White Mage

by Jolie Jaquinta

  Chapter 42

  Skating Away

  The three met on the repaired quayside. The large granite slabs were warm from the sun. Business was still disrupted and they were left in relative peace.

  “The day turned out nice after all, don't you think?” said Lilly. She sat looking at the people moving about, the ships on the water, and the fish in the water. Jesca looked out over the water, towards a distant mountain. Bianca stared at her hands in her lap. “The clouds were kind of threatening this morning, but it's all cleared up now.” Jesca grunted something non-committal.

  Undeterred, Lilly produced a box of pastries from a large bag and offered them around. Neither of her companions took notice. “They're really quite good,” she said. “Not the usual from Via Michael. I picked them up at the soup kitchen the gods set up for those whose homes haven't been rebuilt. They said Grania made them herself.”

  Bianca looked at the pastries suspiciously. “Gods? Within the city limits?”

  “It's OK,” said Jesca. “After our rampant deicide, the surviving gods proved quite ready to accept our original truce.” Jesca idly looked at the box. “They've been quite helpful. Greywind says that one of the night gods has even been taking on some of the anti-looting patrols.”

  “It's fine,” said Bianca, less agitated. “It wasn't me.”

  “Oh?” said Jesca, distantly.

  “It wasn't me who killed all the gods. It was the Ævatar,” said Bianca.

  “But that was you,” said Lilly. “It had your Soul. The Will that motivated it was just a logical progression from the Will you had imposed on it. The Animus was just magic.”

  Bianca glared at her. “If it's me, than who am I?”

  “You're you too,” said Lilly, unconcerned. “It's your Will and your Animus. Lacking a Soul doesn't make you any less you than it did me or the countless troglodytes in the Underground.”

  “And you think the Ævatar is still me?” asked Bianca.

  “Of course,” said Lilly. “It still has your Soul. But the Will has wound down, so it doesn't do much.”

  “But it could,” said Jesca.

  “Oh yes,” said Lilly. “It still has the vortex and converter inside of it. Quite a lot of power.” She nodded at Bianca. “Quite clever. I look forward to working out the phrases behind that and copying it.”

  “We can't turn it off then,” said Jesca.

  “No,” said Lilly. “But without a Soul, it should be a snap for Bianca to ride it again.”

  Bianca shuddered. “Not likely.”

  Jesca shook her head. “I really hope we never need to fight a foe that we need that sort of power for.” But as she said it, she was looking back towards Mount Gerakovouni.

  “Looks like The Book of Creation was a dead end,” said Bianca glumly. “Rose said it wouldn't lead anywhere. What did they write it for then?”

  “Oh, right,” said Lilly. “That.”

  Bianca and Jesca both turned to look at her.

  “It occurred to me the other day,” said Lilly. “I guess it is kind of obvious in retrospect.”

  “You've worked out the purpose of The Book of Creation?” asked Bianca.

  Lilly shrugged. “Seems likely.” She ate the last bite of her pastry and brushed off her hands. “As far as we can tell, when a Human, Elf, Dwarf or other creation of the Ancient Elves is made, there is a sort of vacuum inside of it that either attracts a Soul, or causes one to be spontaneously created. That doesn't happen for any creatures other than these. And, although we've made many animals and hybrids from magic, its never happened to one of those either.” She had drawn some stick figures in the dust. “But the Ævatar has such a Soul cavity. It's very large, very strong, and attracts any Soul that is near it.” She drew a circle in the middle of the biggest stick figure. “I think if the original mage had got it right, or we had fixed it right, then the cavity would have caused a Soul to spontaneously be created.” She filled in the circle.

  “What would be the point of that?” said Jesca.

  Lilly blinked. “Then we would have achieved something that only the Ancient Elves had achieved. We would have equaled our creators.”

  “So you think the book is a kind of test?” asked Bianca. “To see if we are ready to join them.”

  Lilly shrugged. “Rose doesn't think so. Maybe Swan did. Or maybe it was a joke of his.”

  “Maybe we'll be ready to join them when we find their jokes funny,” said Jesca, morosely.

  They contemplated this for a while. Lilly rubbed out the drawings. She then proffered the box again. “You really should try these. You will regret it if you don't.”

  She was so insistent; the other two gave in, reluctantly.

  “Yes,” said Jesca, after a bite or two. “These are better.”

  They chewed in silence and listened to the water slap the dock side.

  “If The Book isn't part of their plan,” said Bianca, “then they don't care about us becoming their equals. What do they want then?”

  “For us to surpass them, of course,” said Lilly. For a second time Bianca and Jesca turned to looked at her. Lilly shrugged apologetically. “It's like Moss, out in the waste,” she nodded at Bianca. “Seeking for a pattern to create life, that then creates more life. In such a way to fill the whole waste with the life of his creation.” She paused to dust out the pastry crumbs from the box to the water. “If we, as their creation, can grow and expand, survive our cataclysms, and so forth, then we will spread their life all over.” A school of fish had gathered and fought for the sinking crumbs, with increasing violence.

  “Maybe the book is relevant then,” said Bianca, slowly. “If we can not only increase, but also propagate more creations, it would be as if Moss's simple life was growing trees and forests.”

  “That is... just too big of a thought for me to take in right now,” said Jesca, shaking her head.

  “Especially on a morning as nice as this,” agreed Lilly. She fished in her bag once more. “Anyone for skating?”

  Bianca looked at the large bulky boots she had produced with confusion. “Are those ice skates?” Lilly nodded.

  “They would probably get upset if we froze the harbor again,” said Jesca, gently.

  “Yes,” said Lilly, strapping them to her feet. “I thought that might be the case. So I worked on a little spell.” She climbed carefully down a ladder and stepped out onto the water. Ice appeared there, radiating from where the skates touched the surface. “See!” she called up. Carefully, she pushed off, and slid a few steps.

  “Amazing,” said Jesca quietly, and waved. They watched her move about, slowly gaining confidence after many falls. “She's come a long way.”

  “We've all traveled a long distance,” said Bianca wearily.

  “Yes,” said Jesca, looking off into the distance again. “I'm not sure it is all forward.”

  Bianca stared into her lap again. “There is much blood on my hands.”

  “No,” corrected Jesca. “I am the Queen. I give the orders. I bear ultimate responsibility.”

  Bianca shook her head. “Do you remember what Scioni said? A soldier should never follow an order because it is their duty. If they disagree with an order, they have the right to refuse. He wanted no followers who were not completely behind his objectives. Every one of us in this enterprise bears the burden of responsibility.”

  Jesca sighed deeply. “Then I really do hope that there is a goal to all of this.”

  Beneath them Lilly skated on, waving to a fishing boat full of gawkers she passed.

  Afterword

  Thank you for reading “White Mage,” the second book in the Six Books of Magic series.

  The third book, Black Warrior focuses on Winter. She is the child of Devonshire, the god killer. His birth father was Othr, the last god of a destroyed people, killed by his mother shortly after his conception. After birth, his Mother also killed the daughter of the sea god Atlantica and was forced to give up Winter to fostership with him in reco
mpense. Now on the cusp of adulthood, Winter finds his loyalties pulled between those of his mother’s people, and his foster people. If that wasn’t hard enough, he’s also plagued by mysterious dreams he can only conclude come from the long dead people of his father. The opening chapter of Black Warrior is included here.

  Books in this series:

  Black Warrior (forthcoming)

  Green Princess (forthcoming)

  Blue Pawn (forthcoming)

  Do you have questions about this book, the series, want to know what went on off stage, or before the events chronicled? The characters in the book are available to answer anything you might ask. Please post your questions on the Facebook page below and they will reply, in persona.

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  Black Warrior, Chapter 1

  Coronation

  The sea-god Atlantica lowered his pearl studded crown onto the head of Winter and proclaimed “With this I crown you Surge of the Northern Seas”. Winter stood as tall as his young frame would allow, but even so he only came up to the broad chest of Atlantica. His black hair floated in a nimbus around his head, swaying with the motion of ocean currents around him.  Complementing this he wore a simple black cape, affixed magically to his shoulders, and brief black shorts, with subtle silver highlights. The rest of his body was exposed, as clothing and ornamentation was uncommon under the seas.

  “As bearer of this crown,” responded Winter, “I promise to uphold the duty it represents: to protect, represent, and dignify those under its domain, until such a time as one whose birthright it is may bear it. So I swear to you, the new Lord of All Waters.” He bowed his head and spread his arms, but did not go on his knees before Atlantica. When he finished his obsequience, their eyes met and locked.

  There was no love lost between them. Winter's mother had killed Atlantica's eldest child. He, in turn, had demanded Winter be fostered in the court of the Northern Seas to replace his lost child, and also as guarantor that no similar incident be repeated. His life amongst him had been made miserable by Atlantica's surviving bully of a child, Balanoptera. The tensions between Winter's people, and Atlantica's rose to the point where Balanoptera was sent as a pawn in a distracting assassination attempt against Devonshire, Winter's mother, precipitating the war between the gods and Romitu.

  Romitu was powerful, and with the aid of an ancient battle machine, was able to subdue the gods of the Romitu homeland. However, this was too much of an affront and the normally fractious gods of all peoples rallied to this indignity and prepared to put these people back in their place.

  But an unexpected thing happened. The battle machine, when faced with obliteration, consumed the Soul of its controller and developed a life of its own. More than a giant simulacrum of a human being, it became one, but with immensely magnified power, strength and tenacity. With vicious brutality, it hunted down every single one of the originally spawned gods that took to the field that day and consumed them. It then fell silent again, and hadn't stirred since.

  An armistice was declared and terms for peace were quickly agreed. Both sides were in shock over what had happened. The remaining lesser gods stepped  into a more active role helping their living followers, working hand in hand with Romitu on projects that they saw in their common interest. Each side went through great pains to foster this cooperation and to ensure that their powers were used to everyone's benefit, and not for further animosity.

  Winter was now caught up in one of the 'grand bargains' of those times. The Water Bearer had been one of the principles of the Romitu pantheon. The natural successor was Atlantica, but his son's complicity in starting the war made this awkward. So, in return for Romitu not objecting to his elevation, he agreed to fostering his son to Devonshire, for an education in tolerance of surface dwellers and to guarantor his good behavior. His only remaining progeny was his foster son, Winter, who would ascend the throne he was vacating.

  It was an excellent diplomatic solution. Which meant that all involved felt uncomfortable.

   

  The moment passed and cheers erupted from the assembled court. Winter raised his arms and surveyed his new subjects. Those who had looked disdainfully on him for his entire childhood clapped politely. Anyone who had any influence was being taken with Atlantica to his new court in  Lake Larius beneath the Mountain of the Gods. Those who had just flowed with the current of the court were happy enough to flow in the new direction it was going. Many who feared reprisals from Romitu were actually pleased that someone so highly connected was to be their leader. It was a clear indication that they felt the Northern Seas were important.

  The Tritons, however, were genuinely pleased. They cavorted and cheered and waved in honest delight. Winter had shown a genuine interest in their history. He had ushered in academics from the surface to explore and restore the extensive ruins built by their people. Since the fall of the gods, rumors were rife of him being romantically involved with one of their own. Certainly, with him at the helm, their lot could only improve.

  And then there was the small delegation from the surface, to give their approval and blessing to the transfer for power. First and foremost was his mother, beaming at him proudly and clapping the strongest. She dressed in her Elven finest, with no thought to underwater custom. She had a path of space around her, as her reputation as a god-killer was well known in court and only bolstered by recent events. Penelope, the teacher at the prestigious Scioni Academy of Magic who had shown the most interest in local history, mingled with the rest. She dressed in local attire which looked quite odd on her Orcish frame. She had even convinced her mother, an Underground antiquarian, to attend. His Triton history teacher, Charonia, had hit it off with her quite well and the two were inseparable.

  The clapping broke off into general celebration as the crowds began to mingle and the feast was revealed. To his surprise, Winter felt Atlantica's hand on his shoulder. He turned to look up into his eyes and, not being the center of attention anymore, both of their gazes has softened.

  “I love these people,” said Winter, haltingly. “I will do my best by them.”

  “I love them too,” said Atlantica. “No matter how far away my court, you can count on my unquestioned aid for them when needed.”

  Winter returned his clasp and the two parted.

   

  With a pointed glance, Winter offered his arm to Cindarina. She glided up, a bit hesitantly, but slipped her arm in his anyway. It wasn't an Underwater custom, as the people here rarely touched, but he was happy to break with tradition in this regard. He turned with her and began to circulate.

  “I'm not sure the time is right for a statement like this,” said Cindarina in hushed tones. “We don't have to be secret, but the crown is now yours and I have no official position in court.”

  “Get used to it,” said Winter, from the side of his mouth. “I have no clue what I'm doing.” He bowed formally to a pair of passing Tritons who tittered as they moved on. “You know the names and lineages of everyone here. I need your help to pull this off.”

  “Well,” she said, pursing her lips, “you should be able to handle this one.”

  They had come up to his mother. She looked at him, proudly, but always a little sad. She had birthed him, but his father had been a battle god from a destroyed land. The General she served had uncovered references in old books of a great Kingdom to the North. Several of the 144 who arose to godhood after banishing the New Magic from the land came from there. He sent her with an expedition there only to find desolation, ruins, and Othr, wandering aimlessly alone. When they had banished the magic that had brought about the first cataclysm and as
cended to godhood, they also banished their ability to remember things for more than a hundred years or so. She had bedded him and then, at his insistence, battled him the next day and gave him the peace of death in combat. Only later had she found she was pregnant, and magical examination reveal that Winter contained the reincarnated Soul of that god. It seemed he inherited his physiology as well. He had grown up as quick as a human. Entirely as a human. Not Elven, or one of the rare Half-Elves. As such his mother was never quite prepared for the age he was.

  “Well done, my son. Well done,” she said. Her normally gruff voice was even rougher than usual. He suspected she was choked up over the whole thing.

  He bowed to her. “I probably have you to thank more than my own merits,” he said, lightly.

  “Not at all,” she said, and poked him forcefully in the shoulder. “You stood by my shoulder and fought against the gods. You raised the alarm of the attack, and foiled the assassination on my own life.” She turned and bowed deeply to his companion. “Don't worry, Lady Cindarina,” she said in a stage whisper. “I am not forgetting your own pivotal role in all that. I'm just trying to bolster the lad's confidence!”

  “Thank you,” Cindarina replied in kind. “I've been trying all morning and could use the help.”

  “Hey!” said Winter, miming being upset at their collaboration.

  “Don't mind me. You two go circulate,” said Devonshire, waving them off. “I'll be at the bar with Greywind.”

  “Is Greywind here?” said Winter, eagerly looking around. “Where is that miscreant?”

  “Probably in a corner somewhere testing out how well his loaded dice work underwater,” Devonshire said, shaking her head. “I'll chase him up and send him to pay his respects.” She moved off after a quick hug.

  “I told you Mom likes you,” said Winter. “She wouldn't gang up with you against me if she didn't.”

  “When it comes to your surface friends, I have no clue what I am doing,” said Cindarina, laughing.

  “Well, then, this should be good,” said Winter, as Penelope approached with her mother and Charonia in tow. “Penny!” he greeted her fondly. “I'm so glad you could come.”

  Penelope executed an intricate gesture that sent a swirl of currents over him. Her mother followed suit, and after a pause and with a pleasantly surprised grin so did Charonia. She then addressed Winter in a series of resonant sounds and clicks.

  Winter squinted his eyes in concentration. He knew enough to recognize the language as Triton. Normally he could passably understand it, but, knowing Penelope, he guessed that she was using either a formal or archaic mode that was quite beyond him. He racked his brains and replied with what he hoped was “You honor me” in the vernacular mode.

  Penelope continued, without a pause, and appeared to be introducing her mother. The one word that was clearly not in Triton was 'Roxanne', which he took to be her name. Roxanne made a much longer statement without a hitch. He had heard many rumors of Penelope's mother. Most of them that she was infinitely more scary and skilled than her daughter. Right now, Winter believed every single one of them, given how completely he was outmaneuvered by them.

  But Cindarina came to his aid, responding to them. He recognized much of what she said from common Triton, but she did seem to have some grasp of the honorific bound mode they were speaking. They continued back and forth for some time and Winter was beginning to feel left out when Charonia caught his eye and gave him a quick wink. Obviously they were all having fun. And, since it didn't appear to be at his expense, there was no reason not to let it continue.

  He stopped trying to follow the conversation and looked more widely around the room. There was an immediate circle of Tritons watching the exchange with approval. In another corner was Atlantica, patiently receiving the tearful farewells of those who favored him, but he did not favor enough to take with him. Most of the rest mingled in their usual couplings exchanging the usual gossip. The unprecedented occasion did not perturb the usual interactions of the court.

  Cindarina nudged him and he attention returned to their expectant faces. “You honor me” he repeated again, smiling widely and bowing deeply. “See,” he said to Cindarina as they moved off, “I couldn't have done it without you.”