“I was trying. You interrupted me.”
“Sorry.”
“Do not be. One does not get answers without asking questions.”
Smiling, she asked, “In that case, Broedi, will you continue your story?”
Wearing a slight smile of his own, Broedi rumbled, “The Celystiela who remained on the mountaintop attempted to return to their divine realm, but discovered that none could remember their home’s name. Like the names of the Cabal, the battle had ripped it from the minds of the Celystiela. Without the lost name, they could not return. Locked from their home, trapped on Terrene, they were destined to remain in the mortal realm. The High Host and the Neither formed a new nation and shaped a new race—the divina—to serve them. Each Celystiela built a great city celebrating his or her own self and that over which they hold dominion. And to this day, that is how things remain. That, uora, is the story of the Locking.”
Kenders was quiet for a time. It was an incredible story, one she would have discounted as a playman’s saga had she heard it from anyone else. Yet, coming from Broedi, the tale rang true. “If they need servants, if they are trapped here, does that mean they are not all powerful, then? Most people in Yellow Mud thought they were.”
“I have asked myself that question more times than I can count,” replied Broedi. “They are powerful, for sure. Very powerful. Yet, they are not above seeking the aid of mortals.” He gazed down at her, a strange look in his eye. “Would an all-powerful being need a mortal’s help?”
She pondered the question but before she could arrive at an answer, Broedi looked up, eyed the sun, and rumbled, “We should find a suitable place to wait for your kaveli.”
Kenders supposed the history lesson was over.
When they reached the next rise in the road, Broedi stopped and looked in all directions.
A gradual slope started at the banks of the river, rose up to meet the road, and continued west to the base of the ridge. Sprawling oaks and bushes filled the land on both sides of the way. Turning toward the ridge, Broedi studied the cliff face. With a grunt and a nod, he headed off the road toward the rocks. “We will wait there.”
Kenders followed him into the trees. The ground cover was thicker than in the forest by Lake Hawthorne making the going slow. Eventually, they broke through the trees and brush, emerging at the base of the cliff. Fallen rocks and boulders littered the area. She stared at one in particular, a frown on her face. It was the size of her house in Yellow Mud.
“Is it safe to be this close?”
Following her gaze to the giant rock, Broedi answered, “Those only fall every few years. Most likely none will come down today.”
“Most likely?”
Broedi smiled and moved off, walking along the base until he found a path to climb. Again, Kenders followed Broedi without question, noting that she and her brothers had been doing a lot of that lately.
Reaching a spot with a clear vantage over the tops of the trees, Broedi turned and scanned the horizons, starting south, sweeping east, and ending north, towards Fallsbottom. Nodding once, he took off his leather satchel, sat on the wide rock and pulled out his engraved bone pipe and smoking-leaf pouch.
Standing atop a rock a few feet lower than Broedi’s stone, Kenders surveyed the valley, her gaze tracing the road they had traveled north and south. From here, they could clearly see anyone headed in either direction. She nodded her approval. “Good spot.”
When Broedi did not say anything, she turned and looked up at him. His slight smile was back. “Thank you, uora. I think it is as well.”
Smiling, she tilted her head back and stared up at the cliff. Layers of tan and gray ran through the exposed rock, some thick with one color, others thin with another. Kenders wondered aloud, “How does something like that happen?”
“The river.”
Kenders turned to regard the river before realizing he had actually been answering her question. As she looked back to Broedi, she felt the crackling of magic and spotted a single orange Strand pop into view. It twisted, curling in on itself a few times, and headed straight for the bowl of Broedi’s pipe. The smoking leaf flared orange, sizzled, and sent up a wisp of smoke. The sweet, cloying smell hit her a moment later, mingling with the smell of green things growing.
Broedi puffed twice, his eyes locked on her, watching. Pulling the bit free of his mouth, he asked, “You saw that, yes?”
Kenders nodded slowly. “Isn’t that dangerous? With the Constables so near?”
“The most capable Fire Mage in all of Terrene could be standing down there on the road and would not have felt that. Much too small.”
Right then, Kenders almost asked him to help her mute what she was. Still, she hesitated. Saying the words aloud somehow made her fate as a mage final. Pretending as if the incident with the Strand of Fire had not occurred, she tilted her head back to stare at the cliff again. “When you said ‘river,’ did you mean to say the river did this?”
“I did. It carved this entire valley.”
Gazing back at the expansiveness below, she asked, “How exactly does water carve rock?”
“Slowly.”
She gave him a look she normally reserved for her brothers when they were teasing her. “I thought you said you don’t mock.”
“I do not.”
A moment skipped past.
“You’re being truthful then?”
Pipe in his teeth, smoke curling out from his mouth, he gave a gentle nod of his head. Her attitude changed from disbelief to amazement.
Gawking at the cliff face, she asked, “How?”
Pulling his pipe free of his lips, he said, “You witnessed what much water can do in a short amount of time. Imagine what a river can do over ages.”
Remembering the wave of water rushing through Yellow Mud, tearing up houses, trees, and people, she lowered her gaze to the boulder. A sorrow-filled echo of helplessness rippled through her. The sense of loss she fought so hard to keep away suddenly swelled inside her.
“I can’t believe they’re gone, Broedi,” muttered Kenders.
He did not ask about whom she was speaking. He knew.
In a soft, gentle voice, the hillman rumbled, “I am sorry for your loss, uora. Truly, I am.” The words were sincere.
She nodded, grateful, but did not say anything in response. She remained quiet, staring blankly at the ground, when the back of her neck tingled the way it does when someone stares. Lifting her eyes, she found Broedi peering intently at her, studying, evaluating. She felt like a bunch of grapes on the vine as the farmer is deciding if they are ready to harvest or should be left to ripen a little while longer.
“You are strong, uora. Stronger than you know.”
The words were nice. But they were just words. “Did you know I dream of them every night, Broedi? That I watch them die every blasted night? The wave comes. I stand there and watch them die.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I’m afraid to fall asleep. Hells, half the time, I’m terrified when I’m awake.”
“And that, uora, is why you are strong.”
She peered up at the hillman, her eyes narrowed. “That makes no sense.”
Broedi leaned forward, a stream of smoke drifting from his lips. “Uora, you have faced more heartbreak, fear, and worry in a week than most do in a lifetime. A weaker soul—most souls—would lie down and let the misery consume them. You press on. That is why you are strong.”
She stared at him, surprised. She had never thought of it that way.
Sitting tall, Broedi drew on his pipe. Letting another long plume of smoke from his lips, he asked, “Why is it that you think you are afraid?”
“I don’t ‘think’ I’m afraid. I am.”
“Fine,” conceded Broedi. “Why are you afraid?”
“You might be used to being a mage, an outlaw. But I am not. If the Constables find me, they’ll…Hells, I don’t know what they’ll do. But I know I’d never see my brothers again.”
“Then we will ensure th
ey do not find you.”
“And then I’ll teach a stone to swim,” said Kenders with more derision than she meant. If the Constables wanted to find a mage, they would.
Broedi smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and then motioned to the rock upon which she was standing. “You should sit. Your kaveli will be a while.”
Sighing, she turned around and sat, her back to the hillman. She wanted to be alone for a time and in this vast valley, she could pretend she was as long as she was not staring at a seven-foot-tall hillman.
As she cleared her mind, attempting to relax, the image of the crimson-robed ijul slinking over Lake Hawthorne’s surface bubbled to the forefront. She squeezed her eyes tight and ground her teeth.
She and Nikalys still had yet to share the full tale of what happened with anyone. However, she supposed that was no longer the case. By now, Jak knew everything. She wondered how he would handle that.
Last night, Nikalys had asked her to promise that she would not share anything with Broedi and she had given it. Opening her eyes, she sighed. She was about to break her word.
“Broedi?”
“Yes, uora?”
“How much do you know about what happened to our home?”
After a moment’s pause, he replied, “Less than I would like.”
She turned around and stared up at the hillman. “We saw who did it. We saw it all happen.”
For a long moment, the hillman did not move. His eyes were excited, alert, but his face remained blank, absent any expression. “Will you tell me?”
Plunging ahead, Kenders shared everything that happened, from the moment she felt the blue crackling to when she and Nikalys had picked through the rubble. She told Broedi about the ijul and the nine mages in gray, how she had almost been spotted, and how the ijul had killed his accomplices.
Broedi stayed silent throughout the story, puffing on his pipe, his eyes never leaving hers. When her tale was complete, he pulled the bone pipe from his lips and sighed, sending a long plume of smoke into the air. “You are sure the ones you saw on the lake wore gray?”
“Quite sure.”
“And that there were nine?”
“Yes. Nine mages dressed in gray.”
Broedi’s gaze drifted to the ground. “That is unexpected.”
Sitting a little taller, Kenders said, “Hold a moment. Do you know who they were?”
He remained quiet for a few heartbeats, his eyes vacant. Looking up, he asked, “Have you ever heard of the Strand Academies? In the Arcane Republic?”
Kenders stared at him, her expression blank. “What’s an arcane republic?”
His slight smile returned. “The Arcane Republic is a nation of mages. Far across the sea.”
Grimacing, she said, “A nation of mages? Sounds…awful.”
“It is, but for reasons other than what I suspect fuels your sentiment. Did you know the Oaken Duchies is the lone place in all of Terrene where magic is outlawed?”
Kenders shook her head, unsure she believed him. “Truly?”
“Most of the world gets along perfectly fine with magic, uora.” He leaned forward and, pointing the bit of his pipe at her, asked, “Have you considered that you judge magic to be wrong because everyone you know says it is so? Of all the reasons to believe anything, that is the poorest.”
Kenders looked away from him, her brow furrowed. She had not considered that. Looking back to him, she said, “Not everyone believed that. Our parents used to tell us magic was but a tool.”
Nodding his of approval, Broedi said, “Now, there is spoken wisdom.”
Kenders frowned. Magic might be a tool, but it was a dangerous tool.
Staring up at Broedi, she asked, “These academies?” The word felt odd on her tongue. “What are they?”
“Places of learning,” replied Broedi. Concern flashed in his eyes. “Can you read? Write?”
Nodding, she said, “Mother and Father insisted we learn. Four times a week, we would go to see Mrs. Bodsworth…” She trailed off, the image of her teacher lying against the pot-stove flashing through her mind. She mumbled, “Her body was the first we found, Broedi.”
She expected some sort of response, but none came. Looking up, she found Broedi staring at the horizon, his eyes vacant. He looked the same as Nikalys and Jak did at times in the evening, sitting around the campfire.
“Broedi?”
His gaze shifted back to her, his eyes focusing on her face. With a quick, apologetic smile, he rumbled, “I failed to answer your question, did I not? Pardon me.” He took a quick puff on his pipe. “The Strand Academies are great centers of learning, dedicated to the study and instruction of magic. They are quite impressive looking.”
“You’ve been there?”
“A long time ago, but, yes, I have visited.”
He told her about enormous libraries filled with books and manuscripts, of formal classes focused on controlling and shaping the Strands, of the fantastic settings in which the schools were built. He claimed one sat upon the slopes of a mountain that spewed fire from its summit.
When he was done, she asked, “And how does any of that have to do with what happened to my home?”
A shadow fell over his face. “The classes at the academies each have nine acolytes. Acolytes wear gray.”
Kenders’ eyes widened. “So, the academies are responsible? Why would they do that? Can someone be held accountable?”
The hillman stared at her for a long moment, his brow furrowed, then lifted his head, turning his stare northward. With a frown and a sigh, he rumbled, “We will wait for your kaveli now.”
“What? No! If you know something, tell me!”
Broedi stared at her, a pensive expression upon his face. He seemed poised to say something, but instead shifted his gaze to peer over her head at the forest below. Bringing his pipe to his mouth, he said, “We will wait.”
“Why do you get to decide when we’re done talking?”
He did not respond. He did not even acknowledge her question. She glared at the hillman a moments longer before turning her back on him, seething.
Neither of them said a word for a long time.
After some of her frustration with Broedi drained away—some, not all—she realized her time alone with the hillman was slipping past. When Nikalys and Jak returned, the opportunity to talk freely about magic would be gone. Setting aside her anger, she turned around. “Teach me about the Strands.”
He looked down at her, but did not respond. He simply stared.
After a few moments, Kenders exclaimed, “Gods! What is it with you? Say something!”
Pulling his pipe from his mouth, he asked, “Why would you wish to learn how to use something which you believe to be wrong?”
“I don’t want to use them. I want to learn how not to use them.”
Broedi continued staring at her. After what seemed like an eternity, he let out a long sigh. “I suppose that must do for now.”
Kenders’ eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
“It means I will help you, uora.”
She blinked, perplexed. A large portion of her anger faded in an instant, replaced by outright surprise. “You will?”
“I will.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes,” rumbled Broedi, tapping his pipe against his boulder. A soft breeze whipped away the ashes.
“Why?”
“Because you asked.” He set his pipe on his leather satchel, looked to her, and asked, “Are you ready?”
Kenders sat a little taller. “Wait…now?”
“Is there something else you must do?”
Glancing around without knowing why, she mumbled, “No, I…suppose not.” She stared up at the hillman and with more certainty than she felt, she said, “Yes. I’m ready.”
Indicating a spot beside him, he said, “Sit, please.”
She rose from her rock, moved to his, and sat next to him.
The moment she was settled, Broedi rumbled, “To b
egin, know that are nine types of Strands…”
Chapter 24: Brigands
Jak hurried out of the dirty, rank stable, grateful to be back out in the mist of Fallsbottom. While the three horses they had bought looked healthy and strong, he suspected the horse-trader had taken advantage of them on price. Shaking the small, leather drawstring pouch that held their entire wealth, Jak frowned. Their purse was dangerously close to being empty. He hoped Broedi’s plan did not require much coin.
Earlier, they had left Hilltop using the same route by which they had come. Ketus had favored them as two new guards were checking incoming traffic, saving Nikalys from a potential follow-up performance explaining how their non-existent run-in with the baron had gone.
They made their way into Fallsbottom, passing The Brown Horse and Cart where they had stayed with their father. They both stared at the wooden building as they walked past, but neither said a word. The pair circulated through the soggy city, purchasing supplies with coin from the Isaac family beltpurse as well as the few ducats Nikalys had scavenged in Yellow Mud.
First, they stopped by a leatherworker and bought an extra sling, waterskin, and three saddlebags. At a provisioner’s shop, they purchased a wide variety of items: a hunting knife for Jak, extra string for the lone bow they had, a pouch of salt, and a canvas-wrapped stack of dried rockeye strips. The fish tasted awful, but when the alternative was an empty stomach, Jak expected he would eat it. Nikalys took one sniff and swore he would starve before touching the salted fish.
After packing their purchases in the saddlebags, they headed to the tailor’s where they had each bought a new set of traveling clothes and cloaks, as well as a riding skirt for Kenders. Jak managed to draw smile or two from Nikalys by holding the various dresses up and mimicking Kenders’ common expressions and faces.
Loaded down with their purchases, they had made their way to the stable at the southern edge of the city. Trudging through the muddy streets, they passed two gray-clad Constables walking north, prompting the brothers to exchange a worried look with one another. The Constables were coming from the south, where Kenders and Broedi were. Nothing seemed amiss, but the brothers hurried their pace.
Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) Page 22