The Mekai waved his hand, and the scene around them fell away into motes of light. They stood once again on the platform, the armlet still floating in mid-air above them.
“This room gathers and focuses magic in a way that nothing else in all of Eldath can do,” the Mekai said. “This is something you will learn during your studies here—that many things have an effect on magic. Music, shapes, materials, even places of great natural power—to all of these things does your magic respond. This room is the center of a gigantic magical Circle. The Crux of the entire Conclave, so to speak.”
“You mean the whole building is part of it?” Bethany asked.
“Exactly,” the Mekai said, smiling.
“But…what is it for? What does it do?”
The Mekai paused a moment, then turned to her.
“This place, this Convergence Chamber,” he said, “can be used to do any number of things. It focuses power, pulls it from the very air, and amplifies your magic. With this, you can scry out things happening on the other side of the world, or speak to many people at once. You could do wondrous and terrible things, dear. Terrible things, indeed.”
“Terrible things like what?” Bethany asked.
“That’s a topic for another time,” the Mekai said. “Let’s talk about what it’s doing now. The armlet—you are familiar with it, I assume? It seems to know you, little one.”
Bethany nodded, eyes going to the piece of jewelry floating in midair.
“It talks to me sometimes,” she said.
“What does it say?”
“You can’t hear it?” Bethany asked. She walked over to the Mekai and took his hand in her own. His wrinkled skin felt rough against her lithe fingers, but his hands weren’t gnarled or ugly. The hand contained a strength that surprised her. “Close your eyes. Listen to it.”
Bethany could feel the armlet’s song lilting out through the room. She waxed and waned with its alien crooning, sinking into the warm embrace of its music. The woman of fire did not appear, but Bethany could feel her in the room.
“I can hear its song, dear girl,” the Mekai said, “but any messages it might have do not fall upon my ears. I can feel its presence…but no—it keeps its secrets from me. All I can see is a wall of…a wall of flame.”
“I’ve seen that too,” she whispered. Bethany knew whispering was ridiculous—the armlet would hear her no matter what. Still, the somber feeling in the room demanded it.
“It’s very protective of you,” the Mekai said, opening his eyes. “I felt it tense when you came into the room. It hovers about you like a den mother. Your father told me what happened on the ship. When you donned it.”
Bethany’s stomach went cold with emotion.
“I didn’t mean to put it on,” she protested. “It made me do it. I didn’t want to.”
“I know,” the Mekai said, patting her shoulder. “So your father told me. Still, it’s interesting that the thing would take such a liking to you. I wonder why that is.”
“I don’t know,” Bethany sighed. “I’m not the only one, you know. It talks to Dormael, too. It talks to us both.”
“So he said,” the Mekai replied. He laid a hand on Bethany’s shoulder, and turned her back toward the chairs. As they walked, a decanter floated over from the table and poured itself into two wooden cups. The book that the Mekai had been perusing floated back into his hands, pages flipping through the air. Bethany settled into her chair, watching it all happen with awe. The Mekai noticed her watching, and she immediately felt embarrassed.
“Don’t worry, child—I’m used to the looks people give me,” he smiled. “When you’re as ancient as me, your magic becomes something…different.”
“What do you mean?” Bethany asked, her interest piqued. She wondered what she would be like when her skin got all saggy and dried up like the Mekai’s. She hoped her magic was as wonderful as his, but she wasn’t looking forward to looking like a dried prune. Bethany loved old people, though. They had the best stories.
“As a wizard gets older, dear, they grow…sharper, more focused,” he said. “Your power will grow into something that’s nearly alive. It will do things sometimes without your foreknowledge. I find that as I get older, I spend a great deal of time in meditation.”
“Why?”
“Well, say I’m walking across the Bruising Stretch one day, and I have an idle thought that a new tree would look nice out on the Green. For anyone else, that’s a fine thought to have, no problems whatsoever. For me, though, it’s different. My magic wants to make it happen, wants to grow me a tree. You have to control that sort of thing, you see, or every errant thought could turn into an embarrassing situation.”
“I think I understand,” Bethany said. “Like with the book—your Kai knows you want it, so it brings it to you?”
“Very astute, Bethany,” he said, beaming at her. “That’s it exactly.”
“Will my magic get like that?” she asked. She wasn’t sure what she thought about it.
“If you live long enough,” the Mekai smiled. “I imagine that for you, though, it will be quite worse.”
“Worse? Why?”
The Mekai gave a low chuckle.
“Dear, when I was a young man, do you know what I did? From which Discipline that I came?”
“No,” Bethany replied. “Were you a Warlock, like my father?”
The Mekai let out a laugh.
“No, dear, not even close. I was a teacher,” he said. “I taught the natural sciences to the older children. They all used to call me Master Arian. My gift was a modest one. I could manage a few more difficult things, but I was quite a lot better at research, and the application of my magic to the pursuit of knowledge. I had a particular interest, dear girl, in history.”
“If you were just a teacher, how did you become the Mekai?” Bethany asked. “I thought you had to be the strongest, best wizard.”
“And what, do you think, constitutes being ‘the best’?”
“I don’t know,” Bethany shrugged. “I just thought it was true, that’s all.”
The Mekai lifted an eyebrow and regarded her over the rim of the spectacles he was once again wearing.
“Here’s a bit of wisdom for you, dear—one of those sayings that old people give you sometimes that you’re supposed to carry around with you like a rock in your pocket. Words like ‘best’, or ‘strongest’ are all relative. They can mean whatever you want them to mean, and they can be easily twisted to mean anything. One person says he’s the best swimmer, and maybe that means he can swim very fast, or for a very long time. Another says he’s the best fisherman, and maybe that means he can pull more fish out of the sea, or that he knows the best spots to catch them. The thing that both of those fools don’t realize is that the sea doesn’t give a damn about who’s the best swimmer, or the best fisherman. The sea takes the strong as readily as the weak. My grandmother told me that before even your father’s father was born—think on that, dear girl. That’s a very old bit of wisdom.”
Bethany nodded, trying to discern his meaning.
“Regardless,” he went on, “the Mekai is not the strongest, or best wizard—if there is such a thing. The Mekai is elected by the Conclave. I was elected long before you were born. Before people older than you were born, in fact.”
Bethany leaned forward. “Are you the oldest wizard, then?”
The Mekai let out another laugh, and it echoed around the chamber.
“The oldest in this building, anyway,” he said, smiling. “The oldest, indeed. I’ve forgotten how delightful children can be.”
“I’ve always liked old people, too,” Bethany said, returning his smile. “You’ve got the best stories.”
“That we do,” he chuckled. “That we do. Would you like to hear another one?”
Bethany hugged her knees to her chest and grabbed the cup of water, then nodded with enthusiasm. She loved stories, and she was about to get one from the oldest wizard in the Conclave. Who else in the
world could say that?
The Pirate-Queen of the Seas, that’s who.
“This book,” the Mekai said, holding up the tome for her inspection, “is the collected writings of Sevenlander kansils from history. You know what kansils are, dear? Has your father explained them?”
“No,” Bethany grumbled. “I guess there’s a lot he hasn’t told me.”
“I’ll speak with him about that,” the Mekai winked. “In the meantime, I’ll try and fill you in. You see, Sevenlander society is made up of families, right? Each family has a leader that speaks for them, chosen by the families themselves. That person is called a patron—or a matron, if they’re a girl. Now, those patrons then elect someone to speak for them from amongst their own, and those are called clan leaders. The clan leaders elect the kansil from their own ranks, and this person leads an entire tribe. Do you undersand?”
“I think so,” Bethany nodded.
“This book is a collection of the things they have written down,” the Mekai said. “It goes back a very long time. I’ve found something here that I think you might find familiar. Keep in mind, now—these words were written hundreds and hundreds of years ago, and we’re about to read them. Think of the time that passed between the thought and its passage to us, right here, right now. Exciting, isn’t it?”
Bethany nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Now, where did I…oh yes. Here we are.” He cleared his throat, peered through his spectacles, and started to read. “The dreams plague me nightly. I see a field of nothing but flame, I see the night sky all around me, the Void full of stars. I see a battlefield, and men struggling. Even during the daylight I can hear the noise, whispering to me as I walk the halls of my home. The others think me mad, and perhaps they are correct.”
“The dreams,” Bethany said, interrupting him. “I’ve had dreams like that.”
“Which ones, dear?” the Mekai asked, setting the book aside.
“All of them,” she said. “The battle, the fire, all of it. Who wrote that?”
“These are the writings of a man named Baristael Neborrin. He was Kansil of the Soirus-Gamerits very long ago,” the Mekai said. “These musings are from his journal. Not many ever read these, but I, as I said, have a particular interest in history.”
“What does it mean?” Bethany asked. “That he could hear the fiega? It spoke to him, too?”
“Perhaps,” the Mekai said. “This alone tells us only a few things—that he may have been in possession of the armlet, and that he may have been magic-sensitive. Also, that it was reaching out even in those days, all those years gone. If, indeed, it was this artifact which was the cause of his problems, and not madness in truth.”
“What is magic-sensitive?” Bethany asked. “I thought there were only Blessed and Learned.”
“If you’re Blessed, you’re magic-sensitive,” the Mekai explained. “However, it is possible for a person to be Blessed, but only to such a degree that they can sense magic, perhaps feel it when someone is using it. Their gift, however, will never be enough to actually use their power. Many who are magic-sensitive don’t even know it, and will never realize it. The Blessing of Eindor comes to us across a wide spectrum.”
“So Baristael had the fiega, and it spoke to him,” Bethany said. “How did Shawna get it? It’s hers now, after all.”
“For the answer to that question, dear, we can again look to my favorite subject—history,” the Mekai smiled. Bethany couldn’t help but smile back. The man had a pleasant voice, and told a story with an air of mystery that drew her into his tale. He must have been a great teacher. “Now,” he went on, “have you ever heard of the Treaty of Duadan?”
“No,” she said. “But I’d like to hear about it.”
The Mekai paused and gave her a strange look, then cleared his throat.
“Aren’t you just delightful,” he mumbled. “Right—the Duadan Treaty was an agreement that was struck between the Sevenlands and a few countries in Alderak hundreds of years ago, before the Second Great War. There were a few provisions to it about trade and such, but the real meat of the treaty was the intermarriage of houses. Eastern kings were to take the daughters of Sevenlander kansils to wife, in order to strengthen ties between east and west. Not all the kingdoms of Alderak signed on, but a few did. One of them, dear girl, was Cambrell.”
“Why would they do that?” Bethany asked. “Why make treaties about getting married?”
The Mekai chuckled. “Entire wars have been fought over marriages, dear. Wars have also been prevented by marriage, though—and such was the point. The thinking at the time was that if the Duadan kansil has grandchildren shared with, say, the King of Lesmira, then Lesmira and Duadan would avoid going to war with each other.”
“Did that work?” Bethany asked. “Did it really keep them from fighting?”
“Not really, child,” the Mekai said. “It was an older time, a different time. The practice ended hundreds of years ago. In any case, the Kansils of the Soirus-Gamerit were to send one of their daughters to wed the Princes of Cambrell. Do you see why that is significant?”
Bethany thought for a moment before the answer slapped her in the face.
“Shawna is from Cambrell,” she said. “She had the fiega. If Shawna has the fiega now, and Baristael had it then…then that means that it came from Soirus-Gamerit?”
“Very good, dear,” the Mekai smiled. “Though, we don’t know that it necessarily came from Soirus-Gamerit, just that it was there at one time, and in the possession of the kansil. Now we have something to go on, a trail to follow, clues to research. Isn’t it exciting? History, dear girl, is better than any story.”
“I still like Leyton’s stories,” Bethany said. “Leyton was Pirate-King of the Seas, sacker of towns, terror of the blue.”
“So you like tales of plunder and mystery, do you?”
Bethany nodded.
“You’ll find more plunder and mystery in the annals of history than anywhere else, dear girl,” the Mekai smiled. “War, murder, love, death—it’s all there, and it all really happened. There are things to be learned. So—have I convinced you to train at the Conclave, then? I suppose you could always leave the real mysteries behind for other people to find, but something tells me that you would rather seek them out yourself. After all—why else would you come down into the Rat Holes except to search out ancient mysteries, hmm? Does your exile to the most interesting place in all of the Sevenlands still sound so terrible?”
Bethany smiled, feeling her cheeks redden with embarrassment.
“I didn’t mean it would be terrible,” Bethany said. “Just that I would be lonely. And I’m sorry about coming down into the tunnels. I didn’t mean to get lost..it just…I just…,” she trailed off, unable to put words to how dumb she felt.
“A girl with at least one friend can never be lonely,” the Mekai smiled. “So, are we friends now? I’m certainly too old to be going anywhere, so you know you’ll always have a friend here, no matter what. Is that enough to convince you?”
Bethany smiled, and nodded.
“And don’t worry about coming down into the Rat Holes, girl. Do you think you’re the first child to go running around in the tunnels, searching for old magic swords and the like? The Conclave staff are always sweeping them up out of the corridors and sending them back to their classes. You’re not the first, and certainly won’t be the last. I even did so, once.”
Bethany smiled. “You did?”
“Oh, yes,” the Mekai said. “Believe it or not, little one, I was always in trouble when I was your age. I stole quite a bit of food from the kitchens.”
“The pastries are the easiest,” Bethany laughed. “They leave them right out on the tables, right where anyone can grab them. I can fit two in my mouth and three in my dress, and still be out of there before anyone sees me.”
“Be careful, though,” the old man laughed. “If Lady Gerith catches you, you’ll be scrubbing pots for an entire season. Big pots, too—the kind
you have to crawl into.”
“Lady Gerith?”
“She runs the Conclave kitchens,” the Mekai said. “Everyone calls her Lady Gerith, the Queen of Soup. Don’t let her hear you say it, though—that will get you scullery duty, too.”
“Did you ever have to scrub pots?” Bethany asked. She couldn’t imagine the distinguished old man on his hands and knees, scrubbing away at greasy iron.
“How do you think my hands got this wrinkled?” he asked, wiggling them in the air.
Bethany laughed. She decided that she liked the Mekai.
“What’s going to happen to me now?” she asked, coming down from her fit of laughter. She remembered the man in the tunnels, and she once again felt dread creeping down her spine. “Am I going to be in trouble?”
“For what, getting lost in the Rat Holes?”
“No, for hurting that man,” she said. “The one who tried to grab me.”
The Mekai gave her a sobering look, and took a deep breath. He rose from his chair and offered Bethany his hand again. She was reluctant, but she rose and took his hand anyway. The Mekai led her once again inside the concentric lines of silver, to the middle of the Crux. She felt his Kai reach out and sing with the Crux, and their surroundings once again dissolved.
“Close your eyes, dear,” the Mekai said, squeezing her hand. “I need you to show me the place where this happened—take me there in your mind. Can you do that? Can you picture it?”
“I think so,” Bethany said. She concentrated, trying to conjure the scene in her mind. She imagined the candle sconce on the wall, the man standing in its pool of light, examining her footprints. She imagined the dusty hallway, the smell of the stone. She saw his face as he looked at her.
She saw him burn.
Please!
“Not so strongly, girl,” the Mekai said, his voice intruding on her vision. “Remember to keep hold of your emotions. An unfocused mind—”
“—yields unfocused magic,” she sighed, completing the mantra that D’Jenn was always making her repeat. She realized what she’d done—interrupted the Mekai—and felt her cheeks reddening again. “Sorry.”
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