Expecting other tests and dangers, Jaska crept toward an arched doorway. The frame was outlined with odd silver glyphs consisting of various circles interconnected with straight lines originating from different tangents. He sensed magic in the glyphs, but certainly not of any type he understood. He approached carefully, and seeing no alternative, decided to advance.

Without incident, he stepped into a giant dome-shaped chamber with a vaulted ceiling thirty feet overhead. The room gleamed like the hallways outside, but here traces of silver patterned the walls so that the interior looked like the surface of Avida.

No doorways led beyond, unless they were hidden. The room lacked furnishings and artifice with one notable exception. An amazing statue rose from a head-high pedestal in the room's center. The statue depicted a being unlike any Jaska had heard of. As an Arhrhakim was to a human so was this being, only its inhuman features were those of a hawk rather than a jackal.

Judging by its muscled frame and narrow hips, Jaska guessed the neuter being was more male than female. Its body was human except for taloned feet. Wings spread outward from its back, bearing feathers of vibrant emerald, gold, silver, and ruby. Its upturned head was that of a charcoal goshawk with black rings circling its sharp, slanted eyes of jet and gold.

A shield adorned one arm and it held a spear in the opposite hand. The being wore a black-belted kilt of white leather, a torque of gold, ornamental leather shin guards and nothing else. With wings spread and arms held out, it bared its chest toward the entrance.

Jaska stalked around the statue, eyeing it warily, for it was made of neither stone nor metal. As far as he could tell, Avida himself had frozen a living being of flesh.

This place didn't resemble any of Avida's shrines Jaska had seen before. Perhaps the Eirsenda had imagined that Avida looked like this, rather than as the hoary, bearded giant clad in silver armor which Jaska had always seen depicted.

Regardless, Jaska was left wondering what he was supposed to do. He had reached the legendary temple. What next? Neither Keeper nor weapons awaited him here. He started to touch the statue, to see if it felt as real as it appeared, but when his hand neared, he felt a strong, magical aura. Stepping away, he used his qavra to analyze the statue again. It didn't radiate a pulse of magic.

Not knowing what else to do, Jaska knelt before the image and prayed. "Lord Avida, I beseech you for aid against the powers of darkness. I have come here to your temple seeking the Keeper of Swords and a weapon that will strike down my former master, a man of great evil who aspires to become a god. I ask that you judge me not by the deeds he forced me to commit, nor by the boy I was before then. Judge me by the scarred man I am now, and if my cause seems worthy to you, grant me the aid I seek."

At once, the statue moved with grace and smoothness. The arms fell to the sides. The head turned down toward Jaska and the eyes focused on him. The expansive wings folded back. The beak opened, and an eloquent and even-toned voice issued forth, fluent in common Hareezan.

"I am," said the being, "Quarelairen, the Keeper of Swords. I am not the god you pray to, though the sincerity of your prayer did awaken me. Long have I slept awaiting you, Jaska Bavadi, Slayer of Shadows, Blade of Avida, Wrath of the White Tigress."

"Forgive me, my lord," said Jaska, bowing low and ignoring the ridiculous titles applied to him. "I did not know you were the Keeper. I thought perhaps the Eirsenda pictured Avida as you are now."

"Has time eroded at last all depictions of my kind?"

"It has at least for those in my land, my lord. And since this does not appear to be a temple to Avida as I know them--"

"You thought I was an idol of Avida." Quarelairen swept out his wings with a creaking whoosh. He rotated his neck and then his ankles one at a time. "The Eirsenda did not worship concrete images in the way which humans do. Concepts were more important to them."

"If you know nothing of the outside world, my lord, then how is it you knew I would come? And how can you speak my language?"

"To speak any language is a power all Keepers possess. We read the patterns of speech from your mind. As for how I knew you would come here, the Keeper of Destinies told me long ago when last I saw her."

"Will you aid me then, my lord?"

"I will grant to you weapons that you may use in honor of Avida against the misshapen creatures of Zhura, against the Stain of the Yritti, and against Grand Master Salahn."

"The Farseer told me about weapons of white-steel, but that term means nothing to me."

"When translated to your language from the Eirsendan, white-steel is an accurate name, as you will no doubt see. If you still want them."

Jaska's eyes narrowed. "What price must I pay?"

"Nothing that would violate your soul, but I cannot let such weapons fall into the hands of just anyone."

"What then must I do?"

"You must return them here after you have died."

"After? How could I possibly do that?"

"If you take the swords, you will also take on a binding spell that cannot be removed." Jaska groaned. "This spell will animate your corpse via a lesser Avida-djinn who will return here with the swords.

"I am going to send him with you. He will be a great ally even though he is not in his full form. He was bound to the earth long ago and must remain until he redeems himself."

"In a way, you have met him already. He empowered the doppelganger you faced. He is honorable, but do not trust him overmuch."

"I will heed your advice as best as I can."

"Kyshaiar!" the Keeper yelled.

A silver falcon flew out from inside the pedestal and wheeled around the room three times before settling on Quarelairen's shoulder. He stroked the bird's head and spoke to it in a language of clicks and chirps that Jaska couldn't understand.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"Do you accept this binding between you? That Kyshaiar must follow wherever you go and aid you as best as he can, that he will heed your commands so long as they do not violate his honor? And when you have died, he will enter your body, animate the corpse, and bring the swords back? After that, your spirit may go free into the afterlife."

He had no wish to be bound again, but at this point, he would bind himself to oblivion to defeat Salahn. With a clenched jaw, Jaska said, "I agree."

A white glow overwhelmed his senses. Kyshaiar said his name as he entered Jaska's body, heating every atom within, and delved through his mind uninvited. When Jaska came back to himself, the falcon was sitting on his shoulder. In a high-pitched voice it said to him, "Jaska Bavadi, I am content to serve with you. Your essence is pure, but your troubles are great. Our great destinies are intertwined now, but we shall see them completed together."

"How will I help you? Is it your destiny to return the swords here?"

"Many destinies have come to me through the eons. This one will see me returned to my true form. If I succeed."

"It doesn't sound difficult."

"No, it does not. And that, my new friend, is what worries me."

"You don't sound like what I imagined an Avida-djinn would sound like."

"I could, if you prefer, but after analyzing your essence, I have chosen mannerisms that will be comforting to you."

"I thank you then, my lord."

"Do not speak to me thus. I am simply Kyshaiar. Most of the time, I will pretend to be your trained falcon and nothing more. Others can only hear me speak if I wish for them to."

"Now," said Quarelairen, "the weapons that you came here for."

Jaska approached the pedestal. Quarelairen leapt off, his wings flapped, and he circled the domed chamber once and landed beside Jaska. He touched the pedestal, and a shelf slid out. Buried in velvet were two curved sabers sheathed in black leather that was trimmed in silver with crescent moon designs.

"Take them, Jaska Bavadi. They have awaited you for centuries."

Jaska lifted one of the swords. Black leather was wrapped around the sword's mahogany hilt. He drew it from the sheathe carefully. The blade gleamed, though it was more white than silver, like the moon itself. It seemed impossibly sharp, almost as if the edge of the blade itself was a sliver of thin wire.

"White-steel," said Quarelairen, "is stronger than any other metal. It holds a sharper edge, and it can cut through flesh, bone, and even spirit. A Zhura-djinn, even one that is insubstantial, will be as soft flesh in response to a blade such as this. A lesser Zhura-djinn will meet oblivion from even a single blow. Its mere presence will cause most to recoil."

"It will harm Avida-djinn, too," said Kyshaiar. "Though not so much as it can harm our shadowy cousins."

Jaska stepped away and slashed the blade one way and then another. "Where does this metal come from?"

"Avida's surface," said Quarelairen, "though it is rare even there. Some fell to the earth long ago after an asteroid strike. Small pieces still fall from time to time."

"An asteroid?"

"A large rock hurtling through the vast empty space between the planets and moons," replied Kyshaiar.

"Surely someone would have found some more recently and forged weapons from it."

The falcon shook his head. "The metal is rare in Pawan Kor. The Eirsenda gathered all they could find and fashioned weapons from it. Before their demise, it was all placed with the Keepers who guard it still. Although, the Zindarhi in the East do possess a few white-steel weapons."

"Even if your people found some," said Quarelairen, "they would have to learn how to smith it, a process requiring magic and complicated metallurgic techniques. Only the Eirsenda and the Zindarhi ever knew this art."

Jaska sheathed the sword and attached the scabbard to his weapon belt. He then took up the other and bowed on one knee before the Keeper. "I am grateful to you, my lord."

"There are two more things you should know. First, the woman named Zyrella did not die."

Jaska's heart thumped and his breath caught in his throat. "Where is she?"

"Agents of your former master captured her and then Salahn took her back to Kabulsek. The second thing I must tell you is that Zyrella is a valrycca."

"I don't know what that means."

"That is unfortunate," Quarelairen said, "for I do not know either. I cannot know everything, and the Keeper of Destinies did not impart such information to me."

The fires within Jaska that had been diminished by the serenity of the temple reignited. Zyrella was in Salahn's torturous care. He wouldn't stand for that. Even now, she might be suffering. "Do you know why Salahn returned to Kabulsek rather than pursue me into the desert?"

"He feared the Stain because of a false prophecy given to him by the woman known to you as Nalsyrra."

That knowledge didn't surprise Jaska. He had always known Nalsyrra served her own cause, however obscure. "Can I destroy the Stain with the white-steel swords? Is it Zhura-djinn or something else?"

"I know nothing of its nature, but if you can survive its onslaught and reach its heart, you can defeat it. But that will not be easy. Know that Salahn is a far greater threat to the world. Nothing is set from here on. The Keeper of Destinies wanted Kyshaiar to go along for a good reason."

"I can't turn my back on the people who helped me reach this point. I could not have made it here without them taking a great risk. If I fail against Salahn first, the Yritti would have gained nothing for helping me. Besides, if I can't prevail against this Stain, then I have no hope against Salahn."

"As the Keeper of Destinies predicted. Take the one called Rahazakir with you. Give one of the swords to him. He may carry it until the Stain has been defeated. You may also allow the man named Ohzikar to wield one of the swords, if necessary."

Jaska remembered Goat Shaman's advice. "I was told, my lord, to bring my old qavra here with me. Do you know why?"

"Yes. The binding is gone now."

"You removed the sorcery?"

"No. You broke the spell on your way in, with help from Kyshaiar."

Jaska nodded, understanding that he had fought past the part of himself that had still been bound to the qavra. That part, ironically, had been what he thought of as himself and not the being that had blocked his way. He could have walked through him at any time, if he had been in the right state of mind.

"Is there anything else I should know, my lord?"

"There is not," replied Quarelairen.

Jaska walked to the door, turned around, and bowed. "Thank you again, my lord. Fare well in your guardianship."

"We will meet once more, Jaska Bavadi, when Kyshaiar brings your body and the last of your lingering spirit here. May that day be long in coming and may your efforts see to the good of all the land."

With the strange, magical falcon settled on his shoulder, Jaska returned to the tunnels where he had battled himself and walked unimpeded back toward the mountainside and his waiting companions. He was introspective, so much so that he didn't even speak to Kyshaiar, which was fine with the Avida-djinn. Kyrshaiar preferred silence. Speaking to a human, even one as impressive as this, was demeaning. Kyshaiar was only doing this so that he could rise back up to the lunar surface and recover that larger part of himself that had been locked away.

~~~

Jaska returned a few hours after sunrise, just as Avida was setting. A silver falcon swooped past him and circled once over everyone before landing on Jaska's shoulder. Jaska acted as if this were quite natural, which doubled his companions' amazement. Jaska removed the qavra from his neck and tossed it to Ohzikar.

Jaska took out his old qavra and immediately noticed the color was lighter. No longer a solid jet, but a deep red-brown that was nearly black. He'd never heard of a qavra changing color, but perhaps it had something to do with Kyshaiar's magic.

Confidently, Jaska strapped on his original stone. Ohzikar chewed at his lip but said nothing as he searched for any change in Jaska's mannerisms. Jaska closed his eyes and took a deep breath, delighting in the stone's greater capacity. He felt neither panic nor madness. And no sorceries touched him.

His comrades stared with wary, almost frightened eyes. He nodded toward the falcon. "This is Kyshaiar, a bound and diminished Avida-djinn. He must accompany me and see that the swords are returned when I die."

Jaska drew the swords and held them up. The others gawked as he twisted them to catch the sunlight. "The white-steel blades of Avida."

After everyone looked them over, he sheathed them and looked directly into Ohzikar's eyes. "I have news. Zyrella survived, but Salahn captured her and took her to Kabulsek."