescued him from the dungeon where he’d been imprisoned and tortured; even now I could hardly bear to look at the hollow sockets that had once been eyes. We’d planned to take him back with us to Quested Court, but when we emerged from the shroud, he was gone. I remembered the brief tingling hand-touch that had meant farewell; the shadow of a smile; the words, dismissed as gibberish at the time, dust-dry in darkness: The five are come, Man-child … the time is nigh …
    â€˜You knew,’ I breathed, staring across at the tall, robed figure. ‘Man-child, like in the prophecy — all the time, you knew. But how …’
    â€˜The inner eye sees through a veil of darkness. Some things can be seen and yet not spoken of; some seen and yet not changed.’ As he spoke, he crossed to stand before the fire. Watching him, it was hard to believe he was blind.
    â€˜How did you know it was me, I mean?’ Then suddenly the the questions were falling over each other. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you just disappear like that? Where did you go? How did you find your way here? And how did you get to Shakesh in the first place? There’s so much I don’t understand …’
    I heard myself burble to a stop. The flames flickered and steadied, and my thoughts steadied with them. I pushed my plate aside. Everyone was watching me, even Meirion, with his empty eyes — but watching in a different way from before. Watching … and waiting.
    Hesitantly I rose and crossed to where the mage was standing. I reached for his right hand and raised it, touching it to my lips and then my cheek in a gesture that already felt familiar.When I spoke, uncertainty cracked my voice into a gravelly croak completely unlike my own. ‘Well met, my Lord Meirion. Please … tell me …’
    â€˜What is it you wish to know?’
    Again, all the unanswered questions pushed up inside me like a gigantic bubble, but this time I swallowed them. Sifted through them; found the ones that really mattered. Spoke my thoughts aloud, slowly, hesitantly. ‘Is Zeel dead? On the other side, the plasma globe —’ I knew I didn’t have to tell him more — ‘it’s linked to the darkness here in Karazan, isn’t it?’
    It is not over yet …
    â€˜My brother, Zenith … I need to know where to find him, and what we must do to bring back the light. And Meirion, if you can … please help me follow in the footsteps of my father.’
    Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but the creases in the seamed cheeks seemed to deepen. ‘For the last: you will make your own footprints upon the soil of Karazan, Prince Zephyr. As to your other questions … I will tell you what I can, but this is Karazan, and the way to the truth is crooked and hard to find. I will point the way, but it is your steps that must lead you there. You will stumble upon many things on your path, some of use, some not. Some you have, and some have yet to come. Listen, and look deep into the fire.’
    The room seemed suddenly darker. The flames that had burned so brightly moments before had died down into a sullen red glow. Zagros and Zaronel had gone; we were alone. I sat cross-legged beside