by T. A. Miles
Cayri let him have his rant. When he’d paused long enough, she wondered aloud, “Where did he take her?”
“If I knew that, Cayri, I’d be less….” Vlas stopped himself and shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do about it anyway. Just like there was nothing to be done for Vaelyx.”
She understood that he was upset. He was younger than her and long life didn’t make one immune to guilt or blame, or fear besides. When Vlas turned to leave their mild seclusion away from the center of the assembly hall, she let him.
He stopped in the archway at the top of the steps. “Let’s just … concentrate on defending this city,” he said and sounded as if he had forced some calm into himself. “It’s going to take all we’ve got, at the very least.”
Cayri sighed, watching him go. She thought about her mentor and how he might handle this. The thought reminded her of Ceth’s orb. She reached into her pocket and pulled the small item out, balancing it on her fingertips as she lifted it for examination. As always, the holes in the scrollwork showed her movement. She could feel a soft beating against her fingertips, but she couldn’t quite see inside of it. With another sigh, she turned from the assembly and walked out onto the balcony beside it, through tall glass doors that remained open to let the morning air in. She went to the railing and looked out over the city and toward the sea. Her gaze gradually slid in the opposite direction, toward distant Vassenleigh. She focused on the orb again, and with sudden inspiration she knew better than to question, she lowered her hand and lofted the orb into the air.
The scrolled metal glowed brightly white and fell away from a small brown moth. The metal embers coalesced beneath its fluttering form and rose up to swallow it … in a tiny Reach gate.
Cayri’s lips parted and she stared at the empty space left behind, not really puzzled so much as left mentally staggering by Ceth’s inventive spirit. She couldn’t fight the grin that leapt to her face afterward, in defiance of their worries. “Gods carry you,” she said quietly to the departed moth, certain of its destination.
“… our duties recognized, our hearts committed, our souls bound….”
Ashwin completed the verbal rites before six gray-clad youngsters, who’d come to the Seminary under unique and varied guidance or inspiration. These were the ones who knew in their hearts that they were destined for a path unlike those of their parents or their peers. They felt it pending and were eventually selected by their predecessors to follow that feeling through, guided physically by their soul-keepers, though it would be some time before the bond was solidified. It would take Emergence. Until that time, these young people would be taken in by the Seminary as Apprentices and work at understanding the Essence and how it functioned in their world, until their understanding became such that their talents came forward and could be deciphered for proper placement and focus.
The mere children in front of him, aged as young as fourteen with the eldest barely twenty, stood in plain gray robes, reciting the words Ashwin had spoken. Since the nature of their arrival was far more conscious than a mage like Korsten, it was necessary to have them voluntarily and vocally commit themselves, to affirm that they understood and wished to proceed. Mages brought to them the way Korsten had been were predestined and their induction—while often less voluntary—tended to be so spiritually driven that such ritual would seem garish; a mockery of what the gods had clearly intended. It became the place of the Superiors to help guide their passion—even if they themselves were blind to it—not to ensure their willingness. Often mages so selected had no choice besides. The gods would involve them, one way or another, as had been the case with Korsten, as was proved by his intimate and lengthy association with a demon. That Merran found him when he did, enabling Analee to connect with him, thereby triggering an involuntary Emergence was the gods doing.
That did not downplay the significance of those who came to Vassenleigh of their own will and intention. Merran was an example of what any of these young people could become, all through determination. Ashwin smiled at them and held out his hand to receive a ritual goblet from the Mage attending the induction—one who had lately graduated to that status. The marks of Emergence were still visible along his arms and neck. He awaited a translation of his talents—something that all mages, regardless of how they’d arrived underwent, and another matter Ashwin would be attending to that day.
He cupped the goblet’s ornate bowl in both hands and brought it to the new Apprentices. The contents rippled lightly with his steps, catching nearby firelight across the faintly red surface.
The first in line—a girl of sixteen—looked upon the goblet and Ashwin with large, emotional eyes. They were green. Ashwin smiled at her gently and offered the goblet. “Take this, your first taste from the garden which we will forever protect and cultivate, the blooms from which will forever protect and inspire us.”
She did as she was told, wary of rushing the action. She sipped somewhat demurely—if not shyly—and returned the cup to Ashwin. A blue beetle wended its way through the folds of her collar. He wondered how aware she was of it, then helplessly wondered what name she would choose for it in the event of her successful Emergence. That six new Apprentices stood before him was encouraging. They’d arrived over the course of the last two years, the youngest having come by a parent’s encouragement earlier that season. Ashwin recognized the amount of trust being placed in him and felt further encouraged by the fact that enough people outside of Vassenleigh were aware of or yet had faith in the Seminary to not only entrust their children to it, but to believe their child and the Seminary might yet bring change to their world.
He brought the goblet to the next child, pausing when he noticed his brother standing in one of three arching entries to the chamber. As he made eye contact with Eisleth, he understood that his presence was required elsewhere. He communicated with a slight nod that he would join him shortly.
Within the hour, Ashwin met his brother in the hall outside of the ceremonial chamber—one of several throughout the vast structure of the Seminary. Draped in black robes with his equally dark hair raveled down his back, Eisleth was as a shadow given substance.
“Ceth’s Feisa has returned,” Eisleth said.
Ashwin was relieved to hear it. Ceth’s ingenuity could test one’s ability to endure. They, as Superiors, rarely left the Seminary and for good reason. It was with no small amount of concern that Ashwin agreed to allow Ceth to in effect step one foot out of their sanctuary. For what it was worth … they were about to find that out.
The walk to Ceth’s rooms was abnormally quiet for Ashwin and Eisleth. His brother typically took these opportunities to present his opinions or to glean Ashwin’s regarding topics that were usually of personal interest or concern to Ashwin. He wished that Eisleth would share personal matters of his own, but for longer than Ashwin could accurately recall, Eisleth seemed to be existing in a sphere of virtual solitude … or maybe of impeccable order. He so rarely appeared to need or want counsel for himself and Ashwin would both worry and be tempted to rejoice if he were to ever sense emotional strife from him in amounts that warranted attention. Fittingly, his mentoring resulted in mages such as Merran. And, perhaps equally appropriate, Ashwin found himself with a mage like Korsten. Ashwin also found himself in love with his student and Eisleth’s student was equally taken by the afore considered redhead. Under advisement of his own sense of reason and of his brother, Ashwin was making an effort to alleviate some of the tension the circumstances had caused. He was unwilling to pressure Korsten and he was equally unwilling to alienate Merran. His hope and his fear was that Merran would take this opportunity to fully express himself to Korsten and that Korsten would make a decision on the nature of their relationship. Of course, he understood that Korsten was delaying for very personal reasons that awaited their own resolution. Knowing that, Ashwin also knew that Korsten would not be comfortable in a romantic relationship with more than one indivi
dual. Ashwin had uncovered a selfishness in himself over this and found the possibility unappealing anyway.
This discovery commanded distance, so that Korsten could decide where he wanted to be. Ashwin’s foremost duty was to be his mentor. He had expressed that to Eisleth in just those words and received silence that felt like castigation in response. They had not discussed the topic much since then.
Concern over that fact or the topic itself slipped from his mind when they arrived at Ceth’s rooms. They passed through an already open entryway—Ceth rarely closed off the front chamber—and across a space occupied liberally with maps, charts, scrolls, books, and a pair of tables overrun with ideas Ceth was in the process of giving physical realization to. Their colleague was an explorer and an inventor at heart. Of all of them, it seemed the most cruel on fate’s part that he should have risen to Superior and life primarily within the walls of the Seminary. However vast the structure was, it could never be enough space for one whose curiosity beckoned the world itself.
Ashwin walked with Eisleth to the bedroom, where he expected to find Ceth still in bed at rest while he held himself in a half-Reached state. He himself had gone nowhere, but he’d cast a Reach onto his bond mate upon sending her off with Cayri. The spell was technically inactive, held by the meditative efforts of the mage himself. A day later, Feisa had returned. Ceth appeared in good health and spirits, hovering over a cylindrical stand with a book mounted open upon it.
“Well, it worked,” Ceth said. “It was a learning experience.”
Regarding Ceth, Ashwin would not have assumed otherwise.
Ceth flipped vigorously through the pages of the book before him, back and forth, holding sections between long fingers. “Casting a Reach to the garden, from the garden was no effort at all, and the orb took the spell in as anticipated. It held the spell … or paused it, not unlike holding one’s breath. Consequentially, when it resumed it rushed to finish like a breath in need of escaping.”
“And what did Feisa bring back to us?” Ashwin asked.
“The coven in Indhovan housed an Ancient,” Ceth replied, eyes scanning the text. “That Ancient has spent the last several years in isolation, performing a summoning.”
Ashwin glanced to his brother before asking, “Of what?”
Ceth didn’t answer immediately, so Eisleth did. “Of water.”
Witches were known for two things; pacifist idleness or sensational, retributive acts on behalf of Nature. They’d been led to believe that the coven in Indhovan favored the former of those.
“We don’t have enough present there to stop it,” Ashwin knew. He also knew that they couldn’t abandon that city, for a multitude of reasons that included the welfare of its citizens.
“No,” Ceth admitted. He held the sections of the book he wanted in place, looking to Ashwin. “But it requires immediate, if not drastic response.”
Ashwin understood what he meant and found himself adverse to the idea. “Our own ancient state is as a beacon to the Vadryn, in spite of our soul-keepers.”
“Yes,” Ceth replied. “But Feisa brought good word as well. The Vadryn’s activities have been negated, the demons themselves extinguished or rerouted.”
“In the event of the latter, they could return,” Eisleth reminded. “Korsten’s information suggested a purposeful gathering of a large number.”
Ashwin took as much time as he felt they could spare considering the information in front of him, then looked to Ceth, deciced. “Be quick,” he said. He ignored the expression cast in his direction by his brother, who evidently expected him to do nothing. Ashwin knew he had been overly cautious, especially in the last century. He knew also that they were being pushed to the very edge. Caution and inaction had become a precarious balance.
A map of the Islands had been added to the table now, as the assembly resumed, along with charts of the sea as far as it was known to them.
“It won’t come from the direction of the Islands,” Vlas determined quickly. “The land would disrupt the course, putting the brunt of the wave on one of the outermost islands. Unless the Ancient summoned a hurricane, there would be no assurances that the city would go under.”
“Right,” Cayri agreed. “And if it were a storm, we’d see evidence of it in the sky by now.”
“So she must have pulled the earth, or the water itself….” Vlas considered aloud, pushing aside one chart in favor of another. “Inspired some sort of disruption.”
Again, Cayri agreed, this time with a nod.
“How are such things possible?” Deitir wondered and maybe didn’t expect an answer, as he moved on to the subject of strategy. “The Islands lay directly to the east of the city. The largest of them is several hours out by small boat.”
“The wave would filter through them like stones and perhaps create an unusually high tide,” someone speculated, “but it wouldn’t be the destructive force we’re led to believe the Ancient was after.”
“A northern route would risk Morenne,” Irslan pointed out. He was bent over the table, avidly studying charts that his uncle and Raiss Tahrsel may well have shared a hand in creating. “That’s presuming the alignment between the witch and the demon would have excluded Morenne, at least in the surface planning.”
“Yes, but beneath that surface,” Vlas murmured. “Betrayal….”
“From the south, then,” Deitir stated, tracing his hand along the curved peninsula situated below Indhovan on the map. The shape had always made Cayri think of the bent forearm of a horse rearing back.
Fersmyn looked on over the shoulders of Vlas and Irslan. He seconded the last and obvious option with a nod. “The city is completely exposed at that angle. We’ll be buried.”
“We’re going to create a Barrier,” Vlas told him, a note of impatience in his voice. He required sleep more than he needed to concern himself with how many times he may have mentioned the mages’ role in Indhovan’s defense.
“There are only two of you,” Fersmyn reminded with understandable skepticism, the very thing that required Vlas to repeat himself, and to be patient.
Cayri sighed quietly to herself.
“Mage Merran is, as we speak, imploring the local coven to assist,” Irslan inserted.
“They’re notorious for doing nothing except complaining,” Fersmyn said, and another official nearly snorted his disdain.
“They’ve obviously been doing something,” Vlas countered. “This city suffers from a dire lack of awareness.”
Deitir took the criticism without argument and, by his expression, with some sense of responsibility. “If the wave is blocked, won’t it redirect its force at the Islands?”
“Potentially,” Vlas said. “Though the nearest one could afford to be cleansed.”
“The nearest of the Islands is uninhabited,” Irslan said. “In my uncle’s writings, he said he encountered nothing but apparitions and the remnant traces of a cult. The cult itself is embedded throughout the Islands.”
Vlas rolled his eyes in Irslan’s direction. In spite of the fact that both men were exhausted, Cayri believed they had a mutual respect for one another … especially in their current collaboration with Indhovan’s officials. Still, Vlas went on as if he was fond of no one. “Those traces are still there and more as smoldering embers waiting to rekindle. Better to douse it, I say.”
“So are there or aren’t there any people?” Deitir wanted clarified.
Vlas looked at him and said, “There are no people.”
Irslan gave an expression of uncertainty, but ultimately of surrender, and didn’t argue.
“It may be that the water can be better channeled,” Cayri offered to Deitir, who accepted that with a simple nod for now.
“Thank you,” Merran said to Dacia, as she brought him to the entryway of an open forum, the place where she claimed that her mother would be addressing the coven. He’d had prec
ious little rest at Irslan’s, but it was enough for now. His hand refused to confirm it was still attached to him beyond an occasional tremor of pain that threaded lightly through it and into his wrist. The best he could do now would be to communicate their situation to the coven.
He stood in the high-arching entrance beside Dacia. Men and women loitered nearby, salting the open area which led to a shallow bowl of seating. There were several sitting, attention resting on Ersana Cambir.
The woman appeared to go through the motions of a form of morning or commencing ritual comprised of words and an occasional raising of her hands. Merran noticed that each such occasion resulted in a slightly brighter tone in the crystals arranged strategically about the forum. Merran wondered automatically if she was performing a spell of protection on the coven, hoping that it would seal them away from danger.
Dacia slipped away from Merran and went to take a seat. Merran stayed where he was, debating how long he would wait before he interrupted.
Ersana’s ritual ended within a few moments after that thought. She made eye contact with Merran while she was in the process of speaking less formally. “This morning I have sad news to offer.” She held Merran’s gaze during the pause that followed her words, letting her focus shift back to her followers when she continued. “The Ancient Mother has passed.”
The responses in the audience were reserved and reticent, though a few seemed to tense in posture. When Ersana looked at him again, Merran felt a rush of blame that she may have been poised to set on him. It was blame that would be true in part. He leveled his gaze on Ersana and the gathering of coven members between them, waiting.
“She was interrupted,” Ersana continued, “by defilers of Nature. The worst of them. The Vadryn.”
Merran relaxed and let go ideas on how he might handle an incensed mob of witches.