The Last Talisman Read Online Free PDF Page B

salt air carried memories of his childhood.
    Only on the fifth day of travel did he finally recognize the true enormity of his lie to Nihal. As he pulled something out of his sack, he noticed a strange smoke rising from his pocket. He plunged in his hand and withdrew the talisman. The medallion was eating away at the leaves and a part of the stone from the Land of Water was now visible. The sorcerer could feel his energy being sucked into the amulet, and once again the stone was a murky, menacing color.
    Sennar acted quickly. He threw the medallion to the ground and gathered fresh leaves. Once the amulet was safely rewrapped, he resumed his journey.
    Within a day and a half, he reached Laia, his mother’s birthplace, which he’d never seen. A village that reminded him of where he’d spent the first years of his life appeared before his eyes. It was tiny and cozy, rich with the pungent smell of sea salt. The windows of the houses were barred and there wasn’t a soul in sight.
    The village overlooked one of the many fascinating peculiarities of that land, the Little Sea. From the Gulf of Barahar, water flowed inland to form a small sea. It was afternoon when Sennar arrived at the body of water, which resembled a vast salt lake. Its silvery waters reflected gray skies. The wind had picked up, and the clouds threatened a storm.
    That evening, Sennar took shelter at a small inn, a wood-and-stone building that jutted out over the sea. It was a miserable, ramshackle place, nothing more than a circular lobby, a shoddy bench here and there, but the beer was good, and so was the price. As he enjoyed the night view of the Little Sea, flurries of snow falling slowly upon the mirror of water, Sennar thought about the route he’d take the next morning. Nihal had said to head east, so maybe the sanctuary was on the other side of the peninsula. He’d need to reach the coast as quickly as possible, and the most direct route would take him through Barahar, the largest port in the Land of the Sea. Once there, he’d walk the shoreline and cross his fingers.
    He woke early the next morning and sought out the innkeeper, a large, ruddy woman whose skin glittered with sweat and chest burst out of her blouse. When he found her, she was busy polishing glasses with such force that Sennar was amazed they did not shatter in her hands. Without mincing words, he asked if she knew of a place of spires.
    â€œI think I’ve heard mention of it before, a sort of cliff,” she mused.
    â€œDo you know where?”
    The innkeeper shook her head. “I haven’t the slightest idea, I’m sorry. I don’t believe it’s near here, though.”
    Sennar resumed his journey. The last rooftops of Laia faded in the distance behind him. Before him stretched an immense, snow-covered plain that ran from the Little Sea to the coastline.
    For three nights, Sennar slept beneath the stars, and on the morning of the fourth day, he saw Barahar materialize against the intense blue of the sea.
    He lost an hour or two heading south in order to reach the bridge that crossed the strait and arrived at last at the gates of Barahar. Sculpted from one enormous block of marble, they were grand and imposing. Sennar passed through them, worn and famished. He had never felt smaller or more lost in his life.
    Sennar was familiar with the Land of the Sea’s villages, suspended between land and water, lashed by waves in the winter and nourished by fish in warmer seasons. The city that now stretched before him was grand and uninviting. A thousand other odors masked the ocean’s scent. Sennar recognized the architecture, brick-and-mortar houses with thatched roofs and larger, stone buildings. But the rest of the cityscape was unfamiliar: wide orderly roads instead of the usual labyrinth of narrow streets and alleys; giant, square-shaped plazas rather than the tiny, circular churchyards so common in the smaller villages. Most unfamiliar