For a long while there was only the lullaby soft churning of water. Beneath them, around them, a tunnel of waves brilliant blue-green conveyed them to some unknown destination. The skiff did not rock but glided, as if they skated along the banks of clouds on the back of wind. But among the three that sat in quiet solemnity, sorrow and guilt weighed an anchor around their neck and drew them down toward the crushing endless beneath. The wordless stories that passed between them, now, was as loud as the sky tearing itself asunder and Aeodan couldn’t take the noise. Every muscle in his body tensed, cried out for release but he couldn’t tense any harder. He couldn’t squeeze himself out of his own body, jet free like a geyser from the bosom of stone. To be air. To be water. To be fire…
“Fires live such short lives. Sputtering, guttering, blazing sometimes but we all end so quickly.”
What was her favorite color? Her favorite book? Did she like sandwiches wrapped delicately in cloth, picnics, hikes in the chilled Vhalar air? What he didn’t know about Ninacky would have filled a library of volumes and Aeodan would read every word if there was some hint buried between punctuation marks on how to bring her back. He wasn’t fire. She was. Her life was short, desperate, but in the end it blazed brightest to protect the man she loved and for Aeodan, there could be no more fitting a sacrifice than to die on the mountains love builds.
“Thank you.” Thomas said the words flatly and for a moment, Edalene desperately searched for the hint of joviality in his tone, only to find it desolate and barren. Thomas was an old man in that instant, and the twins could see beneath the effortless smiles was the weight of untold lives pressing down on his shoulders. They could see it now because they felt it too, and bound together by loss they all knew the burden each struggled to hold day after day. “Ninacky was…” He trailed off, running a hand gently through his hair and over the swathe of sickly color spreading across his skin, “Ninacky was magnificent. I have rarely seen students with her aptitude. Did you…ah, of course not, but please…” Thomas smiled and it was a hollow mask. “Cassion teaches that we remember the dead not in stone but in memory, through the life we give them in stories. It may not always be completely true, but it will be Truth, as pure as any ever spoken…because it is colored with our hearts.” He reached out, taking a hand from Edalene and Aeodan both, his calloused thumbs running over the eternal stain on their fingertips. “Forget what you know and remember with your heart. Vri does us disservice to remember all things clearly when all mankind wants to do is dress the dreadful in bright colors or flashy adventures. Our lives are chaotic, brief, and none of us want to be remembered as the broken creatures we can become.” He pulled their hands up and laid a gentle kiss on the back of each, letting it fall, “We remember the best and the worst because no one is neutral in death, not truly. The shape your stories take is the impression they’ve left on your life.”
Edalene’s breath hitched suddenly, violently, and she tried to swallow back the moaning sob bubbling up from the grief she’d forged around her heart. The guilt, it would drowned her, and she could remember every instant, every trill of the moment. Again and again. Again and again…Ninacky died and she just watched.
“Ninacky found Nolan, not the other way around. I heard it told that he was a stranger in Etzos, seeking to court the favor of the Warlock of the Seeker cell for permission to access a Fracture they had found.” Thomas rubbed his chin thoughtfully, wincing as his finger brushed another bruise. “Nolan may be a brilliant researcher, but he’s terrible with small talk. Seems to be that some lady of the night had lured him near enough a back alley that her brutish companions could take him for the foreigner he was, leave him a beaten body for the guards to find come morn. Ninacky was just a server in a tavern across the way, trading winks and smiles for tips and weathering the lechery of lesser men. I remember, she told me she saw this thin bespectacled man prattling away about some fascinating Etzorian adage while his seductress tried as hard as she could to keep from seeming bored! Ah!” A chuckle burst momentarily from his lips and then subsided. He sighed. “Well, something about that poor lamb…and yes, she called him a ‘poor lamb’ drew her to leave her shift early, walk across the street, hook an arm around his waist, and thank the woman for finding her lost husband! Her face…” Thomas laughed again, loud and barking, momentarily breaking the spell misery held, “Her face when she told this part, the face of the woman was so…so priceless, I cannot, I-“ he paused, scrunching his bruised and battered face into the best incredulity he could manage before waving it off. “Gods, I cannot do it the justice she could.”
Neither of the twins laughed, but a ghost of a smile had pulled at the corners of their mouth. Somehow it was both better and worse to hear this, to feel this building sorrow and to know more and more had lay beneath the ice of their short meeting.
His laughter subsiding, Thomas grew quiet again, “Perhaps I knew, a little, what she felt.” A hand went to his neck where his tangle of necklaces used to hang and grasped for nothing. Aeodan and Edalene remembered clearly how he had held the ring that used to hang there, how he clutched it like a lifeline. Now they found nothing and he dropped his hand wearily, “Sometimes you mix up admiration with love, especially when you’re a teacher or perhaps half as foolish as I am.”
Above them, Tommy started to laugh at something, startlingly loud and warming in the moment. Thomas looked up, as though he might see through the deck of the ship (and perhaps he could). “I must ask your forgiveness, Edalene, Aeodan. Sometimes the road seems so terribly long and the luster of adventure can dim when you’ve left too many companions behind.” He looked up at them, appraisingly, “I thought if I didn’t fight it, that my death could mean something. Kayled and his cronies could execute a scholar but I would never be a mage, not in the way they needed me to be.”
“We couldn’t-“ Aeodan started but Thomas held up a hand slowly and smiled, a little wistful,
“I made the mistake of assuming I could choose my own ending. How arrogant.” Above them all, Cassion laughed now and the infant twins joined in. “If you would mingle your tales with another, you must accept that you may not have the right to decide how to close the chapter on your life. We swore an oath at the Wayshrine and I did not give you the courtesy of a consultation when I laid myself down.” His eyes were glittering, a little of the old mirth back in them. It was muted, so much less of the man than the two remembered from their journey to the Tomb, but it was enough. “I mistook the end of a paragraph for the end of a book, but you’ll forgive my eyes for not being what they used to be.” He indicated his swollen face, the useless wire-rim glasses. “Furthermore I-“
“Thomas?” Malena’s golden framed face peered down from above. She wore a curious expression, one part longing, and another wariness. “Could we speak, please? Privately?”
“Of course, my snapdragon,” He murmured, and perhaps the twins saw, for a moment, something else in his eyes…an openness, a warmth that hadn’t been there before. “One moment.”
She nodded and vanished, Thomas looked to where she had been for a few moments before looking back at the twins. “Perhaps it was cruel to drag you into all this,” He started and Edalene shook her head so vigorously it might have flown off. Aeodan dragged her against him and echoed his disagreement. “Fair, fair,” Thomas corrected, “What I mean to say is that I have had the honor to share my road with an array of remarkable people. I have seen great enemies and remarkable heroes. Each one of them holds a special place in my heart. He reached out again and took their hands, wrapping all his warm, thick fingers around them. “But of them all, I don’t believe I have ever felt the way I do about the two of you.” Distant, the mage looked off beyond them, farther still, to somewhere long ago and far away. “When I was a young man, too young not to realize my mortality but too old to forget the mortality in others, I was betrothed.” The twins knew that if he could have, in this moment he would have been holding that ring, “Her name was Nicolanna and she…” he trailed off, bit his lower lip, sighed out the emotion there, “I was a Sojourner at the time, a named vagabond of Cassion. We had planned to see such things together but before we left Viden we found she was with child.” It was obviously difficult for him and the mage paused, taking a moment before continuing. “Perhaps I would have even courted the gods wrath to stay with her, then, and for a time I did. But something happened and we…lost them.” He studied their faces now, as though searching for any hint of judgement or question. Taking another long breath he continued, “Stillbirth, never a cry uttered. Twins, a boy and a girl.”
Edalene drew in a harsh breath and Aeodan looked on, drunk in the emotion flowing out from the old guide. Here they swam in stories, in tales that brought the height of such burning emotions and deep spiraling depths. “They would have taken our names, an offering to the gods for a better life than those we had led, but it was never to be.” Letting their hands go he clasped them together, “I do not know how they might have turned out. My love and I never had the privilege to meet them. Twenty arcs is a long time to travel with your family behind you, but I would like to hope that should they have lived…the might be as brave and vibrant as the two of you.”
Tears found their way to Aeodan and Edalene’s eyes and Thomas was suddenly all around them. The small man still somehow managed to get his arms around them, pulling them close in a tight embrace. The twins basked in the moment, feeling a sense of acceptance and compassion deeper than they had ever felt in their home before. As their hearts beat together, even the fitful song-thump of Edalene’s own, it felt correct. For just a moment, Aeodan imagined what it would have been like to grow up a child of Thomas Theodore Terrance, to take the name himself. Half-memories, dreams, ghosted through his mind of a younger Thomas hoisting the crippled Aeodan up onto his shoulders and bellowing out bawdy tavern songs from Nashaki down the open road, his small voice intermingled with his. Edalene could see the quiet nights at fireside, leafing through worn leather journals and sharing stories from worlds over as a hearty stew simmered on the coals. Perhaps they were at the gates of the Eternal Empire, or at the edge of the jungle near Desnid. Thomas would laugh, tousle her hair fondly, whisper her stories of shadow-women and beast men and she would giggle.
A life unlived spooled out between them.
When he drew back, he seemed larger somehow, as though something of himself had been found.
“I love you.” Edalene said it before she had even finished thinking it, rolling out after the tails of the wispy could-bes. Aeodan wrapped an arm around her shoulder and smiled at Thomas, perhaps not as widely as he could but it was certainly more than he had managed since this had begun. “We love you,” Aeodan continued for her, “The Seekers, this…cell? It’s like family and we’ve barely known them for more than a trial. Something about this feel right, feels natural. I can’t explain it, but I doubt you’d approve of me stumbling over trying to.”
Thomas shrugged, his eyes alight again in the darkness. Beside him, Edalene noticed the wide-shouldered shape of a bear rise wearily from its feet and level a long, old stare at her. The bear was black save for the white lines that wrapped around its eyes, like spectacles. “Stories are the language of stumbling,” Thomas answered Aeodan ruefully, “We struggle to find meaning in life and the tales we weave are the edited history of that quest.” Then, after a beat, “I love you too.”
**************************************************************************************************************
Flanked by Moseke Knights, polished brilliance a stark contrast to the mud and blood that marred the Order of the Mantis, Caius and Kayled were led to the throne room. The high backed throne towered over the boy king’s head, its gilded edges catching the new dawn light streaming through the high windows and almost blinding the two men on approach. Caius’ fingers itched and he longed to be at home, trying vainly to pretend he had found any respite at all the night before. Instead he stood next to Kayled with the blood of innocents drying on his clothes before the highest power in Rynmere.
Cassander was dressed in royal red, his crown imperiously adjusted on his head of blonde-brown curls. This close, Caius couldn’t help but notice how small King Renault was. He was as thin as Caius was, perhaps more, and dark circles etched themselves like the grooves of ancient rivers through rock beneath his eyes. Although his hand was adorned with shimmering treasures, rings that might have bought and sold entire parcels of land thrice over, he wore them loosely and only maintained them by curling his fingers to prevent them from slipping off. Caius had seen the King before, but something about the man seemed lesser than he remembered. Gone was the vibrant health and vitality, the lion-strong defiance that had stood against usurpers, raiders, and criminals alike. Cassander looked, at least a bit, like Caius felt.
Both Kayled and Caius dropped to their knee in front of the King, bowing their head toward the carved marble floor. Out of the corner of his eye, Caius marked the regal, glittering gown of the Queen, Empress Emerson Sands, pass before them both and settle in the seat beside her husband. The Faith still roiled at this union, but if Emerson was concerned one might never tell. The Queen was a picture of political cunning and guile. Caius expected that when he raised his head he would see much of the same, breathtaking beauty shaped meticulously of soft flesh and eyes that took in the whole world around it, bottomless. Perhaps she would have her snakes again, perhaps not, but to Caius she had always seemed the distrustful alien among countrymen. She was otherworldly, as if shaken out of a portrait and given the right to walk and talk as though she belonged in this world. As one of the great powers of the Faith, she demanded Caius’ respect, but he couldn’t help but wonder about what the union with Cassander would mean for the Faith in general, what cataclysm this might weave in such a fitful age of Rynmere.
“Rise,” Emerson said first, her voice a throaty purr, “Lord Inquisitor Kayled Wine and…Lord Caius Gawyne?”
“My Lord Arbiter, Your Grace,” Kayled murmured quietly, just loud enough to be heard as he rose with Caius, “As approved by His Majesty.”
“I know damn well what I approved,” Cassander snapped, his crown dipping forward perilously before he pushed it back and rose sharply from the chair, “What concerns me is what you have DONE with my approval.”
“Only as your Majesty instructed,” Kayled began to venture, “We did not expect-“
“You were CHOSEN for what you could expect, Wine,” Cassander growled, pacing in front of Emerson as she sat back. There wasn’t quite a smile on her face, but it wasn’t a frown. Somehow, Caius wished she would just make up her mind. “You assured me that you had everything under control. I ask for these dangerous men to be removed from my realm and you assured me that there were none better for the position.” Storm-faced, he strode down the stairs from the throne to glare up at the willowy Inquisitor, his shoulders trembling in barely repressed fury, “Now innocents are DEAD, Kayled, DEAD.” Drawing back, the King almost whipped forward to slap him but paused, gazing up and down the hard, gaunt face before lowering his hand. “They are still counting them. I am told you couldn’t even manage to execute the mage you had.”
“No, My Liege,” Kayled admitted, oh so quiet, gone was the fire and brimstone at the trial, “We killed one of their number, but the rest managed to escape.”
“To where? Must we worry about these terrorists running amok across the kingdom?”
“No, My Liege, with the exception of the Sessfiend, we believe the mages to have fled Rynmere entirely. Iron Hand witnesses and a number of sailors in your navy report their boat swallowed by a great wave just off the docks and lost to the sea.”
“Boggs.” Renault stalked away from Kayled back to the throne, collapsing into it and cradling his head, “So we have nothing to show the people for this travesty.”
“My love,” Emerson spoke now, her voice sultry soft as she reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder. Caius realized she didn’t NEED snakes. Her arms moved like they might as well have been, cautious and inexorable. “It was a heavy price, but the people now know the danger these sorcerers pose. Before, it was only your intuition after Fridgar. Perhaps had your subjects taken more heed, they may have been more prepared.”
Her voice seemed to soften the king and he lay a weary head back against the cushion. “Where is your advisor, the foreigner? Surely he has some explanation for why it went awry.”
“Roland DuKette is being treated for injury, Your Grace,” the Lord Inquisitor answered, “But I will have a full report sent to you before the trial is out. We were unaware of the Transmuter, the Becomer, and especially the Necromancer. I’m told the Seekers rarely practice that art, so it was an unexpected complication. Given the power wielded today, these were combat trained mages, adept in their craft. My Lord, they were clearly sent here expecting wafare.”
“But why?”
“Perhaps in response to your decree,” Emerson suggested, her eyes devouring Caius whole, “The mages have always been willful, perhaps it was in response to your desires.”
“Thomas was a professor at the University Arcs before Your Majesty made the decree,” Caius offered, suddenly, surprised at even himself for speaking without being asked, “For Arcs they sat idly and did not use their powers. Why? What were they here for?”
Kayled almost whirled on him, but kept still, his muscles tensing. Renault nodded thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “All these terrorists were connected through the University. I’m told Aeodan and Edalene devoted some time to Professor Terrance after an excursion in Ashan.”
“Yes, My Liege,” Kayled offered, “They were to receive credit based on an archeological expedition, but were back trials before they should have and neither of the twins nor Thomas pushed to count the credits on their return. Afterward, although the twins temporarily left Rynmere to study at Viden University, Thomas kept up with correspondence. It seems that perhaps the Professor radicalized them during their journey.”
“Do we know to where?”
Kayled shook his head slowly, “We have a map, My Leige, but it is poorly drawn. Of the items we confiscated from the mage, the map was well hidden in a hollow chair leg in his office. I currently have an expert tracker determining its likely location, but I’m afraid I cannot pinpoint exactly where they were on that journey. We know it is likely within a day or two march of Andaris. DuKette believes even if they were aided by Rupturing, that it is unlikely they went that far.”
“More shadows to chase,” Cassander muttered, “Have we anything else?”
“We may assume that the weak link to their fellowship are Aeodan and Edalene. They were nearly captured at the inn and led us straight to where the mages were hiding out. Given their reaction and how poorly prepared they were, we believe that neither of the two had any idea this was happening till I arrived at the University. Perhaps by exploring them, we can determine more about the mages.”
“Traitors,” Emerson sighed, shaking her head sadly, “And I am told they were so gifted. Truly, the Fates weep.”
“Can we know if they turned anyone else?” Cassander asked, coldly, “Perhaps we should be more thorough on the University students.”
“With respect, My King,” Caius bowed his head in deference before continuing, “Academics are curious sorts. If we are to discover any lingering supporters of the mages, it won’t be discovered through brute force. With your leave, I will head the investigation of the University myself. I am familiar with it and with many of the staff, I can be trusted.”
“Perhaps less so as a Mantis,” Emerson reminded, but she did so with a smile, “Please continue. How would you propose finding them?”
Kayled opened his mouth as though to interject, but Caius stepped a half step forward, putting himself outside the eye line of the serpent. “I won’t have Purifiers patrolling the halls like wolves,” he began, “Instead I will recruit a trusted few to pry and explore the possibility of mage collusion in the ranks of academia. We will act on the leads that produces. My Liege, if we are to maintain the sanctity of higher education, we must not treat every student like a potential terrorist.”
Cassander watched Caius gravely, one finger curling and uncurling one lock that tumbled beneath the crown. Finally he nodded, albeit hesitantly, “Very well, Lord Arbiter, you may proceed. However, I will restrict any further travel along that portal and task Ser Wine to keep it guarded by capable warriors. Should any additional mages rise from the University under your watch, Lord Caius, you will answer for it.”
Both Kayled and Caius bowed, having no other choice than to accept the King’s edict.
“How do we avoid this kind of bloodshed in the future? It seems like it has been too soon for another Sessfiend hunt, and a mage at that, but tracking down beasts like that is not your priority. You seek the ones that conjure flames.”
“With your permission, My Liege,” Kayled started, stepping forward, “I would like to request additional forces at our executions. Now that we know the need, I would humbly ask for your permission to send Sky Riders to watch us from above.”
“Done,” Renault said quickly, “But do not mistake my compliance for forgiveness. These lives are on YOUR head, Lord Inquisitor. You were ill prepared, ill staffed, and ill advised. Such error should see you stripped of command and imprisoned-“
“But,” Emerson spoke now, softly, a hand on Cassander’s own and the King visibly seemed to relax a little, “But we have no one to promote with Ser Wine’s experience. Surely this tragedy will inform his future decisions. Those lost are with the Seven now, found in the Eternal Kingdom. Let their sacrifice be a lesson spelled in blood. Should such a massacre occur under his watch again…surely the Order of the Mantis leadership will pay with their lives. It is an honorable ultimatum.”
Caius tasted ash on his tongue, sawdust in his throat. Just a trial ago he was a simple printer, son of a Noble. Now things had begun to speed up, perilous fast. Cassander took the hand of his Queen and smiled, his wan face somehow brighter when turned toward her. “Of course, My Love,” He answered her, “Lord Arbiter, Lord Inquisitor, you represent the leadership of your Order. Should a tragedy of this magnitude happen again, especially with events that YOU set in motion, you may be asked to pay with your lives. You will be judged by the Seven who may be farer than we.”
“Yes, My Liege,” Kayled said automatically, dropping down to his knee and bowing his head, “I will take those words to heart.”
Caius numbly knelt next to him, bowing his head. He would speak, but his mouth was full of regret, outrage, fear. With all those emotions crowding his jaws, it was any wonder he could still breathe. “You are dismissed,” Cassander muttered, waving his hand, “See that I have a report before nightfall and am kept informed going forward. You will be given what resources you need to carry out your task, but I should hope to see more success going forward, to restore my faith.”
Again bows, and to Caius it felt a little like dipping one’s head down for the executioner’s axe. They rose as one and turned from the royal couple, striding back through the decadent throne room to the double doors. The Moseke Knights escorted them out wordlessly, but Caius felt like some essential part of himself had been left behind in that throne room, forever stolen by the river of events he could no longer escape from.
**************************************************************************************************************
Edalene and Aeodan had left Thomas to speak with Malena. Last they saw him, there was a faint blush of color high on her cheekbones as she descended into the dark of the skiff and closed the doors behind her. Vhalo was watching over her children, Mara with both fists buried deep in his ashy beard, as though she might pull herself arm over chubby arm up the air to his face. Tommy clasped one of the old mage’s fingers in a vice grip and yawned, turning his brilliant blue eyes to the twins as they emerged from the darkness and stepped out onto the deck.
Edalene felt tired, her body cramped from the awkward seating in the hold and now it ached with the bruises she had received from the rescue itself. Already the wound she had received from Aeodan, an echo of his own, was beginning to close…although it felt painful when she moved her arm, as though something were still trying to dig into her and burrow through her flesh. Hesitantly, she planted a kiss on Aeodan’s cheek before walking to the back of the skiff to be alone. Ninacky’s death was crushing her, far more than Godryn’s ever had. Could she afford to keep this deadly secret from Aeodan? How long? Dropping to her knees, she let her fingers dip into the funnel of water around them and drag along behind the boat. Furrows in the color there and gone in an instant. She remembered Ninacky’s face, every breath of the event. She couldn’t set it aside, could not forget. Perfect clarity was not something she had ever thought a curse before…at least till now.
“Heavy Is The Burden Of Watchers.”
In the blue-green sea, a shadow had formed like the body of some rising horror. Slowly it resolved itself into a shadowy, murky clock face on the water. She felt the presence of Ralaith and for the first time was not overjoyed in its encompassing power. Guilt drew sparks of anger from her, sifting it from the devotion. “My Lord,” She said, withdrawing her hand from the water to stare down at it, “I did as you asked.”
“You Did.”
“I don’t think…” she hesitated, not sure of what she wanted to say, “I don’t think I did the right thing.”
“Your Heart Is Kind,” Ralaith said to her, his voice echoing through her mind, “You Are Still Human Enough To Feel The Loss Of Those Left Behind, Of Those Burdened With Terrible Choice.”
“Why?” Edalene asked, “Why did she have to die? What terrible thing could have happened if she lived? She…she couldn’t have deserved it.”
“Death Does Not Come With Balanced Ledgers,” came the voice of Ralaith, “Sometimes The Wicked Live And The Just Perish. Time Is Not A Flat River, But A Sea Coming Together Strand By Strand. I Will Not Show You The Futures Her Life May Have Brought. Even Now, Such Things Are Not Set In Certainty, But Mired In Probability. You Must Trust That Her Death Served A Purpose.”
“How can I trust if I’m not allowed to know?” Edalene’s heart ached. It ached for Aeodan, it ached for the Seekers, it ached for Ninacky, “How can I just carry on without an explanation?”
“The Answer Is Not One You Would Be Content With.” There was sadness in his words but alien sadness, the sorrow of a being incomprehensible to Edalene. “My Chosen Are Tasked With Terrible Truths and Terrible Purpose. We Judge Not By Merit, But By Impact.”
“I…struggle with that,” Edalene admitted, “I want to know more, to understand. All I feel now is guilt and sorrow.”
“It Is Why I Have Marked You,” Ralaith answered, and there was a note of compassion in his voice, “You Will Weigh Such Things Carefully. In Time, You Will Know More, But You And Aeodan Are Not Yet Ready For Your Destiy.”
“The twins,” Edalene murmured, “The prophecy?”
“Prophecies Are Likliehoods. Fate May Not Be Escapable, But It Can Be Manipulated. Seek The Wounded Gull And The Fractured Fish, They Shall Show You The Next Steps.”
“When will it end…” Edalene quietly asked, “The pain. Does it…does it ever get better? For your followers?”
She felt Ralaith’s strong arms envelop her from behind. They were soft, like bear’s fur and skin all at once. He was enormous and small, everywhere and just in his human form. The scratch of his beard tickled her neck and his snout twitched against her skin. “To Feel Is To Be Mortal. Never Forsake What Makes You Who You Are, For That Beauty Is Why I Chose You.”
She felt his power roil over her, spread across her skin. She felt and understood the new clock face swirling into existence on her body, attached by the strange string of numbers and time that were both frivolous and vital.
Then he was gone.
**************************************************************************************************************
“Aeodan.” The deep voice drew the scholar’s attention away from Vhalo’s struggle with the twins. The old man was clearly not accustomed to taking care of the little squirming babies, but he winced and bore every tug and squeal they made as they toyed with the new mage before them. Aeodan smiled, the twins pulling it out of him. Blissfully innocent. In some ways, he wished he could have been them.
Cassion pulled him away from his reverie, the god crooking a finger for the young man to approach. Sitting against the prow, Cassion was a tall and imposing figure. His dreadlocks were festooned with strange ornaments, a hundred different places collected among his black hair as his body showed a terrible tale of scars and savagery branded across his flesh. Aeodan approached hesitantly. Something about Cassion was different than Yvithia, than any Immortal before had been. Much of the overwhelming energy was absent from the figure, and his mere presence didn’t seek to almost engulf his own. Instead it almost felt like the god was holding back, drawing his power so far within himself that it might be hidden entirely.
But there was no obscuring who he was, not now.
“Quite The Adventure, Wasn’t It?”
“Sure.” Aeodan didn’t really know how to respond. Cassion grinned, earnestly, untouched by the tragedy that had ravaged its way through the whole of the Seekers only a break before. Part of him hated the god for that, for making such light of their suffering…but he supposed that to Cassion, a story was a story no matter how dark.
“Celebrate A Little. Smile. You Triumphed, Did You Not?”
“It was too high a cost.” Aeodan looked out at the funnel ahead of him, the path through the water continued on endlessly, swallowing them up. Where would they be when they surfaced, he wondered, what new worlds?
“What Did You Pay?” Aeodan snapped his attention back down at the god, but Cassion had not stopped smiling, instead he held up a hand, “You Have Your Life, Your Love, Your Freedom, Your Triumph, Your Escape.” He ticked them off one by one on a hand.
“We don’t have Ninacky.”
“Ah, But Did You Ever Own Her?” Aeodan scowled, opened his mouth to retort and stopped. The dark eyes of the travel god were inscrutable, dancing. Thomas had eyes like these during their journey, Aeodan remembered now, there was such adventure there, such a lust for meaning. “You Paid Little.” The god shrugged, “But Lost Much. You May Lose What Is Not Yours And Keep What You Do Not Want, That, Too, Is Permissible.” He laughed, booming, wild. “Caius Gawyne, Kayled Wine, Roland DuKette. Such Fascinating Tales. I Hope You Meet Again, By The Fates…As You Say In Rynmere.”
Aeodan was quiet for a moment and then hesitantly spoke up, his voice sounded small, even to himself, “Why did you save me? I was set to save them all but you intervened. Why there and not a the pyre?”
“Ah! There It Is!” Cassion sat forward and clapped his hands together, “The Question. Mortals And Their Questions. Marvelous! Joyous!” His mirth was more a growl than a chuckle, “It Was Not My Story To Interfere With Yours,” Cassion said, “Taken By The Guards At The End? End? Endings. HA! I Scoff At Endings. No, Boy, Your Story Is Much Longer Yet. You See, I Did Not Change The Story, Only Edited The End Of A Chapter. Better Read That Way.” Grinning, he stood suddenly and clapped Aeodan on the back. The blow sent the boy sprawling over the side of the skiff, but inches from the churning blue-green he stopped, and Cassion pulled him back with one hand. “You Have A Wanderer’s Soul, Aeodan, Always Have. I Watched You While You Struggled To Crawl After Your Sister. To Her, A Stroll Was A Stroll…But To You? Daunting, Every Moment Daunting. You’ve Been Trying To Run Since You Could See The World And Now? Only Now When You CAN, Do We See The Real You.”
Aeodan winced as the wound in his shoulder reopened, seeping rich, crimson blood down his shoulder. Cassion watched it re-stain the fabric and turned over his hand, the one he had cut before. Without prompting, it began to bleed as well. Before Aeodan could react, the god had stood and clasped his wounded hand over Aeodan’s bloody shoulder. A shock of white-hot agony thundered through his veins for a moment, his legs aching and creaking, his entire body on fire. Aeodan opened his mouth to scream but no sound lived there, it had fled with his voice down his throat. It was a trill, simply a trill of time before the god released Aeodan’s shoulder and dusted off the dried blood on his hand. The wound was already gone and so was Aeodan’s, all that remained was a thick, white scar, slightly raised, like a seal. The scar was alive with tiny ridges and swirls, like topography, as though a map had been bent through his skin to seal the wound completely. Aeodan could feel as the blood intermingled with his own, strengthened him, changed him, brought the itching to his feet he had known all his life.
Aeodan longed to run, to travel, and now that old weakness had been stripped from him entirely, replaced by Cassion’s own restless strength. The scholar fell back heavily on the side of the boat, breathing hard and Cassion loomed over him, cracking his neck. In one hand, he held Ninacky’s carved figure. Aeodan snatched for it, but Cassion was easily too quick for him, dancing out of his reach and balancing it on his open palm. “You Have My Blessing, Aeodan,” The god told him solemnly, and then grinned again, wider than before, “And Now, You’ll Have Hers.” Closing his hands around the figure, Cassion opened them to return it to Aeodan’s hand. To his skin, it was hot to the touch, but far from scalding. It warmed him, wrapped its phantom arms around him like Ninacky had. He could almost feel her untamed fury, her fire-heart. “Remember Her Better, Tell Her Better, Make Her Live In The Hearts And Minds Of Those You Tell. It’s The Least You Can Do,” He winked, “For If She Ever Comes Back.”
Aeodan was speechless but Cassion was already moving, throwing open the doors to where Thomas and Malena were talking and descending down towards them. “Oh, And Aeodan?” The god turned and rubbed his chin, evaluating, “Not A Bad Face You’ve Found. Might Consider Wearing It A Time. Change Up The Protagonist.”
Then he was gone and silence fell.
Aeodan gasped, and his heart shook with the open road.
**************************************************************************************************************
Caius waited until they had left the castle and turned down at least three different Andaris streets on their way to the barracks before he rounded on Kayled. His fists were bloodless, gripped hard enough to almost cut his own hand. Everywhere felt different now, the sun even had a new weight brazenly beating down on his back. Within a trial he had left behind the quiet life of a simple academic and been embroiled in this bloody grudge hunt that now could cost him his life. With a small pang, he wondered if perhaps that’s what the date meant, emblazoned in his warm. Would another disaster befall so soon? Rage, pushed by fear drove him to reach up and slam his hands against Kayled’s chest, pushing him back into an alley wall.
“Damn you.” He hissed between clenched teeth, “How do you expect to avoid death when we have such monsters to grapple against? Men and women, Brave men and women, are dead because of your damn confidence. How could we have prepared for that, for any of it?” Caius lifted a hand back to strike, but Kayled was faster. Even with a broken arm, he kicked Caius hard in the knee. Caius felt a bone strain and his strength give out. Most of that effort he had expended on the bear or grappling the god anyways, and Kayled snapped his good hand down on the one Caius used to grip the Inquisitor with a sharp crack, forcing him to let go and hit the ground. Caius was already rolling, grasping for his blade but the ring of metal gave him pause. Kayled crouched over him, eyes icy and the jagged end of his broken sword tickling Caius’ neck. Sometimes it was easy to forget the lanky scarecrow was such a skilled combatant and Caius let his hands fall slack onto the cobblestone without reaching for his blade.
“You are correct, Lord Gawyne,” Kayled whispered, “I was overconfident with my ability and underprepared for the sorcerers. I underestimated my opponent and innocent men and women paid the price. Fates forgive me, but I cannot turn back time.” He pressed the blade in closer and Caius hissed as the jagged metal made tiny cuts along his neck, “It is why I need you. Sometimes I must be tempered, questioned. I am not peerless in my judgement and I do not trust DuKette to not further his own agenda. I may trust you, Lord Gawyne, simply because you are a better man than I.” He withdrew the broken blade and stepped over Caius, sheathing the broken sword again with a clang. Although he offered a hand to help him up, Caius chose to rise on his own, his gaze boring through the Inquisitor. “You have seen, as I have seen. These mages, no matter what they dress their pursuits up as, are dangerous. Any one of them could lay waste to a village, manipulate kings, scorch tragedy into every enemy they run afoul of. If the Faith is to be preserved, if Rynmere is to be preserved, it must begin with learning how to fight these fell sorcerers.” Wine wiped the cold sweat form his forehead and leaned back against a wall, “I do not hate them, Caius, for what they are. In another time, another place, perhaps I would have been tempted to grasp such power. But certainly you must see that their very existence is destabilizing. The people are terrified and if we do not grasp that fear by the throat and direct it, they will devour each other like rats.”
“You will undo us both” Caius answered softly. He turned on his heel and strode away from Kayled, intent that his path might take him back to his apartment, maybe to the arms of his lover, anywhere else but here. The Order would wait for him on the morrow, or the trials ahead, but all he could smell was the drying blood and his stomach turned over and over itself again.
“Pray to the Seven!” Caius called after him, a hollow hiss on the cold wind, “It is either us, or them now. You must see that! There are no other enemies more potent!”
Caius did not turn around.
**************************************************************************************************************
When Vhalo had eventually wrestled away the twins, they slept fitfully beside each other, tiny hands clasped loosely. Dusting off his robe, the old wizard knelt down to check on Aegeo who still slumbered quietly where he lay.
He found Edalene and Aeodan together, staring at the swirling tunnel behind them, just as inscrutable as looking forward. “Are you well?” Edalene turned first, smiling, but her eyes were distracted and far from focused. Aeodan continued to look out behind them, as if he could see all the way back to Rynmere and what they had left behind. He seemed different to Vhalo, stronger, taller, but at his age, Vhalo had stopped asking such questions of the forms men take. By and large, no matter the shape, the soul held true and by that measure, nothing was changed for long.
“Thank you, Professor,” Edalene answered, “Do you know where we’re going?”
“Away,” the mage answered simply with a shrug, “Far, I think, but a bargain between tyrants is rarely the affair of mortals.”
Edalene frowned and Aeodan turned, “Tyrants?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.
Vhalo jutted a finger back towards where Cassion had vanished and then pointed above them at the shroud of water that had wrapped around the skiff. “Tyrants.” He repeated, “Emean beings playing at gods.” Aeodan looked down and clenched his own hands, having been marked not more than a break or two ago. Edalene didn’t seem to know whether to glower or be surprised, but the scowl that had worked its way across Vhalo’s face melted and he smiled amicably. “I’m aware Thomas is marked, and it is likely bet you are as well.” Shrugging, he leaned over the back of the boat to bat at the water, “I was born in Etzos, raised on their culture. To me, the Immortals are little more than powerful children, toying with the lives of men. You see poor men like Nolan, suffering, and wonder…if there is such a cruel immortal as Syroa, why do none intervene to protect Nolan from this curse? Ah, but there’s the rub and it’s where the immortals interfere with each other.” Momentarily his eyes flashed green, slit like a cats’ and he jumped away from the water he had touched only moments before, rubbing his hand. A small embarrassed flush found its way to his dark cheeks. “I do not begrudge you your faith. I would never seek to force my culture on any other. Sometimes, perhaps, I wonder if we couldn’t do it alone…yes? If we really need the immortals to keep the cosmos in place.”
Vhalo smiled dreamily, closing his eyes for a moment. His voice was low and raspy but his words echoed and boomed in the twins ears. Vhalo, despite his age, seemed almost younger than anyone else on the ship. He wore old skin, but his heart beat bright and vibrant, the heart of a Becomer…to which nothing was ever as it simply appeared. “We have built wonders in our days, free of the immortals, and we will continue. Our most depraved and virtuous acts are accomplished with a mortal soul. Perhaps it seems the immortals are just jealous outsiders. They cannot be what we are, so they gather us close to them, pretend to be us. Ah. Well. It is certainly something to consider.”
Quirking an eyebrow curiously at Aeodan, Vhalo nodded his head back at where the supplies had been gathered on the deck. “Well, young man? Shall we return you to your form?”
The scholar looked down at his hands, testing them, and slowly raised both to run through his blonde hair. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be himself, the ache and pain that dogged him constantly, the slow way he had built his strength. His body had failed him at birth and he had spent a lifetime building it up again to keep up with everyone else. If anything, this whole event had taught him that shapes were meaningless. Whether your body collapsed into fire or rotted in the ground, your soul was the piece of you that would not shift. A Body was just that, a body, and at the moment…Aeodan didn’t feel like turning the pages backward.
“I think I’ll hold onto it for now,” He said with a shrug, drawing a concerned stare from Edalene, “I may want it again, one day, but I think I’ll keep a little of you with me, professor, at least for the time being.”
Vhalo laughed, sudden and uproarious, a rich and hearty well that crashed over them as any wave might dream. “Ah, young man, you would make a fine Becomer. Will you be wanting your totem?”
“Keep it, for now,” Aeodan laughed as well, feeling light, stronger than he had ever felt before, “Maybe you could make use of it.” Something flashed in the professor’s eyes and he winked.
“I may at that, Aeodan, I may at that. Come find me in Quacia sometime. I’ll keep it safe for you.”
Aeodan nodded and turned back to looking out at the sea water swelling and churning around them. After the ups and downs, this was a moment he could catch his breath, start making his own decisions. Already his blood yearned to return to the adventure, to seek out new places, new sites, to walk on his feet till they were weary and broken, maybe past that as well.
The door below deck sprang open and banged loud enough to wake the twins. Up came Cassion who leaped upon the prow in one bound, balancing precariously. Malena came up next, quickly to the side of her infants who waved their tiny arms furiously as she tried to quiet them. Thomas was last to emerge, his face a study in contrasts. Sickening green-brown bruises gave way to a small, curious smile. His eyes were only for Malena, following her as she settled the children before finally checking on Aegeo.
“Grab Something, Travelers.” He shouted, “We Come Out The Burrow!”
The twins gripped the rail as Malena held her children close, a blowing turmoil of cloak and golden hair. Thomas put a strong hand on Aegeo, waking the giant from his clumber as Vhalo laughed and shimmied up the single mast of the skiff, surprisingly dexterous for one so old. The sea twisted above them and unwrapped from its funnel. Bright sunlight caught the sail and the tired party squarely as Cassion and Vhalo roared inarticulate cries to the wide blue above them. Down came the waves, showering them all in salty spray as the sea once again returned to itself, bobbing and rolling in the deep water. The skiff, unaccustomed to such deep adventures beyond the shore, pitched and rolled with the waves sickeningly.
“Fuck me,” Aegeo grumbled, “If I fell in right now, not sure I wouldn’t snuff out and die.”
“You have only yourself to blame, Aegy,” the older mage muttered with a wink, “Let’s hope not to try that course of experiment just yet.”
“Go suck on Ethelnyda’s scaly tit,” the brute spit back, “Too damn old for that.”
“I dunno!” Edalene called up to him from the back of the boat, “I think Aegy suits you!”
“Fuck off.”
Ahead of them, bold against the line where sea met sky, sails edged toward them. Seven ships, all caravels and galleons, neck and neck. Their weaving course across the surface seemed almost playful, one ship nipping at the wake of another before pulling abreast and falling back. They danced from far away, more alive than merely vessels.
One, clearly pushing out toward the lead, had a figurehead bent elegantly into the shape of a dolphin. The sun glistened off its painted skin, tarry black, and as the ship bobbed so too did the dolphin. Cassion laughed and stepped down into the deck. Thomas had walked slowly over the edge of the pitching skiff and stared, agog, at the approaching ships. “Cassion?” He asked, half turning to the eccentric god, “Where did you take us?”
“The Sea!” Cassion laughed, pointing around them, “Could You Not Tell? Perhaps Mistook It For A Lake.” Aegeo laughed weakly till Thomas gently, but firmly, kicked him in the side. Another ship, larger than the rest, with the sweeping figurehead of a grey, wide winged bird, let fly another sail and pulled ahead of the Black Dolphin. From its deck, a shape launched itself out into the sea. Vhalo dropped to the deck, his cloak billowing as he threw it off. Beneath his body was scarred but toned, tight skin over his thin frame and his necklace of strange totems. One he grabbed with a free hand and stepped out over the water, his body vanishing beneath the waves. When next he rose, a magnificent albeit small, black orca breached the waves and then dove again in a shower of spray. A small ways from the skiff, a grey dolphin and the orca leaped and danced around each other as the sea embraced them both. Aeodan couldn’t help but smile, there was something beautiful in the way two Becomers greeted each other.
Hand over hand Vhalo climbed back into the boat, his skin still glistening black as it stretched and reshaped to his body. Although he gritted his teeth in pain, it was a jagged fierce smile. Behind him, a young woman, naked save the leather wrapped and tied around her hips and just below scrambled up as well. She was beautiful in a wild way, glimmering grey eyes and dark hair cut short around her ears. Her body was smooth and lithe, muscular in the same athletic way as Vhalo’s. Edalene blushed, glancing toward Aeodan but it wasn’t Aeodan she was looking at. As soon as her feet touched the deck, she crossed between the assembled mages and over to Eda. Without warning, soaking from the sea, the young woman pressed herself against Edalene and slipped a hand around to cradle the small of her back, planting a soft, playful kiss on her surprised lips. Bobbing back on her feet, she laughed and turned back to the others.
“Father Sea say you come, welcome!” she shook her head, freeing a small shower of sea water and turned to present the ship. “I am Vani, of the-“
“Nji'Ihadi.” Thomas finished, looking out at the approaching ship. “The Landbird. The Blue Cat, The Rainstorm.”
The girl nodded vigorously, “Yes! Yes! You know? Know the Nji'Ihadi?”
Thomas laughed, despite himself, drawing his hands through wet hair, “Yes! Yes of course! Vani, daughter of Ijue and Vakoj! I know you. Well… I knew you. Some time ago, you see, you and your sister were hardly to my knee. My name is Thomas. Thomas Theodore Terrance!”
“Ah!” She leaped forward and embraced Thomas, wet breasts pressed up against the loose linen they had decided to burn him in. Thomas drew in a quick breath and shot an embarrassed look toward Malena. The only response was a raised eyebrow, arched imperiously. “Yes! Oh! Thomas Theodore Terrance.” She said the names like a mantra, too fast and all at once, “But you so big!” She circled her arms around her own stomach, miming Thomas who shrugged, glancing back at Cassion.
“You can blame my patron for that. Hard not to be hungry around him.”
Cassion gave a vague salute and a polite wave to Vani. Seeming to recognize him, she launched immediately into Rakhi.
Aeodan slipped an arm around the still reeling Edalene as he tried to pick out what she was saying. Once upon a time, he had known this language easily. But Envoy had snapped it up as part of their bargain and was nowhere in near sight. He could feel the spirit, somewhere near, but as removed from this world as possible while in the presence of a god. He knew the whole time, Aeodan thought, suspicious, What else could he be hiding?
The ships were getting closer and Aegeo was trying to sit up. Malena gently and firmly pushed him back down. “Damn you, woman,” He growled, “Near naked Biqaj prancing around the deck and you force me play spectator?”
“Show some decorum,” Malena snipped, “It’s one of the few decent qualities you have remaining.”
Grumbling, Aegeo didn’t push the issue, but he did rest his thick arms across his chest, a passive aggressive pout.
“We Have Come, Twins,” Cassion’s voice echoed in their minds, “Here Is Where We Part Paths. Your Story Begins Again, And Again, And Again. Travel Far, Shout Fiercely, Make Them Remember The Names Of Your Dead and Your Living. Shake Idalos. Do Not Do It For Me. Do It For Yourselves. Taste Now, And Be Hungry.”
**************************************************************************************************************
“You should be resting.”
The monk, a jovial looking man with a wide face and doe-brown eyes stood patiently behind him as he sifted through the ash. Earlier the same monk, Clarence, had bandaged him and suggested again that he allow himself to be taken back to the barracks to rest, or at least somewhere. The blow to his head had been severe and although the bleeding had stopped, Clarence had been worried that the damage might be internal, especially given his unsteady gait.
DuKette waved the advice away, crouching in the ashes and kicking through the larger pieces of sparking wood. The pillar had remained relatively untouched in the conflaguration, but with the lack of supports it had fallen over. A lightning bolt splinter ran up and down half its length. Another scaffolding would need to be built, of course, but for now he continued to search.
Wells, primed explosively, not the work of mages. The Sacarsav hunter brushed his fingers over a few of his sheathed blades, lingering on the pommel stones. If he twisted them the right way, they would pop free and become just as deadly, if not more, than the ones used today. He thought better of using them, of course, given the situation. Should Ensorcellment be outlawed in this country. the whole mission would be for naught.
Something connected with his foot and skittered across the stone, drawing his attention. He had hoped some of those wells would still be lying around and, indeed, a few had been found around the perimeter. Unfortunately, all but one had been found by him and were likely in Kayled’s grasp. It would make studying them harder, especially if the Inquisitor would push him to reveal their secrets. DuKette was just fortunate there wasn’t any Ensorceller worth a damn in Rynmere he’d found yet, otherwise they might all be having an entirely different discussion.
Leaning down, he picked up the small circular object from the ground. It was blackened with soot, but as he rubbed his emerald green sleeve against it, the dust fell away easily to reveal a small mirror, lined in silver, with a single crack running diagonally across it. DuKette frowned, laying it in the palm of his hand and examining it thoroughly. There were no maker marks, and the whole piece was contiguous. He could see no signs of it being crafted or shaped, as though it had simply been harvested this way, straight from the ground.
“Have you…found something?” Clancy again, stepping forward a bit hesitantly. DuKette sighed and kicked a few remaining chunks of wood out of the way. He turned back, facing down that unyielding helpful optimism with withering annoyance.
Glanced off, ineffective. Clancy was unmoved by the Hiladri scowl.
“Ah yield, lad,” DuKette threw up his hands, clutching the small mirror, “Promise tae turn in if yeh leave me be.”
“Fates bless your wisdom,” Clancy gently smiled and nodded, “I will go a ways back to prepare you an escort. Be kind and do not make us fetch you.”
As Clancy turned toward the cleanup, DuKette held the mirror up again. Strangely, it seemed to eat the light of the rising son, devouring all and giving nothing, not even a glimmer. Frowning, He looked into it. Reflected back at him was a tired face, red curled moustache bristling above scarred, scowling lips. The leather eyepatch neatly hid what lay beneath and his other brilliant green eye narrowed in the reflection.
He felt something, a strange silence that fell upon him as soon as his eye was reflected back. Suspicion suddenly widened into horror as DuKette’s body pitched forward. His right arm withered, pale and claw-like fingers gaunt and useless, barely twitching. His leg followed, barley managing to stand on the weakened appendage as his body warped and buckled. Desperately, DuKette slipped the mirror between two fingers and tore open the front of his stained green shirt. The long scar of raised map-like whorls and contours had opened and fresh blood spilled out and across his chest. “FEK!” DuKette could not keep his balance and hit the ground. Behind him, he could hear the pounding of hurried steps and Clancy was at his side immediately. The Hiladri had fallen, sheltering his right side from prying eyes, knowing all too well what an unexpected transformation would earn him.
“Sir! Sir! What’s wrong? What happened?”
“The mirror,” Dukette groaned, the item having skittered from his fingers when he landed, “Ah need the damned mirror!” Clancy vaulted over him, spying the small trinket and snatching it from the ground. He couldn’t help but notice that it did not flash in the sunlight and for a moment, despite himself, he looked into it.
Instantly, DuKette could feel the blood of Cassion burn back through his body, banishing the crippled limbs of his childhood and resealing over the wound. Clancy had already dropped down to help, turning DuKette over to check for the source of the bleeding only to find nothing, just dried blood over a thick, white scar.
“I don’t…” Clancy pulled the shirt open wider, “Where are you wounded sir? Sir?” DuKette reached out and snatched the mirror, careful not to let his face be reflected in its tiny, cracked face. Slipping it in a belt pouch, he pushed Clancy away gently and rose unsteadily. Two Purifiers were there beside the monk, looking on worried and suspicious. Of course. In this land of Knights and chivalry, it was the outside they feared so readily.
“Ahm fine,” DuKette breathed, clenching and unclenching his right hand, “Ah think yeh were right. Ah think Ah’ll rest awhile after all.”
The Monk checked him over again and instructed the Purifiers to transport him carefully. All the way back, DuKette watched the Monk for any signs of weakness or surprise but found none. It was only as they were laying him down in the barracks that the revelation pushed through his exhaustion addled brain.
Quickly his hand went to his pocket, feeling the shape of the mirror there.
Rynmere made heroes of those who slew Sessfiends.
Heroes had the ear of the King and in such uncertain times…perhaps more outlandish solutions might be considered.
DuKette smiled.
**************************************************************************************************************
Darkness had an oily feel to it. Soft and gliding it wrapped and cuddled, slipping through fabric and metal to wrap cloying, wet fingers against soft skin. Here, beneath the earth, the shadow was absolute.
A small point of crackling light tore itself through the air. No larger than what might fit in the palm of one’s hand, it sparked brilliant purple along its edges before settling. Within there was a room, small and dirty. A bed had been pushed up against the door and a blanket hung in front of the window, nailed neatly into place. It glowed with the captured light of the sun and the figure within, knelt by a single lit candle bowed their head.
“My Adored,” The figure said quietly, “Most Exalted. The Seekers are no more.”
“Don’t tease,” Came the response from the darkness, a full throaty voice, tough of laughter on her tone, “Terrance breathes, as does most of his cell. A certainly liberal understanding of ‘no more’, darling.”
The figure flinched at this but nodded slowly, “My sincerest apologies, Dread Lady, but their influence is broken and they have left the lands.”
“Adequate,” was the reply and the postulant in the dirty room pressed their cloaked head to the ground, “Given your lack of resources, you have performed admirably. Tell me of the Order.”
“It survives. Lord Inquisitor Kayled had an audience with the King along with his named Lord Arbiter, Caius Gawyne. I do not believe the Order will be disbanded. We may continue our work.”
“So we will,” was the resonate chuckle, “First the Seekers, than the Seers. It has been some time since VII acted, hasn’t it? Mages have become quite the public menace, perhaps the leadership could be convinced to utilize some of that lovely havoc for their own goals. See that the idea reaches them?”
“As you wish,” the reply was immediate, devout, and full of barely withheld emotion. In the absolute shadow, the Dread Lady sneered. “I am a tool for you to wield, I am a stone to build your Tower to the Godthrone. You who have given me truth, I pledge service. Now and forever.”
“Rewards are plenty for the loyal agent. Let us sew the discord, seed the fear. Those hidden mages must think themselves so clever, swaddled in nobility, hidden behind such pretty smiles. Ah, well, let us see if we cannot coax them into a little rebellion of their own, hmmm? Anything to keep their dreadful secrets.”
“Say the word,” her servant agreed, “It will be done.”
“No. Your instructions are clear. See if you cannot sway the rebels into offering haven to mages. We will let the order grow, for now, before we set them against our mutual enemies. I will not suffer the same failure I was delivered by Alistair Venora. Our plans will progress. Remain in the Order, do not disappoint me.”
“As you say, so shall it become.”
The tiny portal whispered into nothing
And absolute shadow reigned once more.
**************************************************************************************************************
The room was quiet when Caius arrived. He had spared no word to the few who had passed him the hall, dragging the stench of death and the rot of blood behind him. Upon entering, he tore the clothes from his body and hurled them onto the floor. Quick, harsh breaths as he kicked them toward a corner and stalked to the dressing mirror at his desk. He turned, trying to catch the edge of what he knew was there. The wings spread out across his back, more beautiful than any tattoo he had seen before. It was hard to admit it to himself, but the feeling of her atop him, the intoxicating pressure of her breath on his neck, the way her fingers had seemed to reach through cloth to tease up his chest. Hot flush of color in his cheeks and Caius forced himself to look away, taking a deep breath. Already the world was in tumult and this room no longer felt real to him anymore. Inkstain fingers. Inkstain fingers. Would that he could dye them back the color of language and tomes. Now they were blotched red, stained with the trade he had been forced into, forced to endure.
Caius fell back onto his bed, at least confident that his exhaustion would be enough to entreat sleep, that most elusive of courtesans, into bed with him. Instead, his back twitched against unfamiliar texture and the crinkling of parchment. Rolling sideways along the bed, he was perplexed to discover a single page of thick, dark parchment that had been placed neatly on his bed. Beside it was a small pot of ink, a thick ochre hue and a smaller piece of ordinary parchment folded beside it.
Had someone been in his room?
Hesitantly, Caius reached down to take the folded paper. On it was written a short scrawl of a note, and it smelled of dust, the open road between Andaris and Gawyne, perhaps the faint aroma of seabreeze.
Caius.
A story is best told with contrasting view. When belief crashes against belief, narrative is born from such cataclysm with evocative fury. I give you a single piece of parchment. It and the ink are special. Without one, the other is useless, so guard them wisely. This parchment has a twin somewhere out on the Ivorian Sea. Write in your own hand and you may discover your thirst for knowledge, paid with curiosity, will be answered in kind. Should your ink deplete, you will need to feed it blood of your writing hand.
Never settle for the mundane, not if you would call yourself alive
It was not signed.
Caius read and re-read the words twice before placing both on his desk. He would have time to tackle either in the morning, or perhaps in several mornings. Exhaustion came upon him like a spell and for the first time in a long time, Caius felt sleep easily slip into his mind.
“Boggs,” He muttered to himself, “We’re damned.”
**************************************************************************************************************
The rest slipped by in a blur.
Above them, smiling faces hurled down rope ladders to draw the survivors up to the ship. Ijue was breath taking. Tall for her race, her white-grey hair was tied with intricate knots down to the small of her back. Her body was like her daughter, lithe, athletic, and beautiful. She was the first to grab Thomas in an embrace, just as quick to poke fun at his weight, much to the joy of the crew. Her eyes were like endless horizons, sweeping and mesmerizing. Even the scars that crossed her body were somehow elegant and beautiful, as though shaped just for her by the elements and violence. Her husband and brother, Vakoj, cut a commanding and quiet figure from where he perched near the wheel. A cutless with a handle carved of bleached bone balanced at his side and intricate tattoos gave way to black and blue tentacles that curled around his waist and up his shoulders. Vani had a sister, Okue, and two twin brothers, Kukaji and Kef. Vani and Okue were only a few years younger than Edalene and Aeodan, while Kukaji and Kef had only recently entered their fourteenth Arc. The crew of the Landbird, joined by the Black Dolphin and the other ships in the grand family of the Nji'Ihadi, all clustered aboard to meet the bard from arcs past and his friends.
Thomas promised to tell stories of their arrival, their adventures, to the cheering of the crew who appeared to have been preparing to receive them for at least a trial. Cassion, who they called Koga Khan, waved off the hospitality. Instead he promised to take the small skiff with Aegeo and Vhalo to Quacia personally. When pressed to stay he only laughed. “Too Many Stories Left To Tell. This Is No Longer My Chapter.” And leaped down to the Inclement Weather.
Aegeo and Vhalo had both been polar opposites in their farewells. Vhalo, still a bundle of excitement from his Becoming dance was all embraces and promises to meet again soon. One last time he winked at Aeodan over the crowd of sailors and mages alike, “Should you find yourself near Quacia and have a thought to trying some new shapes, I would be honored to take you as my initiate.” Aegeo, however, was quiet. He did not stand to go and greet the others, but sat and stared out to the open sea.
It was Edalene, strangely enough, that approached him first as Aeodan tried to extricate himself form Vhalo’s enthusiastic farewells.
“Are you-“
“Don’t force it.” His bald head gleamed in the sunlight and his thick shoulders rose and fell slowly. He was breathing better now, but his eyes were smoldering embers. Edalene couldn’t remember what color his eyes had been before and it struck her, suddenly, as a little sad.
“I’m not.” She slid down beside him and looked out to sea with him.
“Well. I’ll live,” he said at last, “Much to your chagrin.” There wasn’t any force behind his words anymore, they were empty.
Together they sat in silence. Aeodan made his way over and joined Edalene, resting a hand against hers. Aegeo spoke again, but it was a distant kind of inflection, nothing like the snarl and growl he had before. “Her fire….” He started, stopped, then started again, “It’s different. Aukari fire is…well, it would be silly to say more alive, but I can’t think of what else to say. I could feel her, in the fire, when I directed it. I just…I…” He fell silent again and continued to stare out at the sea. “Those bastards. Those Aelig fucking, piss punch, Sintra-dicked worms weren’t worth an ember of her, not a flicker, not a gods damned spark. She shouldn’t have died there, that way.”
Aeodan and Edalene were quiet.
“I’ll never forgive them,” Aegeo finally said again, gruff, a soft growl, “Let their castles crumble and their shitty ghost-mad religion turn to memory and I’d still piss on the ashes.” Thomas continues to talk, animatedly, while Malena showed off the twins. Aegeo watched them for a moment, then returned his gaze to the horizon. “One day I’m going back there and razing that city to the ground. I’m not like Thomas, or Malena, not really. Monsters like that took everything from me and I live just so I can drive their backwards hate so far up their ass that they’ll sneeze shit.”
Edalene laughed, stopped herself, and nodded. “They’ll die screaming.” Aegeo said at last.
Something about the mage’s face, the way it was turned, caught Edalene’s attention. She studied him for a moment and then stood, quickly striding over to the supplies she had left at the hideout and pushing through them. Out came the bird, the lumpy sparrow. She held it in her hand, feeling its weight, remembering the way the woman looked at her, what she said.
“Sing of me,” Edalene said softly, holding the small bird out to Aegeo, “Never let them change you.”
Aegeo’s head snapped around so quickly the twins heard his neck pop. The muscles bulged in his neck as his fierce eyes found Edalene’s face and then…the bird. “This is yours,” She said softly, and held it out to him, “She wanted you to have it.”
Aeodan looked between them, confused, and Edalene had to struggled with the anger and resentment building inside her. Here was that child, torn from the bosom of his mother by the same fear that had shorn away Ninacky. Don’t let them change you, his mother had said.
Don’t let them change you
Don’t let them
Don’t.
Tears found their way to Aegeo’s eyes, steaming drops of mist and fire that scorched small red freckles on his cheeks. He did not ask her how she had it, how she knew, he only took the little bird in his huge hands. It seemed so small there, lumpy and forlorn, a labor of love and haphazard skill. He was speechless, only his flickering tears the bridge between the vengeances addled creature he had become and the boy he once was.
Above them the sun wheeled and plodded and a world away, Rynmere mourned its lost, buried its dead, and planned their ruinous hunts.
Aegeo opened his mouth.
Sing of me.
And he did.
“Fires live such short lives. Sputtering, guttering, blazing sometimes but we all end so quickly.”
What was her favorite color? Her favorite book? Did she like sandwiches wrapped delicately in cloth, picnics, hikes in the chilled Vhalar air? What he didn’t know about Ninacky would have filled a library of volumes and Aeodan would read every word if there was some hint buried between punctuation marks on how to bring her back. He wasn’t fire. She was. Her life was short, desperate, but in the end it blazed brightest to protect the man she loved and for Aeodan, there could be no more fitting a sacrifice than to die on the mountains love builds.
“Thank you.” Thomas said the words flatly and for a moment, Edalene desperately searched for the hint of joviality in his tone, only to find it desolate and barren. Thomas was an old man in that instant, and the twins could see beneath the effortless smiles was the weight of untold lives pressing down on his shoulders. They could see it now because they felt it too, and bound together by loss they all knew the burden each struggled to hold day after day. “Ninacky was…” He trailed off, running a hand gently through his hair and over the swathe of sickly color spreading across his skin, “Ninacky was magnificent. I have rarely seen students with her aptitude. Did you…ah, of course not, but please…” Thomas smiled and it was a hollow mask. “Cassion teaches that we remember the dead not in stone but in memory, through the life we give them in stories. It may not always be completely true, but it will be Truth, as pure as any ever spoken…because it is colored with our hearts.” He reached out, taking a hand from Edalene and Aeodan both, his calloused thumbs running over the eternal stain on their fingertips. “Forget what you know and remember with your heart. Vri does us disservice to remember all things clearly when all mankind wants to do is dress the dreadful in bright colors or flashy adventures. Our lives are chaotic, brief, and none of us want to be remembered as the broken creatures we can become.” He pulled their hands up and laid a gentle kiss on the back of each, letting it fall, “We remember the best and the worst because no one is neutral in death, not truly. The shape your stories take is the impression they’ve left on your life.”
Edalene’s breath hitched suddenly, violently, and she tried to swallow back the moaning sob bubbling up from the grief she’d forged around her heart. The guilt, it would drowned her, and she could remember every instant, every trill of the moment. Again and again. Again and again…Ninacky died and she just watched.
“Ninacky found Nolan, not the other way around. I heard it told that he was a stranger in Etzos, seeking to court the favor of the Warlock of the Seeker cell for permission to access a Fracture they had found.” Thomas rubbed his chin thoughtfully, wincing as his finger brushed another bruise. “Nolan may be a brilliant researcher, but he’s terrible with small talk. Seems to be that some lady of the night had lured him near enough a back alley that her brutish companions could take him for the foreigner he was, leave him a beaten body for the guards to find come morn. Ninacky was just a server in a tavern across the way, trading winks and smiles for tips and weathering the lechery of lesser men. I remember, she told me she saw this thin bespectacled man prattling away about some fascinating Etzorian adage while his seductress tried as hard as she could to keep from seeming bored! Ah!” A chuckle burst momentarily from his lips and then subsided. He sighed. “Well, something about that poor lamb…and yes, she called him a ‘poor lamb’ drew her to leave her shift early, walk across the street, hook an arm around his waist, and thank the woman for finding her lost husband! Her face…” Thomas laughed again, loud and barking, momentarily breaking the spell misery held, “Her face when she told this part, the face of the woman was so…so priceless, I cannot, I-“ he paused, scrunching his bruised and battered face into the best incredulity he could manage before waving it off. “Gods, I cannot do it the justice she could.”
Neither of the twins laughed, but a ghost of a smile had pulled at the corners of their mouth. Somehow it was both better and worse to hear this, to feel this building sorrow and to know more and more had lay beneath the ice of their short meeting.
His laughter subsiding, Thomas grew quiet again, “Perhaps I knew, a little, what she felt.” A hand went to his neck where his tangle of necklaces used to hang and grasped for nothing. Aeodan and Edalene remembered clearly how he had held the ring that used to hang there, how he clutched it like a lifeline. Now they found nothing and he dropped his hand wearily, “Sometimes you mix up admiration with love, especially when you’re a teacher or perhaps half as foolish as I am.”
Above them, Tommy started to laugh at something, startlingly loud and warming in the moment. Thomas looked up, as though he might see through the deck of the ship (and perhaps he could). “I must ask your forgiveness, Edalene, Aeodan. Sometimes the road seems so terribly long and the luster of adventure can dim when you’ve left too many companions behind.” He looked up at them, appraisingly, “I thought if I didn’t fight it, that my death could mean something. Kayled and his cronies could execute a scholar but I would never be a mage, not in the way they needed me to be.”
“We couldn’t-“ Aeodan started but Thomas held up a hand slowly and smiled, a little wistful,
“I made the mistake of assuming I could choose my own ending. How arrogant.” Above them all, Cassion laughed now and the infant twins joined in. “If you would mingle your tales with another, you must accept that you may not have the right to decide how to close the chapter on your life. We swore an oath at the Wayshrine and I did not give you the courtesy of a consultation when I laid myself down.” His eyes were glittering, a little of the old mirth back in them. It was muted, so much less of the man than the two remembered from their journey to the Tomb, but it was enough. “I mistook the end of a paragraph for the end of a book, but you’ll forgive my eyes for not being what they used to be.” He indicated his swollen face, the useless wire-rim glasses. “Furthermore I-“
“Thomas?” Malena’s golden framed face peered down from above. She wore a curious expression, one part longing, and another wariness. “Could we speak, please? Privately?”
“Of course, my snapdragon,” He murmured, and perhaps the twins saw, for a moment, something else in his eyes…an openness, a warmth that hadn’t been there before. “One moment.”
She nodded and vanished, Thomas looked to where she had been for a few moments before looking back at the twins. “Perhaps it was cruel to drag you into all this,” He started and Edalene shook her head so vigorously it might have flown off. Aeodan dragged her against him and echoed his disagreement. “Fair, fair,” Thomas corrected, “What I mean to say is that I have had the honor to share my road with an array of remarkable people. I have seen great enemies and remarkable heroes. Each one of them holds a special place in my heart. He reached out again and took their hands, wrapping all his warm, thick fingers around them. “But of them all, I don’t believe I have ever felt the way I do about the two of you.” Distant, the mage looked off beyond them, farther still, to somewhere long ago and far away. “When I was a young man, too young not to realize my mortality but too old to forget the mortality in others, I was betrothed.” The twins knew that if he could have, in this moment he would have been holding that ring, “Her name was Nicolanna and she…” he trailed off, bit his lower lip, sighed out the emotion there, “I was a Sojourner at the time, a named vagabond of Cassion. We had planned to see such things together but before we left Viden we found she was with child.” It was obviously difficult for him and the mage paused, taking a moment before continuing. “Perhaps I would have even courted the gods wrath to stay with her, then, and for a time I did. But something happened and we…lost them.” He studied their faces now, as though searching for any hint of judgement or question. Taking another long breath he continued, “Stillbirth, never a cry uttered. Twins, a boy and a girl.”
Edalene drew in a harsh breath and Aeodan looked on, drunk in the emotion flowing out from the old guide. Here they swam in stories, in tales that brought the height of such burning emotions and deep spiraling depths. “They would have taken our names, an offering to the gods for a better life than those we had led, but it was never to be.” Letting their hands go he clasped them together, “I do not know how they might have turned out. My love and I never had the privilege to meet them. Twenty arcs is a long time to travel with your family behind you, but I would like to hope that should they have lived…the might be as brave and vibrant as the two of you.”
Tears found their way to Aeodan and Edalene’s eyes and Thomas was suddenly all around them. The small man still somehow managed to get his arms around them, pulling them close in a tight embrace. The twins basked in the moment, feeling a sense of acceptance and compassion deeper than they had ever felt in their home before. As their hearts beat together, even the fitful song-thump of Edalene’s own, it felt correct. For just a moment, Aeodan imagined what it would have been like to grow up a child of Thomas Theodore Terrance, to take the name himself. Half-memories, dreams, ghosted through his mind of a younger Thomas hoisting the crippled Aeodan up onto his shoulders and bellowing out bawdy tavern songs from Nashaki down the open road, his small voice intermingled with his. Edalene could see the quiet nights at fireside, leafing through worn leather journals and sharing stories from worlds over as a hearty stew simmered on the coals. Perhaps they were at the gates of the Eternal Empire, or at the edge of the jungle near Desnid. Thomas would laugh, tousle her hair fondly, whisper her stories of shadow-women and beast men and she would giggle.
A life unlived spooled out between them.
When he drew back, he seemed larger somehow, as though something of himself had been found.
“I love you.” Edalene said it before she had even finished thinking it, rolling out after the tails of the wispy could-bes. Aeodan wrapped an arm around her shoulder and smiled at Thomas, perhaps not as widely as he could but it was certainly more than he had managed since this had begun. “We love you,” Aeodan continued for her, “The Seekers, this…cell? It’s like family and we’ve barely known them for more than a trial. Something about this feel right, feels natural. I can’t explain it, but I doubt you’d approve of me stumbling over trying to.”
Thomas shrugged, his eyes alight again in the darkness. Beside him, Edalene noticed the wide-shouldered shape of a bear rise wearily from its feet and level a long, old stare at her. The bear was black save for the white lines that wrapped around its eyes, like spectacles. “Stories are the language of stumbling,” Thomas answered Aeodan ruefully, “We struggle to find meaning in life and the tales we weave are the edited history of that quest.” Then, after a beat, “I love you too.”
**************************************************************************************************************
Flanked by Moseke Knights, polished brilliance a stark contrast to the mud and blood that marred the Order of the Mantis, Caius and Kayled were led to the throne room. The high backed throne towered over the boy king’s head, its gilded edges catching the new dawn light streaming through the high windows and almost blinding the two men on approach. Caius’ fingers itched and he longed to be at home, trying vainly to pretend he had found any respite at all the night before. Instead he stood next to Kayled with the blood of innocents drying on his clothes before the highest power in Rynmere.
Cassander was dressed in royal red, his crown imperiously adjusted on his head of blonde-brown curls. This close, Caius couldn’t help but notice how small King Renault was. He was as thin as Caius was, perhaps more, and dark circles etched themselves like the grooves of ancient rivers through rock beneath his eyes. Although his hand was adorned with shimmering treasures, rings that might have bought and sold entire parcels of land thrice over, he wore them loosely and only maintained them by curling his fingers to prevent them from slipping off. Caius had seen the King before, but something about the man seemed lesser than he remembered. Gone was the vibrant health and vitality, the lion-strong defiance that had stood against usurpers, raiders, and criminals alike. Cassander looked, at least a bit, like Caius felt.
Both Kayled and Caius dropped to their knee in front of the King, bowing their head toward the carved marble floor. Out of the corner of his eye, Caius marked the regal, glittering gown of the Queen, Empress Emerson Sands, pass before them both and settle in the seat beside her husband. The Faith still roiled at this union, but if Emerson was concerned one might never tell. The Queen was a picture of political cunning and guile. Caius expected that when he raised his head he would see much of the same, breathtaking beauty shaped meticulously of soft flesh and eyes that took in the whole world around it, bottomless. Perhaps she would have her snakes again, perhaps not, but to Caius she had always seemed the distrustful alien among countrymen. She was otherworldly, as if shaken out of a portrait and given the right to walk and talk as though she belonged in this world. As one of the great powers of the Faith, she demanded Caius’ respect, but he couldn’t help but wonder about what the union with Cassander would mean for the Faith in general, what cataclysm this might weave in such a fitful age of Rynmere.
“Rise,” Emerson said first, her voice a throaty purr, “Lord Inquisitor Kayled Wine and…Lord Caius Gawyne?”
“My Lord Arbiter, Your Grace,” Kayled murmured quietly, just loud enough to be heard as he rose with Caius, “As approved by His Majesty.”
“I know damn well what I approved,” Cassander snapped, his crown dipping forward perilously before he pushed it back and rose sharply from the chair, “What concerns me is what you have DONE with my approval.”
“Only as your Majesty instructed,” Kayled began to venture, “We did not expect-“
“You were CHOSEN for what you could expect, Wine,” Cassander growled, pacing in front of Emerson as she sat back. There wasn’t quite a smile on her face, but it wasn’t a frown. Somehow, Caius wished she would just make up her mind. “You assured me that you had everything under control. I ask for these dangerous men to be removed from my realm and you assured me that there were none better for the position.” Storm-faced, he strode down the stairs from the throne to glare up at the willowy Inquisitor, his shoulders trembling in barely repressed fury, “Now innocents are DEAD, Kayled, DEAD.” Drawing back, the King almost whipped forward to slap him but paused, gazing up and down the hard, gaunt face before lowering his hand. “They are still counting them. I am told you couldn’t even manage to execute the mage you had.”
“No, My Liege,” Kayled admitted, oh so quiet, gone was the fire and brimstone at the trial, “We killed one of their number, but the rest managed to escape.”
“To where? Must we worry about these terrorists running amok across the kingdom?”
“No, My Liege, with the exception of the Sessfiend, we believe the mages to have fled Rynmere entirely. Iron Hand witnesses and a number of sailors in your navy report their boat swallowed by a great wave just off the docks and lost to the sea.”
“Boggs.” Renault stalked away from Kayled back to the throne, collapsing into it and cradling his head, “So we have nothing to show the people for this travesty.”
“My love,” Emerson spoke now, her voice sultry soft as she reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder. Caius realized she didn’t NEED snakes. Her arms moved like they might as well have been, cautious and inexorable. “It was a heavy price, but the people now know the danger these sorcerers pose. Before, it was only your intuition after Fridgar. Perhaps had your subjects taken more heed, they may have been more prepared.”
Her voice seemed to soften the king and he lay a weary head back against the cushion. “Where is your advisor, the foreigner? Surely he has some explanation for why it went awry.”
“Roland DuKette is being treated for injury, Your Grace,” the Lord Inquisitor answered, “But I will have a full report sent to you before the trial is out. We were unaware of the Transmuter, the Becomer, and especially the Necromancer. I’m told the Seekers rarely practice that art, so it was an unexpected complication. Given the power wielded today, these were combat trained mages, adept in their craft. My Lord, they were clearly sent here expecting wafare.”
“But why?”
“Perhaps in response to your decree,” Emerson suggested, her eyes devouring Caius whole, “The mages have always been willful, perhaps it was in response to your desires.”
“Thomas was a professor at the University Arcs before Your Majesty made the decree,” Caius offered, suddenly, surprised at even himself for speaking without being asked, “For Arcs they sat idly and did not use their powers. Why? What were they here for?”
Kayled almost whirled on him, but kept still, his muscles tensing. Renault nodded thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “All these terrorists were connected through the University. I’m told Aeodan and Edalene devoted some time to Professor Terrance after an excursion in Ashan.”
“Yes, My Liege,” Kayled offered, “They were to receive credit based on an archeological expedition, but were back trials before they should have and neither of the twins nor Thomas pushed to count the credits on their return. Afterward, although the twins temporarily left Rynmere to study at Viden University, Thomas kept up with correspondence. It seems that perhaps the Professor radicalized them during their journey.”
“Do we know to where?”
Kayled shook his head slowly, “We have a map, My Leige, but it is poorly drawn. Of the items we confiscated from the mage, the map was well hidden in a hollow chair leg in his office. I currently have an expert tracker determining its likely location, but I’m afraid I cannot pinpoint exactly where they were on that journey. We know it is likely within a day or two march of Andaris. DuKette believes even if they were aided by Rupturing, that it is unlikely they went that far.”
“More shadows to chase,” Cassander muttered, “Have we anything else?”
“We may assume that the weak link to their fellowship are Aeodan and Edalene. They were nearly captured at the inn and led us straight to where the mages were hiding out. Given their reaction and how poorly prepared they were, we believe that neither of the two had any idea this was happening till I arrived at the University. Perhaps by exploring them, we can determine more about the mages.”
“Traitors,” Emerson sighed, shaking her head sadly, “And I am told they were so gifted. Truly, the Fates weep.”
“Can we know if they turned anyone else?” Cassander asked, coldly, “Perhaps we should be more thorough on the University students.”
“With respect, My King,” Caius bowed his head in deference before continuing, “Academics are curious sorts. If we are to discover any lingering supporters of the mages, it won’t be discovered through brute force. With your leave, I will head the investigation of the University myself. I am familiar with it and with many of the staff, I can be trusted.”
“Perhaps less so as a Mantis,” Emerson reminded, but she did so with a smile, “Please continue. How would you propose finding them?”
Kayled opened his mouth as though to interject, but Caius stepped a half step forward, putting himself outside the eye line of the serpent. “I won’t have Purifiers patrolling the halls like wolves,” he began, “Instead I will recruit a trusted few to pry and explore the possibility of mage collusion in the ranks of academia. We will act on the leads that produces. My Liege, if we are to maintain the sanctity of higher education, we must not treat every student like a potential terrorist.”
Cassander watched Caius gravely, one finger curling and uncurling one lock that tumbled beneath the crown. Finally he nodded, albeit hesitantly, “Very well, Lord Arbiter, you may proceed. However, I will restrict any further travel along that portal and task Ser Wine to keep it guarded by capable warriors. Should any additional mages rise from the University under your watch, Lord Caius, you will answer for it.”
Both Kayled and Caius bowed, having no other choice than to accept the King’s edict.
“How do we avoid this kind of bloodshed in the future? It seems like it has been too soon for another Sessfiend hunt, and a mage at that, but tracking down beasts like that is not your priority. You seek the ones that conjure flames.”
“With your permission, My Liege,” Kayled started, stepping forward, “I would like to request additional forces at our executions. Now that we know the need, I would humbly ask for your permission to send Sky Riders to watch us from above.”
“Done,” Renault said quickly, “But do not mistake my compliance for forgiveness. These lives are on YOUR head, Lord Inquisitor. You were ill prepared, ill staffed, and ill advised. Such error should see you stripped of command and imprisoned-“
“But,” Emerson spoke now, softly, a hand on Cassander’s own and the King visibly seemed to relax a little, “But we have no one to promote with Ser Wine’s experience. Surely this tragedy will inform his future decisions. Those lost are with the Seven now, found in the Eternal Kingdom. Let their sacrifice be a lesson spelled in blood. Should such a massacre occur under his watch again…surely the Order of the Mantis leadership will pay with their lives. It is an honorable ultimatum.”
Caius tasted ash on his tongue, sawdust in his throat. Just a trial ago he was a simple printer, son of a Noble. Now things had begun to speed up, perilous fast. Cassander took the hand of his Queen and smiled, his wan face somehow brighter when turned toward her. “Of course, My Love,” He answered her, “Lord Arbiter, Lord Inquisitor, you represent the leadership of your Order. Should a tragedy of this magnitude happen again, especially with events that YOU set in motion, you may be asked to pay with your lives. You will be judged by the Seven who may be farer than we.”
“Yes, My Liege,” Kayled said automatically, dropping down to his knee and bowing his head, “I will take those words to heart.”
Caius numbly knelt next to him, bowing his head. He would speak, but his mouth was full of regret, outrage, fear. With all those emotions crowding his jaws, it was any wonder he could still breathe. “You are dismissed,” Cassander muttered, waving his hand, “See that I have a report before nightfall and am kept informed going forward. You will be given what resources you need to carry out your task, but I should hope to see more success going forward, to restore my faith.”
Again bows, and to Caius it felt a little like dipping one’s head down for the executioner’s axe. They rose as one and turned from the royal couple, striding back through the decadent throne room to the double doors. The Moseke Knights escorted them out wordlessly, but Caius felt like some essential part of himself had been left behind in that throne room, forever stolen by the river of events he could no longer escape from.
**************************************************************************************************************
Edalene and Aeodan had left Thomas to speak with Malena. Last they saw him, there was a faint blush of color high on her cheekbones as she descended into the dark of the skiff and closed the doors behind her. Vhalo was watching over her children, Mara with both fists buried deep in his ashy beard, as though she might pull herself arm over chubby arm up the air to his face. Tommy clasped one of the old mage’s fingers in a vice grip and yawned, turning his brilliant blue eyes to the twins as they emerged from the darkness and stepped out onto the deck.
Edalene felt tired, her body cramped from the awkward seating in the hold and now it ached with the bruises she had received from the rescue itself. Already the wound she had received from Aeodan, an echo of his own, was beginning to close…although it felt painful when she moved her arm, as though something were still trying to dig into her and burrow through her flesh. Hesitantly, she planted a kiss on Aeodan’s cheek before walking to the back of the skiff to be alone. Ninacky’s death was crushing her, far more than Godryn’s ever had. Could she afford to keep this deadly secret from Aeodan? How long? Dropping to her knees, she let her fingers dip into the funnel of water around them and drag along behind the boat. Furrows in the color there and gone in an instant. She remembered Ninacky’s face, every breath of the event. She couldn’t set it aside, could not forget. Perfect clarity was not something she had ever thought a curse before…at least till now.
“Heavy Is The Burden Of Watchers.”
In the blue-green sea, a shadow had formed like the body of some rising horror. Slowly it resolved itself into a shadowy, murky clock face on the water. She felt the presence of Ralaith and for the first time was not overjoyed in its encompassing power. Guilt drew sparks of anger from her, sifting it from the devotion. “My Lord,” She said, withdrawing her hand from the water to stare down at it, “I did as you asked.”
“You Did.”
“I don’t think…” she hesitated, not sure of what she wanted to say, “I don’t think I did the right thing.”
“Your Heart Is Kind,” Ralaith said to her, his voice echoing through her mind, “You Are Still Human Enough To Feel The Loss Of Those Left Behind, Of Those Burdened With Terrible Choice.”
“Why?” Edalene asked, “Why did she have to die? What terrible thing could have happened if she lived? She…she couldn’t have deserved it.”
“Death Does Not Come With Balanced Ledgers,” came the voice of Ralaith, “Sometimes The Wicked Live And The Just Perish. Time Is Not A Flat River, But A Sea Coming Together Strand By Strand. I Will Not Show You The Futures Her Life May Have Brought. Even Now, Such Things Are Not Set In Certainty, But Mired In Probability. You Must Trust That Her Death Served A Purpose.”
“How can I trust if I’m not allowed to know?” Edalene’s heart ached. It ached for Aeodan, it ached for the Seekers, it ached for Ninacky, “How can I just carry on without an explanation?”
“The Answer Is Not One You Would Be Content With.” There was sadness in his words but alien sadness, the sorrow of a being incomprehensible to Edalene. “My Chosen Are Tasked With Terrible Truths and Terrible Purpose. We Judge Not By Merit, But By Impact.”
“I…struggle with that,” Edalene admitted, “I want to know more, to understand. All I feel now is guilt and sorrow.”
“It Is Why I Have Marked You,” Ralaith answered, and there was a note of compassion in his voice, “You Will Weigh Such Things Carefully. In Time, You Will Know More, But You And Aeodan Are Not Yet Ready For Your Destiy.”
“The twins,” Edalene murmured, “The prophecy?”
“Prophecies Are Likliehoods. Fate May Not Be Escapable, But It Can Be Manipulated. Seek The Wounded Gull And The Fractured Fish, They Shall Show You The Next Steps.”
“When will it end…” Edalene quietly asked, “The pain. Does it…does it ever get better? For your followers?”
She felt Ralaith’s strong arms envelop her from behind. They were soft, like bear’s fur and skin all at once. He was enormous and small, everywhere and just in his human form. The scratch of his beard tickled her neck and his snout twitched against her skin. “To Feel Is To Be Mortal. Never Forsake What Makes You Who You Are, For That Beauty Is Why I Chose You.”
She felt his power roil over her, spread across her skin. She felt and understood the new clock face swirling into existence on her body, attached by the strange string of numbers and time that were both frivolous and vital.
Then he was gone.
**************************************************************************************************************
“Aeodan.” The deep voice drew the scholar’s attention away from Vhalo’s struggle with the twins. The old man was clearly not accustomed to taking care of the little squirming babies, but he winced and bore every tug and squeal they made as they toyed with the new mage before them. Aeodan smiled, the twins pulling it out of him. Blissfully innocent. In some ways, he wished he could have been them.
Cassion pulled him away from his reverie, the god crooking a finger for the young man to approach. Sitting against the prow, Cassion was a tall and imposing figure. His dreadlocks were festooned with strange ornaments, a hundred different places collected among his black hair as his body showed a terrible tale of scars and savagery branded across his flesh. Aeodan approached hesitantly. Something about Cassion was different than Yvithia, than any Immortal before had been. Much of the overwhelming energy was absent from the figure, and his mere presence didn’t seek to almost engulf his own. Instead it almost felt like the god was holding back, drawing his power so far within himself that it might be hidden entirely.
But there was no obscuring who he was, not now.
“Quite The Adventure, Wasn’t It?”
“Sure.” Aeodan didn’t really know how to respond. Cassion grinned, earnestly, untouched by the tragedy that had ravaged its way through the whole of the Seekers only a break before. Part of him hated the god for that, for making such light of their suffering…but he supposed that to Cassion, a story was a story no matter how dark.
“Celebrate A Little. Smile. You Triumphed, Did You Not?”
“It was too high a cost.” Aeodan looked out at the funnel ahead of him, the path through the water continued on endlessly, swallowing them up. Where would they be when they surfaced, he wondered, what new worlds?
“What Did You Pay?” Aeodan snapped his attention back down at the god, but Cassion had not stopped smiling, instead he held up a hand, “You Have Your Life, Your Love, Your Freedom, Your Triumph, Your Escape.” He ticked them off one by one on a hand.
“We don’t have Ninacky.”
“Ah, But Did You Ever Own Her?” Aeodan scowled, opened his mouth to retort and stopped. The dark eyes of the travel god were inscrutable, dancing. Thomas had eyes like these during their journey, Aeodan remembered now, there was such adventure there, such a lust for meaning. “You Paid Little.” The god shrugged, “But Lost Much. You May Lose What Is Not Yours And Keep What You Do Not Want, That, Too, Is Permissible.” He laughed, booming, wild. “Caius Gawyne, Kayled Wine, Roland DuKette. Such Fascinating Tales. I Hope You Meet Again, By The Fates…As You Say In Rynmere.”
Aeodan was quiet for a moment and then hesitantly spoke up, his voice sounded small, even to himself, “Why did you save me? I was set to save them all but you intervened. Why there and not a the pyre?”
“Ah! There It Is!” Cassion sat forward and clapped his hands together, “The Question. Mortals And Their Questions. Marvelous! Joyous!” His mirth was more a growl than a chuckle, “It Was Not My Story To Interfere With Yours,” Cassion said, “Taken By The Guards At The End? End? Endings. HA! I Scoff At Endings. No, Boy, Your Story Is Much Longer Yet. You See, I Did Not Change The Story, Only Edited The End Of A Chapter. Better Read That Way.” Grinning, he stood suddenly and clapped Aeodan on the back. The blow sent the boy sprawling over the side of the skiff, but inches from the churning blue-green he stopped, and Cassion pulled him back with one hand. “You Have A Wanderer’s Soul, Aeodan, Always Have. I Watched You While You Struggled To Crawl After Your Sister. To Her, A Stroll Was A Stroll…But To You? Daunting, Every Moment Daunting. You’ve Been Trying To Run Since You Could See The World And Now? Only Now When You CAN, Do We See The Real You.”
Aeodan winced as the wound in his shoulder reopened, seeping rich, crimson blood down his shoulder. Cassion watched it re-stain the fabric and turned over his hand, the one he had cut before. Without prompting, it began to bleed as well. Before Aeodan could react, the god had stood and clasped his wounded hand over Aeodan’s bloody shoulder. A shock of white-hot agony thundered through his veins for a moment, his legs aching and creaking, his entire body on fire. Aeodan opened his mouth to scream but no sound lived there, it had fled with his voice down his throat. It was a trill, simply a trill of time before the god released Aeodan’s shoulder and dusted off the dried blood on his hand. The wound was already gone and so was Aeodan’s, all that remained was a thick, white scar, slightly raised, like a seal. The scar was alive with tiny ridges and swirls, like topography, as though a map had been bent through his skin to seal the wound completely. Aeodan could feel as the blood intermingled with his own, strengthened him, changed him, brought the itching to his feet he had known all his life.
Aeodan longed to run, to travel, and now that old weakness had been stripped from him entirely, replaced by Cassion’s own restless strength. The scholar fell back heavily on the side of the boat, breathing hard and Cassion loomed over him, cracking his neck. In one hand, he held Ninacky’s carved figure. Aeodan snatched for it, but Cassion was easily too quick for him, dancing out of his reach and balancing it on his open palm. “You Have My Blessing, Aeodan,” The god told him solemnly, and then grinned again, wider than before, “And Now, You’ll Have Hers.” Closing his hands around the figure, Cassion opened them to return it to Aeodan’s hand. To his skin, it was hot to the touch, but far from scalding. It warmed him, wrapped its phantom arms around him like Ninacky had. He could almost feel her untamed fury, her fire-heart. “Remember Her Better, Tell Her Better, Make Her Live In The Hearts And Minds Of Those You Tell. It’s The Least You Can Do,” He winked, “For If She Ever Comes Back.”
Aeodan was speechless but Cassion was already moving, throwing open the doors to where Thomas and Malena were talking and descending down towards them. “Oh, And Aeodan?” The god turned and rubbed his chin, evaluating, “Not A Bad Face You’ve Found. Might Consider Wearing It A Time. Change Up The Protagonist.”
Then he was gone and silence fell.
Aeodan gasped, and his heart shook with the open road.
**************************************************************************************************************
Caius waited until they had left the castle and turned down at least three different Andaris streets on their way to the barracks before he rounded on Kayled. His fists were bloodless, gripped hard enough to almost cut his own hand. Everywhere felt different now, the sun even had a new weight brazenly beating down on his back. Within a trial he had left behind the quiet life of a simple academic and been embroiled in this bloody grudge hunt that now could cost him his life. With a small pang, he wondered if perhaps that’s what the date meant, emblazoned in his warm. Would another disaster befall so soon? Rage, pushed by fear drove him to reach up and slam his hands against Kayled’s chest, pushing him back into an alley wall.
“Damn you.” He hissed between clenched teeth, “How do you expect to avoid death when we have such monsters to grapple against? Men and women, Brave men and women, are dead because of your damn confidence. How could we have prepared for that, for any of it?” Caius lifted a hand back to strike, but Kayled was faster. Even with a broken arm, he kicked Caius hard in the knee. Caius felt a bone strain and his strength give out. Most of that effort he had expended on the bear or grappling the god anyways, and Kayled snapped his good hand down on the one Caius used to grip the Inquisitor with a sharp crack, forcing him to let go and hit the ground. Caius was already rolling, grasping for his blade but the ring of metal gave him pause. Kayled crouched over him, eyes icy and the jagged end of his broken sword tickling Caius’ neck. Sometimes it was easy to forget the lanky scarecrow was such a skilled combatant and Caius let his hands fall slack onto the cobblestone without reaching for his blade.
“You are correct, Lord Gawyne,” Kayled whispered, “I was overconfident with my ability and underprepared for the sorcerers. I underestimated my opponent and innocent men and women paid the price. Fates forgive me, but I cannot turn back time.” He pressed the blade in closer and Caius hissed as the jagged metal made tiny cuts along his neck, “It is why I need you. Sometimes I must be tempered, questioned. I am not peerless in my judgement and I do not trust DuKette to not further his own agenda. I may trust you, Lord Gawyne, simply because you are a better man than I.” He withdrew the broken blade and stepped over Caius, sheathing the broken sword again with a clang. Although he offered a hand to help him up, Caius chose to rise on his own, his gaze boring through the Inquisitor. “You have seen, as I have seen. These mages, no matter what they dress their pursuits up as, are dangerous. Any one of them could lay waste to a village, manipulate kings, scorch tragedy into every enemy they run afoul of. If the Faith is to be preserved, if Rynmere is to be preserved, it must begin with learning how to fight these fell sorcerers.” Wine wiped the cold sweat form his forehead and leaned back against a wall, “I do not hate them, Caius, for what they are. In another time, another place, perhaps I would have been tempted to grasp such power. But certainly you must see that their very existence is destabilizing. The people are terrified and if we do not grasp that fear by the throat and direct it, they will devour each other like rats.”
“You will undo us both” Caius answered softly. He turned on his heel and strode away from Kayled, intent that his path might take him back to his apartment, maybe to the arms of his lover, anywhere else but here. The Order would wait for him on the morrow, or the trials ahead, but all he could smell was the drying blood and his stomach turned over and over itself again.
“Pray to the Seven!” Caius called after him, a hollow hiss on the cold wind, “It is either us, or them now. You must see that! There are no other enemies more potent!”
Caius did not turn around.
**************************************************************************************************************
When Vhalo had eventually wrestled away the twins, they slept fitfully beside each other, tiny hands clasped loosely. Dusting off his robe, the old wizard knelt down to check on Aegeo who still slumbered quietly where he lay.
He found Edalene and Aeodan together, staring at the swirling tunnel behind them, just as inscrutable as looking forward. “Are you well?” Edalene turned first, smiling, but her eyes were distracted and far from focused. Aeodan continued to look out behind them, as if he could see all the way back to Rynmere and what they had left behind. He seemed different to Vhalo, stronger, taller, but at his age, Vhalo had stopped asking such questions of the forms men take. By and large, no matter the shape, the soul held true and by that measure, nothing was changed for long.
“Thank you, Professor,” Edalene answered, “Do you know where we’re going?”
“Away,” the mage answered simply with a shrug, “Far, I think, but a bargain between tyrants is rarely the affair of mortals.”
Edalene frowned and Aeodan turned, “Tyrants?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.
Vhalo jutted a finger back towards where Cassion had vanished and then pointed above them at the shroud of water that had wrapped around the skiff. “Tyrants.” He repeated, “Emean beings playing at gods.” Aeodan looked down and clenched his own hands, having been marked not more than a break or two ago. Edalene didn’t seem to know whether to glower or be surprised, but the scowl that had worked its way across Vhalo’s face melted and he smiled amicably. “I’m aware Thomas is marked, and it is likely bet you are as well.” Shrugging, he leaned over the back of the boat to bat at the water, “I was born in Etzos, raised on their culture. To me, the Immortals are little more than powerful children, toying with the lives of men. You see poor men like Nolan, suffering, and wonder…if there is such a cruel immortal as Syroa, why do none intervene to protect Nolan from this curse? Ah, but there’s the rub and it’s where the immortals interfere with each other.” Momentarily his eyes flashed green, slit like a cats’ and he jumped away from the water he had touched only moments before, rubbing his hand. A small embarrassed flush found its way to his dark cheeks. “I do not begrudge you your faith. I would never seek to force my culture on any other. Sometimes, perhaps, I wonder if we couldn’t do it alone…yes? If we really need the immortals to keep the cosmos in place.”
Vhalo smiled dreamily, closing his eyes for a moment. His voice was low and raspy but his words echoed and boomed in the twins ears. Vhalo, despite his age, seemed almost younger than anyone else on the ship. He wore old skin, but his heart beat bright and vibrant, the heart of a Becomer…to which nothing was ever as it simply appeared. “We have built wonders in our days, free of the immortals, and we will continue. Our most depraved and virtuous acts are accomplished with a mortal soul. Perhaps it seems the immortals are just jealous outsiders. They cannot be what we are, so they gather us close to them, pretend to be us. Ah. Well. It is certainly something to consider.”
Quirking an eyebrow curiously at Aeodan, Vhalo nodded his head back at where the supplies had been gathered on the deck. “Well, young man? Shall we return you to your form?”
The scholar looked down at his hands, testing them, and slowly raised both to run through his blonde hair. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be himself, the ache and pain that dogged him constantly, the slow way he had built his strength. His body had failed him at birth and he had spent a lifetime building it up again to keep up with everyone else. If anything, this whole event had taught him that shapes were meaningless. Whether your body collapsed into fire or rotted in the ground, your soul was the piece of you that would not shift. A Body was just that, a body, and at the moment…Aeodan didn’t feel like turning the pages backward.
“I think I’ll hold onto it for now,” He said with a shrug, drawing a concerned stare from Edalene, “I may want it again, one day, but I think I’ll keep a little of you with me, professor, at least for the time being.”
Vhalo laughed, sudden and uproarious, a rich and hearty well that crashed over them as any wave might dream. “Ah, young man, you would make a fine Becomer. Will you be wanting your totem?”
“Keep it, for now,” Aeodan laughed as well, feeling light, stronger than he had ever felt before, “Maybe you could make use of it.” Something flashed in the professor’s eyes and he winked.
“I may at that, Aeodan, I may at that. Come find me in Quacia sometime. I’ll keep it safe for you.”
Aeodan nodded and turned back to looking out at the sea water swelling and churning around them. After the ups and downs, this was a moment he could catch his breath, start making his own decisions. Already his blood yearned to return to the adventure, to seek out new places, new sites, to walk on his feet till they were weary and broken, maybe past that as well.
The door below deck sprang open and banged loud enough to wake the twins. Up came Cassion who leaped upon the prow in one bound, balancing precariously. Malena came up next, quickly to the side of her infants who waved their tiny arms furiously as she tried to quiet them. Thomas was last to emerge, his face a study in contrasts. Sickening green-brown bruises gave way to a small, curious smile. His eyes were only for Malena, following her as she settled the children before finally checking on Aegeo.
“Grab Something, Travelers.” He shouted, “We Come Out The Burrow!”
The twins gripped the rail as Malena held her children close, a blowing turmoil of cloak and golden hair. Thomas put a strong hand on Aegeo, waking the giant from his clumber as Vhalo laughed and shimmied up the single mast of the skiff, surprisingly dexterous for one so old. The sea twisted above them and unwrapped from its funnel. Bright sunlight caught the sail and the tired party squarely as Cassion and Vhalo roared inarticulate cries to the wide blue above them. Down came the waves, showering them all in salty spray as the sea once again returned to itself, bobbing and rolling in the deep water. The skiff, unaccustomed to such deep adventures beyond the shore, pitched and rolled with the waves sickeningly.
“Fuck me,” Aegeo grumbled, “If I fell in right now, not sure I wouldn’t snuff out and die.”
“You have only yourself to blame, Aegy,” the older mage muttered with a wink, “Let’s hope not to try that course of experiment just yet.”
“Go suck on Ethelnyda’s scaly tit,” the brute spit back, “Too damn old for that.”
“I dunno!” Edalene called up to him from the back of the boat, “I think Aegy suits you!”
“Fuck off.”
Ahead of them, bold against the line where sea met sky, sails edged toward them. Seven ships, all caravels and galleons, neck and neck. Their weaving course across the surface seemed almost playful, one ship nipping at the wake of another before pulling abreast and falling back. They danced from far away, more alive than merely vessels.
One, clearly pushing out toward the lead, had a figurehead bent elegantly into the shape of a dolphin. The sun glistened off its painted skin, tarry black, and as the ship bobbed so too did the dolphin. Cassion laughed and stepped down into the deck. Thomas had walked slowly over the edge of the pitching skiff and stared, agog, at the approaching ships. “Cassion?” He asked, half turning to the eccentric god, “Where did you take us?”
“The Sea!” Cassion laughed, pointing around them, “Could You Not Tell? Perhaps Mistook It For A Lake.” Aegeo laughed weakly till Thomas gently, but firmly, kicked him in the side. Another ship, larger than the rest, with the sweeping figurehead of a grey, wide winged bird, let fly another sail and pulled ahead of the Black Dolphin. From its deck, a shape launched itself out into the sea. Vhalo dropped to the deck, his cloak billowing as he threw it off. Beneath his body was scarred but toned, tight skin over his thin frame and his necklace of strange totems. One he grabbed with a free hand and stepped out over the water, his body vanishing beneath the waves. When next he rose, a magnificent albeit small, black orca breached the waves and then dove again in a shower of spray. A small ways from the skiff, a grey dolphin and the orca leaped and danced around each other as the sea embraced them both. Aeodan couldn’t help but smile, there was something beautiful in the way two Becomers greeted each other.
Hand over hand Vhalo climbed back into the boat, his skin still glistening black as it stretched and reshaped to his body. Although he gritted his teeth in pain, it was a jagged fierce smile. Behind him, a young woman, naked save the leather wrapped and tied around her hips and just below scrambled up as well. She was beautiful in a wild way, glimmering grey eyes and dark hair cut short around her ears. Her body was smooth and lithe, muscular in the same athletic way as Vhalo’s. Edalene blushed, glancing toward Aeodan but it wasn’t Aeodan she was looking at. As soon as her feet touched the deck, she crossed between the assembled mages and over to Eda. Without warning, soaking from the sea, the young woman pressed herself against Edalene and slipped a hand around to cradle the small of her back, planting a soft, playful kiss on her surprised lips. Bobbing back on her feet, she laughed and turned back to the others.
“Father Sea say you come, welcome!” she shook her head, freeing a small shower of sea water and turned to present the ship. “I am Vani, of the-“
“Nji'Ihadi.” Thomas finished, looking out at the approaching ship. “The Landbird. The Blue Cat, The Rainstorm.”
The girl nodded vigorously, “Yes! Yes! You know? Know the Nji'Ihadi?”
Thomas laughed, despite himself, drawing his hands through wet hair, “Yes! Yes of course! Vani, daughter of Ijue and Vakoj! I know you. Well… I knew you. Some time ago, you see, you and your sister were hardly to my knee. My name is Thomas. Thomas Theodore Terrance!”
“Ah!” She leaped forward and embraced Thomas, wet breasts pressed up against the loose linen they had decided to burn him in. Thomas drew in a quick breath and shot an embarrassed look toward Malena. The only response was a raised eyebrow, arched imperiously. “Yes! Oh! Thomas Theodore Terrance.” She said the names like a mantra, too fast and all at once, “But you so big!” She circled her arms around her own stomach, miming Thomas who shrugged, glancing back at Cassion.
“You can blame my patron for that. Hard not to be hungry around him.”
Cassion gave a vague salute and a polite wave to Vani. Seeming to recognize him, she launched immediately into Rakhi.
Aeodan slipped an arm around the still reeling Edalene as he tried to pick out what she was saying. Once upon a time, he had known this language easily. But Envoy had snapped it up as part of their bargain and was nowhere in near sight. He could feel the spirit, somewhere near, but as removed from this world as possible while in the presence of a god. He knew the whole time, Aeodan thought, suspicious, What else could he be hiding?
The ships were getting closer and Aegeo was trying to sit up. Malena gently and firmly pushed him back down. “Damn you, woman,” He growled, “Near naked Biqaj prancing around the deck and you force me play spectator?”
“Show some decorum,” Malena snipped, “It’s one of the few decent qualities you have remaining.”
Grumbling, Aegeo didn’t push the issue, but he did rest his thick arms across his chest, a passive aggressive pout.
“We Have Come, Twins,” Cassion’s voice echoed in their minds, “Here Is Where We Part Paths. Your Story Begins Again, And Again, And Again. Travel Far, Shout Fiercely, Make Them Remember The Names Of Your Dead and Your Living. Shake Idalos. Do Not Do It For Me. Do It For Yourselves. Taste Now, And Be Hungry.”
**************************************************************************************************************
“You should be resting.”
The monk, a jovial looking man with a wide face and doe-brown eyes stood patiently behind him as he sifted through the ash. Earlier the same monk, Clarence, had bandaged him and suggested again that he allow himself to be taken back to the barracks to rest, or at least somewhere. The blow to his head had been severe and although the bleeding had stopped, Clarence had been worried that the damage might be internal, especially given his unsteady gait.
DuKette waved the advice away, crouching in the ashes and kicking through the larger pieces of sparking wood. The pillar had remained relatively untouched in the conflaguration, but with the lack of supports it had fallen over. A lightning bolt splinter ran up and down half its length. Another scaffolding would need to be built, of course, but for now he continued to search.
Wells, primed explosively, not the work of mages. The Sacarsav hunter brushed his fingers over a few of his sheathed blades, lingering on the pommel stones. If he twisted them the right way, they would pop free and become just as deadly, if not more, than the ones used today. He thought better of using them, of course, given the situation. Should Ensorcellment be outlawed in this country. the whole mission would be for naught.
Something connected with his foot and skittered across the stone, drawing his attention. He had hoped some of those wells would still be lying around and, indeed, a few had been found around the perimeter. Unfortunately, all but one had been found by him and were likely in Kayled’s grasp. It would make studying them harder, especially if the Inquisitor would push him to reveal their secrets. DuKette was just fortunate there wasn’t any Ensorceller worth a damn in Rynmere he’d found yet, otherwise they might all be having an entirely different discussion.
Leaning down, he picked up the small circular object from the ground. It was blackened with soot, but as he rubbed his emerald green sleeve against it, the dust fell away easily to reveal a small mirror, lined in silver, with a single crack running diagonally across it. DuKette frowned, laying it in the palm of his hand and examining it thoroughly. There were no maker marks, and the whole piece was contiguous. He could see no signs of it being crafted or shaped, as though it had simply been harvested this way, straight from the ground.
“Have you…found something?” Clancy again, stepping forward a bit hesitantly. DuKette sighed and kicked a few remaining chunks of wood out of the way. He turned back, facing down that unyielding helpful optimism with withering annoyance.
Glanced off, ineffective. Clancy was unmoved by the Hiladri scowl.
“Ah yield, lad,” DuKette threw up his hands, clutching the small mirror, “Promise tae turn in if yeh leave me be.”
“Fates bless your wisdom,” Clancy gently smiled and nodded, “I will go a ways back to prepare you an escort. Be kind and do not make us fetch you.”
As Clancy turned toward the cleanup, DuKette held the mirror up again. Strangely, it seemed to eat the light of the rising son, devouring all and giving nothing, not even a glimmer. Frowning, He looked into it. Reflected back at him was a tired face, red curled moustache bristling above scarred, scowling lips. The leather eyepatch neatly hid what lay beneath and his other brilliant green eye narrowed in the reflection.
He felt something, a strange silence that fell upon him as soon as his eye was reflected back. Suspicion suddenly widened into horror as DuKette’s body pitched forward. His right arm withered, pale and claw-like fingers gaunt and useless, barely twitching. His leg followed, barley managing to stand on the weakened appendage as his body warped and buckled. Desperately, DuKette slipped the mirror between two fingers and tore open the front of his stained green shirt. The long scar of raised map-like whorls and contours had opened and fresh blood spilled out and across his chest. “FEK!” DuKette could not keep his balance and hit the ground. Behind him, he could hear the pounding of hurried steps and Clancy was at his side immediately. The Hiladri had fallen, sheltering his right side from prying eyes, knowing all too well what an unexpected transformation would earn him.
“Sir! Sir! What’s wrong? What happened?”
“The mirror,” Dukette groaned, the item having skittered from his fingers when he landed, “Ah need the damned mirror!” Clancy vaulted over him, spying the small trinket and snatching it from the ground. He couldn’t help but notice that it did not flash in the sunlight and for a moment, despite himself, he looked into it.
Instantly, DuKette could feel the blood of Cassion burn back through his body, banishing the crippled limbs of his childhood and resealing over the wound. Clancy had already dropped down to help, turning DuKette over to check for the source of the bleeding only to find nothing, just dried blood over a thick, white scar.
“I don’t…” Clancy pulled the shirt open wider, “Where are you wounded sir? Sir?” DuKette reached out and snatched the mirror, careful not to let his face be reflected in its tiny, cracked face. Slipping it in a belt pouch, he pushed Clancy away gently and rose unsteadily. Two Purifiers were there beside the monk, looking on worried and suspicious. Of course. In this land of Knights and chivalry, it was the outside they feared so readily.
“Ahm fine,” DuKette breathed, clenching and unclenching his right hand, “Ah think yeh were right. Ah think Ah’ll rest awhile after all.”
The Monk checked him over again and instructed the Purifiers to transport him carefully. All the way back, DuKette watched the Monk for any signs of weakness or surprise but found none. It was only as they were laying him down in the barracks that the revelation pushed through his exhaustion addled brain.
Quickly his hand went to his pocket, feeling the shape of the mirror there.
Rynmere made heroes of those who slew Sessfiends.
Heroes had the ear of the King and in such uncertain times…perhaps more outlandish solutions might be considered.
DuKette smiled.
**************************************************************************************************************
Darkness had an oily feel to it. Soft and gliding it wrapped and cuddled, slipping through fabric and metal to wrap cloying, wet fingers against soft skin. Here, beneath the earth, the shadow was absolute.
A small point of crackling light tore itself through the air. No larger than what might fit in the palm of one’s hand, it sparked brilliant purple along its edges before settling. Within there was a room, small and dirty. A bed had been pushed up against the door and a blanket hung in front of the window, nailed neatly into place. It glowed with the captured light of the sun and the figure within, knelt by a single lit candle bowed their head.
“My Adored,” The figure said quietly, “Most Exalted. The Seekers are no more.”
“Don’t tease,” Came the response from the darkness, a full throaty voice, tough of laughter on her tone, “Terrance breathes, as does most of his cell. A certainly liberal understanding of ‘no more’, darling.”
The figure flinched at this but nodded slowly, “My sincerest apologies, Dread Lady, but their influence is broken and they have left the lands.”
“Adequate,” was the reply and the postulant in the dirty room pressed their cloaked head to the ground, “Given your lack of resources, you have performed admirably. Tell me of the Order.”
“It survives. Lord Inquisitor Kayled had an audience with the King along with his named Lord Arbiter, Caius Gawyne. I do not believe the Order will be disbanded. We may continue our work.”
“So we will,” was the resonate chuckle, “First the Seekers, than the Seers. It has been some time since VII acted, hasn’t it? Mages have become quite the public menace, perhaps the leadership could be convinced to utilize some of that lovely havoc for their own goals. See that the idea reaches them?”
“As you wish,” the reply was immediate, devout, and full of barely withheld emotion. In the absolute shadow, the Dread Lady sneered. “I am a tool for you to wield, I am a stone to build your Tower to the Godthrone. You who have given me truth, I pledge service. Now and forever.”
“Rewards are plenty for the loyal agent. Let us sew the discord, seed the fear. Those hidden mages must think themselves so clever, swaddled in nobility, hidden behind such pretty smiles. Ah, well, let us see if we cannot coax them into a little rebellion of their own, hmmm? Anything to keep their dreadful secrets.”
“Say the word,” her servant agreed, “It will be done.”
“No. Your instructions are clear. See if you cannot sway the rebels into offering haven to mages. We will let the order grow, for now, before we set them against our mutual enemies. I will not suffer the same failure I was delivered by Alistair Venora. Our plans will progress. Remain in the Order, do not disappoint me.”
“As you say, so shall it become.”
The tiny portal whispered into nothing
And absolute shadow reigned once more.
**************************************************************************************************************
The room was quiet when Caius arrived. He had spared no word to the few who had passed him the hall, dragging the stench of death and the rot of blood behind him. Upon entering, he tore the clothes from his body and hurled them onto the floor. Quick, harsh breaths as he kicked them toward a corner and stalked to the dressing mirror at his desk. He turned, trying to catch the edge of what he knew was there. The wings spread out across his back, more beautiful than any tattoo he had seen before. It was hard to admit it to himself, but the feeling of her atop him, the intoxicating pressure of her breath on his neck, the way her fingers had seemed to reach through cloth to tease up his chest. Hot flush of color in his cheeks and Caius forced himself to look away, taking a deep breath. Already the world was in tumult and this room no longer felt real to him anymore. Inkstain fingers. Inkstain fingers. Would that he could dye them back the color of language and tomes. Now they were blotched red, stained with the trade he had been forced into, forced to endure.
Caius fell back onto his bed, at least confident that his exhaustion would be enough to entreat sleep, that most elusive of courtesans, into bed with him. Instead, his back twitched against unfamiliar texture and the crinkling of parchment. Rolling sideways along the bed, he was perplexed to discover a single page of thick, dark parchment that had been placed neatly on his bed. Beside it was a small pot of ink, a thick ochre hue and a smaller piece of ordinary parchment folded beside it.
Had someone been in his room?
Hesitantly, Caius reached down to take the folded paper. On it was written a short scrawl of a note, and it smelled of dust, the open road between Andaris and Gawyne, perhaps the faint aroma of seabreeze.
Caius.
A story is best told with contrasting view. When belief crashes against belief, narrative is born from such cataclysm with evocative fury. I give you a single piece of parchment. It and the ink are special. Without one, the other is useless, so guard them wisely. This parchment has a twin somewhere out on the Ivorian Sea. Write in your own hand and you may discover your thirst for knowledge, paid with curiosity, will be answered in kind. Should your ink deplete, you will need to feed it blood of your writing hand.
Never settle for the mundane, not if you would call yourself alive
It was not signed.
Caius read and re-read the words twice before placing both on his desk. He would have time to tackle either in the morning, or perhaps in several mornings. Exhaustion came upon him like a spell and for the first time in a long time, Caius felt sleep easily slip into his mind.
“Boggs,” He muttered to himself, “We’re damned.”
**************************************************************************************************************
The rest slipped by in a blur.
Above them, smiling faces hurled down rope ladders to draw the survivors up to the ship. Ijue was breath taking. Tall for her race, her white-grey hair was tied with intricate knots down to the small of her back. Her body was like her daughter, lithe, athletic, and beautiful. She was the first to grab Thomas in an embrace, just as quick to poke fun at his weight, much to the joy of the crew. Her eyes were like endless horizons, sweeping and mesmerizing. Even the scars that crossed her body were somehow elegant and beautiful, as though shaped just for her by the elements and violence. Her husband and brother, Vakoj, cut a commanding and quiet figure from where he perched near the wheel. A cutless with a handle carved of bleached bone balanced at his side and intricate tattoos gave way to black and blue tentacles that curled around his waist and up his shoulders. Vani had a sister, Okue, and two twin brothers, Kukaji and Kef. Vani and Okue were only a few years younger than Edalene and Aeodan, while Kukaji and Kef had only recently entered their fourteenth Arc. The crew of the Landbird, joined by the Black Dolphin and the other ships in the grand family of the Nji'Ihadi, all clustered aboard to meet the bard from arcs past and his friends.
Thomas promised to tell stories of their arrival, their adventures, to the cheering of the crew who appeared to have been preparing to receive them for at least a trial. Cassion, who they called Koga Khan, waved off the hospitality. Instead he promised to take the small skiff with Aegeo and Vhalo to Quacia personally. When pressed to stay he only laughed. “Too Many Stories Left To Tell. This Is No Longer My Chapter.” And leaped down to the Inclement Weather.
Aegeo and Vhalo had both been polar opposites in their farewells. Vhalo, still a bundle of excitement from his Becoming dance was all embraces and promises to meet again soon. One last time he winked at Aeodan over the crowd of sailors and mages alike, “Should you find yourself near Quacia and have a thought to trying some new shapes, I would be honored to take you as my initiate.” Aegeo, however, was quiet. He did not stand to go and greet the others, but sat and stared out to the open sea.
It was Edalene, strangely enough, that approached him first as Aeodan tried to extricate himself form Vhalo’s enthusiastic farewells.
“Are you-“
“Don’t force it.” His bald head gleamed in the sunlight and his thick shoulders rose and fell slowly. He was breathing better now, but his eyes were smoldering embers. Edalene couldn’t remember what color his eyes had been before and it struck her, suddenly, as a little sad.
“I’m not.” She slid down beside him and looked out to sea with him.
“Well. I’ll live,” he said at last, “Much to your chagrin.” There wasn’t any force behind his words anymore, they were empty.
Together they sat in silence. Aeodan made his way over and joined Edalene, resting a hand against hers. Aegeo spoke again, but it was a distant kind of inflection, nothing like the snarl and growl he had before. “Her fire….” He started, stopped, then started again, “It’s different. Aukari fire is…well, it would be silly to say more alive, but I can’t think of what else to say. I could feel her, in the fire, when I directed it. I just…I…” He fell silent again and continued to stare out at the sea. “Those bastards. Those Aelig fucking, piss punch, Sintra-dicked worms weren’t worth an ember of her, not a flicker, not a gods damned spark. She shouldn’t have died there, that way.”
Aeodan and Edalene were quiet.
“I’ll never forgive them,” Aegeo finally said again, gruff, a soft growl, “Let their castles crumble and their shitty ghost-mad religion turn to memory and I’d still piss on the ashes.” Thomas continues to talk, animatedly, while Malena showed off the twins. Aegeo watched them for a moment, then returned his gaze to the horizon. “One day I’m going back there and razing that city to the ground. I’m not like Thomas, or Malena, not really. Monsters like that took everything from me and I live just so I can drive their backwards hate so far up their ass that they’ll sneeze shit.”
Edalene laughed, stopped herself, and nodded. “They’ll die screaming.” Aegeo said at last.
Something about the mage’s face, the way it was turned, caught Edalene’s attention. She studied him for a moment and then stood, quickly striding over to the supplies she had left at the hideout and pushing through them. Out came the bird, the lumpy sparrow. She held it in her hand, feeling its weight, remembering the way the woman looked at her, what she said.
“Sing of me,” Edalene said softly, holding the small bird out to Aegeo, “Never let them change you.”
Aegeo’s head snapped around so quickly the twins heard his neck pop. The muscles bulged in his neck as his fierce eyes found Edalene’s face and then…the bird. “This is yours,” She said softly, and held it out to him, “She wanted you to have it.”
Aeodan looked between them, confused, and Edalene had to struggled with the anger and resentment building inside her. Here was that child, torn from the bosom of his mother by the same fear that had shorn away Ninacky. Don’t let them change you, his mother had said.
Don’t let them change you
Don’t let them
Don’t.
Tears found their way to Aegeo’s eyes, steaming drops of mist and fire that scorched small red freckles on his cheeks. He did not ask her how she had it, how she knew, he only took the little bird in his huge hands. It seemed so small there, lumpy and forlorn, a labor of love and haphazard skill. He was speechless, only his flickering tears the bridge between the vengeances addled creature he had become and the boy he once was.
Above them the sun wheeled and plodded and a world away, Rynmere mourned its lost, buried its dead, and planned their ruinous hunts.
Aegeo opened his mouth.
Sing of me.
And he did.
“Once ‘neath the gold of a harvest moon
My mother said to me
Make a home of your heart for the purest song
To find who you’re meant to be.
Tis not the edge of a blade
Nor the blood you spill
That makes a boy a man
But the song in your heart for the souls you meet
And the mind to understand.”
My mother said to me
Make a home of your heart for the purest song
To find who you’re meant to be.
Tis not the edge of a blade
Nor the blood you spill
That makes a boy a man
But the song in your heart for the souls you meet
And the mind to understand.”
