Walking alongside the Druid in silence, Jared felt better after a hundred paces.  The gentle wind on his back seemed to revive him, and the cobalt-blue grass, soft under his boots, steadied his steps.  Even the earth-Power coursing through every tree, bush, rock or stream seemed to caress his skin, a balm to his ever-sensitive Sight. Animals flitted swiftly across his vision, their various colored energies identifying them as predator or prey.

Here there was perfection in the currents, a balance of life and death, a place of healing. For the first time since he had laid eyes on this world, he felt no pain.  He wanted to laugh aloud for the sheer joy of it, even though he knew it would never last.

"I've almost forgotten what this land looks like.  It's beautiful," Jared breathed with excitement, before he realized that these images of Ervon, old superimposed on the new, did not belong to him-- but Mergenthaal's. The boundary between the Raisch's memories and his own was a thin line that disappeared during unguarded moments such as this.

"Indeed, it is."  Arlan replied, grateful for the boy's change of spirits.  "Keltiad is one of the few remaining untouched lands."

"Untouched?"

"Without the taint of Darkness. Druidia is another, and so is Avador in the continent of Solaris."  Arlan's brows furrowed with uncertainty. "Or so they were before I left Ervon to find you."

'Laareth—remember his name . . .'

Something, or someone, whispered faintly in Jared's mind and his steps faltered. He knew that voice! But his chaotic memories drew nothing but shadows.

An image suddenly flickered in his thoughts: the mural of the seven-headed Dragon in Mergenthaal's throne room--his mentor's Lord--and the cause of all his pain. A familiar and overwhelming, black rage threatened to flood his vision, before he quelled it with effort.

Letting out a shuddering breath, he said hesitantly, directing a question at the Druid. "What do you know of Laareth?"

Arlan looked askance at the youth, sensing his turmoil. Mention of that name always seemed to cast a wide shadow across the sun. He did not want to spoil such a pleasant afternoon, but he sighed instead, giving way.

"In truth, there is only one adversary. Everything else pales in comparison. The ancients call him Laareth—Darkness, in the common tongue. He has existed since Time itself, waging an endless war against the Creator.  In the final battle that threatened the destruction of the known universe, Laareth was defeated and imprisoned by the Creator in a Shield of Time, aided by none other than your ancestor, Rhyshannon. Laareth remains to this day, forever under its spell, never to travel to ages past and future, unable to reach the distant stars before they crumble into dust. The balance between order and chaos was restored, for a few eons, at least.  He is, however, ever-present, in every being with a piece of darkness in his soul."

Arlan glanced at the youth, slowing his pace to match the boy's. "Be wary mostly of the Shelaar, those members of our race corrupted by Laareth or his servants. In their hearts, if not in intent, they serve his will in the end."

"How can we know if one has been touched by Darkness?  Is there any way to tell them apart?"  The boy asked breathlessly, ignoring the ache in his legs as they traversed a hill.

"There are no perfect ways.  Except for the final outcome, good and evil can become very much entwined."  Arlan paused, deliberating his next words. "The Druids know of only one way to reveal what is inside one's heart and soul, but it involves a very dangerous magic.  It is never used except for matters of life and death."

"There was a time when men can trust one another as brothers, Jared," the Druid added grimly.  "That time has passed from this world.  Trust no one that you do not truly know."

Jared stopped in his tracks, and Arlan turned to see what was amiss.  The boy's green eyes locked into his, and he had the uncanny feeling that Jared could see through him and into his very soul.  Suddenly, he desperately wanted to know what those eyes could see.

"Laareth—you know that he could have killed me ten times over without taking a breath. There must be something that he wants, enough to keep me alive."

Arlan kept his face carefully masked, though his thoughts raced: surprise at Jared's insight and doubt as to how well he could handle the truth. Too much, too many truths unraveling all at once--yet Arlan knew he owed the boy an answer.  He had been in darkness long enough and had suffered terribly because of it. 

Holding Jared's gaze, he said, cautiously, "No one, not even his closest servants, knows what his true intentions are. What the Conclave believes, is this:  Around five hundred years ago, Laareth unleashed the Raisch in a war against Ervon. They were looking for a child—the heir of Rhyshannon--a child that is of Ervon and yet is not of it, nor does he exist in Ervon's time. He is the fulcrum that will tilt the balance between Order and Chaos, for within him lies the knowledge, the Key that liberates Darkness from his prison, the Shield of Time."

Shaking his head in disbelief, the youth looked at him incredulously.  "And the Conclave assumes I am that child? I know nothing of such knowledge. Even if I did, it now belongs to one particular Myrdraath." 

"You wouldn't be here right now if it succeeded in its task." Arlan countered.   "I don't know how much you remember, but I know for certain that the Myrdraath failed, miserably, and the Key is still in your possession."

Jared turned to face him and said in a challenging, skeptical tone, "I see no reason why even the Conclave would want me alive then, if they believe I'm capable of freeing Laareth from his prison. Wouldn't it be better to get rid of me instead?"

Arlan eyed the boy warily. Saying that the bastion for good in this world—the Conclave-- would be willing to confront evil with evil was like calling white, black. But half a millenium had passed and much can change in that span of time—even for the Conclave.

"Legends have it that the Key is a double-edged sword, one side has the power to free him, the other to destroy him. It all depends upon the wielder. As you can see, the Conclave is prepared to face such measures to rid the world of his influence forever."

Frustration flashed in Jared's eyes. "They must be mistaken. I can't give them what I don't even have, if it even exists. And if this is the only answer you can give me, then those I loved--and god knows who else--paid the price with their lives--for nothing!"

Arlan glanced sharply at Jared, his own painful memories rising to the surface. 'No, never say they died for nothing.' He bit back the harsh words from his mouth, and instead said softly, "Your grandparents sacrificed their lives because they loved you, to protect the only person they deemed precious in their hearts."

Jared turned his head away, but not before Arlan saw the tears glisten in the boy's eyes.

They traveled in silence, each locked in their own thoughts. The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows in its wake as they reached the Forest of Sorrows and proceeded northwest along its edge.  But to Jared's vision, the flows of earth-Power gradually shifted in hue, becoming brighter than day. Blinded by the harsh light of the fae, he pulled the hood of his cloak lower over his head and held a hand up to protect his eyes, then felt foolish for doing so when this did not produce the desired effect.  Instead he tightened his Shields around him, meshed the strands so completely that the tiny holes visible only to him disappeared.  It felt like putting a plug on his Senses—and it worked far better than any physical shade.

'Soon it will be like breathing...' 

Mergenthaal's voice crooned in his mind. Jared was so startled that he missed a step, cursing under his breath.

No, it's not possible.  His thoughts whirled in momentary panic. It's just a part of his memories, nothing more!

"Does it pain you so, the coming of night?" Arlan glanced at him with concern.

Calming a little, Jared's voice was steady when he finally replied, "When I first awoke in Mergenthaal's realm, the very first thing I noticed was the uniformity of the Power flows.  There were no sudden surges in the currents, certainly nothing that would surprise an Adept. The sun's light barely touched a grain of dust in that land, and when night falls there is only a trickle of moonlight—even with the Sight you will be hard-pressed to see it.  And even before a disruption in the currents can occur, the castle and everything else shifts against the flows to avoid it.  Like a wraith, it is never in one place at any time.  You see, Lord Arlan, it is the best place an Adept like Mergenthaal can ever be."

Arlan shivered inwardly at the memory of that dark, blasted land. "You could have stayed, and I could not have done anything to stop you. Why did you choose to leave?"

"I'm—not really certain. He never could give me the answers I wanted, and—" Jared raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow.  "The pain screaming in that land was almost more than I can bear. I don't know how he can stand it.  All I know is that eventually I would have left, with or without you."

Distracted, Jared missed the spark of amazement that lit upon the Druid's face. 

'Even barely trained, he feels the life-force of the earth!' Arlan's thoughts raced, recalling how Adepts--the very few that survived--were master healers of the earth and everything that dwelled within it.

"Mergenthaal is a paradox, an Adept corrupted by Darkness," reminded the Druid. His realization of the magnitude of the Raisch's powers was close to unfathomable.

"Even so, I owe my life to him." Jared glanced at him sharply before looking away, those green black-flecked eyes gazing at sights he alone can see. "He taught me how to Shield against the onslaught of the fae. He showed me how to bend the stronger flows to one's will"--his brows furrowed uncertainly at this--"but to do so disrupts the natural streams of earth-Power.  Whatever he touches, he almost always destroys."

Arlan Sighted the youth.  Again, he was unable to trace his aura nor any visible sign that he wore his Shields. "If you are Shielded now, Jared, I don't See it.  You may as well be one of the non-Gifted to my sight, or for that matter, to any Raisch who may be looking for you. Which serves us well, I suppose."

There was a smug look on Jared's face when he replied, "I assure you that I have them, Druid.  I wouldn't be walking with you right now if I didn't."

Ever since meeting him again in Mergenthaal's castle, there were times when Arlan wished he could throttle the boy and not regret it!