THE WALL SPEAKS
From Ullem Bay to the shores of the dawn, we weave our song through stone and mortar, we sing our will to strengthen and bind. We shield the lands from ancient dark. We are the bulwark of the Ages. We stand sentry day and night, through storm and winter, and freeze and thaw.
From Ullem Bay to the shores of dawn, we weave our song in harmony for we are one.
We are broken.
From Ullem Bay to—
Losing rhythm.
We shield the lands—
Broken. Lost. Despair.
Hear us! Help us! Heal us!
Do not trust him.
We do not trust. We forbid him passage.
ALTON AND THE WALL
The stone facing of the wall changed aspect with the passing light of the sun. One moment the stone was a bright gray-white, reflecting the sunlight back into the world. In another instant, its rough texture emerged in relief, dimpled by shadows that revealed every contour of its topography; every pit, every crag, every fissure. It looked primal, as if risen from the Earth, formed by the forces that built mountains and divided canyons, or perhaps shaped by the hands of the gods themselves. Yet the simpler truth was that it had been built by mortal men, desperate mortal men, who had deeply feared what lay on the other side. As the sun drifted farther to the west, the wall clad itself in shadow, megalithic, mysterious, and threatening.
Alton D’Yer vowed to uncover the secrets locked in the wall so that which had withstood the assault of time and weathering for over a thousand years would not crumble and unleash the evil it had been built to hold at bay. Yet the wall would not give up its secrets so easily.
“That should do it,” Leese said, tying off the last of the bandage she had wrapped around his hand. Then in a tone that was simultaneously light and pointed, she added, “I trust you won’t start banging your head against the wall next.”
Alton glanced at both hands, now swaddled in linen, and frowned. “Thank you.”
The mender sighed and picked up her pack of supplies. “If you need me again, you know where to find me.”
Alton nodded and watched her as she strode off toward her tent. She had moved down to this secondary encampment by the Tower of the Heavens after he had raged at the wall one too many times. The first time had left him with a broken toe. This time he had banged his hands bloody against it, and though he’d struck with mindless force, he’d managed not to break anything, which, he supposed, was a good thing.
Frustration brought the rages on, rage he never knew he possessed. It had been a couple months since last he stood within the tower, one of ten situated along the vast expanse of the wall. The towers once housed keepers, ancestral members of his own clan, who watched over the wall’s condition and the enemy beyond. All too acutely he remembered the fateful day when he had stepped out of the tower with his fellow Green Riders, never knowing he’d be forbidden access the next time he tried to enter.
He had traveled to Woodhaven to report to his father, the lord-governor of D’Yer Province. Swift orders had come to Woodhaven from the king that Alton should return to the tower and learn what he could about the wall and repairing it by speaking to Merdigen, a magical presence that resided in the tower.
The orders were a formality. Alton had planned to return to the wall with or without them. The wall obsessed him, crowded his dreams and his waking thoughts. Now was the time to fix the breach that weakened it, now was the time to strengthen it. Now, before Mornhavon the Black appeared in Blackveil Forest again.
Only the wall wouldn’t let him pass. No matter how he bent his mind to it, no matter how he pleaded with the guardians who inhabited the wall, they refused him. And it brought on the rage.
The tower had admitted him and the other Riders before. Why would it deny him now?
He knew the soldiers, even those at the main encampment near the breach, gossiped about him, about his obsession. Had he gone mad like his cousin Pendric, who now existed as a guardian within the wall?
The wall’s shadow swallowed his camp and the forest, and soon all would be submerged in darkness. Now that it was autumn, the hours of daylight were shrinking, and it made him feel as if he were running out of time. No one knew how far into the future Karigan had taken Mornhavon the Black. No one knew when their time line would merge with his, and his presence would again threaten the world. This was why Alton had to find the answers now. He had to take advantage of the time Karigan secured for him, and for everyone.
Before thoughts of Karigan could cloud his mind, he pushed them out—forcibly—and traced the contours of the stone wall with his fingertips.
“I will understand,” he promised the wall. “I will enter the tower, and I will understand, and nothing will hold me back.”
Sometimes the fevers came on Alton during the night like a sudden gale as the residue of poisons racked his body. Leese guessed that the poisons would eventually seep out of his blood and he’d return to normal, but he wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t given himself enough time to fully heal after his ordeal in Blackveil, and now he writhed in his bedding, the dark forest haunting his dreams. Sickly black branches snaked out of the shifting, ever present mist and stabbed at his flesh. He heard the calls of creatures that hunted him. And he dreamed of her.
He remembered her in the ivory dress, and how her long brown hair had fallen softly about her shoulders. He recalled the blush upon her cheeks, and the paleness of her neck, of her throat. She had spoken, but he could no longer hear the words, nor could he remember the sound of her voice. She had betrayed him. Karigan had betrayed him into nearly destroying the wall with false promises.