Equimancer's Realm

by A.B. Robertson

  “They come to the Hidden City only a few times a year. They live in the winter months up north and during summer down south to ensure the harshest conditions for their training.”

  “That sounds so exciting. I wish I could see them,” Nessa sighed.

  “Oh, you will. Once you’ve finished the Academy, you will have the pleasure of a few months of army life. It won’t be a joyride, I can tell you that.”

  Nocturnia leaned back and sipped on her drink. She wanted to make sure Nessa had all the time she needed to digest the multitude of information she had just received. After a while Nessa stood up.

  “Would you please show me more of the City?”

  “Of course. I want you to meet two of my most precious friends, Jack and Messy. I just hope the little bastards haven’t dug up any of my new rose bushes.”

  “You have strange friends,” Nessa raised her eyebrows.

  “True that.”

  After Nessa had spent hours discovering the Hidden City with Nocturnia and her dogs, Jack and Messy, she decided it was time to have a good think in her topside quarters. She strolled back towards the Main Square.

  It was bustling with robed Equimancers, either conversing in groups, standing at different spots of the square, or seated around the many tables of the taverns occupying the ground floors of the nearby buildings.

  The late autumnal sunshine flooded in from the top of the Structure. Birds sang in the trees of the Hidden City and a multitude of dogs were comfortably strolling around the square, or sitting by the feet of the Professors.

  ‘Nessa?’ she heard a voice in her head.

  She turned around.

  “Uncle Croesus?” she stammered, looking at the completely bald, heavy set elderly man.

  “At last. I heard you had joined us. Give your grand-uncle a big hug, little one,” he said, placing the tray with drinks on their table.

  “We all thought you were dead. We had a funeral service for you. Mother was crying for weeks when she was told about your… passing. And so was I… and Olivier,” Nessa whispered, hugging her old relative.

  “I know, I know. Please, let me explain after I take care of business,” he smiled at her. After which he started shouting at the top of his voice.

  “The ones who ordered their beverages, get it from this tray, the rest of you know how to get your own drinks! I’m busy now.”

  “Couldn’t you just project that thought to them?” Nessa wondered.

  “Aaaah, you see, the Structure negates every unnecessary thought. Undoubtedly, all our esteemed fellow-Equimancers have more pressing matters to discuss than their drinks… well, most of them… or at least a few.

  Besides, where’s the fun in that? I’m old, I’m Elated, I can shout as loudly as I want, they will still respect me,” he laughed.

  Surely enough, the Equimancers of the adjoining tables stepped up to the tray to take glasses and cups of their chosen beverages, smiling respectfully at Croesus. Many of the guests made their way to the bar to serve themselves.

  Croesus took Nessa’s hand.

  “Are you aware of the Ceremony of Elation?” he asked.

  “Yes, Sister Nocturnia told me about it,” she nodded her head.

  “Well, when it happens, you don’t have much time. Your ceremony is being arranged, and the best our society can do, is to inform your topside family about you having passed, the Academy declaring you as their own deceased.”

  “That’s just cruel! They let you mourn a beloved while they’re still alive,” Nessa shouted, making a few Professors turn her way.

  “If you can come up with a better solution, please talk to Brother Andarian, he’d love it,” Croesus chuckled.

  “It’s not a laughing matter, uncle,” Nessa said, her voice full or reproach.

  Croesus gently squeezed her hand.

  “Dearest, once you are made Elated, you can never leave the Hidden City ever again. You don’t have the chance to meet anybody who doesn’t have access. How is it different from being dead?”

  Nessa thought for a few moments. She didn’t have an answer that would have supported her argument.

  “It’s not perfect, but it’s the best we can do,” Croesus looked at her apologetically.

  “Anyway, enough of me. You came here with a purpose.”

  “I think I will have to move down here,” she whispered.

  “Of course my darling; it will make things so much easier.

  Come, I’ll show you the quarters you can choose from. Until you are a fully-fledged Equimancer. I trust that Sister Nocturnia told you about the most joyful procedures that you can look forward to before you can call yourself a real Equimancer?” he asked with a mischievous smile, standing up, setting off towards one of the immense, ornately designed buildings surrounding the square.

  “She did indeed. How did it happen to you? Coming down here, I mean,” Nessa asked her grand-uncle.

  “It seems that the ones, who had grown up with the Structure surrounding them, can’t resist its call.

  Once my Apts kicked in, I found myself at the Professor’s Room, even though at that time it was the scariest place I could ever have imagined.

  I just stood there, wondering why I wanted to knock on that door. Then, one of my Professors opened it. He only looked at me and let me in, leading me to the Structure’s wall.

  I would have been the next Duke Summerwind; I could have become the head of the Heliodorian Second Family, yet once I stepped through that Archway, I knew that this was my real home.

  No palace, money or influence could have stopped me.

  And not once… ever in my life did I regret having become one of them,” he made a wide, sweeping gesture with his arm towards the Equimancers on the square.

  Before Nessa had the chance to reply, her grand-uncle gestured her to follow him into the building of which threshold they were standing at.

  They ascended a few flights of stairs. Finally, they stood at a long corridor with a row of doors.

  “Take your pick,” Croesus smiled at Nessa. She walked up to one of the doors and opened it. She looked into the room.

  “It looks just like the one I live at,” she said, both relieved and a bit disappointed.

  “What did you expect? It’s an Academy student room. As above, as below,” he chuckled.

  Nessa looked at him uncomprehendingly.

  “Aaaah, such a simple concept, yet so difficult to make your own. You’ll understand some day,” he smiled encouragingly, without any hint of condescension.

  “Why do I feel so much better here than… up there?” Nessa turned to her grand-uncle.

  He ran his hand over his bald scalp.

  “Interesting question. I wish I had all the answers. It seems that the Structure absorbs every single Equimancer’s essence in a way. Why or how, none of us know. That I know for a fact, for I’ve been asking the same questions over and over again. What I established is that the Structure, due to the living essence all of us gave to it, became a living being. It nourishes the ones serving it.

  It provides for all of us and according to legend, it reacts whenever its values are compromised,” he said sitting down on the arm-chair at the floor-length window that led to a small balcony.

  “How does it react?” Nessa asked, taking a step onto it.

  “Well, it hasn’t happened in my lifetime, but it’s said that in times of distress, it moves or even changes colours.”

  “What colour?”

  “The chronicles are divided about that, but I’m guessing any colour but its present means some kind of a warning.

  So, do you want me to arrange to have your things moved to this room?”

  Nessa took a last look at the square from the balcony.

  “Yes, please.”

  Month of the Scorpion, Late Autumn

  O Xamkkingran (The Bone Temple), Areshadia

  The Sun was dipping behind the mountains that were surrounding the Bone Temple.

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nbsp; Even from the distance of their camp, they could see tens of thousands torches being lit.

  The sound of drums disrupted the silence of the desert.

  Three thousand riders lined up to enter the Temple Grounds after sunset.

  On the first day of the Month of the Scorpion, once darkness had descended, the Gathering would begin.

  “So what’s the guarantee they won’t slaughter us most horridly, once we ride in?” Maister Louis Coleman-Bitter wondered.

  “O Xamkkingran Värbyi, the Lands of the Bone Temple are sacred grounds, and those people are religious lunatics,” Vipra provided the required information calmly.

  Louis had heard that from the Warchief, but now they were here, he would have liked to hear something more reassuring.

  “Please, Matriarch tell me; why we are taking part with only three thousand, when we were allowed to enter with ten times that number?” he asked nervously, suddenly wondering whether he had made the right career choice by becoming the leader of the Kronurians in Areshadia.

  “I have my reasons.”

  “Oh, that explains it then,” Coleman-Bitter said in defeat.

  Readbeard laughed heartily, and flexed his hands.

  “If they want a fight, we shall give them one,” he rubbed his palm together with a mischievous smile. He couldn’t help it; five-thousand shamans or not, he felt the Warrior’s Blessing streaming through his body. He was ready for anything.

  Suddenly, the torches lining the broad path that were leading up to the gate of the temple, lit up.

  “Clever. Wonder how they did it,” said Redbeard appreciatively.

  “I’m guessing they laid out a trail of pitch between the torches and lit it at the entrance,” Coleman-Bitter explained.

  “How is your Olizobeoe?” Vipra cut the conversation short.

  “Virtually non-existent… I’m still learning your language,” responded Coleman-Bitter.

  “Not too shabby. I’ve had some Areshadian mistresses who taught me quite a bit. The mothers of these two for example,” Redbeard nodded his head towards his son, Sulli and his daughter, Maxa, then went on;

  “They couldn’t sell me to a slaver if I was within earshot, but I might need some help with the more sophisticated expressions.”

  Vipra turned around and waved her hand.

  A man rode up to their side.

  “Greetings Úlmá, Lady Maxa, my Lords. I’ll be your interpreter and guide. My name is Bekka,” he bowed his head towards them.

  “So when is it our turn to ride in?” Coleman-Bitter started sweating under his protective chest-guard, despite the chilly evening.

  “Aren’t you the cornucopia of questions tonight? For a Kronurian, you are very impatient,” the Matriarch remarked with slight annoyance.

  “As the Alliance of the Three Tribes, that we are, have been declared traitors, our place is at the end of the procession. We have to wait until the members of the Five Tribes ride in, and take their places,” Bekka explained.

  “That will take hours,” Coleman-Bitter exclaimed.

  “Yes.”

  So they waited. It didn’t take as long as some feared.

  Once all the members of the Five Tribes had entered, Vipra waved her hand, and they rode slowly through the Bone Gate.

  A few words were hewn into the surface above the gate.

  UBFÄSRUMT OS ORFERÓP EZKIMMÁYI ÍZ O CHOLQAZ MIFĺDIM

  “What does it say?” Coleman-Bitter nodded towards the text.

  “We greet you in the names of the Goddess of the Underworld and the Warrior,” Bekka translated.

  “It says all that in eight words?”

  “They do like their pre- and suffixes, but it makes words bloody long. Conjugation is a nightmare, and a single accent can change the meaning of a whole sentence,” Redbeard laughed.

  The deafening noise of fifty-thousand voices talking at the same time died away within a matter of seconds, once the Matriarch’s contingent arrived and made their way towards their section of the dais of the amphitheatre.

  “It’s rather unnerving to be followed by a hundred-thousand eyes,” Coleman-Bitter remarked. He would have given anything for a job in the most dismal Kronurian coal mine right now.

  “At least every single one of them knows that we have arrived,” Vipra replied and took her seat.

  A group of men approached.

  “That’s the High Shaman of the Temple, he acts as Ceremony Master during The Gathering,” Bekka volunteered, nodding towards the figure in the middle of the group. The man wore a floor-length sheep-skin cape, with ram’s horns as collar.

  Louis was quite sure they were supposed to stand up when the High Shaman halted in front of them, but one glance from Vipra made it clear she wasn’t willing to give any kind of respect to the man.

  Apart from Bekka, they remained seated.

  “Ubfäsärrit, Úlmá. Dixírib níp o yirfumtik?” he asked; his voice full of mocking.

  Vipra replied with an icy stare and the slightest raise of her left eyebrow.

  “Xabóran o dókalzópabok, choy ebi nilíxtibkír,” the shaman went on.

  “Tägät o xabórokablo, Igyo,” the Matriarch replied and waved at Bekka, who offered a parchment to one of the Shaman’s guards.

  Finally, she spoke with a hint of a smile to which the High Shaman responded with a furious glare.

  Readbeard and his offspring snorted and chuckled.

  Coleman-Bitter looked at Bekka questioningly.

  He waited until the group was out of earshot, and then spoke.

  “The High Shaman asked whether the Matriarch still spoke our language, then told her he admired her courage for coming here.

  To which the Úlmá said, that she didn’t give a galloping goat’s nostrils about the High Shaman’s admiration.”

  “Is that an Areshadian expression?”

  “No, I just made it up to convey the sentiment behind the Úlmá’s words to Shaman Igyo.

  Then, I offered him the list of our contribution to the Gathering.

  As a finishing touch, the Matriarch dared him to have us all massacred to prove to the assembled bleating crowd, that the High Shaman had as much respect for the Gods as the rat that she would like to ram up his backside,” Bekka explained.

  “Have us massacred?” Louis stammered wiping sweat off his brows.

  “And what list? A list of sacrifices?” he was shocked.

  Vipra looked at him with a disapproving squint.

  “Assumptions?”

  Coleman-Bitter hastily shook his head, being aware of the Matriarch’s pet hate.

  Redbeard gave him a smack on his back that made him cough.

  “Maister Cole, trust the Matriarch. Lean back and enjoy the show,” he beamed at the Kronurian.

  “Dyin’ of thirst. Can anybody remedy that?” the Warchief looked around.

  ‘Greedy goat,’ Vipra thought, yet again forgetting that Redbeard could hear her thoughts. He grinned and winked at her. She found it very hard to suppress a smile.

  Vipra clicked her fingers at some servants, who laid out a few bites of dried boar meat, black bread and a dozen bottles of assorted drinks. Redbeard grabbed one, uncorked it with his teeth and shared it out.

  “To our Alliance,” he said and raised his glass along with Vipra, Coleman-Bitter, Sulli and Maxa.

  Once the bottle was finished, he looked at his children.

  “You two better go and get ready.”

  “At last,” said Sulli.

  “Thought you’d never ask,” Maxa stood up.

  Both of them were led away by one of the servants.

  The drums have started up again.

  First slowly and silently.

  Then, both the pace, and the volume picked up.

  Dozens of half-naked men entered the stage of the amphitheatre.

  They started dancing to the rhythm of the drums.

  Flutes joined in.

  The audience clapped.
/>   The sound of sheepskin bag-pipes trailed in.

  The dancers swirled around the stage.

  The crowd cheered.

  The men finished their dance and vacated the stage.

  The High Shaman entered.

  The cheering that greeted him from the seats of the Five Tribes was deafening. After he had enjoyed the public show of appreciation for a few minutes, he raised his hands.

  Silence set in within seconds.

  “Ezkimit chaskot, Olizobieot!” he greeted his countrymen.

  “With the performance of the Bone Temple Dancers I declare the Gathering as opened,” he announced.

  The crowd roared.

  “Today, for the first time in twenty years, I have the pleasure to greet all eight tribes of our great country.

  Though many would doubt that we could be called The Eight Tribes any longer.

  I feel that it is my obligation to correct this term – in case some had missed the current events,” he smiled, and laughter rippled through the amphitheatre.

  “The Five Tribes, which still have the right to call themselves true Areshadians, have merged into one.

  One tribe that supersedes the definition of a mere tribe.

  A tribe, that we can now rightfully call a nation.

  The nation called True Areshadia.

  Does that mean that the three traitorous tribes, which decided to abandon godliness and any kind of patriotism, which sided with the Southerners and the uninvited foreigners - that are the Kronurians, - cease to be Areshadians?”

  A crescendo of angry shouts erupted from the audience.

  Igyo revelled in the cacophony for a while then raised his hands again. A blissful smile spread across his face.

  “I agree, my esteemed countrymen. Those three tribes – o Fegilo Kälxi, o Voltoz Kälxi, o Tiziyú Kälxi - are traitors who don’t deserve to be called Areshadians any longer.

  They have no respect for our country, and even less for our Goddess of the Underworld or the Warrior.

  They put themselves above divine laws, declaring the traditional sacrifices that our proud nation was defined by, as superfluous.

  Does that mean that they have lost respect for our Goddess of the Underworld?

  And even the respect for our old God, the Warrior?”

  The High Shaman let his head drop.

  The audience listened with baited breath.