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Authors: Raymond E. Feist
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time.
Macros spoke calmly. “The time for duplicity is over.” He looked at Magnus and reached out, his hand gently touching his face. “I’m younger than you, in this body,” he said with a bitter smile. “Despite being hundreds of years in memory, I’m but thirty years as the Dasati measure time.” He took his hand away from Magnus’s face. “Around the eyes, you resemble your mother.” Magnus nodded slightly. Macros’s gaze went from his grandson, to Nakor, then to Pug.
“Start at the beginning,” said Pug.
Macros laughed. “For this story, the beginning was my ending. As I told you, I died at the hands of Maarg, the Demon King.” He looked across the garden, and gazed into the distance, focused on memory. “When I died…” He closed his eyes. “It is difficult to remember, sometimes…the longer I live as a Dasati, the more…distant my human memories are, the feelings especially, Pug.” He looked at his grandson Magnus. “Forgive me, my boy, but whatever familial ties I should be feeling are absent.” He lowered his eyes. “I haven’t even asked about your mother, have I?”
“Actually, you did,” said Magnus.
Macros nodded. “Then I fear my memory is fading very rapidly. Ironically, for a human who has lived the span of more than nine hundred years, it would seem that I am dying.”
Pug’s shock could not have been more evident. “Dying?”
“A disease, rare in the Dasati, but not unheard of; should anyone besides our group and our Attenders suspect, I would be killed out of hand for weakness. The human ailments of the elderly are alien to the Dasati. Should the eyes fail or the memory fade, the person so afflicted is killed without thought.”
“Is there anything—” began Magnus.
“No, nothing,” said Macros. “This culture is about death, not life. Narueen said there may be something the Bloodwitches could do in their enclave, but that’s a continent away and time is of critical importance.” He smiled. “Besides, if you’ve already died once, death is hardly something to fear, is it? And I’m interested to see what the gods have in store for me this time.” He winced slightly as he shifted his weight. “No, death is easy. It’s dying that’s the hard part.” He looked around. “Now, as I was saying, my memory seems to be fading, so I’ll tell you what you need to know and then we can see if we can serve a common cause.” Looking at Nakor, Macros said, “The gambler. The one who cheated me! Now I remember.”
Nakor smiled. “I told you how when you revived from your ascension to godhood.”
“Yes…You slipped me a cold deck of cards!” Macros looked amused at the memory. Then his eyes narrowed and he studied Nakor more closely for a moment. “You are more than you seem to be, my friend.” He hiked his thumb in the direction of Martuch’s home and said, “As is your young friend. He has something within his being that is dangerous, very dangerous.”
“I know,” said Nakor. “I think Ralan Bek contains a tiny fragment of the Nameless One.”
Macros pondered this and then said, “In my dealings with the gods and goddesses I have come to understand a little of both their abilities and their limitations. What do you know?”
Nakor glanced at Pug.
“We believe that the gods are natural beings, defined inmany ways by the form of human worship. If we believe the god of fire to be a warrior with torches, he becomes that,” Pug answered.
“Just so,” said Macros. “Yet if another nation sees that being as a woman with flames for hair, then that is what the deity becomes.” He looked from face to face. “In ancient days, the Dasati had a god or goddess for almost every aspect of nature you can imagine. There were the obvious major gods: the god of fire, death, air, nature, and the rest of it—even a god and goddess of love or at least the fundamental male and female urge to create offspring. But there were also so many minor gods it would
Macros spoke calmly. “The time for duplicity is over.” He looked at Magnus and reached out, his hand gently touching his face. “I’m younger than you, in this body,” he said with a bitter smile. “Despite being hundreds of years in memory, I’m but thirty years as the Dasati measure time.” He took his hand away from Magnus’s face. “Around the eyes, you resemble your mother.” Magnus nodded slightly. Macros’s gaze went from his grandson, to Nakor, then to Pug.
“Start at the beginning,” said Pug.
Macros laughed. “For this story, the beginning was my ending. As I told you, I died at the hands of Maarg, the Demon King.” He looked across the garden, and gazed into the distance, focused on memory. “When I died…” He closed his eyes. “It is difficult to remember, sometimes…the longer I live as a Dasati, the more…distant my human memories are, the feelings especially, Pug.” He looked at his grandson Magnus. “Forgive me, my boy, but whatever familial ties I should be feeling are absent.” He lowered his eyes. “I haven’t even asked about your mother, have I?”
“Actually, you did,” said Magnus.
Macros nodded. “Then I fear my memory is fading very rapidly. Ironically, for a human who has lived the span of more than nine hundred years, it would seem that I am dying.”
Pug’s shock could not have been more evident. “Dying?”
“A disease, rare in the Dasati, but not unheard of; should anyone besides our group and our Attenders suspect, I would be killed out of hand for weakness. The human ailments of the elderly are alien to the Dasati. Should the eyes fail or the memory fade, the person so afflicted is killed without thought.”
“Is there anything—” began Magnus.
“No, nothing,” said Macros. “This culture is about death, not life. Narueen said there may be something the Bloodwitches could do in their enclave, but that’s a continent away and time is of critical importance.” He smiled. “Besides, if you’ve already died once, death is hardly something to fear, is it? And I’m interested to see what the gods have in store for me this time.” He winced slightly as he shifted his weight. “No, death is easy. It’s dying that’s the hard part.” He looked around. “Now, as I was saying, my memory seems to be fading, so I’ll tell you what you need to know and then we can see if we can serve a common cause.” Looking at Nakor, Macros said, “The gambler. The one who cheated me! Now I remember.”
Nakor smiled. “I told you how when you revived from your ascension to godhood.”
“Yes…You slipped me a cold deck of cards!” Macros looked amused at the memory. Then his eyes narrowed and he studied Nakor more closely for a moment. “You are more than you seem to be, my friend.” He hiked his thumb in the direction of Martuch’s home and said, “As is your young friend. He has something within his being that is dangerous, very dangerous.”
“I know,” said Nakor. “I think Ralan Bek contains a tiny fragment of the Nameless One.”
Macros pondered this and then said, “In my dealings with the gods and goddesses I have come to understand a little of both their abilities and their limitations. What do you know?”
Nakor glanced at Pug.
“We believe that the gods are natural beings, defined inmany ways by the form of human worship. If we believe the god of fire to be a warrior with torches, he becomes that,” Pug answered.
“Just so,” said Macros. “Yet if another nation sees that being as a woman with flames for hair, then that is what the deity becomes.” He looked from face to face. “In ancient days, the Dasati had a god or goddess for almost every aspect of nature you can imagine. There were the obvious major gods: the god of fire, death, air, nature, and the rest of it—even a god and goddess of love or at least the fundamental male and female urge to create offspring. But there were also so many minor gods it would
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