Pathway - Chapter 222

Chang Chang nodded. Together they lifted Zu Ruo between them and followed the old man through the wound in the Ferryman’s hull. Chang Chang cradled Zu Ruo’s head gently and felt the lifebeat in her neck. She thought of Sull, and a fresh prayer surged within her, a plea for the lives of her friends.

They came through a dark passage and into a chamber of muted spell light. Fa Mu had cast a light spell on the preserved nests of insects clustered near the ceiling. A dank chill filled the air, creating the unsettling atmosphere of a tomb. Jagged planks and ripped sail gave way to what Chang Chang could only describe as a nest carved of rotting wood and arcane power.

Planks from the main deck had been stacked against the wall, their ends warped by magic so that they curled back on themselves like wood shavings. The rough chairs had been fastened to the hull for stability. Their curling ends seemed to have been done purely for style.

“Put her here,” Fa Mu said.

Chang Chang and Ju Feng laid the dwarf woman in the corner, on a narrow straw pallet stacked with blankets. The crude bed had been stuffed into a wooden frame set six inches off the floor. Chang Chang saw a mouse burrow into the straw and disappear.

While Fa Mu moved his staff over Zu Ruo’s body, Chang Chang surveyed the rest of the odd living quarters. Another chair and a table stood in the center of the chamber, reinforced by more wood to make a crude desk. Like the wizard’s staff, the surface had been covered with inscribed symbols, some scratched and some burned into the wood. Chang Chang couldn’t imagine how long it must have taken to carve the symbols so meticulously.

Fa Mu stood straight. The light in his staff dimmed. His eyes looked more sunken than ever, but he smiled wanly. “She will sleep heavily for a time, but she is healing. There will be no permanent damage.”

Before Chang Chang could speak, he brought the staff up and passed it in front of her face. Briefly blinded, Chang Chang felt warmth and strength flow back into her body. The terrible pain in her wrist went away in an instant. She didn’t realize how close the agony and weakness had been to consuming her until they were gone. When the light faded, she saw Fa Mu make the same gesture before Ju Feng.

“I’m in your debt,” Chang Chang said. “I am truly sorry to have brought my burdens to your door.”

The old man waved a hand dismissively. “I am not so easily intimidated at the prospect of other people’s burdens. I welcome the distraction from my own.” He followed her gaze to the desk and its writings. “Wood is the only reliable substance to hand,” he explained. “The harbor and the wild magic together are so toxic the ink is eaten and the parchment crumbling before a decade is out.”

“A decade?” Chang Chang said. “You’ve been here that long?”

“What is that?” Ju Feng asked. He pointed to the back of the chamber, which was cast in shadow outside the spell light.

Fa Mu spoke a word, and two candles jumped to burning life from the back of the hold. They sat in brass dishes on another wooden table, this one free of symbols but draped in a cloth runner of purple velvet. Faded gold braiding lined the edges of the runner, and in its center, true gold glinted in the candle light.

“Is that an altar to Mystra?” Chang Chang asked. As she approached, she thought the glintings were jewels, but when she got close she realized her mistake. They were not jewels, at least not in the sense that a high lady of Waterdeep would value.

They were holy symbols. She recognized Mystra’s symbol, and Deneir, Helm, even Mask and Eilistraee. There were several others she didn’t know.

“I don’t understand,” Chang Chang said, turning to Fa Mu. “I thought you served Mystra’s memory?”

Fa Mu seated himself on a chair and propped his staff next to him.

Darvont sat on the floor across from him. His eyes never left the old man’s face.

“I first came here in the Year of Blue Fire,” Fa Mu said. “I was a man of thirty, then. I awoke on a slope of sand with water lapping my face and found that I had been brought to the place by this man,” he said, gesturing to Darvont. “I remembered only that I had been caught in an arcane storm of the magnitude you only imagine in nightmares.”

“The Year of Blue Fire,” Chang Chang said. “You were there at the beginning of the Spellplague? But that would make you—”

“Over one hundred and twenty years old,” Fa Mu said.

“How is it you’re still alive?” Chang Chang asked.

“Your spellscar keeps you alive,” Ju Feng said. He stood next to Chang Chang at the altar, but he did not touch any of the pieces arranged there.

“In a way,” Fa Mu said. “I have died several times over the course of these nine decades, but my scar, as you call it, restores me.”

Chang Chang stared at the old man. She thought she’d ceased being surprised at the suffering endured by those the plague had touched, but she was wrong.

She looked at the holy symbols. “You were a priest of all these gods?”

“Over each of my ‘lifetimes,’ and sometimes more than one,” Fa Mu said. “I served them all, faithfully, not realizing at first that they, like Lady Mystra, had passed on. How could they cease to be when I could not? It was one of the more horrifying truths I’ve had to face: to accept immortality when the gods were dying around me. When I realized that none of them would be able to grant the long sleep I desired, I dedicated myself to what the Art had lost—to Mystra’s memory.”

“How does your magic function?” Ju Feng asked. “From whom do you receive your divine power?”

“The gods are silent to me,” Fa Mu said, “even those I know to be alive and thriving. I don’t know why. Fortunately, the magic in this staff has remained strong. It is my only link to the power that once was Mystra’s, and so I will watch over it, this small shard of the unbound weave that no longer has a weaver.”

“But why stay here?” Chang Chang asked. “Why not live in the city?”

“Because I feared the day I would be struck down. I imagined awakening in a sealed crypt, enduring a slow death over and over until I descended into madness. And I couldn’t leave him.” Fa Mu touched the side of Darvont’s head. “He saved me and shares my curse. I suspect part of his mind dwells forever in the heart of that arcane storm.”

“So you’ll live here forever, custodian of the same magic that scarred you,” Chang Chang said, “venerating gods who won’t answer your prayers?”

The old man shook his head. “You should not anger yourself on my behalf. Many others suffer greater trials. You yourselves are touched, are you not?”

Chang Chang and Ju Feng exchanged glances. “How do you know that?” Chang Chang asked.

“Because we are all the same, now,” Fa Mu said. “Weavers—custodians of the Art that was lost.”

“Only Mystra could control the weave,” Ju Feng said. “We aren’t gods, and we aren’t immortal.”

“Then what is magic, without its caretaker?” Fa Mu challenged. “Lost, ungovernable. Yet in some few individuals it finds a vessel. You’re quite right: we are not gods, and most of us do not survive the blue flame that burns our flesh and bores our minds. But without the Lady, where can the Art go? It’s been too long mastered. I say it cannot survive on its own, so it clings to the mortal realm and threatens to destroy what it loves most.”

Ju Feng snorted. “You can think that, if you find it comforting. The truth is magic doesn’t have a soul. There’s no beauty left in the Art. The only thing it can do is burn.”

“Is that why you gave Fannie the quill?” Chang Chang asked softly. “Why you stole a collection of magic at amazing cost to yourself? Did you risk your freedom because you believed there was no beauty left in the Art?”

Ju Feng stared at her. He pressed his lips into a hard line, but his expression wasn’t exactly angry. “What has the Art ever done but bring you misery?” he said. “Why would you defend it?”

“I would defend you,” Chang Chang said. “I don’t know if what you say is true,” she said to Fa Mu, “but my friend and I must leave soon. We’re being pursued by a group of men. I led them here, thinking only the wraiths would be disturbed by our presence. I would lead them away—”

“But there is no better place than here for confronting demons, real or imagined,” Fa Mu said, “Please don’t fear for my safety. Darvont and I will be protected within the Ferryman’s hold. You are welcome to share its sanctuary, but I suspect that would defeat your purpose.”

“It would,” Chang Chang said. “Yet I would beg sanctuary for my friend Zu Ruo. I’ve no right to ask, and I have nothing to offer you in return. But if I live long enough I would find a way to repay you.”