“Yes,” she answered, “but it came at a cost. I passed out.”
“So?”
“So,” she said, “you can’t afford to pass out in battle. Your opponent will take you immediately. But it had been our only option. There are probably only a handful of people who have truly mastered the conjuring wield.”
Kuba listened intently to Aurelia as she explained, the fire still flickering in the background.
“I am not one of those masters. I can do it, but barely. It takes way too much out of me. I would never be able to last long conjuring in battle.”
“So how do you do it?”
“Fire is simple enough,” Aurelia stated. “The simpler the element you are trying to wield, the easier conjuring it is. You need to fully understand what you are wielding, the element itself.”
“I’m sorry, you lost me a little,” Kuba said. “How do you do that with fire? There was no wood or flints around.”
“You have to get even more basic than that when conjuring, Kuba,” Aurelia explained. “You see, fire is, most basically, carbon dioxide, oxygen, and a fuel. All of these things can be found in the air or around me at all times.”
“I’m sorry carbon what?” Kuba asked, puzzled.
“Carbon dioxide,” she repeated. “It’s a gas in the atmosphere.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“No, you wouldn’t have.”
“So how do you know about it?” Kuba pushed.
“Texts and books from the ancient humans,” Aurelia said, staring into the fire.
“You read ancient texts? We learnt they were all gone. How did you get them?” Kuba asked, standing up from the log. They had learnt in school about the ancient humans and their sciences. They had created huge machines, but the machines spewed horrible things into the air, making it unbreathable. To build and power the machines, they used all the clean water, making it undrinkable. They killed each other with their weapons. Eventually, the planet died too. Then the First Fall of the Godstones happened and the earth was cleansed. The sky had saved them all. It was a story Kuba had always found fascinating—for a school subject at least.
“You ask a lot of questions, kid,” Aurelia said, still staring into the fire. “I don’t think that story is for tonight, though.”
Kuba sank back in disappointment.
“Back to conjuring,” she said, snapping her head away from the fire to look at Kuba again. “You need to know where your element comes from. Conjuring is extremely difficult, but fire is fairly simple, which makes it possible.”
“Are some things impossible to conjure?”
“Huh? I guess I would say no, but some things would be very hard,” Aurelia said. “I knew a Bird-Wielder once, and she was nowhere close to being able to conjure a bird. Even with the ancient texts, a living creature is too complex. It has too many pieces, too many conscious wants and decisions. She was quite skilled at summoning, though.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Kuba said, throwing his hand into the air. “You’re telling me you knew someone whose Godstone fell on a bird?”
“A crow, more specifically. Yes.”
There was a moment of silence. Kuba starred at Aurelia, and she starred back. Then Kuba let out a childish laugh. “I didn’t know there could be Crow-Wielders!” he giggled. The thought seemed absurd to him.
“Yeah,” Aurelia chuckled lightly, “I guess it is kind of funny.”
“How did you know her?” Kuba asked, still giggling.
Aurelia’s smile faded, and she shot him a warning gaze.
Kuba flung his hands in the air. “Okay, okay. I get it. I’ll stop with the questions.”
“Good,” Aurelia nodded, her smile returning.
“How do you expect me to conjure lightning?” Kuba asked, changing the subject. “It must be crazy hard.”
“Actually, I don’t know if it would be,” Aurelia said thoughtfully. “From what I remember reading in the texts, lightning is nothing more than moving electrons in the atmosphere.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Aurelia waved her hand dismissively. “Conjuring is not for today. You need to start with controlling first, which means we need a storm.”
“Right,” Kuba said. He looked back at his sleeping brother and then to the night sky. A storm couldn’t come soon enough. Kuba knew this Godstone was the reason they were being chased, the reason the town had been attacked, and the reason his aunt might be dead. He was devastated by all of that, but whenever he held the rock, something made him feel as if things would be okay, as if he had the power to fix this.
All he needed was a storm.
Chapter 11
House of Historians, 7th Day of the Month of Warmth, 1114 A.F.F.
A knock rattled Kari’s door. She rose from the desk where she’d been reading, floated to the door, and opened it. An Eleventh, one of the guards to the House of Historians, stood before her. He was silent, as they usually were, and simply handed her a roll of parchment. She couldn’t see his face through his helmet, but his eyes looked uneasy as they met her white, godly ones.
Kari was always connected to Mímrvor, even as she slept. They were one. Two parts to a whole. She knew this made people uncomfortable. Most people connected to their Godstone when they were preparing to attack. It’s all the soldiers knew. It was what they were trained to react to. She couldn’t fault them for being ignorant about her ways.
Kari nodded her head in a slight bow, hoping the guard would see that she meant no harm.
“Still skies,” she said.
“And strong roofs,” the guard replied, mimicking her bow, his anticipatory gaze never leaving hers.
She shut the door and strode over to a small nest-like pile of furs. She plopped down on the lush rugs, too hot to use as blankets in the summer months, but also too beautiful to store away.
Kari gently untied the bow around the scroll. The message was sealed with the dark blue waxy escutcheon of the High Historian himself. Kari broke the seal, a satisfying snapping echoed quietly as she did.
The parchment was rough beneath her fingers. She knew what this must be about, there could only be one thing. She unravelled the tightly wound paper and read the words carefully.
It was an immediate summons to the High Historian’s chamber. Kari let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. Ever since Vallich’s betrayal, Kari had been on edge. The God-King’s appointed heir was gone and wanted for treason, and that could only mean one thing: an Ascension Trial.
She remembered Vallich’s Ascension Trial, only two days before he brought back Wolfmere’s head. They had been just children, he not yet fourteen years old. She had been younger, almost ten, but she remembered it vividly.
Vallich had been the candidate Míastrad had put forward. Everyone had been shocked that someone so young was competing. But, even though Vallich was from the mining province, he’d spent most of his childhood in Azul and the United Azanthean Army Stronghold. He had trained all his life. And for a year before the Ascension Trial, he had been in the God-King’s personal guard of Elevenths and fought on the front lines of the Battle of Burrath. When the previously appointed heir died in battle, Vallich was an obvious candidate. He had been so young, it bothered Kari, even at the time. She was in disbelief that the God-King had allowed it, but Kari knew he must have had his reasons. The Ascension Trials were gruelling, after all. They consisted of three arduous tests: strategy, justice, and enlightenment. Three tests to prove you were deserving of the throne.
She knew her uncle would not subject a child to that without his reasons. The God-King Apollyon must have seen something in Vallich at the time.
And now, Vallich had betrayed them. Betrayed his kingdom. Kari balled her fists in anger, clenching the soft furs beneath her. They had been friends since they were children, even after his Ascension Trial, when he grew to became cruel and bloodthirsty. Kari had always thought it was an act, part of what he needed to do to be Comman
der of the Elevenths. She shuddered at the memories of him, his last touch still lingering on her skin. Now she knew what had really been an act. He was a traitor.
Standing up from her pile of furs, Kari strode across the room, the invitation still clutched between her fingers. Vallich had always seemed invincible. Every time he went off to battle, Kari had always been certain of his return. Now, she knew otherwise. Perhaps his body was invincible, but his mind certainly was not. It was weak. The mind of a man who couldn’t see beyond his own desires. The mind of a man who needed to weave together truths out of broken promises to make himself feel honourable.
Kari was not like him, though. She could see the God-King’s vision for a united world; one where war ceased to exist. She understood the sacrifices that had to be made to achieve that, to ensure they did not end up like the ancient humans or overrun by Vyvents and outlaws. She understood people, and Mímrvor understood the Godstones and all the energies around them. Together, they could help the God-King rid the world of anything that opposed him.
Kari walked out of her chamber and into the main corridor. She passed the mechanical lift—the only one of its kind in the entire kingdom—and made her way to the spiral staircase. With the parchment still in her hand, she steadied herself against the stone wall as she walked down the steep flight of stairs.
The sounds of her heels clicking on the stone stairwell reverberated through the narrow corridor. The stone felt cool beneath her hands and Mímrvor was heavy around her neck. She hadn’t noticed until she stood on the landing to the High Historian’s chambers that her breath had quickened.
She exhaled and rapped on the ornately carved wooden door with her knuckles. It opened immediately.
“Kari,” a warm voice said as the door opened. “He is expecting you.”
“Thank you, Noramilli,” said Kari, looking down at the small man. Kari herself was not tall, and he barely reached the height of her nose.
Kari had known Noramilli all her life. He was old. The deep lines on the corners of his eyes, which made him appear as though he was always smiling, were evidence of his age. But the lines never changed, they never got any deeper, nor did his hair get any greyer. It wouldn’t be so strange had he been a Wielder, but he was not. Kari knew of that for certain. He was not one of the live-forevers like she was. Rumours from loose lips had reached Kari’s ears, whispering that he was in fact a Vyvent from the Nation of a Dozen Isles. Kari doubted it though; Vyvents were a little taller and stronger than average humans and their blood was said to have strange colours to it. Apparently, the colours were so unearthly that their blood glowed right through their skin. A different species altogether who rarely ventured off their lands.
Nevertheless, no matter how sweet Noramilli was, Kari was particularly cautious around him. The rumours had taken root.
Noramilli bowed and motioned for her to enter the room. Kari walked into the great chambers of the High Historian. The first room was a majestic library, housing thousands of scrolls and books all chronicling information passed down from the ancient humans. The High Historian even had a special cabinet, cared for meticulously by Noramilli, that housed dozens of ancient texts and trinkets from before the First Fall.
“Can I get you anything, love?” Noramilli asked, motioning towards a green velvet chair.
Kari took a seat on the luxurious furniture. “No, thank you, Noramilli. I am fine.”
“I’ll bring some tea anyways,” he said with wink. His voice was cheery, but his own deep eyes betrayed him. He looked sad.
Kari swallowed a lump in her throat; she knew he was sad for her. “Thank you.” Kari twiddled the parchment in her hands as Noramilli scuttled off towards the small kitchen adjacent to the library.
The sun gleamed in from the arched window, basking the large, circular room in a bright glow. Bookshelves sprawled across the room towering from floor to ceiling, completely covering the stone of the tower walls. The shelves were crafted with the wood of trees from all across the kingdom, which had been graciously donated to decorate this library.
Kari had read almost all the scrolls in this room, using Mímrvor’s powers to enhance her learnings. The only books she had yet to read were those locked away in the High Historian’s private collection. Only he and the God-King were permitted to read those. They were too powerful, too terrible.
And Vallich, Kari reminded herself. He had been allowed to read them, too.
“Young Kari!” The double doors to the High Historian’s private chambers whipped open.
Kari jumped up from her chair, bowing her head. “My liege.”
The High Historian strode across the gold-embellished rug—a present from Sable—his purple robe trailing along the floor. He approached until he stood right in front of her. Kari kept her head down. She felt his boney fingers gently caress the bottom of her chin. He lifted her face so that her eyes met his. Kari regarded his deep lines and gaunt cheeks. This was a man who had seen more than enough for one lifetime. A man who served his King and kingdom unquestioningly, first as a Tekera, then as a Skreeh. His mastery of both fields earned him the rank of High Historian and a place beside the God-King himself. He had stood by her uncle during the Battle of Burrath. A trusted advisor to the throne. A trusted friend to all the Historians. He was the man who had raised her after she came to the House of Historians.
Kari couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. For all he had done, for all his knowledge, he had not been chosen by the skies to wield the power of the Godstones. Watching him age, knowing she would have to watch him die one day, filled her with incredible sorrow. By no fault of his own, he was a man amongst Gods. The skies had deemed it so.
“No need for formalities, dear. There are only but the two of us here.” His murky green eyes were sad. With those words, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. Kari had always been affectionate, but not usually with Xenophon. She never behaved like this in his presence. But today was an unusual day, to say the least.
When he didn’t recoil, Kari squeezed him just a little tighter before pulling away. The sadness in his eyes was not selfish. He was not scared of her powers like many were. The glossiness in his eyes was genuine, and it was for her.
“Still skies,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead.
Kari closed her eyes tightly for fear that the veil of white across them could not hide her trepidation. “And strong roofs.”
They broke apart and sat.
“You must know why I have summoned you here.”
Kari nodded slowly. Just then, Noramilli came through the hidden entrance from the kitchen, a tray in his hands. He set the crystal teacups down on the table between them. Xenophon made no move to pick his up, but Kari grabbed hers, the warmth a comfort in her hands.
“You have been summoned, my child,” Xenophon said, shooting a quick look at Noramilli, who was standing a few paces away, though not asking him to leave.
Kari nodded again. A soft hand fell on her shoulder and she looked up at Xenophon. “We knew this day would come,” she said. “If Vallich were to ever pass.”
“Yes,” Xenophon said, leaning back in his chair, “we did, but this was unexpected.”
They’d expected that, should Vallich die, Kari would be summoned to the Trials. But Vallich was seemingly invincible, and they had never expected him to be a traitor. Not after everything he had done for the kingdom.
Was she the only one who knew something was wrong with Vallich? She felt an uncomfortable twinge in her stomach. If she had said something to Xenophon, perhaps this could have been prevented. She had just brushed it off as him simply being drunk. If she had said something, she wouldn’t have to compete, and Vallich wouldn’t be considered a threat to the kingdom. The God-King would have made certain of that.
The unease in her stomach grew. Her confession about Vallich’s traitorous words climbed up her throat and teetered on her lips. She was never one to conceal things, especially not from Xenophon, but telli
ng him about Vallich now would just get her in trouble. She might even be sentenced to death.
Xenophon was like a father to her, but Kari knew his true allegiance was to the God-King. Should he ever have to choose, Xenophon would choose Apollyon every time. Kari didn’t fault him for that; she had always thought she would also make the same choice.
But, somehow, she hadn’t with Vallich. She had been deceived.
Kari swallowed hard. “When will it begin?” she asked instead.
“The first of the Ascension Trials will be on the twentieth. The new heir will emerge on the night of the bright moon.”
There was silence. Kari was no fighter, no strategist, but her powers were abnormally strong due to her unwavering connection with Mímrvor. And, of course, because she was kin to the God-King.
She paused. If she won, the God-King would turn her into a warrior, like he had with all his heirs. She would be made to do all the terrible things that Vallich had done. And she would dutifully oblige.
“Are you alright, love?” Noramilli asked.
Kari could hear him approaching. She turned around to look at him and nodded, her shaking hand instinctively going to Mímrvor. “I am. This is a true honour.”
“One you never wanted,” he said. “You could refuse.”
“Do not say such things, Noramilli!” Xenophon snapped, looking at his servant. “Words such as those teeter too close to treason.”
Kari looked over her shoulder towards Noramilli, who had taken several steps backward. Xenophon was harsh, but he was right. King Apollyon would not take kindly to a refusal of this request.
Xenophon turned back to Kari, taking her hand. “You are right, my dear. This is an honour,” he said. “I know you are no warrior, but should you accomplish this, you will be the second most powerful person in the kingdom. You will sit on the God-King’s right and I on his left. Just think how much good we could all do. You can be a God, just as he is.”
Kari put her other hand on top of Xenophon’s. With his free hand, he reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a letter. Kari took it hesitantly and leaned back into her chair. A golden Highwings symbol sealed the letter; her name was written in an elegant, timeless script. Handwriting so perfect only someone who had practised for many lifetimes could have achieved it.
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