“Do not tempt me to destroy you, human,” she said. “We will work together to bring the glory of S’ru to this miserable place, but you will not treat me as a servant you keep here to bring you drink or to satisfy your other desires.”
It was only from conversation with this human that she even knew what they called themselves. In truth, he had provided her with an abundance of information about this place. It could be said without exaggeration that nearly everything she knew about this world came from this man.
“We both know that your god has told you to obey me.” The pompous creature sat back in his chair and drank out of the goblet in his hand. She would show him to give her respect. One day, she would.
But he was right. She did not have the grounds to simply disregard what he said. That didn’t mean it could not be discussed, though.
“I see no need to search out the Gneisprumay,” she said. “My task is to prepare this world for S’ru’s coming. My troops should be subjugating the weak creatures of this place and spreading the darkness, not searching out one person. If we focus on our task, the One will come looking for us. He will have to face us in our own place, and we will have the advantage. We will eliminate him and then complete our work.”
“That’s a nice dream,” the man said. It was so difficult to understand him sometimes. He spoke a strange dialect of the one language. She had to watch his mouth and concentrate on what he said at times for her to make sense of it. “But your logic is flawed.”
“I have lived a hundred of your lifetimes—”
“And still know nothing of our world,” he interrupted her. “By your reports, your enemy is going west. He is heading for Sitor-Kanda.”
“Sitor-Kanda?” Khrazhti said. How did these creatures butcher her language like this? “Magic’s Home?”
“Yes,” he said. “That is an adequate literal translation. But it’s much more than that. The original name had the sense of ‘the heart of magic’ or ‘the source of magic.’ It was founded three thousand years ago for one purpose: to train the Malatirsay mentioned in our prophecies to be the champion in the end days.”
“So this One would seek power to defeat us there?”
“I believe so. I don’t know if he thinks he is that one mentioned in prophecy or not, but that fact remains that it is a place of power. If he can gain allies there, it is possible they could rally and resist your forces much more effectively than he alone can. Those at Sitor-Kanda do not yet know the full extent of your invasion. If he makes it there, that could change. You do not want that to happen.
“Your primary objective is to kill this enemy of yours so that he cannot rouse the Academy. Once he is dead, you can continue your conquest. By the time Sitor-Kanda knows what you are about, they will be isolated from any allies, and you can surround and destroy them. So, you see, I do know what is best. Listen to me, as your god has commanded you.”
Khrazhti considered the man for a moment. He was knowledgeable, there was no doubt, and he obviously had a measure of power, or he could not have opened a portal to her world.
“Why do you not just open another portal so we can bring more animaru here? With enough, we could swarm across the land and do our work while still hunting down the Gneisprumay.”
For the first time, the man’s smug expression slipped. He took a sip from his goblet to cover his face. “Ah, that. The magic for opening a portal is…difficult. It not only requires a great deal of power, but specific circumstances. I won’t go into the details, but I will not be able to perform the spell again for several months yet. You will have to be satisfied with the troops you have.”
“I see.” So, his power—and his ego—did have limits. “I have one final question. If this one is the Malatirsay that your prophecies foretell, then he will make it to Sitor-Kanda without fail. If that is the sole purpose of the Academy, then trying to stop him from getting there is a waste of effort.”
“Oh, you misunderstand me. The Academy was founded for that reason, yes, and it will fulfill its purpose because the prophecy demands it. However, it matters little with this one because he is not the Malatirsay.”
“He is not? How can you be certain?”
“Because I am the Malatirsay.”
46
“We came much farther south than I had planned on crossing,” Tere Chizzit said. “We’ll have to decide if we want to find a crossing to the north or one farther downriver.”
“I don’t remember passing under any bridges,” Aeden said. “I think I would have seen one if I passed it in the water. I definitely would have noticed if I came upon one while traveling on the bank.”
“Yes, that’s true. I’m really not sure where we are. The closest bridge could be above where we jumped.”
“I don’t like the idea of going back toward the monsters who are after us,” Fahtin said. She glanced nervously at the others, as if she was trying to read their thoughts on the matter.
“I agree with Fahtin,” Aeden said. “I think we should keep traveling south. We’ll hit a bridge eventually, or a place where we can swim across.”
It was easier said than done. As they continued south, the terrain was the same as before, varying from relatively flat to steep cliffs. They had to backtrack several times when they found themselves in small box canyons with no way to climb out. Slowing them even further, the foliage changed from small bushes and scattered trees to thick stands of willow and closely-spaced birch and alder trees that they navigated with difficulty. By midday each day, they were fatigued and had to rest.
Aeden constantly thought of the animaru behind them. Surely they were following them, weren’t they? They knew he was with the group, and they seemed to want him more than anything else. They wouldn’t just give up.
With every sound, every movement he detected as they traveled, he thought they had finally been caught. He was more tired from the constant anxious tension than he was from navigating the land.
“Aeden,” Urun Chinowa said to him as they rested that first day after the party came back together. “What is the nature of your magic?”
The question shocked Aeden. “What do you mean?”
“There are several types of magic in the world. Mine, for example, is based on nature and more specifically on the power from Osulin herself. There is elemental magic, blood magic, and other types of magic that someone from the Academy would be better able to explain to you. What type is yours?”
“I don’t really know,” Aeden said.
“Blood magic, mostly,” Tere Chizzit added, stepping up to where the two were sitting. “There are some other types of spells used by your clan, but it’s mostly blood magic. Life magic. That’s why it affects these creatures, I think. They seem to thrive on death.”
Aeden looked at the blind man, surprised. “How do you know about clan magic?”
“I had a Croagh friend many years ago. He talked about the magic sometimes.”
“Really? Which clan was he from?”
“Oh, it isn’t of importance,” the tracker said. “I don’t like to talk about it. The point is that your magic is pretty specific. It works against the animaru, but not well enough to save your village. I wonder why.”
“Exactly my point,” Urun said. “What is different about your magic compared to the rest of your clan? How did you manage that explosion thing you keep talking about?”
“I don’t really know,” Aeden said again, dropping his eyes to the ground. “I never used magic when I was with them. It’s the reason I was cast out to begin with.”
“It’s the Song,” Raki said. “My Nani says songs have power. The Bhagant itself is a prophecy, but it also includes words of power, she says.”
“It does,” Aeden agreed. “I recognize some of the words as ones used in my magic.”
“And you said that when you did the magical attack that destroyed all those animaru that night, you were singing the Song and you felt the power building,” Fahtin said.
“That’
s right,” Aeden said, “but so what? I’ve been singing parts of the Song each time I use my magic, but I haven’t been able to repeat that attack. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It would be very useful to be able to generate that much power if we get attacked again.”
“The key, I think,” Urun said, “is to practice using the magic, trying to figure out all the different ways it can be utilized. Osulin herself taught me how to use my power. Is there anyone who can teach you?”
Aeden kicked at the grass at his feet. “Probably at the Academy. That’s just another reason to get there.”
“But what if you need to use the magic before then?” Fahtin asked. “Maybe we can help you to figure out how to use it more effectively. There’s no time like the present.” She smiled at him so sweetly, he had to smile back, though he really didn’t feel like smiling.
She did have a point. He had discovered how to infuse the others’ weapons with his power, though that was of limited use because he had to maintain the magic. When he lost his focus, it dissipated, making the weapons mundane again.
In the midst of their travels, Aeden had been doing his exercises and meditations only infrequently. There just wasn’t time to flee for their lives and to continue his practice like normal. He began taking at least a half an hour during each day’s travel to do these things to regain his balance.
He could feel the difference immediately. When he incorporated the Song along with the Raibrech, he felt strangely powerful, not unlike how he felt that night, but not exactly the same either.
He felt as if he was onto something with his new way of thinking. The problem, he thought, was that he didn’t really understand how the magic worked, how it fit into all the other magic of the world. He thought he would mention it to Tere Chizzit, who seemed to know a surprising amount about the world in general.
“Tere,” he said, “how do you know so much about everything?”
The blind tracker laughed at him. Aeden tried to force his face to stay cool, but it heated anyway.
“Sorry to laugh, Aeden. I’m not laughing at you. It’s just that, you see, I’m old. I’ve been around and lived for a fair amount of time. When you do that, you pick things up. Surprising things, sometimes. If you spend a whole day and don’t learn anything new, you should probably consider that day some type of failure.”
It made sense. Aeden himself did like to learn. He’d have to remember what Tere had said. Did he learn something new every day? Well, today he would, if he had anything to say about it.
“You seem to know a lot about magic. Will you tell me about it? I don’t think I understand it.”
Tere looked as if he would laugh again, but made an effort and schooled his face so it was neutral. “Aeden, you have to understand that your question is much larger than you might think.” He paused for a moment, seeming to focus inward. “It’s like asking someone to tell you about love.”
Aeden fidgeted, not looking at Tere, but also not looking at Fahtin and Raki, who had walked over to listen.
“If I were to ask you about love, Aeden, what would you say? How would you explain it to someone who was unfamiliar with the term?”
Aeden opened his mouth, then realized he didn’t know what he’d say, and closed it again.
“What about you, Fahtin?” Tere said. “How would you explain love to someone who was unfamiliar with it?”
“I guess I would have to know what they wanted to know specifically.”
“Yes,” Tere said. “You’re a smart girl.” He turned back to Aeden. “You see, it is such a broad subject, it’s difficult to know where to start. Do you explain the love a mother has for a daughter, the love a man has for his wife, the love of traveling,”—he nodded to Fahtin and Raki—“love of combat? There are many facets, and you could spend a lifetime trying to explain it and still not do an adequate job.”
“Fine,” Aeden said. “I understand. But for your example, one could explain generally what love is. It is affection for, a feeling that makes you want to sacrifice something of yourself for someone or something else, a preoccupation with the target of your love.”
“True, true,” the tracker said, scratching his chin. “Are you looking for a general overview, then, a general explanation of what forces there are in the world that people put under the label ‘magic’?”
“Aye. That will be helpful. Maybe I can glean something that will help me figure out my own magic.”
“I could perhaps do that for you,” Tere said. “Yes, actually, I think I can.”
Urun had come over to the others and they were all settling in. Each of them knew the signs. Tere Chizzit was going to tell a tale, the only way to adequately explain a subject as broad as magic.
47
“Ten times ten thousand years ago,” the tracker said, “Dizhelim was a lonely, barren place. Not too long before that, it was formless, swirling gas and liquid floating in the void. That was when the Power came upon it, drawing its disparate pieces together and melding them into what could be called the soil. But it was still not suitable for any purpose, and so the Power acted again, infusing the dark planet with life.
“Plants, animals, even creatures that cannot be seen by the eye because they are too tiny. All of these the Power caused to be. But something was missing. Some of these creatures thought, though their thoughts were simple. What was needed to balance the world was something more complex, something greater than what had already been created.
“And so were the humans created, all one family, all in peace. These could think and speak and could learn some of the weightier things, should it be necessary in the future.
“But the world still lacked something. It lacked the spark of the Power itself. So the Power split off parts of itself. It was a little thing, to the Power. It was infinite and all-powerful. If you take a piece of something that has no end, what is the loss? So, miniscule parts of the Power were split off, but they were not so small to the new world.
“The Power had observed the creatures upon the world that had been created, watching what they did with their new lives. From these observations, the Power gave parts of different types. To the light was given one type of the magic, to the darkness another. The elements of fire, wind, water, soil, and the aether were given other slivers of the vast store of magical energy. To the movement of the creatures, the things they felt, to all of these were given a measure of power. The greatest share, however, was given to the sounds these creatures made, especially the humans. Speech was a powerful receptacle, but the most power was given to the thing that delighted the Power above all else: music and singing.
“With so much potent energy in the world, the Power knew there must be caretakers, those who could teach the humans, to show them the magic’s proper use, how to live in harmony. Then was the Voordim created, the council of the powerful ones. The mighty. The gods. There were others of high magic as well, but that is for a different tale.
“Finally, the Power was satisfied. To Surus, the chief of the gods, was given the charge to educate and nurture the humans, and Surus, for his part, accepted his responsibility with fervor, and so too did the other gods.
“Each of the gods had powers in their own areas, their own particular magic. The god Alain, master of language, gave to the humans a language of power, Alaqotim, and his consort, Danta, created music. The two together held sway over the greater part of the power of magic in the world, and thus were song and language inextricably linked to the most potent of the spells.
“Everyone—even the smallest child in Dizhelim—knows what eventually happened, but that is not the purpose of this tale. The misuse of magic, the eventual departure of the gods, the loss of much of the magical energy in the world, they have no bearing on what magic is. For that, look no further than the beginning of all things as I have told it.”
The listeners remained quiet as Tere Chizzit finished. “Does that answer any of your questions, young Aeden?” he said.
“Some of your s
tory is wrong,” a voice said from outside the circle of fire light. Weapons were whipped out and everyone spun toward the voice. Everyone but Aeden.
“I wondered when you would show yourself,” Aeden said, putting another piece of wood on the fire.
Aila Ven walked into the light, a smirk on her face. “You didn’t know I was there.”
“I did. I felt you tracking us yesterday. How did you find us?”
The black-clad woman came through the others, each of them putting their weapons back and Tere Chizzit giving her a quizzical look. “I didn’t. You actually crossed my path, and I thought I’d follow you to see what you were up to. Aren’t you supposed to be on some quest or something?”
“Yes,” Aeden said. “Did you see any of the creatures, the black monsters following us?”
Aila shook her dark hair and flipped it over her shoulder, giving Aeden a firm look. “No.”
“It’s dangerous out here, Aila,” Fahtin said. “You shouldn’t be traveling alone like this.”
“I’m not alone. I’m with you.” Her toothy smile made Aeden snort.
“What do you mean what I said was wrong?” Tere Chizzit asked.
“Oh,” Aila said. “You told that story about all the gods. It’s false. There’s only one god, with many different manifestations.”
“Really?” Urun said. “You’re one of those?”
Aila shot another look at the nature priest. “Yes, I am one of those. There is only one god, and his name is Vanda.”
Urun Chinowa laughed. “You’re a Vandal.” He got another heated look.
“We don’t like to be called that,” she said, “not since it has become derogatory.”
“Oh, come now,” Urun said. “You lot were called Vandals for a thousand years. Is not your religion named Vandalism, after your god?”
“Yes, but people like you have made it like a curse. Now people use it to mean someone who damages or steals another’s property.”
“Isn’t that what your church did during the Purgings? Didn’t they destroy and pillage and murder peaceful worshipers of other gods?”
Wanderer's Song (Song of Prophecy Series Book 1) Page 32