by Curtis, Greg
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Chapter Twenty.
Marjan stepped warily through the gate, bow already raised and arrow notched, Bearabus beside him, and he suddenly knew a sense of being home that he hadn’t felt in ages. The glade, the forest and the trails leading from them to his lake and other favourite places all called to them, and if it hadn’t have been for the urgency of their mission he would have stripped off and gone for a swim. It was a sunny day after all. It seemed that even though he knew the same welcoming feeling in Evensong, something about his old glade was still very special to him, and he was glad it still survived. Not far from his old home he knew, the forests were destroyed, the animals gone, and the land poisoned. He could never have let that happen to his home.
“Nice wards. Well studied and subtle as well as strong.” Master Silas standing beside him immediately recognised the magic he had wrought upon the land, and despite it having been many years since he had been a student and Master Silas having never have taught him, Marjan found himself almost as pleased as he had been as a child being praised by his teachers, and it was hard not to blush with pride as he scanned the skies for enemies.
“Devious you mean, interwoven layers of confusion and misdirection, all strengthened by the enemy’s own dark spirit. Boy I still don’t believe you can ever be a true battlemage, but your intuitive understanding of strength and defence and abhorrence of violence is a wonder to behold. Maybe you are a mage defender in truth as our woodland cousins would have it.” Master Argus was never likely to be his favourite person let alone teacher, and happily since joining their quest he hadn’t done anything more than comment on Marjan’s growing strength and lament on his many failings, but still he felt a slight warmth for his comment. It was short lived as always.
Already it had been a long tenday and a half, since the wizardly and magical had descended upon Evensong in their droves, and it wasn’t just him who held that opinion. The people grumbled quietly but continuously as the magical made nuisances of themselves, putting on airs that simply weren’t acceptable, demanding service from a town that was still trying to rebuild itself, and often just making people jump as they showed off to one another. And yet it had been a valuable time as well.
First the dryads had held their convocation of life as it was called, and probably been shocked to have an audience of so many spellcasters of different races, not to mention having essentially been interrogated about their plan and what the effects would be. The elders had made sure to get all that information out to the various spellcasters ahead of time, and a horde of spellcasters had descended on the town, much to the surprise of the dryads. The end result was that the first convocation which they had hoped to have over and done with in a day had taken five, and the dryads had not been the only ones to hold the floor as they considered the consequences of their plan and how best to put it in action.
Yet in the end the plan had been agreed on, and the dryads despite their surprise at being so interrogated, had to be happy with that.
Then had come the second convocation, the convocation of law, as the wizard guilds had put forwards their law as the basis of a much wider all encompassing pact for the magical. The elders had wisely let the humans hold the convocation since not only was it their law, it was also their history of suffering that had led to its creation, and there was good reason in letting them tell it. The pain of the wizard wars, though none were alive who had been through them, were imprinted into the very souls of the Guild wizards, and it shone through them in a way that perhaps no others could know. That more than anything else had persuaded the others of the righteousness of their cause. Though it had not been easy.
The sylph as expected, had been reluctant to agree to anything that limited their strength, and oddly enough the fairy had been even more unwilling. It was only time and the unexpected understanding that they would be standing alone in the midst of the war that had persuaded them to agree. Everyone knew by then that they had to stand together against the void or surely perish.
So the Law of the Magical had eventually been agreed to, even if it was stripped back to the most basic of rules. But they were enough. All agreed that first and foremost no spellcaster of any guild, any order or any race, would join a war against any others. The only exception, outsiders, threats to the realm, and the defence of their people.
Next it was agreed that none would serve political heads before their guilds. They served the people or the land or their faith, the elves had been very tough negotiators on that and strangely enough most had no issue with their demand. Even those that gained coin from serving as advisors to kings and so forth, found a degree of pride in not being able to serve them any longer. Their loyalty was to their guild, and that somehow lifted them above the realm of the political, and they liked that. Pride was always a weakness of the magical, but sometimes a strength as well.
Finally it was held that they would know peace. That spellcasters would not fight one another, that all would have the right to pass freely through one another’s realms, and that they would all grant shelter to their fellow spellcasters as needed. It wasn’t as generous a condition as the wizards had, they would offer shelter and training for one another as long as required, share knowledge and students, and act as one large guild, and as and when wanted, live as one, but it was enough for a start.
Funnily enough it was also what had shaped the design of the dryads plan as they had given some thought as to how to carry it out, and so a sylph, a master wizard, and a mage were standing guard at the other end of a portal opened by a pair of fairies, while the dryads themselves would only come through the gate when it was known to be safe. And it was safe. His home was always safe, which made Marjan smile.
“Tree folk its safe. Time to do your little magic trick.” The sylph was never likely to be respectful of anyone, not him, not the elves and most especially not the dryads who he seemed to regard as little more than talking animals. But still the four dryads carried their stone alter through the gate and laid it on the grass without comment or even hurt when they heard his call through the portal. The two were complete opposites, the sylph powerful and arrogant not to mention insufferable, the dryads completely humble and peaceful and yet powerful too through their connection with the Goddess. Marjan doubted they even cared about Master Argus’ opinion of them. Certainly they never commented about it and back in Evensong fully a dozen sylph had joined the effort to reawaken the ancient places, while five hundred or more dryads were also involved, and never once had there been an argument.
Instead while the three of them watched the land and the skies all around them, hunting for any sign of the enemy, Bearabus sniffed at the air, unbothered by what was happening, only the lack of food, the dryads began their preparations in harmonious silence as they already had done in so many other places, as more of their number were doing elsewhere even now, and Marjan looked forwards to the ceremony.
It began as ever with the singing, though not singing like a human might recognise. Not the bawdy tunes sung by the minstrels in a thousand inns, not the lively jigs of the village dances and not even the sweet sounds of a maiden alone in the forest. Their singing was a strange, eerie song of all the creatures of the forest, of all the life all around them, and while it had no true melody, no beat or rhythm, no words and not even really a harmony he could understand, it was beautiful and haunting, and so in keeping with his old home.
“Truly the Goddess smiles upon this land.” Essaline’s words surprised Marjan, not because he disagreed with them, he didn’t, but simply because she wasn’t supposed to be there with them. She had obviously stepped through the gate after them without permission, but he wasn’t about to complain, especially when she came up behind him and put an arm around his waist. It was just a pity he couldn’t do the same but they were in enemy territory and he had to remain alert for the wyrmlings, his bow at the ready, lightning arrow already notched. Bearabus wasn’t so constrained and she first sniffed at Essal
ine and then started licking her free hand, probably hoping there was a free meal involved. As bears went, even bear cubs, she was adorable, but she still had a single arrow to her thoughts, food.
“She smiled on me when she brought me here beloved.”
“I think she smiled on us all that day. Taking a lost and wounded child and slowly but surely transforming him into a champion.” He blushed at her words, more so when she kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“I am no champion, just a humble mage.”
“And a most frustrating one at that.” Surprisingly it was Master Silas who made the comment, he wasn’t normally prone to making snippy remarks, but from his perspective it was probably true, and Master Argus clearly agreed with him from his somewhat muted chortle. Marjan ignored them both. It was a sunny day in a beautiful land and a supremely wondrous woman was holding him close and saying nice things about him. Their opinions didn’t matter.
“Any true champion would say the same beloved.” She kissed him again and Marjan immediately gave in. How could he ever disagree with someone so wonderful? Instead he turned his thoughts to more practical matters.
“Sweet Essaline you should not be here. This is still enemy territory, there is still danger nearby.” There might or might not be, none of them could be sure, and certainly none of them could feel the enemy anywhere close and the land felt safe, but he had to warn her.
“In truth I needed to be here. I was drawn here now just as you were so long ago. I needed to feel the Goddess’ touch so strongly upon the land, and through it upon you. I only wish that the last time I was here I could have understood it better instead of letting myself be distracted by my wounds. This is a special place already, and when the dryad priests have done their work, it will only become more so.”
“As long as it keeps these pesky void wyrms at bay.” Master Argus was never one to forget the important matters, and Marjan had to admit he was right, though he wouldn’t have described them as pesky. Especially not the big ones, and the scout wizards had reported scrying some truly immense ones on the other side of the chasm, larger than even the one he’d had to kill. The likelihood was that they were still growing, and would do until they ate everything and starved to death.
“I think it will do much more than that my pale friend. This place was once sacred, truly sacred, and there is strength yet remaining here, a lot of strength and wisdom to go with it, even her will. Enough that even thousands of years later, when all traces of whatever once stood here have gone, that the Goddess herself can still use it to drag one heart broken wizard child here and then start rebuilding him.” There was a surprising confidence in Essaline’s words, and a strength underlying them that he could almost feel, a strength that was almost echoed in the ground under his feet.
“Make no mistake, Marjan here may once have been a wizard but no longer. He was recreated into a mage defender long before he came to Evensong, long before it was even known that he would be needed. Master Argus, Master Silas he is what he is not because of the tragedy that befell him, but because he has been touched by her grace, forged like a sword in the heat of her passion, tempered with her wisdom, bathed in her love, and he has been and will continue to be guided by her. Marjan is a mage defender, but he is also her servant. Remember that, as I will have to. He is guided and sometimes, because of it he will be asked to do things that you will not like, will not understand. But when you disagree with him, remember you may not be disagreeing with a wizard, but rather a servant.” Marjan wasn’t so sure of that but he still liked her words, like that she could say them of him, and it was hard to stop the colour rising in his cheeks.
“Well his wards are pure wizardry, subtle and powerful, so whatever the truth Lady Essaline, I think we are safe enough here. The boy learned his lessons well.” The boy couldn’t help but let a small flush of pride run through him at Master Silas’ words, even if he thought he was a boy.
One of the dryads shushed them about then as they had to begin their prayers and Marjan was grateful for the silence as it gave him a chance to stop worrying about what she was saying, especially when he had the horrible feeling she was speaking from certain knowledge which he simply didn’t have. Besides he liked the prayers. They resonated within him in some way that he didn’t fully understand, but which was surprisingly pleasant.
This would be his twelfth blessing, and each one before he’d enjoyed, letting the prayers wash over him almost like a warm rain, bathing him in comfort, soaking into his very bones. He only wished he could have been to more of them, but with half a dozen portals operating in Evensong and wizards and various other powerful spellcasters everywhere, mostly making a nuisance of themselves in his opinion, as the mission continued day after day, he was just a minor mage with other duties to attend to. He was lucky they’d let him come to the awakenings in Gunderland at all, and that was only because he knew the land so well. Some of the Masters so he understood had been to scores of the awakenings, stepping through portal after portal to arrive anywhere in the world.
Still this one was different, more personal perhaps, as he truly loved his home, and as the dryads continued with their prayers, he felt the spiritual power of the Goddess so much more keenly than before. Usually it was just warmth, a feeling of kinship and family, of home, that grew stronger with every prayer, but this was somehow more than that. It was life and love, harmony and peace, all rolled together into some sort of magic that sang in his veins. Sang so very sweetly.
Unexpectedly he became aware of the scent of flowers in the air, cyclamen and jasmine growing stronger, though he hadn’t noticed any flowers when he’d arrived. Still he breathed deep of the aroma, welcoming it to him, unable to stop himself, but not wanting to either. It was simply too nice, and he was barely able to keep concentrating on the task at hand, protecting the dryads as he let the sweet scent fill his lungs.
His hearing too seemed to be growing suddenly sharper. He could hear the distant sounds of the foxes and rabbits, the stoats and the birds as they went about their normal business, even though he knew the remains of the forest were all but empty of woodland creatures. The wyrmlings had eaten them. He could even hear the hoof beats of the golden hind so far away, awakening, preparing to return. Meanwhile under his feet he could somehow feel the life of the land returning, the roots of the trees growing, reaching down into the rich soil as they drew their strength from it, their branches stretching out to the heavens, soaking in the warm sunlight. That was something more than he’d ever felt before.
This was the awakening, the reconnection of the Goddess with the land, or maybe just the strengthening of that bond, and while there was much he didn’t understand about it, it was still good. Even Bearabus thought so, as she took some time out of her busy schedule of pleading for food, to simply stand beside him and Essaline and take in the air.
Yet it wasn’t all good. As he stood there, letting all the joy of the world in, he could also feel the enemy, like a dark cloud on the distant horizon, growing in strength, promising a storm of terrible proportions, and somehow he could also understand them, a little. Not what they were in truth, but what they opposed and the truth shocked him. After all that he’d known and guessed he discovered as he finally saw a little way in to the darkness that they were in fact undead as the wizards had told them.
Normally, not that the undead were normal, it was the bodies that walked under the spells of necromancy, a violation of natural law, and a blockage in the order of life. The bodies should be at rest, providing food and life for the next generation of life. That was the natural order of things. Occasionally it was echoes of the life that was once and had been lost, that walked the land as ghosts and spirits, tragic and sometimes frightening, but fading with time. But this time it was the actual souls themselves that were walking, freed of their physical bodies yet aching for them, maddened by their time in the dark, and stranded in a world they no longer understood.
It was their time to pass on to the next life,
and let new life take their place, but something prevented that. Something dark and terrible. Something that even they feared. For the truth was that in that great and terrible darkness they had escaped, there was something else. Something hungry that had supped on their souls for thousands of years. Something that called them back even as they fled screaming. Something that had followed them. Something that now straddled both realms.
Marjan hadn’t guessed that. No one else had either. The wyrmlings, as frightening and deadly as they were, were victims too. Frightened, insane, desperate and running as fast and as far as they knew how. But their minds were shreds, their souls torn, their reason lost, their humanity consumed, and what remained was little more than instinct, terror and madness.
As he stood there, letting the understanding of what they faced roll through him over and over again like waves on a beach, the dryads continued with their own prayers, bringing the Goddess once more to the lands, and Marjan finally began to understand what it was that had to be done, and it frightened him even as it made sense. The dryads were right in what they knew and did, but theirs was only a part of the battle. The Goddess knew it too, knew that her place was not to defeat this dark enemy slowly making itself at home in her world, or at least not alone, and that was why she was showing him, telling him what had to be done. And he had to obey. But it wasn’t only him she was showing. Essaline had that same look of wonder on her face, and so too did the dryads as they continued with their prayers, and he would have guessed that all around the world others were doing the same.