“I’ve a few words for the propriety of old men,” Lacelle said. “Teaching a little girl stories like that—and look at you, Honored One. Laughing about it.”
“Let the girl have her stories, Lacelle,” the Mekai said. He shooed her away with a gesture. “Go now, see to your duties. Bethany will be fine here with me. It’s been a long time since I’ve had such pleasant company anyway.” He winked at Bethany. “My usual companions are always so persnickety.”
Bethany giggled. She couldn’t help it.
Lacelle sniffed and walked back into the hallway, leaving Bethany alone with the Mekai. She wasn’t sure if she should apologize for exploring the tunnels looking for treasure. Dormael hadn’t told her that she was forbidden, exactly, so it wasn’t as if she had broken a rule. Not really.
She decided to keep quiet. If the Mekai brought it up, she could apologize. Until he did, though, she wasn’t in trouble. Better not to borrow trouble from the gods—she’d heard that somewhere before.
The Mekai turned and walked back toward the furniture on the platform. As he walked, his Kai brushed against hers in a light greeting. Bethany was amazed at the feel of his Kai. While it wasn’t as vast as her own, it was sharper in some way, more potent. It acted on its own. Even as Bethany followed the Mekai to the table, his magic slid her out a chair, and adjusted the old man’s robe as he sat in his own seat, and it all happened without his direction.
She could barely make a magical light.
“What do you know of history, dear girl?” the Mekai asked, adjusting a small pair of spectacles on his nose. She’d seen a pair of those on a traveling merchant once. She had almost stolen them, but who would pay for such a thing?
“Not much,” Bethany shrugged. “I know my letters, though, and the Hunter’s Tongue. I know the epics of the gods—at least, I know some of them.”
A book floated through the air and into the Mekai’s hand, pages flipping as it floated by. He adjusted his glasses and peered down at the text, finding something with his finger as the book settled into his hand. He winked at her over the rim of the book.
“Soon enough you’ll receive all manner of education. You do mean to train here, do you not?”
“I think so,” Bethany shrugged. “Don’t I have to?”
“Don’t you want to?”
“Maybe,” Bethany said. “I don’t know. I want Dormael and D’Jenn to teach me. I want to stay with them.” The thought of leaving them scared her.
The Mekai lowered the book from his face, and regarded her with a serious look.
“You certainly don’t have to stay here,” the Mekai said, shrugging his shoulders. “Once we’re satisfied you can go out into the world and not kill anyone with your magic, you can leave if you wish. No one is keeping you here, little one. It’s your choice—surely Dormael explained it to you.”
“He did,” Bethany sighed. “But I know that’s what he wants—for me to come to the Conclave. I could tell.”
“I’m sure he does,” the Mekai said. “Why don’t you?”
“It’s not that I don’t,” Bethany sighed. “It’s just—I don’t want him to leave me here. He’s going to have to leave. I know that. He goes, and I’ll be here, alone again.”
“Child,” the Mekai said, taking a deep breath. “You understand that your father lives here. The Conclave is his home. He only leaves to go on special trips, on Conclave business. He wants you to train here, yes—but he wants you here because this is his home. He wants it to be your home, too. Do you see?”
Bethany hadn’t thought of it that way.
“He’ll still have to leave, though,” she said. “I’ll still be alone.”
The Mekai smiled.
“Yes, he will have to leave from time to time, child, but this is the place he comes back to. When you join a class, Bethany, you’ll have a whole new family. Your classmates will become closer than friends—and you’ll still have Dormael and D’Jenn. Doubtless the rest of the Warlocks will adopt you, too. They’re a tight-knit group.”
“I guess so,” she said.
“Still unconvinced? Let me try something else,” he said. He closed the book, and stood from his chair as the Kai floated the tome back to the table. He threw his hand out to indicate the globe around them. “This place, Bethany, is called the Convergence Chamber. Most people who know of it, though, call it the Crux.”
“The Crux?” Bethany repeated, rising to follow the old man closer to the center of the platform.
“Indeed. Would you like to know what it does?”
She nodded.
The Mekai smiled. “The Crux is used to focus magic. There are techniques one can learn with magic, dear girl, secrets that go beyond something so mundane as to summon a flame with which to light a candle, or float a book across the room. Magic can do wonderful things. Would you like to see?” He held out a hand to her, one eyebrow raised in question.
Bethany nodded again, and took the Mekai’s hand.
“Now—let’s talk again about history, young lady.”
The room around them faded away like mist, and was replaced with something new. A map appeared on the floor, mountains rising above the ground, and oceans surging with storms. She had never seen anything like it, and didn’t know what to think.
“This,” the Mekai said, pointing to a city in the shadow of a low mountain range, “is where we are—the city of Ishamael. Do you know anything of its founding?”
“No,” Bethany said. “Everyone’s heard of it, though. The City of Magic.”
“And what do people say about us, then?” the Mekai asked.
“To stay away,” Bethany replied. “Lots of people tell evil stories about it. None of it’s true, though—obviously.”
“Obviously, indeed,” the Mekai laughed. “Let me tell you, then, about the City of Magic.”
The land below them dissolved, blowing away like so much dust. The room around them became a battlefield, with men fighting and dying in tightly packed lines, eyeballs over shields, stabbing spears, and arrows falling like rain. Bethany resisted the urge to squeal and duck, taking her cues from the Mekai, who stood with stoic poise.
“Once,” he said, “the Sevenlands didn’t exist, child. In the years before the founding of Ishamael, our people were separate tribes, separate city-states, separate kingdoms. Each had its own system of governance, you see, and each its own values. The only thing we all shared was a language, and the desire to kill each other over things like crops and blood-debts.” The Mekai held his hands out, indicating the struggling men all dying around them. “There were a lot of blood-debts.”
The Mekai waved his hand, then, and the scene changed once again. Now they stood in a village under attack. People ran screaming in all directions, being cut down by men with conical helmets and straight, stabbing swords. The swordsmen were all over the village, destroying everything in sight, and dragging people away.
“Then came the hordes from the east,” the Mekai said. “Our oldest stories talk about them—great, tall men, blond and black-headed, fearsome as they were merciless. They invaded from the north, streaming down into the Sevenlands from the Gathan Mountains. They killed, destroyed, and enslaved everything they came across. They were like locusts, eating all in that lay in their path. Our people, fractured as they were, could not band together to face this threat. Every year, the men from the north took more ground from our people, and every year, our people grew more desperate as they watched their lands be taken, their kin enslaved.”
“What happened?” Bethany asked.
“A leader appeared,” the Mekai said. “His name was Ishamael.”
“Like the city,” Bethany said.
“Just so,” the Mekai nodded. “Ishamael was a Teptian, and had been fighting the horde for years with the help of his friend, the wizard Indalvian—the man who founded the Conclave.”
“Did Indalvian burn the hordes from the east?” Bethany asked. “Did he burn them all with magic, and turn the skies
against them?” The song of the armlet shifted, turning over like a slumbering person in the midst of the dream. The Mekai noticed, but said nothing.
“Not exactly,” the Mekai said. “Ishamael and Indalvian united the tribes, and together, the horde from the east was forced back to the north, and across the Sea of Moving Ice. When the war was over, this city was founded, and named for the leader who saved us. That was when the Sevenlands was born, and that was when the Conclave was built. The first stones that make up the chamber around us were laid in those years. This is the first thing they made, Bethany—the Crux. The entire Conclave was built around it.”
“But why?” Bethany asked, now immersed in the Mekai’s story. “Why did they build this first?”
The Mekai waved his hand, and the scene around them fell away into motes of light. They stood once again on the platform, the armlet still floating in mid-air above them.
“This room gathers and focuses magic in a way that nothing else in all of Eldath can do,” the Mekai said. “This is something you will learn during your studies here—that many things have an effect on magic. Music, shapes, materials, even places of great natural power—to all of these things does your magic respond. This room is the center of a gigantic magical Circle. The Crux of the entire Conclave, so to speak.”
“You mean the whole building is part of it?” Bethany asked.
“Exactly,” the Mekai said, smiling.
“But…what is it for? What does it do?”
The Mekai paused a moment, then turned to her.
“This place, this Convergence Chamber,” he said, “can be used to do any number of things. It focuses power, pulls it from the very air, and amplifies your magic. With this, you can scry out things happening on the other side of the world, or speak to many people at once. You could do wondrous and terrible things, dear. Terrible things, indeed.”
“Terrible things like what?” Bethany asked.
“That’s a topic for another time,” the Mekai said. “Let’s talk about what it’s doing now. The armlet—you are familiar with it, I assume? It seems to know you, little one.”
Bethany nodded, eyes going to the piece of jewelry floating in midair.
“It talks to me sometimes,” she said.
“What does it say?”
“You can’t hear it?” Bethany asked. She walked over to the Mekai and took his hand in her own. His wrinkled skin felt rough against her lithe fingers, but his hands weren’t gnarled or ugly. The hand contained a strength that surprised her. “Close your eyes. Listen to it.”
Bethany could feel the armlet’s song lilting out through the room. She waxed and waned with its alien crooning, sinking into the warm embrace of its music. The woman of fire did not appear, but Bethany could feel her in the room.
“I can hear its song, dear girl,” the Mekai said, “but any messages it might have do not fall upon my ears. I can feel its presence…but no—it keeps its secrets from me. All I can see is a wall of…a wall of flame.”
“I’ve seen that too,” she whispered. Bethany knew whispering was ridiculous—the armlet would hear her no matter what. Still, the somber feeling in the room demanded it.
“It’s very protective of you,” the Mekai said, opening his eyes. “I felt it tense when you came into the room. It hovers about you like a den mother. Your father told me what happened on the ship. When you donned it.”
Bethany’s stomach went cold with emotion.
“I didn’t mean to put it on,” she protested. “It made me do it. I didn’t want to.”
“I know,” the Mekai said, patting her shoulder. “So your father told me. Still, it’s interesting that the thing would take such a liking to you. I wonder why that is.”
“I don’t know,” Bethany sighed. “I’m not the only one, you know. It talks to Dormael, too. It talks to us both.”
“So he said,” the Mekai replied. He laid a hand on Bethany’s shoulder, and turned her back toward the chairs. As they walked, a decanter floated over from the table and poured itself into two wooden cups. The book that the Mekai had been perusing floated back into his hands, pages flipping through the air. Bethany settled into her chair, watching it all happen with awe. The Mekai noticed her watching, and she immediately felt embarrassed.
“Don’t worry, child—I’m used to the looks people give me,” he smiled. “When you’re as ancient as me, your magic becomes something…different.”
“What do you mean?” Bethany asked, her interest piqued. She wondered what she would be like when her skin got all saggy and dried up like the Mekai’s. She hoped her magic was as wonderful as his, but she wasn’t looking forward to looking like a dried prune. Bethany loved old people, though. They had the best stories.
“As a wizard gets older, dear, they grow…sharper, more focused,” he said. “Your power will grow into something that’s nearly alive. It will do things sometimes without your foreknowledge. I find that as I get older, I spend a great deal of time in meditation.”
“Why?”
“Well, say I’m walking across the Bruising Stretch one day, and I have an idle thought that a new tree would look nice out on the Green. For anyone else, that’s a fine thought to have, no problems whatsoever. For me, though, it’s different. My magic wants to make it happen, wants to grow me a tree. You have to control that sort of thing, you see, or every errant thought could turn into an embarrassing situation.”
“I think I understand,” Bethany said. “Like with the book—your Kai knows you want it, so it brings it to you?”
“Very astute, Bethany,” he said, beaming at her. “That’s it exactly.”
“Will my magic get like that?” she asked. She wasn’t sure what she thought about it.
“If you live long enough,” the Mekai smiled. “I imagine that for you, though, it will be quite worse.”
“Worse? Why?”
The Mekai gave a low chuckle.
“Dear, when I was a young man, do you know what I did? From which Discipline that I came?”
“No,” Bethany replied. “Were you a Warlock, like my father?”
The Mekai let out a laugh.
“No, dear, not even close. I was a teacher,” he said. “I taught the natural sciences to the older children. They all used to call me Master Arian. My gift was a modest one. I could manage a few more difficult things, but I was quite a lot better at research, and the application of my magic to the pursuit of knowledge. I had a particular interest, dear girl, in history.”
“If you were just a teacher, how did you become the Mekai?” Bethany asked. “I thought you had to be the strongest, best wizard.”
“And what, do you think, constitutes being ‘the best’?”
“I don’t know,” Bethany shrugged. “I just thought it was true, that’s all.”
The Mekai lifted an eyebrow and regarded her over the rim of the spectacles he was once again wearing.
“Here’s a bit of wisdom for you, dear—one of those sayings that old people give you sometimes that you’re supposed to carry around with you like a rock in your pocket. Words like ‘best’, or ‘strongest’ are all relative. They can mean whatever you want them to mean, and they can be easily twisted to mean anything. One person says he’s the best swimmer, and maybe that means he can swim very fast, or for a very long time. Another says he’s the best fisherman, and maybe that means he can pull more fish out of the sea, or that he knows the best spots to catch them. The thing that both of those fools don’t realize is that the sea doesn’t give a damn about who’s the best swimmer, or the best fisherman. The sea takes the strong as readily as the weak. My grandmother told me that before even your father’s father was born—think on that, dear girl. That’s a very old bit of wisdom.”
Bethany nodded, trying to discern his meaning.
“Regardless,” he went on, “the Mekai is not the strongest, or best wizard—if there is such a thing. The Mekai is elected by the Conclave. I was elected long before you were born. Before people ol
der than you were born, in fact.”
Bethany leaned forward. “Are you the oldest wizard, then?”
The Mekai let out another laugh, and it echoed around the chamber.
“The oldest in this building, anyway,” he said, smiling. “The oldest, indeed. I’ve forgotten how delightful children can be.”
“I’ve always liked old people, too,” Bethany said, returning his smile. “You’ve got the best stories.”
“That we do,” he chuckled. “That we do. Would you like to hear another one?”
Bethany hugged her knees to her chest and grabbed the cup of water, then nodded with enthusiasm. She loved stories, and she was about to get one from the oldest wizard in the Conclave. Who else in the world could say that?
The Pirate-Queen of the Seas, that’s who.
“This book,” the Mekai said, holding up the tome for her inspection, “is the collected writings of Sevenlander kansils from history. You know what kansils are, dear? Has your father explained them?”
“No,” Bethany grumbled. “I guess there’s a lot he hasn’t told me.”
“I’ll speak with him about that,” the Mekai winked. “In the meantime, I’ll try and fill you in. You see, Sevenlander society is made up of families, right? Each family has a leader that speaks for them, chosen by the families themselves. That person is called a patron—or a matron, if they’re a girl. Now, those patrons then elect someone to speak for them from amongst their own, and those are called clan leaders. The clan leaders elect the kansil from their own ranks, and this person leads an entire tribe. Do you undersand?”
“I think so,” Bethany nodded.
“This book is a collection of the things they have written down,” the Mekai said. “It goes back a very long time. I’ve found something here that I think you might find familiar. Keep in mind, now—these words were written hundreds and hundreds of years ago, and we’re about to read them. Think of the time that passed between the thought and its passage to us, right here, right now. Exciting, isn’t it?”
Bethany nodded.
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