The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection

by D. W. Hawkins

  “Good,” he said. “Now, where did I…oh yes. Here we are.” He cleared his throat, peered through his spectacles, and started to read. “The dreams plague me nightly. I see a field of nothing but flame, I see the night sky all around me, the Void full of stars. I see a battlefield, and men struggling. Even during the daylight I can hear the noise, whispering to me as I walk the halls of my home. The others think me mad, and perhaps they are correct.”

  “The dreams,” Bethany said, interrupting him. “I’ve had dreams like that.”

  “Which ones, dear?” the Mekai asked, setting the book aside.

  “All of them,” she said. “The battle, the fire, all of it. Who wrote that?”

  “These are the writings of a man named Baristael Neborrin. He was Kansil of the Soirus-Gamerits very long ago,” the Mekai said. “These musings are from his journal. Not many ever read these, but I, as I said, have a particular interest in history.”

  “What does it mean?” Bethany asked. “That he could hear the fiega? It spoke to him, too?”

  “Perhaps,” the Mekai said. “This alone tells us only a few things—that he may have been in possession of the armlet, and that he may have been magic-sensitive. Also, that it was reaching out even in those days, all those years gone. If, indeed, it was this artifact which was the cause of his problems, and not madness in truth.”

  “What is magic-sensitive?” Bethany asked. “I thought there were only Blessed and Learned.”

  “If you’re Blessed, you’re magic-sensitive,” the Mekai explained. “However, it is possible for a person to be Blessed, but only to such a degree that they can sense magic, perhaps feel it when someone is using it. Their gift, however, will never be enough to actually use their power. Many who are magic-sensitive don’t even know it, and will never realize it. The Blessing of Eindor comes to us across a wide spectrum.”

  “So Baristael had the fiega, and it spoke to him,” Bethany said. “How did Shawna get it? It’s hers now, after all.”

  “For the answer to that question, dear, we can again look to my favorite subject—history,” the Mekai smiled. Bethany couldn’t help but smile back. The man had a pleasant voice, and told a story with an air of mystery that drew her into his tale. He must have been a great teacher. “Now,” he went on, “have you ever heard of the Treaty of Duadan?”

  “No,” she said. “But I’d like to hear about it.”

  The Mekai paused and gave her a strange look, then cleared his throat.

  “Aren’t you just delightful,” he mumbled. “Right—the Duadan Treaty was an agreement that was struck between the Sevenlands and a few countries in Alderak hundreds of years ago, before the Second Great War. There were a few provisions to it about trade and such, but the real meat of the treaty was the intermarriage of houses. Eastern kings were to take the daughters of Sevenlander kansils to wife, in order to strengthen ties between east and west. Not all the kingdoms of Alderak signed on, but a few did. One of them, dear girl, was Cambrell.”

  “Why would they do that?” Bethany asked. “Why make treaties about getting married?”

  The Mekai chuckled. “Entire wars have been fought over marriages, dear. Wars have also been prevented by marriage, though—and such was the point. The thinking at the time was that if the Duadan kansil has grandchildren shared with, say, the King of Lesmira, then Lesmira and Duadan would avoid going to war with each other.”

  “Did that work?” Bethany asked. “Did it really keep them from fighting?”

  “Not really, child,” the Mekai said. “It was an older time, a different time. The practice ended hundreds of years ago. In any case, the Kansils of the Soirus-Gamerit were to send one of their daughters to wed the Princes of Cambrell. Do you see why that is significant?”

  Bethany thought for a moment before the answer slapped her in the face.

  “Shawna is from Cambrell,” she said. “She had the fiega. If Shawna has the fiega now, and Baristael had it then…then that means that it came from Soirus-Gamerit?”

  “Very good, dear,” the Mekai smiled. “Though, we don’t know that it necessarily came from Soirus-Gamerit, just that it was there at one time, and in the possession of the kansil. Now we have something to go on, a trail to follow, clues to research. Isn’t it exciting? History, dear girl, is better than any story.”

  “I still like Leyton’s stories,” Bethany said. “Leyton was Pirate-King of the Seas, sacker of towns, terror of the blue.”

  “So you like tales of plunder and mystery, do you?”

  Bethany nodded.

  “You’ll find more plunder and mystery in the annals of history than anywhere else, dear girl,” the Mekai smiled. “War, murder, love, death—it’s all there, and it all really happened. There are things to be learned. So—have I convinced you to train at the Conclave, then? I suppose you could always leave the real mysteries behind for other people to find, but something tells me that you would rather seek them out yourself. After all—why else would you come down into the Rat Holes except to search out ancient mysteries, hmm? Does your exile to the most interesting place in all of the Sevenlands still sound so terrible?”

  Bethany smiled, feeling her cheeks redden with embarrassment.

  “I didn’t mean it would be terrible,” Bethany said. “Just that I would be lonely. And I’m sorry about coming down into the tunnels. I didn’t mean to get lost..it just…I just…,” she trailed off, unable to put words to how dumb she felt.

  “A girl with at least one friend can never be lonely,” the Mekai smiled. “So, are we friends now? I’m certainly too old to be going anywhere, so you know you’ll always have a friend here, no matter what. Is that enough to convince you?”

  Bethany smiled, and nodded.

  “And don’t worry about coming down into the Rat Holes, girl. Do you think you’re the first child to go running around in the tunnels, searching for old magic swords and the like? The Conclave staff are always sweeping them up out of the corridors and sending them back to their classes. You’re not the first, and certainly won’t be the last. I even did so, once.”

  Bethany smiled. “You did?”

  “Oh, yes,” the Mekai said. “Believe it or not, little one, I was always in trouble when I was your age. I stole quite a bit of food from the kitchens.”

  “The pastries are the easiest,” Bethany laughed. “They leave them right out on the tables, right where anyone can grab them. I can fit two in my mouth and three in my dress, and still be out of there before anyone sees me.”

  “Be careful, though,” the old man laughed. “If Lady Gerith catches you, you’ll be scrubbing pots for an entire season. Big pots, too—the kind you have to crawl into.”

  “Lady Gerith?”

  “She runs the Conclave kitchens,” the Mekai said. “Everyone calls her Lady Gerith, the Queen of Soup. Don’t let her hear you say it, though—that will get you scullery duty, too.”

  “Did you ever have to scrub pots?” Bethany asked. She couldn’t imagine the distinguished old man on his hands and knees, scrubbing away at greasy iron.

  “How do you think my hands got this wrinkled?” he asked, wiggling them in the air.

  Bethany laughed. She decided that she liked the Mekai.

  “What’s going to happen to me now?” she asked, coming down from her fit of laughter. She remembered the man in the tunnels, and she once again felt dread creeping down her spine. “Am I going to be in trouble?”

  “For what, getting lost in the Rat Holes?”

  “No, for hurting that man,” she said. “The one who tried to grab me.”

  The Mekai gave her a sobering look, and took a deep breath. He rose from his chair and offered Bethany his hand again. She was reluctant, but she rose and took his hand anyway. The Mekai led her once again inside the concentric lines of silver, to the middle of the Crux. She felt his Kai reach out and sing with the Crux, and their surroundings once again dissolved.

  “Close your eyes, dear,” the Mekai said, squeezing her
hand. “I need you to show me the place where this happened—take me there in your mind. Can you do that? Can you picture it?”

  “I think so,” Bethany said. She concentrated, trying to conjure the scene in her mind. She imagined the candle sconce on the wall, the man standing in its pool of light, examining her footprints. She imagined the dusty hallway, the smell of the stone. She saw his face as he looked at her.

  She saw him burn.

  Please!

  “Not so strongly, girl,” the Mekai said, his voice intruding on her vision. “Remember to keep hold of your emotions. An unfocused mind—”

  “—yields unfocused magic,” she sighed, completing the mantra that D’Jenn was always making her repeat. She realized what she’d done—interrupted the Mekai—and felt her cheeks reddening again. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, dear, just do it the right way,” he said, patting the top of her hand. “Now, with more control, picture it again.”

  Bethany brought the image up again, fixing every detail she could muster into the front of her mind. She remembered the way the stone felt against her bare feet. She remembered the way her hands had clutched into fists, and the way his magic had felt when it attacked her.

  The room around them swirled, shifted, and reformed. The Mekai held tight to her hand, sensing her unease, and tried to comfort her. She could feel his Kai doing the same thing to her magic, singing to her power in slow, soothing tones.

  The picture of the hallway formed around her. It was as if she stood again in the darkness, staring at the pool of light. The man was there, crouched under the candlelight, trying to read her footprints. His image was hazy, indistinct.

  “I need you to take us further, Bethany. Can you show me what he did, how he tried to take you?” the Mekai asked. He was peering at the man as if he was trying to see who he was, but the man’s features were no more than smeared darkness and light.

  “I think so,” Bethany said. She took a deep breath and clamped down on her beating heart. She knew there was no reason to be afraid now, but she still quailed at the thought of conjuring this moment again. Summoning her strength, she brought up the memory of his magic.

  The scene changed. The man now stood, hand outstretched in her direction. Light flooded the hallway—the light he’d nearly blinded her with—and his face was revealed. He had a strong chin, his jaw clenched with fierce determination. He was frozen in the instant which he’d used his magic on her, and his eyes were locked in her direction—one brown, one blue.

  The Mekai hissed in surprise, and the scene dissolved so quickly that it made Bethany dizzy. He turned to her then, and crouched down to her level, taking her head in his hands. His Kai was tense, and his sudden change in behavior put her on the defensive.

  “Are you certain that was the man, Bethany? Are you certain that it was him, and that wasn’t just some mistake, some face from your memory that you put there accidentally?”

  “No,” she said. “That was him. I remember his eyes. That was him.”

  The Mekai took a deep breath, his shoulders rising as his chest filled with air. He rose and turned from her then, and gestured to the armlet. It floated down from its place and deposited itself into its silver box, which had been sitting on the table. Once the armlet was secure, he turned back to her.

  “Let’s make a promise between friends. Can we do that?” the Mekai asked.

  Bethany nodded, though she didn’t know where he was going with this.

  “I need you to keep quiet about this, alright? Don’t tell anyone about the man in the tunnel, about what he looked like. This is very important—no one but me. Do you understand?” he said. He got down to her level and took her shoulders in his hands. “This is a secret between you and the Mekai.”

  Just then, a commotion could be heard ringing through the hallway. Voices were echoing down the corridor, coming in their direction. Bethany thought she heard Dormael’s voice, and she felt a wild surge of relief.

  “Bethany,” the Mekai said, shaking her back to reality. “Promise me!”

  “I promise,” she nodded. “Just me and you.”

  The Mekai smiled and ruffled her hair, not unlike the way Dormael did.

  “Smart girl,” he said. “From now on, when someone asks about it, you just keep quiet. I’ll do the talking, alright?”

  “Alright,” she said.

  Just then, a group of people burst through the door and out onto the platform.

  ***

  “Bethany!” Dormael said, a barrel’s worth of air escaping from his chest. He hadn’t realized that he’d been holding so much in, but his shoulders went slack at the sight of her. She ran down the walkway toward him, and Dormael pushed his way out ahead of the rest of the group. He caught the girl in a fierce hug. “Are you alright?”

  He pushed her out to arms’ length, and ran a critical eye over her. She didn’t have any bruises or apparent injuries, though a haunted look hovered in her eyes. He pulled her into another hug, and then rose to his feet. Bethany sidled close to his leg, putting herself between him and Shawna as the rest of the group strode up to them.

  Victus approached, scowling at the entire scene—or perhaps because Lacelle hovered just at his arm, directing as much cold disdain in his direction as was possible. The two of them had been trading barbed niceties since the woman had met them in the tunnels, bringing the already stressful situation to a boiling point.

  “Hello, little one,” Victus said, crouching down to her level. “My name is Deacon Victus—I’m a friend of your father’s. I need to ask you something about what happened in the tunnels. Is that alright?”

  Bethany sidled further behind Dormael’s leg, peering at Victus with a wary eye.

  “Can’t it wait, Deacon?” Dormael asked. “She’s been down here all day. Hasn’t eaten, and she lost her shoes again.” He said that last over the girl’s head with enough emphasis to show her that he’d noticed her bare feet. The color that rose to her cheeks made him feel a bit of relief—the haunted look in her eyes wasn’t a return to the way she had been after they had taken her from Colonel Grant. The Bethany they had all coaxed out during the last season was still very much here. “Let me get some food in her. I’ll bring her report to you myself.”

  “Dormael, you know it’s important to ask these things when they’re still fresh in the mind,” Victus said. “I’m not going to hurt the girl, for the gods’ sake, I just want to know what happened.”

  “I think your Warlock has a point,” Lacelle said. “The poor dear is frightened—look at her. It couldn’t hurt to act like a person for once, Victus. She’s a little girl.”

  “And I think you should pay more attention to matters that concern you,” Victus said, turning an angry eye in her direction. “This is Warlock business. Don’t you have some old tome to be studying, something about the way ancient people shat in the bushes, or something?”

  Lacelle narrowed her eyes.

  “Oh, I’d much rather stand here and watch you scare little girls. What a big man you are, Victus Tiranan,” she clipped. Dormael thought he heard Shawna utter a chuckle under her breath, but he couldn’t be sure. Victus stared daggers at Lacelle, but he rose from his crouch and backed away.

  “Very well,” he said, holding his hands up for peace. “I’m certainly not here to scare anyone, that’s not what I want. I just want to catch whomever hurt her, that’s all. We’re all on the same side, here.”

  “Aren’t we?” the Mekai said, choosing this moment to turn from something he’d been studying on the table. Dormael had seen him, of course, but he’d only been concerned with Bethany. Now that the moment was over, the Mekai walked over to join the conversation.

  Everyone offered him a short bow. Shawna echoed the gesture after a moment’s hesitation, but executed her own bow with more grace than any of them, save maybe Lacelle. The Mekai nodded in return, and offered Shawna a genuine smile. Then, he turned his eyes on Victus.

  “That was a question,”
the Mekai said. “I said—aren’t we?”

  “Honored One?” Victus asked.

  “On the same side,” the Mekai replied. Dormael thought he saw a tightening around the eyes of the Mekai, but he couldn’t be sure. The light in the room was pulsating in time with the Crux, as the various runes around them glowed with magic.

  “Of course,” Victus nodded. “I can wait until the girl is seen to. Have you been filled in, Honored One?”

  “I’ve learned a very great deal,” the Mekai said. “Bethany and I have had quite the long conversation—haven’t we, dear?” The girl smiled up at the Mekai and nodded, and the old man winked at her. “Such a delightful child. As bright as any I’ve ever taught. I remember all of their faces, you know. Every one of them.” He turned an opaque look on Victus. “I remember every one of them.”

  “So, you know of the body in the tunnels?” Victus asked in a cautious tone. Doubtless he thought the old man was simply commiserating, but Dormael wasn’t so sure. D’Jenn’s accusations against Victus rang in his mind, twisting his interpretation of what he was seeing. Was the Mekai suspicious?

  Maybe I’m just overreacting.

  “I know,” the Mekai nodded. “It saddens me. This is the first killing in the Conclave in over fifty years. The one responsible for this should be ashamed of themselves.” Dormael’s hand tightened on Bethany’s shoulders, a surge of anger rising in his chest. Surely anyone could see that Bethany had been defending herself!

  Mekai’s eyes, though, stayed locked on Victus.

  Maybe I’m not overreacting.

  The moment stretched on for an uncomfortable second.

  “I’ve looked into this already,” the Mekai said, breaking the spell. “Interviewed the girl already. I’m satisfied with what she has told me, and the evidence she has presented. What I need from the Warlocks, Deacon, is to investigate this person that attacked her. The poor dear couldn’t see his face, but he attacked her with magic. Above all, we need to keep this quiet. No one can know until you’ve gotten to the bottom of this. Understood?”

  “I will oversee the investigation myself, Honored Mekai,” Victus said with a bow.