White Mage

by Jolie Jaquinta

  Chapter 28

  Coin of the Realm

  Hearth Mother worked her fire. She had dismissed her servants along with Grania and took up her tools. Sparks flew as she repositioned logs, raked ash, and settled a few new branches in strategic spots. She worked, slowly, from her left to her right, edging around the immense hearth. As she gazed into the flames she saw the world spread out before her.

  From worshipers in the capital she took the tenor of the city. From the poorer quarters to the high houses. All had shrines to her. She felt their support, their vague disdain for the new rulers, but without much fire in their hearts. The high city itself had hallowments all over it. But nothing of any importance was conducted there. At least not in consultation with her.

  Those who had inherited the power of Romitu slunk off to dark corners. They did not consult auguries. They erected small little fences to hide their thoughts. Nothing she couldn't penetrate, but it took concentration. However the most pertinent information they hid with distance.

  Her domain was the land of Romitu. Their nation was the most populous in the world, and had ruled over most of the others at one time or another. But they did not worship her as widely in these other kingdoms and she was forbidden to exert power there. Relations were generally cordial, and in this matter, quite cooperative. But the misanthropes went beyond that. Forsaking any civilized nation, they settled their own hovels in the wilderness and waste. To these she was blind, as were all the gods.

  Spies she had. There were those, even in their midst, who kept the gods sacred. Messengers. Scouts. Those who passed beyond and back. But the information that trickled through was scarce. Power she could feel, but the potential for power, or the knowledge of power... that she could not. Her glowing coals could not confirm what Grania had said. Rousing an agent for a more pointed answer would take time, and time they did not have.

  She pursed her lips and watched the fire burn. She took a few more steps and tended it anew. After a few adjustments, she put the poker down and turned from the fire.

  When she turned, though, she was no longer in her hall in her domain. Neither was she wearing the smoky homespun gown. Instead she wore black satin, with panels of stiff damask silk, the color of blood. Fire opals burned from her collars and cuffs and her brown hair floated in a light nimbus around her head. Her eyes, though, still burned with the reflected light of fire.

  She stepped away from the fireplace that burned along one wall of the throne room. The floor was a single, immense slab of pale marble, textured like clouds. The walls were of the same material, gradually softening into actual clouds that arched over the ceiling. She walked, crisply, across the expanse, towards the great throne dominating the room.

  Sky Father was seated there, glowering at the array of attendants and supplicants before him. His frosty skin was bare, but for a kilt of sleet. Muscles rested uneasily under alabaster skin, and blue flames danced in his eyes. His hair was a wild mane of white shot through with blue tinges. His forehead was permanently wrinkled, varying between concern and disapproval. It made a slim change into slight annoyance when he looked up and noted her presence. Nevertheless he stood up and stepped down from his throne, scattering his entourage.

  “Welcome Mother of the Hearth, and Wife to the Sky,” he clasped her and kissed her on both cheeks.

  “Devotion to you, Father of the Sky and Husband to me,” she replied.

  “Please,” said Sky Father, “rest yourself. Did you come to watch the court? It is very busy today, since, as you know, these are tense times.” He looked at her meaningfully.

  “They are tenser than you think,” she said coolly.

  “I'm quite well appraised of the situation,” said Sky Father, staring intently at her. She withstood his stare, unflinching. Seeing this, he inclined his head. “But, perhaps, you come here to bring some trifle to my attention you feel I have missed?”

  “Let us repair to the balcony, my husband,” she said. “Let us look out over your domain and consider.”

  Grumpily he took her arm in his, and the two walked to the edge of the palace. All others held back, understanding this to be a private conference.

  The palace was on the very pinnacle of Mytikas. And the balcony was on the very highest part of the palace. All of the domains of the Romitu gods lay before them and beyond that the world itself. Although distant and mist shrouded, if you looked long upon any one quarter, the mists parted and the view cleared. Night or day, all was revealed as to an eagle flying above.

  “Now what is it you have barged into my court to trouble me with,” said Sky Father, much less formally.

  “What do you see when you cast your all seeing eye down there?” asked Hearth Mother, pointing into the far distance of the human world.

  Sky Father's annoyance increased, but he followed her finger. Beyond the lands of Romitu, beyond Gartica and its great lake, to a huge forest bordering the Orcish lands she pointed. Deep within that forest, in a wide clearing was a town of shining stone. It had many towers. New ones of white, an old one, black, belching smoke. And ancient ones, bent at all angles.

  “It is the barbarian town,” he said impatiently. “Where they skulk and hatch their blasphemous plans. All this I know. Why do you trouble me with it?”

  “But what do you see of it? What do you know of what goes on there?” she asked, insistently.

  “They train troops, they plot and conspire, they engage in foul magics,” he glowered at her. “It is the heart of our enemy. Don't you have better to do than quiz me on the obvious?”

  “Yes, yes, yes. All that is plain and obvious. But how dim is your eye? How many troops do they train? What plots do they conspire to enact? And, most importantly, what foul magics are they bringing to fruition?” she said, critically.

  “I see enough to know they are a danger and need to be dealt with. The specifics do not matter,” he said dismissively.

  “Bah!” she cried. “Your blindness is more in your head than your eyes. The specifics do matter,” she insisted.

  He looked at her, unkindly. “Then, pray tell,” he said, with exaggerated politeness, “specifically what specific do you think, in your wisdom, that I, in my wisdom, am blind to?”

  “In that building, right there,” she said, pointing at the one from which the many white towers rose. “Right now, they are crafting our doom.”

  “And have been for years,” said Sky Father. “It is where they produce this 'New Magic' from. Thank you for your wonderful insight. Will you leave me in peace now?”

  “Mock me not,” she sneered at him. “What they craft now is a new source of power. One that does not derive from the worship of souls. It is a spigot they can turn on, and leave on. And, should the need present itself, to turn up, and up. Whereas we must supplicate the waning devotion of those who worship us. A task that grows harder and harder as their largess grows greater and greater.”

  “Such is not possible,” said Sky Father. “Magic comes from souls. It has been this way always. How can you think otherwise? Where do you know of this from?”

  “Never mind that,” said Hearth Mother, evasively. “You have your secrets, I have mine. What is important is that they do not have it yet. Soon. But not yet.”

  “Not yet?” He crossed his arms and stared long at her. “You mean they do not have it at all. They merely hope to have it.”

  “Their hope is not unfounded. It only relies on their limitless enthusiasm for the profane, which they have in great measure. Ours lies in your ability to bring those you command into some sort of reasonable consensus behind you. This is sorely lacking.”

  “You know it is difficult,” he said, turning his glare into the distance, at the white towers. “When we are at our most critical point, and we need each and every god to join to save us all; that is when each and every god comes up with their own little pet peeve, favor or grievance and holds all to ransom over it.”

  “Cajole them! Threaten them! Shame them!” she cried. “Is i
t not a travesty if the mortals in the world can work with more unity than us, their betters?”

  “Do you not think I've tried?” Sky Father cried, turning back to her. “They are obstinate idiots. Each is interested in their own vainglory and they care not for our own good.”

  “Bribe them,” she said coolly.

  “With what?” he said acidly. “Gold? Jewels? Positions of influence?”

  “Power,” she said simply. “Power that does not derive form the worship of souls. Power they can turn on, like a spigot.”

  Sky Father rolled his eyes. “I am not convinced that this is anything but a demented dream of theirs.”

  “Then work on being convinced,” said Hearth Mother. “It does not matter if it is true or not. Only if you are convinced.”

  “But how will I reward them if it doesn't exist?” he asked.

  “It will not matter after they have helped,” said Hearth Mother. “You can simply declare afterward that, in your wisdom, you have decided that it is not in everyone's best interest to unleash such power on the world. You should probably do that, anyway, even if it does exist.”

  He frowned at her. “I do not like your womanly deceit.”

  “Fine,” she said, waving him away. “Do it your way. Keep using your divine presence to rally the troops, win their hearts, and launch the war. Because that is working so well.”

  He grumbled deep in his belly. “Who else knows of this?”

  “No one who will gainsay you,” she replied.

  “I do not like it,” he said, but with less force.

  “You'll like being in thrall to mere humans less,” she said.

  He snorted. “I didn't say I wouldn't do it.”