The Spellmonger's Yule: A Spellmonger Series Short Story

by Terry Mancour

  “More powerful,” she said, shaking her head at some private joke. “He was a technician who kept the pumps and other devices running, right up to the end. He stayed long after the last boats left,” she recalled, fondly. “He wouldn’t give up. He wouldn’t leave his post. He thought there was something he could do, long after it was clear that there was nothing anyone could do. Loyal to the end. They fired him, told him to evacuate, and threatened him with arrest, and then abandonment. He was determined to find a way,” she sighed. “Hopeful, to the end.”

  “See?” I pointed out. “We haven’t changed that much.”

  “Not the essential human nature,” she agreed. “But your civilization is vastly different from what it was when you arrived. More noble, in some ways. More petty, in others.”

  “I’d like to think that displays the range of our character,” I mused.

  “That’s that hopeful nature, again,” she chuckled. “Always trying to turn bad wine into good vinegar. I wasn’t wrong, what I said to Haruthel,” she continued. “We really did keep you from regaining your potential. When Perwyn sank, we could have done more to help you save more of your own civilization. Instead we encouraged you to simplify and adapt to your new world, instead of following your initial inclinations and making it adapt to you.”

  “It seems fairly well adapted,” I pointed out. “I certainly feel at home, here.”

  “The colonization process was a success, from a biological perspective,” she agreed. “The Terran Zone – that’s where we are – was cultivated adequately, and in some ways exceeded the original colonists’ wildest dreams. But the development of the colony failed,” she explained. “Instead of maintaining and even expanding the impressive civilization they brought with them, disaster struck your ancestors again and again. Now you are simple farmers, rustic warriors who fight amongst themselves for the scraps of your old civilization, not much more advanced than the Tal Alon. I think if we had used our influence and resources properly, that could have been avoided.”

  “I’m not certain you would have been doing us a favor,” I said, doubtfully. “Mankind seems petty and brutish as it is. Perhaps we’re at our best, as farmers an warriors.”

  We continued to chat idly for two hours in that chamber, while we waited for Haruthel. Lilastien spoke to me as I was an old friend, and the old Alkan’s nature encouraged me to do likewise. She was as irreverent as Onranion, in some ways, and as delighted in the simple beauty of Carneduin as Ithalia, her granddaughter.

  “It has been centuries since I was last here,” she sighed, at one point, looking out the wide paneless window at the beautiful river valley below the hall. “I love my little realm, but I miss the society of my kin,” she added, wistfully.

  “I’ve often wondered how an Alkan contends with loneliness, considering your facility for coordinated action,” I replied, casually. Pentandra and I had both noted how the Alka Alon – indeed, most of the Alon – had a capacity for incredibly well-coordinated action, at various times. The Alka Alon seemed to be able to do it at will. The Karshak Alon did it at labor. The Tal Alon did it in times of crisis, when their nests were threatened. Even the gurvani were capable of it, we theorized, if controlled by their shamans or Shereul tightly enough.

  But it wasn’t something the Alka Alon spoke of often, just as we didn’t mention our dreams every day. Of course, while I was fishing for information, Lilastien chose to wax philosophical.

  “It can be a hard burden,” she reflected, watching the activity below. “My people were meant to be social, even more than yours... interspersed with brief periods of solitary meditation. Psychologically speaking, we’re far more extroverted than you, individually. Humans who enjoy quiet solitude would be seen as nearly pathological by my folk... while our enjoyment of society would be seen as dangerously extroverted by yours. But don’t forget that great variation exists in both species,” she cautioned. “We have our share of dangerous loners... just as you have yours of dangerously decadent extroverts.”

  “That’s only because we’re getting close to Yule,” I dismissed.

  “Ah, Yule! ” she smiled, fondly. “One of my favorite humani customs. Almost Alkan in flavor, with a lot more alcohol.”

  “And a lot poorer singing,” I agreed. “Back at my castle, the drudges are preparing the hall for the Yule Court. Gifts are being readied, feasts are being planned, and everyone looks forward to the merriment. Even with... with their baroness stricken,” I added, reminded that Alya would be missing this year’s festivities.

  “If it is any consolation,” she said, sympathetically, “that is one tradition that hasn’t changed since humanity arrived from the void. The name and customs may have shifted, but everyone loves a party at the Solstice.”

  “It keeps you from killing the people you’re trapped inside with, all winter,” I theorized. “I’ve often thought— ah, Master Haruthel! What news?”

  “Am I to be thrown in a pit, this time?” Lilastien asked, rising. “Something murky and damp, perhaps?”

  “While something like that was, indeed, suggested,” Haruthel said, with another adorable snort, “the consensus of the executive council is to grant Master Minalan’s request for a – brief! – parole. A conditional parole,” he emphasized.

  “How brief?” she asked.

  “How conditional?” I added.

  “As to the conditions,” Haruthel said, purposefully answering my question first, “As this parole is granted strictly for the war effort, Lilastien is to be in your custody and under your supervision during her release,” he said, “much as you have taken responsibility for Onranion. You are responsible for her, and all she does, Minalan,” he warned.

  “Acceptable,” I nodded. “What else?”

  “She is to obey the dictates of the council... absolutely ,” he said, sternly. “If we rescind the parole, she is to return to her former condition, or else face sanction. And you, my friend, will be expelled from the Council,” he added, regretfully. “Third, her work is to be open to examination by the designated representative of the Council. No secret research, Lilastien!”

  “My youthful impetuousness has long fled, Haruthel!” she dismissed. I didn’t believe a word of it. Neither did Haruthel. He grunted and continued.

  “Lastly, she is to abstain from any hint of political interference, during her parole,” he insisted. “She is still a prisoner of the Council. Attempts to interfere in its workings or its decisions are forbidden.”

  “As if I’d bother! ” she said, icily, crossing her tiny arms.

  “Further, the Council has ruled that since transgenic enchantment is one of your... specialties, the rules of their use will be – temporarily – relaxed for the duration of the crisis. That was insisted upon by Lord Aeratas, leader of the . . . the Tera Alon,” he added, a little distaste in his voice.

  “That is the f irst sensible thing that old—”

  “Lilastien!” I said, warningly. “We’re asking a boon, here. Try not to defecate on the rug while we do so.”

  She grinned, impishly. “I do love the way you humani express yourselves! Very well, I shall be the model of proper behavior,” she pledged. “I accept these terms in good faith and pledge to be an ideal parolee. I do ask that the defenses on Sartha Wood be relaxed... this will be a lot easier if I can get the occasional visitor.”

  “Granted,” Haruthel said, with a tired wave. “And to answer your original question: you have but ten years,” he pronounced.

  Her face fell. “A mere decade? Really?”

  “Either you will prove your worth and your loyalty during that time, or you won’t,” Haruthel said with a shrug. “And it’s ten times what your most vocal critics advocated.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” she sneered, contemptuously. “Very well. Ten years it is. I shall be on my best behavior.”

  “That will be a refreshing novelty,” he shot back. “Now, if our business here is concluded—”

  “Actually,” Lilastien
said, holding up a finger, “I was wondering if I could go root around in the Hall of Memories, and see if there are any supplies I might find useful,” she proposed. “I know for a fact some of my equipment was stored there, after my arrest.”

  Haruthel rolled his eyes. “Quickly! The more who see your face again in these halls, the more they’ll realize just how desperate we’ve become!”

  “Back in a moment, Minalan!” she smiled, broadly, and then took off running faster than I’d expected an Alkan of her age to manage.

  “Minalan,” Haruthel said, the moment we were alone, “what have you done? Do you realize what you have done?”

  “I’ve done what I’ve had to,” I explained. “Yes, she’s a crazy old sorceress with a long history of rebellion.”

  “She’s also a politically dangerous subject,” he winced. “I don’t necessarily agree with the opposition that has built up around her, but it took considerable persuasion and compromise to achieve her release at all. And your own inclusion on the Council was called into question,” he added.

  “You wanted me to prosecute this war in alliance with your folk,” I reminded him. “That is an alliance we both desire, and both need. I’ve already broken my own people’s laws and traditions to do it, at my personal risk. All I am asking here is that the Council be flexible enough to risk a little political strife and hurt feelings over a crime committed in the murky past, and let me talk to an old lady when I need to. Surely that is not unreasonable?”

  “No, no it isn’t,” he agreed, guiltily. “Oftentimes our species’ relationship has suffered because of my race’s perception that it has more to lose than your ephemeral lives can appreciate.”

  “We all get just one death apiece,” I pointed out. “If this is to be a meaningful alliance, then we must cast aside our old preconceptions. Korbal and Shereul are combining Alkan magic, gurvani power and human guile against us. We need a suitable counter, or we lose. Lilastien is a valuable piece for me to play.”

  “She is brilliant,” Haruthel conceded. “One of the greatest songmasters of our time, especially for an Avalanti. She was at the core of a group of scholars who embraced the arrival of humankind, and sought to learn all she could about you. In her youth she pushed the bounds of our spellcraft... to the point of ethical concern.”

  “I’m far less concerned about her youthful indiscretions than her mature intellect,” I explained. “I need that brilliance, now. From what she explained to me, this is a crisis that could grow to threaten both our peoples with extinction... from the Vundel.”

  Haruthel’s shoulders sank. “She told you,” he sighed.

  “She did. I’m wondering now why you did not .”

  “This is a complicated matter,” he said, his guilty look increasing. “Whether we could have prevented it or not, your civilization did fall. We focused our efforts on ensuring the survival of your people, not your technology or knowledge. We saw ourselves as caretakers, after entering an unpopular partnership with your folk.”

  “Unpopular? With whom?”

  “There are Alka Alon realms beyond the Five Duchies, Minalan,” he explained, gravely. “When your people arrived from the Void, and eventually entered into negotiation with the Vundel over colonization, all of the Alka Alon realms were involved. And when humanity requested our devastated realm be used as the Terran Zone, it was encouraged by the other realms partially because it kept humanity segregated from their lands … and partially to punish our realm for its tragic history.

  “But the greater Alka Alon realms were largely against the settlement from the start. Only here, where the lands seem cursed, were the others willing to let you settle unmolested... but only if we were responsible for you.”

  “Suddenly I feel like a pet pig on a leash on market day,” I said, shaking my head. “That does explain some of the resentment on the Council.”

  “And our reluctance to endorse Elre, in any way,” he agreed. “When most houses were reluctant to take on this new burden, she and her friends embraced it as opportunity. From some perspectives, that opportunity has led us to the brink of ruin.”

  “I see,” I nodded. “Then I will do my best to mitigate that belief, as I manage her operations. But I did not exaggerate: I need her. And others like her. The war is about to heat up again, after a brief lull, and the next campaigns will be far worse than the first. The enemy seeks your ancient arsenal, dominion over the west, and infiltrates the south. They took Anthatiel. They’ll come for this place, in time. And the other refuges. I’ve done my best to bring it to the attention of the Duchies, but I think we both know how that is working.”

  “And I have done what I could to unite us against the dangers of the Enshadowed, for my part,” he pointed out. “I have kept Lord Aeratas on the council, and endorsed the Tera Alon faction, despite strong opposition.”

  “Then the alliance proceeds,” I nodded. “And I have an opportunity to prove my value to the Council. Is there any word, yet, on locating Ameras? Or the location of the arsenal?”

  “No,” he said, looking disturbed. “We have searched everywhere we can. She is not dead,” he assured me. “But she may be captured.”

  “Or hidden,” I countered. “If she was captured, then Korbal would be sitting here in the midst of ruin, by now, from what I understand. I have my folk searching, too, and are following up on rumors.” Lilastien chose that moment to return, her arms full of equipment – mostly human tekka , I noted. She was also wearing a bright white coat that seemed several sizes too large for her.

  “I’m ready!” she sang with a smile. “Most of it hadn’t even been touched!”

  “No one else knows what to do with it,” shrugged Haruthel. “Very well. Your parole is granted, Lilastien. I pray you will use it wisely.”

  “She will,” I promised, as I called to the next Waystone, and pulled us through the Ways.

  *

  *

  *

  When we arrived on the other side, Lilastien immediately snorted. “No I won’t!”

  “Well, you’ll at least use it usefully ,” I proposed. “Believe me, I just buried that poor Alkan in bullshit in ways I haven’t used since I was a practicing spellmonger!”

  “Then what is your actual plan?” she asked.

  “Plan? Like you, I’m making this up as I go. I saw an opportunity to gain a potentially useful piece, and I took it. It was a risk that I won.”

  “And if you’d lost?”

  “Then what would they do? Throw me off a council I didn’t ask to be on?”

  “So where are we now?” she asked, confused.

  “Sevendor,” I answered. “My private laboratory. The epicenter of the Snowstone Effect,” I explained, for context.

  “Ah! That explains it!” she beamed, as she looked around at the white castle walls. “Why did you bring me back here?”

  “I wanted to gather a few things,” I said, as she sorted through her loot on my worktable. “I figured you’d like a bit of an outing, too.”

  “I certainly appreciate that, Minalan,” she agreed, as she began fiddling with the various boxes and... things in front of her. “Some of these items could be useful in treating Alya,” she insisted, as she fiddled. “If they still work, after this many centuries...”

  I could hear the afternoon bustle in the Great Hall from my tower window: the castle drudges hauling fresh reeds and greenery into the hall, the kitchens busy with a hundred activities, and teams of Tal Alon scrubbing every surface to gleaming. It hadn’t snowed yet, here, but the mountain chill was certainly evident.

  “There!” she said, a moment later. “Blast!” she added, her triumph turning to disappointment, when something didn’t go as planned. “The power cell is depleted. You said you had a store of tekka ? Do you mind me taking a look? There may be a replacement,” she proposed.

  I pulled out my growing collection of ancient artifacts from my own civilization, and dumped them out on the table in front of her. She began rooting throu
gh the odd devices with interest.

  “Oh, my, it looks like you raided a crappy second-hand shop on Perwyn!” she giggled. “Some of this is absolute junk,” she explained. “That thing there? It’s the inner workings of a food preparation device,” she laughed. “And that and that are both commemorative objects promoting various sports teams. That, though, is a geological scanner, the kind the survey teams used – but it’s broken,” she sighed. “The power cell seems to be intact, though, and it’s the right size to fit my biometric scanner. This is the solar collector for a trash collecting device, this is a control panel for a lift, this is a manipulator arm for some sort of remote drone, this is – I think – a part of a child’s toy, and this is part of a public address loudspeaker.”

  Suddenly, she stopped, and her eyes opened wide. “Oh! I haven’t seen one of these in forever! Oh, I hope it works!” she squealed. “Watch this!”

  After manipulating the tiny device for a moment, she set it down triumphantly on the table... and music began to play. In fact, it seemed as if an entire army of musicians was playing. Lilastien squealed happily in her oversized coat, clapping her hands.

  “That, my boy, is Jazz! ” she exclaimed, and began to do an odd little dance. “One of the best cultural manifestations of human creativity. This is a recording of actual musicians, reproduced exactly as they played it.”

  “And they put it into a box? ” I asked, looking at the tiny little structure that made such a big noise.

  “Your ancestors would give each other cards – parchments with inspirational sayings or well-wishes – on special occasions. Some of the more sophisticated included these little music boxes in them, to play songs of especial meaning to the recipient.”

  “So, what was the special meaning of this particular song?” I asked, amazed at the peek into the lives of my distant ancestors. To do this – without magic – did seem pretty amazing.

  “I believe that this song was called In The Mood ,” she answered, thoughtfully. “You can guess what the implied meaning was. Some things, like human sexuality, are eternal,” she giggled as she shut the music off.