Stalking Darkness

Alec said, shooting Seregil a wry look.
    “I suppose that would take a long while,” Thero threw in.
    “Yet, as things have turned out, I now believe Seregil may have been wise to wait,” said Nysander. “It is more than a sense of obligation or fear which keeps you with him, is it not, Alec?”
    “Of course. But the idea that I could be sitting here three or four hundred years from now—” He stared down at his plate, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine it.”
    “I sometimes still feel that way,” said Thero.
    Seregil looked at the younger wizard in surprise. In all the time he’d known him, he’d never heard Thero reveal a personal feeling.
    “I’d guessed it when I was a boy,” Thero continued. “But it was nonetheless overwhelming to have it confirmed when thewizards examined me. Yet, think of what we’ll experience in our lifetimes—the years of learning, the discoveries.”
    He’s almost human today
, Seregil thought, studying his rival’s countenance with new interest.
    “I made a poor job of telling you,” he admitted to Alec. “I was feeling a bit shaky that night myself, after seeing Adzriel and all, but what Thero says is true. It’s what has kept me sane after I left Aurënen. Long life is a gift for those with a sense of wonder and curiosity. And I don’t think you’ll ever have any shortage of those qualities.”
    Nysander chuckled. “Indeed not. You know, Alec, that for over two centuries I have studied and learned and walked in the world, and yet I still have the satisfaction of knowing that should I live another two hundred years there shall still be new things to delight me. Magyana and I have gone out into the world more than many wizards and so, like Seregil here, we have seen many friends age and die. It would not be truthful to tell you that it is not painful, yet each of those friendships, no matter how brief, was a gift none of us would sacrifice.”
    “It might sound hard-hearted, but once you have survived a generation or two, it becomes easier to detach yourself from such feelings,” added Magyana. “It isn’t that you love them any less, you just learn to respect the cycles of life. All the same, I thank Illior the two of you found each other the way you did.”
    “So do I,” Alec replied with surprising feeling. He colored slightly, perhaps embarrassed by his own admission. “I just wish I could have talked to my father about it, about my mother. Seregil’s spun out a good theory about what must have gone on between the two of them, but now I’ll never know the real story.”
    “Perhaps not,” said Nysander. “But you can honor them by respecting the life they gave you.”
    “Speaking of your parents, Alec, tell Nysander about that nightmare you’ve been having since Rythel got killed,” Seregil interjected, sensing the opening he’d been hoping for.
    “Indeed?” Nysander cocked an inquiring eyebrow at the boy.
    “Can you describe it?” asked Magyana. “Dreams are wondrous tools sometimes, and those that come to you more than once are almost always important.”
    Seregil kept a surreptitious eye on Nysander while Alec went through the details of the nightmare; he knew the old wizard toowell not to see a definite spark of interest behind Nysander’s facade of thoughtful attentiveness.
    “And that’s always the last of it, and the worst,” Alec finished. Even with the morning sun streaming down through the glass dome overhead, he shifted uneasily as he described the final image.
    Magyana nodded slowly. “Violent events can summon up other painful memories, I suppose. Though your father died of the wasting sickness rather than violence, it must have been a time of terrible fear and pain for you.”
    Alec merely nodded, but Seregil read the pain behind his stoic expression.
    “Yes, and coupled with the shock of learning your true parentage, it could create such images in the mind,” Nysander concurred, although the look he gave Seregil showed that he had other ideas on the matter. “I would not worry too much about them, dear boy. I am certain they will pass in time.”
    “I hope so,” sighed Alec. “It’s getting so I hate to go to sleep.”
    “Nysander, do you still have that book of meditations by Reli ä Noliena?” asked Seregil. “Her philosophy might be of some use to Alec just now. I seem to recall seeing it on the sitting-room bookshelves somewhere.”
    “I believe it is,” replied Nysander. “Come along and help me