The room became dark, all save
the misty blueness of the mirror. The fire dimmed, as if on cue, and a
pinpoint of brilliant light appeared at the very center of the glass.
There it grew in size and intensity until the magnitude of its
brightness forced Kalus to shield his eyes and look away. Sylviana stood
motionless, face turned and arm raised, disbelieving. For until now the
Spirit had spoken to her only as a voice, a signal translated into words
by the machine. The image was dimmed to a tolerable brilliance. She
lowered her arm.
Then a different Voice was heard, deep and alive, like the whisper of
the wind and the roar of an ocean. It was an eternally resilient and
yet melancholy sound, time-wizened and thoughtful, never fully joyous or
sad.
'Sylviana,' it began solemnly. 'Sylviana, I have come. Your
vigil has not been in vain. For the Mantooth has been brought to you,
even as I said that he would. Be at peace, I will speak to him now as
you ask.' Seeming to turn its attention toward Kalus, the Voice began
again. And somehow, though not miraculously, he understood.
'Come, look upon me, young one, and do not be afraid. There is much
that I would say to you.' Slowly Kalus turned back toward the glass,
beholding for the first time a sight that few men had ever seen.
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