"She is." Miro’s expression grew pensive.
"But she’s already in love…"
"Yes, she told me."
"She told you?"
"She said she loves another, but he doesn’t love her in return."
"Oh. I see," said Ella, looking out the window.
"She wants you to stand with her at the wedding, Ella."
"Me? No. No, Miro, not that. Never."
"Ella, she’s your friend. She went to Dunholme, alone, to get a healer for you. She was almost killed by a couple of hunters who made sport with her. You know where she got that mark on her right ear? You must stand with her; it is an honour."
"No, Miro. No. How could I ever…? No."
Miro decided to leave it alone for now. "I heard you did some amazing things at the Academy. They say you’re the next High Enchantress."
"I’ll never go there again," Ella said firmly. She wouldn’t meet Miro’s eyes.
Miro sighed.
"I’m sorry, Ella. It must have been tough here. I expected to return to a warm welcome and an order for more cherl for Brandon. Instead I returned to find he was gone. And you were so sick. You terrified me, Ella. You were so fragile, like when you were younger. I never told you, but Brandon said you were sick for months after our parents died. Please, don’t do that again."
"I… I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry."
For a moment they sat, silent. Miro could tell Ella was drawing away, the way she sometimes did. Putting that solid wall up again, where he couldn’t get in.
"But tell me, how was the journey? What happened?" she said.
"It was… eventful." Miro remembered again the lust, the fear, the blood, and the aftermath.
"You can tell me more than that. The ship, what was it like."
Miro took a breath. "It was beautiful, the most graceful ship I have ever seen, I can honestly say that, nothing like our little river boats. The Buchalanti..."
"The Buchalanti! Are you telling me you sailed on one of their ships?"
Miro grinned. "Yes. A storm rider called the Infinity."
"I’m so terribly jealous! What were the Buchalanti like?"
"They were like the sea — solid, yet fluid and graceful. The men and women look a great deal alike. The Sailmaster told me…"
"You spoke with the Sailmaster!"
"Ella, please. I’m trying to tell you…"
They spoke for a long time, Miro telling Ella a more or less complete version of events, keeping it light, leaving out the darker details.
He wasn’t sure what to say about the Chorum, so he glossed over it. Yet his mind wandered, his eyes saying more than his words.
With the Emperor’s peace broken — the Primate’s protection meaningless — most of the delegations had left the city with alarming speed, seeking the safety of their own borders. With their Lexicon lost and loremaster killed, Raj Halaran had been seriously weakened.
High Lord Tessolar had offered the Halrana lords passage on the trader ship, but the proud Legasa had politely declined. Tessolar reaffirmed the Alturan commitment to the Ring Forts, while High Lord Legasa again pushed for more decisive action.
Lord Marshall Devon, the commander of Altura’s forces, had stayed in Tingara. His task was to buy the allied houses the time they needed to prepare for any coming confrontation.
"Do the men really all have their heads shaved in Seranthia?"
"Not all of them, only the loyalist Tingarans."
"But isn’t everyone in Seranthia a Tingaran?"
Miro paused, unsure of how to explain it to someone who only really knew Sarostar.
"Not really, no. There are people from all over the world, Builders from Torakon. Veznans, even many Alturans, although you wouldn’t know it to speak to them. They’ve spent so long in Seranthia even their accent has changed."
"What are they doing in Seranthia?"
Miro wondered how to explain the sheer volume of goods passing through the ports and trade routes of Seranthia, the immense wealth of the merchants. "Buying and selling goods, negotiating for services. Administering the city and the realm."
"It sounds amazing. I wish I could go there and see it for myself."
"It is amazing. It’s also sad though."
"Sad? What do you mean?"
Miro thought of the beggars and the desperate hawkers. The filthy streets and the old men and young children sleeping on the street. The streetclans whose only law was violence.
"I don’t know. I can’t really explain it."
~
AUTUMN slipped steadily into winter. At the Academy the centurion trees in the Great Court lost more and more of their leaves until they took on a skeletal appearance. Boaters on the Sarsen became rare as people travelled the river less — only as a means to hurriedly get from one place to another. The lights of the Crystal Palace came on earlier as nightfall moved forward in the day. The chill night air lost the heady scent of flowers and trees, becoming crisp and odourless.
~
ELLA was preparing a mug of cherl from the package Miro had brought earlier. She knew he would be home at any moment and wanted it to be ready for his arrival, so he could quickly wash after the day’s exertions and spend time with her talking on the porch.
Amber hadn’t been able to spend as much time with Ella lately. She still never spoke about the wedding preparations, but Ella had found out from Miro that the wedding was scheduled for the next month. Several times Ella had caught Amber about to speak, but her friend had swallowed and said nothing, instead talking about the markets, or the change of the season.
Looking out into the forest, Ella saw Miro rising up the last few steps onto the porch. He looked exhausted, covered with sweat and grime. He stopped to lean for a moment on a railing, taking a deep breath before smoothing his face and putting on a forced smile.
"Ho, Ella," he said. Sometimes she waited, but he never asked her about her day.
"Ho, Miro," she smiled.
Rather than entering the house, he stood silently for a moment on the porch, quietly regarding her.
"What is it?" she said.
Ella handed him the mug. Miro put it straight down without even realising he had done so. He just stood there, looking at her.
"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Ella, I’ve brought someone to talk to you."
"You haven’t. Miro, what are you…"
Ella broke off when a tall, willowy figure emerged from the darkness. It was a woman, her steps stately, her manner accepting deference without question. She wasn’t old, but her age was high enough to be indeterminate. Her skin was unlined, but the penetrating grey eyes had seen much, experienced much.
The woman wore a shimmering green silk dress with a hood over her hair. The fabric was covered with arcane symbols, so tiny they were almost indistinguishable from one another. The matrices were the most complex Ella had ever seen. The runes glowed softly silver, giving the woman an ethereal, ghostly presence.
As the woman stepped from the shadows she pulled back her hood. Long silver hair spilled down to her waist like flowing water, straight and lustrous.
Ella gasped. There was only one person this could be. She had never met her, never seen her, had only heard her name discussed in hushed tones. Even the masters altered their voices when they said her name, as it to say it in a rough tone would indicate disrespect.
"High Enchantress Evora Guinestor," Ella breathed. She dropped to one knee and touched her lips with her finger tips, resting them there for a full breath, before touching them again to her forehead.
"Rise, child," said the woman with gravity.
Ella slowly stood. The High Enchantress looked carefully about. Miro deferentially offered her a chair. She sat, the folds of her dress flowing to the floor, her hands in her lap.
"I will leave you," Miro said. With a final glance he turned away, slipping into darkness.
"You have not been attending your classes, Ella," the rega
l figure spoke, her voice precise.
Ella said nothing. She didn’t know what to say.
"Do you think you have learned all the Academy has to teach you? You are skilled enough, is that it?"
Sitting here, looking at this woman, whose dress bore more skill than Ella believed possible, she felt nothing but shame.
"No, no, High Enchantress. Nothing like that."
"Knowledge is dangerous, Ella. I think you, more than anyone, should be aware of this. The knowledge you possess now, is dangerous. You are an incomplete instrument. Is that the way you wish to be?"
"No, High Enchantress."
High Enchantress Evora shook her head. "You are too proud, Ella. It was your pride that led you to do that foolish thing. It is your pride that is preventing you from returning to face the people you hurt, to show yourself to the world and acknowledge ‘Yes, I did this thing. It was foolish. I am sorry.’"
"No, that’s not it. I made such a terrible mistake, I hurt everyone. How can I continue to live the same life? My presence alone must be a pain to everyone."
"That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what lets you keep hurting yourself, and hurting the people around you. It is not true. If you look deep into your heart, truly look, you will see that it is pride." The woman’s glare was like a razor. "Yes, pride. Your pride. I’ve been watching you, Ella. You are the young woman who stood in front of the final year’s lore students, the brightest young minds in Altura, and showed them that you were the best of them all. You are the young woman who has the most potential I have ever seen. A little pride is deserved?"
Ella blushed, caught somewhere between pleasure and shame.
"Yet you sit out here on the edge of Sarostar in self-imposed exile. Why? Pride. Your house needs good enchanters, the best enchanters, but you don’t want to help your house. Your brother needs you — people need someone to lean on themselves sometimes — but you don’t want to help him."
Ella hated this. It made her sound so selfish. She just wanted the berating to end.
"Is something I am saying incorrect? I don’t believe anything I am saying is untrue — do you?"
"Please, don’t make me go back there," Ella sobbed.
"Make you? Girl, we have better things to do than force students to learn what we have to teach. The life of an enchantress is a life of discipline. You have one final chance. The Academy leaders will allow you one more opportunity to join your fellows, finish your studies, and graduate in a month along with the rest of your peers. I think you have been punished enough. You have learned the dangers of essence, better than anyone I would say. You still have a chance to learn the joys of real enchantment. Of creation. Do you want that chance?"
"I… I think I do." Ella met the woman’s gaze. "I do."
"Good." High Enchantress Evora rose. "You will be expected at class, the day after the morrow."
"Not tomorrow?"
"No, I’m afraid not. I believe you have been punished enough, but that doesn’t satisfy everyone. Tomorrow you will present yourself at the Great Court at noon. The entire staff and student body will be present to witness your punishment. Tomorrow, you are to be wracked."
~
ELLA held her head high and her back erect. She was terrified. Every part of her being wanted to leave this terrible business behind. Instead she had put on her green woollen student’s gown, a familiar weight about her body, and presented herself at the Academy of Enchanters at the appointed hour.
Even at previous graduation ceremonies she hadn’t seen so many Academy staff and students in one place before. The masters sat in a row, a long table of redwood planks in front of them while the students congregated, standing in rows and columns, a sombre mass of youth. The High Enchantress was not present. She was rarely seen outside the Crystal Palace or the Green Tower.
Ella had never seen an actual wracking before, and couldn’t believe it was her being wracked. She still felt like she must be in some terrible nightmare, from which she would wake at any moment.
To the side of the masters stood the Block — a massive square of black iron, stern and unyielding. It was about three feet in height and twice the length of a man on each side. Ella tried not to look at it but couldn’t help herself. She could see the faint outlines of runes on its surface.
Ella stood now in front of the masters. Their expressions were grave.
"Ella," began Master Merlon, the most senior. "For breaking into a master’s workroom, and for the misuse of Academy essence, you are summoned here this day."
Ella, her eyes downcast, stood firm, her heart racing.
"We, the masters of the Academy of Enchanters, have decided your sentence, to be carried out immediately." He paused, looking around at the students. "For misconduct leading to the death of Talwin Horstan, you are sentenced to be wracked."
Master Merlon placed two wooden cuffs on the table in front of him. "It is to be a full wracking." He placed two more wooden cuffs on the table. "May the pain you feel this day lead you away from future misdeeds. May the Lord of the Sky guide your path away from error."
Ella knew what was expected of her. She walked forward and took the first manacle — an ancient loop of wood engraved with runes.
"Sum-pu-nala," she said. The loop sprung open along a previously invisible seam. Ella put the loop around her ankle. "Sum-sun." The loop closed.
After her ankles Ella locked the loops around her wrists. They felt heavy. Her breath started to deepen and her heart raced. She tried to show nothing and to face her punishment with honour.
In unison, the masters nodded. It was part of the process: Ella had to commence the punishment herself; they were only spectators.
With determined steps Ella walked over to the Block. She could see the runes more clearly now; they hadn’t been activated yet, but the places where she was to put her wrists and ankles were clearly marked.
Taking a deep breath, Ella slowly lay on her back on the Block, gazing up at the blue sky, watching the soft wisps of cloud move in a gentle breeze. The students and faculty looked on as Ella prepared herself, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
"Ak-kara," she cried.
The Block flared to life, the runes glowing red, blue, silver, and green. The cuffs lit up in sympathy, flaring red. The link was made with the cuffs and suddenly it began. Ella’s body was now under the Block’s control
At first it was just an uncomfortable sensation of being stretched. Then Ella felt her back start to twist, her bones rubbing one against the other. Sweat broke out on her brow as her limbs felt near breaking point.
They said that even Stormhand, the bladesinger traitor, had screamed after two minutes of full wracking.
Not a sound came out of Ella’s mouth. Her flared nostrils and wide eyes were the only sign she showed of the pain she was in. She figured she owed Talwin that much, to bear the pain in silence.
17
There is a huge statue in the north of Altura. Half-buried in the earth, it is so old that the writing on its base can no longer be read. It makes the Sentinel in Seranthia look puny in comparison.
— Toro Marossa, ‘Explorations’, Page 51, 423 Y.E.
"IT’S your turn to bring up the water," Miro said.
Ella had just been thinking the same thing about him. It was tough, with just the two of them.
"My turn? It’s your turn."
Miro sighed. "Ella, I do enough around here. Don’t make this into an issue."
He twisted and turned in his wooden chair, stretching, arching his back. Miro grimaced as it made a painful cracking sound. He hadn’t spoken much of his training lately, but he had been finding less and less time to spend at home. His body was changing dramatically — he was always tall and lean, but now his shoulders had grown; the muscles in his chest were rigidly defined.
"You think things are tough for you? I’ve got so much work to catch up on I’m drawing runes in my sleep!"
"Just get the water, Ella."
"No! You
get the water."
Miro took a deep breath. "It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll get the water."
Miro stood up. He looked so tired. There were lines under his eyes. Blademaster Rogan must be running him hard.
Ella stood also. "No, you sit down, I’ll get the water."
When she returned, wending her way through the forested path with two brimming buckets of fresh water, Ella saw her older brother had fallen asleep in his chair.
Without knowing where the idea came from, she upended one of the buckets over his head.
Miro yelped like a dog in a catfight, caught completely unaware. He blinked up at her, shaking droplets from his dark hair while Ella stood over him, bent with laughter.
Quicker than the eye, Miro leapt forward, grabbing the second bucket from her hand. Completely surprised, she didn’t stand a chance. They were both soon standing on the porch, laughing and dripping wet.
"Lord of the Sky, you’re fast!" said Ella. His gentle, protective nature belied such ferocious strength. Such speed.
"Miro, I have an idea," she said seriously.
"What is it?"
"Next week, maybe we could take a day, hire one of the riverboats? It’s their quiet period now so we could get one for a good price. I know, I’ve checked."
Miro’s face fell.
"We could see if Amber’s free. We could spend the whole day together, the three of us."
"Ella, I’m leaving."
"We could visit the Poloplats early in the day, while the best produce is still available — get some sourmelons, maybe a bottle of honeywine, if we have the money."
Suddenly Ella realised what Miro was saying.
"What?"
"Ella, one of the bladesingers with us at Seranthia spoke up on my behalf. Huron Gower, his name is. I’ve been accepted into bladesinger training."
Ella fought to make the correct response. "Miro, that’s fantastic! You, a bladesinger! I can’t believe it!"
She could tell he could see right through her.
"I won’t be around for a long time. I’ll be gone, for at least three months. Maybe a lot longer."
The Evermen Saga 01 - Enchantress Page 15