by Tam Chronin
Elf secrets.
Priest secrets.
It was amazing he was able to say a word to anyone.
Aral had the answer before Krecek could answer.
"Wizard is an ancient word for one who has as much magic and power as a god. It hasn't been used because the sheer hubris of making such a statement was deemed offensive by the priests generations ago. Mage has been used instead, for those who work with and understand the nature of magic. The title of wizard is said to be cursed."
"And Ceolwyn?"
Krecek shook his head, opening a drawer in his desk and pouring himself a glass of strong red wine before he answered. "Before the gods gave their creations permission to speak for them, and created the priesthood, it is said that the lands were divided into countries ruled by wizards. They were mostly the bastard children of gods. Elves comprised the majority of the wizards. They changed their surnames to match their titles. Their countries were called by the same name, to show that the wizards were one with the land they ruled. Wyn is an elvish suffix, only ever used for those names."
He picked up his glass.
Frowned.
The wine rippled, almost sloshing around the glass, his hands were trembling so hard.
He forced them to stop.
"So, you're going to be a wizard?" Arlanz asked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"What if you're not actually a half-elf?" Aral wondered aloud. "What if you are half god?"
"I'm not a wizard," Krecek said with a wry grin, "and I'm not half-god. Trust me, I know my father. He's decent, for an elf, I suppose. But he is no god." He punctuated this by draining his glass and pouring another.
Gods, the way he felt at this moment, he should just drink direct from the bottle and drain the whole thing.
He'd heard the name Ceolwyn before, from his father and other elven relations, and he knew exactly where the kingdom had been. They were in the center of it, at the seat of it, and the temple of Nalia had been built upon the razed remains of the sacred cave the wizard had ruled from.
Part of the mountain had been blown apart to wrest the power from that wizard. He'd been the last who had remained, and they destroyed him in order for the priests and the gods to erase wizard rule.
Were they destined to repeat that cycle?
Elves said that events happened in circles, and all of history was made up of endless events that rotated around themselves. Humans had forgotten all about wizards over time, but elves spoke of them as if they had been around only yesterday. Would it be the same with mages and priests some day?
Would they rise again and tear down what he was about to build?
That thought was when he realized he would do what Agruet wanted of him. It was folly, but the god had been right. Krecek had no choice.
Not if he wanted to be able to live with himself.
"I need to tell Raev and, uh, Byrek about this," Aral said at last. "I'll transcribe and send you the spell I used, Krecek. We'll be able to keep in touch. I have so much to tell you. Later. In private."
"Thank you," Krecek said, but that was all he managed before her image vanished. "And thank you, Arlanz. I need to rest and think."
"I feel the same," Arlanz said, looking wistfully at the bottle of wine. "If you need me, for anything, my door is still always open to you."
Krecek offered the bottle, but Arlanz shook his head and placed his hand on the door. "I hate to leave Bretav alone right now. This pregnancy is also not going well. I pray to appear devout, but I am afraid the gods know better. They will not leave a child in our care." He took a deep breath and turned the knob. "Thank you for giving me a moment to speak of my troubles."
"My door is open as well," Krecek said gently.
"Perhaps next week."
Summer was coming to an end.
Aral took a deep breath of the salt air blowing off the bay, starting to get a sense of the weather the way the locals did. She was fairly sure the days to come would bring a change in the air, some summer storms to say farewell to the season in style.
The breeze carried something heavy, but crisper and sharper than the heat they'd been sweltering under. Underneath it all was a hint of the arcane, whispering to her that the changes to come were not just rain.
She took laundry down from the line, loosely folding it into the basket. Raev was busy with a customer or might insist that he do it instead. Aral had a mind for magic, of course, but household chores…well. She wasn't exactly inept, but Raev was better at the mundane details than she was.
In a household of mages, it only felt natural for the one who practiced least to handle the practical things.
Still, it was nice to help out and feel the sun on her face once in a while. Especially on such a beautiful day with the sun shining and the sounds of life carrying on the wind. The chant of the fishermen, the calls of the dockhands, the cries of the children at play, the horses clopping on the cobblestone lanes…
Aral was nearly finished when she heard a familiar voice. Magic whispered to her of the presence of someone she loved. Was it true? Were they really here? She savored the thrill of being on the brink of joy for just a moment.
This was what living was. Happy surprises among the mundane.
"Davri," she said, turning around to look. If that was Davri's voice, it meant the deeper and unfamiliar voice had to be, "Naran!"
The basket of clothes fell, forgotten, as the three of them hugged and laughed and talked at each other in the way people do when it's been years and they love each other. "You've grown!" and, "You've lost so much weight!" and, "You look so happy," and, "I missed you," of course, followed by, "Why didn't you come here sooner?"
"How'd they get you to do chores around here?" Naran teased. "Did the world run out of books?"
Aral laughed and picked up the basket again. "Come inside," she said, guiding them into the back door, away from Raev's shop front. "I wouldn't have recognized either of you just by looking, it's been too long. Come on, inside where it's not so hot, and I'll get the both of you something to drink."
"She's changed," Naran laughed.
"Almost domestic," Davri agreed. "Who has done such a thing to a mage of such renown?"
"Infamy, you mean," Aral said, chuckling. "Have you heard? There's a price on my head now. They're claiming there's new evidence linking me to Porrellid's death. It's something I arranged with Krecek."
"Why?" Naran asked, alarmed. "That's not something you should want, is it?"
But, Davri was nodding. "I'd heard about that, actually. Just as people were starting to forget."
"What else is being said about me?" Aral looked at her brother, walking backward as she guided them downstairs. "You've heard at least some of the rumors, yes?"
"Yes." Naran said. "I've heard things, like you are some kind of tragic hero. A victim of the priests and gods. I mean…a lot of it is weird, like you cursed him and he died at your feet because he wronged you or something. Um. Davri...well, I mean, we helped a little bit." He added the last bit sheepishly.
"Thank you," Aral said. "I could kiss you for that. Bards are telling my story, and the bounty for my capture has kept everyone talking. It's making me a legend."
"That's why you planned it?"
Aral nodded. They reached the bottom of the stairs and she swung the basket to her other hip to open the door. "Exactly. It's a strategic move to increase the divide and polarize the people."
They all walked down the narrow staircase single file. Aral followed to close the door behind them. She grinned to herself, knowing the reaction to expect.
The first time she had walked these steps, she had expected a simple root cellar or sparse basement. The door was innocuous, looking like any other cellar door in the town.
Instead, at the foot of the stairs, a sharp left opened into a vast hub-like room. Doors and hallways hinted at a labyrinthine complex extending from it. Aral had immediately called it the war room, rather tongue in cheek. The name had stuck, and the func
tion had followed.
"It's not like being with the dwarves," Naran said with a chuckle. "Wouldn't Deeg hate it here? It's so…quiet."
"True," Davri said, "but I think he'd appreciate it for what it is. It's not a home. It's a refuge."
Aral nodded. "This room we keep fairly stark. We have a library, though. Byrek is probably in there…"
"I'm sure he is," Davri murmured. He took a deep breath and nodded to himself before smiling once again at Aral. "How have you kept in touch with Krecek? Wouldn't that be exceedingly dangerous for you both?"
It was the question Aral had been waiting for. "Last year, I finished a spell that's let me keep in touch with him across distances. I've got copies for each of you, too, but the components are too expensive to have risked missing you." She walked over to a cabinet and handed each of them a blank page. "I've been disguising them as simple letters, seeming to be normal correspondence if anyone found them. It's not easy to cast, and you two kept moving around, so I didn't want to risk you missing the letter with the spell." She took a breath, then released it slowly. "I really have missed you both. So much."
"Me too," Naran said, and suddenly Aral had an armful of little brother, who wasn't so little anymore. "There's been so much. But, we're here now…"
"You're here and you smell like you've been on the road for ten years," Aral laughed, clinging to him for a moment before holding him at arm's length. "Go, bathe. I'll talk Raev into closing up the shop so that we can prepare the two of you a proper meal to welcome you here. Baths are down that hall, to the left." She pointed, and then picked up the laundry basket one last time. "I'll be upstairs if you need anything." She rushed out the door and up the stairs.
There she paused.
It was overwhelming, seeing them again.
Naran had grown so much.
Deep breath. Shoulders squared. Ignore the tears in her eyes until she could wipe them away, unseen.
Chapter Eleven –
Fanning the Flames
"Davri chuckled to himself as he toweled off his wet hair. He was looking around the dining room, at the heavily laden table. The quick meal Aral had promised seemed like a feast. The last time he'd seen such a variety of food had been at the university, where a varied spread was necessary for such a diverse set of students and tastes.
"Aral! You didn't have to go through so much trouble," Davri called out.
"It wasn't my idea," Aral said. She walked in with a large bowl of bread rolls. "Raev insisted you and Naran should have choices, since traveling gives you none."
"It is true," the large man himself said, walking in behind her and wiping his hands on an apron. "I am Raev Madri, and my home is yours. Eat your fill."
"You're certainly a Madri," Davri chuckled. "The family features are unmistakable. Is Naran still bathing?" Davri looked around, wondering where the young man could be.
"He ate first," Aral said, shaking her head. "He changed into fresh clothes and insisted that a bath could wait, silly child." She sighed. "He won't be a child much longer, will he? He'll be taller than I am, soon."
"It has been some amount of time," Davri said, sitting.
Aral sat down as well, and she grimaced. "I wanted to talk to you without Naran around anyway. I want to ask you about something."
"I'll try to answer around bites of food," he said, filling a plate with a little bit of everything.
Aral laughed and sat across from him with a glass of wine and a few grapes. Davri figured she wasn't actually hungry, had probably helped "sample" everything as it was set. Raev had already slipped out of the room without Davri noticing.
So, she was going to ask something personal. Something he might not answer honestly in front of others. Davri bit into some chicken, waiting, and wondering just how honest he was prepared to be.
"The first time I managed to talk with Krecek since leaving Anogrin, something odd happened." Aral's words were careful, deliberate. Rehearsed. "We were using the communication spell I mentioned earlier. Agruet appeared, and he intervened. He said a few things that have been running through my mind since."
Ah.
Agruet.
The great thorn in his side, and dark mark in the family tree.
"My great-grandmother was his daughter, if that's what you wanted to know. It's the reason for my visions. His blood runs through me, though rather diluted at this point."
Aral nodded, absently popping another grape into her mouth. "He mentioned something about that. But, that's not what I wanted to ask you about." Chew. Swallow. Drink of water. "Actually…what do you know about wizards?"
Oh.
That was…tricky.
How could he answer that, keep her respect, but not destroy that vision of the future by speaking of it?
Damn Agruet for playing with fire like this! Shouldn't gods know better? Particularly him?
No. Davri just might not be thinking of the right perspective from which to come at this question. He could leap into a literal history lesson. It didn't have to be about the future, and a possible outcome of this war.
Except, she knew all of that. She'd see through that as an effort to obfuscate and misdirect.
"Go on," she prompted. "You were about to say something and thought better of it. Just say it."
Compromise. Start somewhere between.
"I don't need to tell you the basics," Davri said. "Or where the word comes from. Krecek would have explained that to you. You're not asking what I know about wizards, but what I know about what wizards will be. Am I right?"
"Essentially," Aral said. She picked up an apple and began idly playing with it while Davri ate a few more bites. "Agruet called Krecek by the name Ceolwyn. There shall be wizards again, and you've just confirmed it."
Damn it.
"What else?" She continued. "I watched the emotions play across your face enough to know there are things you don't want to tell me."
"It's complicated," he said, then swallowed the bite he'd been in the middle of. "Nothing is set in stone. That great vision Agruet had? It's possibilities. All of them. And he's dedicated his life to unraveling them and finding the best path away from…well. Something terrible. Another god is working against him, and right now he can't tell who. But right now, we're at a cusp of two futures. The one he wants, and the one I've tried to help him attain, is…it's terrible. But it's better than the alternative." He took a drink of wine, then rested his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. "In that future, there will be wizards again. The priests will fall and be hunted as fugitives. The gods all die, and a few mortals take their places. Krecek being Ceolwyn is news to me, but good for him. I've had dreams where I'm Verwyn, with a sprawling country estate and everything I could wish for. In others, I'm just dead."
"And me?"
"I don't know," he said. "There's so much still up in the air, even if we succeed. Or partially succeed, which looks more and more likely these days. I've tried to ask Agruet, but he said it's even harder for him to pick a possibility out of the mess everything's become. I'm mostly mortal, so I only saw what's pertinent to me. He saw everything."
"You said…you said that all the gods die. How?"
"We kill them."
Glass shattered in the kitchen and they could hear Raev cursing from the other room. Coincidence? Probably not.
"I know that. They told me that." She hesitated, glanced toward the kitchen, then plowed on. "How? How do we kill the gods?"
"You have all of your father's notes?"
"Most of them. I've been trying to make sense of them, organize them, the last couple of years. Byrek has been helping me. Why?"
"Years ago, he was supposed to be the one," Davri said slowly, gazing intently into her eyes. "He was going to stumble on the spell and, when pushed too far by grieving for his son, he would use that spell to kill them all."
"But that didn't happen," Aral whispered.
"No," Davri said. "And I think it's my fault. I was a child, and I told my mother a dr
eam I'd had. We were in public. I will never forget how pale she was when she slammed her hand over my mouth, or how her lips looked like a purse drawn tight. I never had a dream of Master Tennival again, and my mother was furious with me. She said that some visions should never be spoken of aloud. She then told me that many people were going to die who should have lived, and it would be my fault."
"You said yourself," Aral's eyes flashed in anger as she spoke, "you were a child. She can't blame you for that."
Davri nodded, but he didn't agree. He'd known better. With such a curse passed down in his family, of course he knew better. But he'd wanted to save the little boy. Even then, he'd wanted to save Naran. And he'd known that if he destroyed the dream he'd had, the boy would live.
"The point is," Davri finally continued, "the foundations of the spell should be in your father's notes. Even if Agruet and I never intervened, you'd have come across it and completed his research. It's inevitable. We kill the gods, or they destroy us and Agruet tries again in a century or so. Thankfully, the god of death is on our side. He swore to me that if we fail, he'll make sure that our souls are utterly erased. As a kindness."
"Kindness?" Aral's eyebrows arched in confusion and alarm.
"So that the other gods can never find our souls and torment us for eternity for the attempt."
Davri ate again while she mulled that over.
"So…I have to sort through decades of books, notes, journal entries, and random scribbles, so that I can find a spell that will…what? What happens to this world when the gods are dead? Chaos and anarchy, to start with. But…"
"We have to take their power," Davri said around a mouthful of food. "We're taking their places, sort of."
"So, use my father's notes to come up with a spell to kill the gods, another one to take their power, and then we take over the world. All just to save Naran."
"And to help my decrepit old great-great-grandfather, who doesn't deserve our help."
"But…Naran…" Aral slumped into her chair. "Promise me you won't tell him. Ever. If he knew we're doing all of this, just to save his life, I don't know if he could handle it."