And then, in 1190 AC, Hakon Hallstein, wading across a stream near what is today Burgundoi, noticed a particularly shiny yellow rock, and picked it up. It was soft enough to scrape with a thumbnail, and when he brought it to market with him the next time he came to town, a local smith knew precisely what it was: gold. Hallstein invented a completely spurious location for his find, and went about purchasing the land around the creek he’d been wading across when he found the nugget of gold. The Hallstein Goldrush ensued, and hundreds of Goths, Gauls, Hellenes, Romans, and even a handful of people from Nippon and Qin moved to the western coast of Caesaria Aquilonis and began panning and digging for gold. Turf wars broke out, the legions were mobilized to maintain order, and the tiny hamlet around the port of Burgundoi became, overnight, a boomtown. Miners were rich, and wealth begot wealth. They needed more facilities, a larger port, more hotels, more baths, more everything . . . and they had the money to build it. A great deal of that gold found its way into Rome’s coffers, and it funded the newborn navy of the Empire—largely built by Gothic and Gallic shipwrights, admittedly—and allowed Rome to control the seas. (For general reference, the city of Cuzco, far to the south in Caesaria Australis, began to be settled in or around 1190, as well.)
It wasn’t for another one hundred and sixty years that a similar lode of mineral riches was uncovered, but in 1350, silver was discovered in enormous quantities in the mountains of Nivalis, east of Burgundoi. The mining infrastructure already existed, and had for generations; the miners themselves simply decamped to the forested, snow-covered mountains, and began to dig. However, the Kolr Lode, as it became known, for the prospector who discovered it, was positioned deep inside the mountains, and was by no means as readily accessible as the gold fields of Burgundoi had been. As such, there were battles between rival miners, and the legions once more had to be mobilized. Yet the technical challenges that needed to be overcome in order to access the ore were towering, and required miners to work together, as never before. Gunpowder charges were imported from Judea to facilitate the digging. New support systems had to be devised to hold the access tunnels. Entire new systems of pumps had to be built to remove scalding hot water from the depths of the mines. Earth and water elementals were summoned, at great personal cost, to dig and remove what water the pumps couldn’t reach, and a few golems were used in areas of the mines too hot for humans to bear.
And in the end, the empire was, once more, enriched, but for Rome to receive this wealth, it had to be transported, either by wagon, across the continent, or by sea, across the Pacifica, around the southern tip of India, and through the Gulf of Persia. Piracy was rampant, and the Roman fleet, fought valiantly against thieves and bandits on the waves for centuries. The area around the island of Hawai’i, in particular, is known as the Graveyard of Ships, for the many pirate and Roman vessels that lie beneath its waves.
When the locomotive was invented in 1548, and tracks were laid, connecting the whole of Caesaria Aquilonis, Novo Gaul and Nova Germania and all the other subject kingdoms, undoubtedly a great sigh of relief was breathed. But no sooner had a means of moving the goods from one end of the continent to the other been put in place, then another immense trove of mineral wealth was uncovered, this time in Africa.
The small trading colonia of Cyrenus had been founded in 1501 AC at the southern tip of Africa by traders who thought that they might be able to compete profitably with the established trade routes and their expensive portage across Judea. The colony was a backwater, primarily concerned with resupplying ships, and little more, until 1565, when one of the local tribesmen traded a shiny pebble for a half a solidus. The pebble traded hands a half-dozen times before winding up in Rome, where it was identified as a diamond. The mad dash began as people of a dozen nationalities descended on the region. Pitched battles between the outsiders broke out over who had claim to the land, though in truth, none of the interlopers did. The locals were nonplussed. They attached no particular value to the shiny rocks, but the few who abandoned their herds to dig were paid the same amount as any European for the diamonds that they found.
This discovery of what appears to be an ancient volcanic shaft, in which diamonds were compressed and welled up, over time, in the earth, is the single richest field of diamonds currently known of on Earth. Diamonds found in the volcanic rock are generally xenocrysts, which is to say, foreign minerals that have intruded into an otherwise homogenous mineral mass. One might well term the miners who pursue them by the same name.
—Abdeshmun Shafat, Blood, Gold, and Diamonds: Mankind’s Relentless Quest for Resources, pp. 28-9. University of Carthage Press, 1958.
______________________
Maius 21, 1960 AC
Trennus and Kanmi had arrived at Nazca around noon, after a long damned flight from Cuzco. “You’re shaking less than you used to,” Kanmi congratulated Trennus as they disembarked.
“I think I’m getting used to it,” Trennus muttered. “Fourth or fifth flight in a matter of weeks.” He felt oddly naked and more than a little out of sorts. Flying wasn’t the only thing he’d grown accustomed to; he was used to having Lassair in close mental or physical proximity. He understood that distance didn’t actually matter much to the soul-bond between them, but it still felt vaguely attenuated. Psychological. You probably don’t need Lassair to hold your hand crossing the street, either.
You promised Stormborn—and me!—that you’d be careful doing that. We both need you. Rich amusement in the spirit’s slightly distant voice, and Trennus had snorted and relaxed at the reminder of his joke in Judea, after he’d bound the pazuzu. If he died, the damned statue in which he’d embedded it would shatter, wherever it was on the ocean floor today. He had an obligation to Sigrun to make sure his life was as long as possible. Not to mention, to Lassair.
I’m always careful, he returned. The internal conversations took eyeblinks, as he and Kanmi found their way to the location from which he and Lassair had taken a bus to Nazca, last time. Just missing you.
Saraid is with you. A light, blithe assurance.
Yes, and I am uneasy, the quiet sylvan spirit put in, as Trennus trudged up the steps of the bus and found a seat. You gave me blood, Flamesower, to allow me to protect you better this day. I hope I will not have to do so, though I will make good the bargain.
Trennus smiled faintly. I know you will. Saraid had been with him when he’d rescued Lassair. She’d seemed quietly fascinated by the soul-bond, but had told him, emphatically, Such is not necessary between you and me. I am not weak. And she had yet to say a single word about the physical relationship that Lassair had initiated with him.
“Communing?” Kanmi asked, a little sharply, as he took a seat beside Trennus on the bus.
Trennus blinked. Talking with the spirits didn’t distract him; he could remain perfectly aware of his surroundings, watch for attacks and ambushes and anything else. But he found it hard to carry on two conversations at once. He wasn’t a spirit. Time was finite and linear for him. “Yes. Sorry. Didn’t realize it was obvious.”
“You go silent, and tend to smile.” Kanmi looked out the window at the barren plains around them, dotted with scrubby brush here and there. “Tell me. Is seeing spirits innate, or trained?”
“I think anyone could be a summoner, if they’re trained.”
“But seeing them, unmanifested. I can’t do it. I’ve tried. You can tell me to defocus my eyes all day, nothing happens.”
Trennus coughed into his hand. “I think it’s . . . well, it could be innate. But you have to understand, the first time I saw S . . . the white hind, I was six years old. My father and brothers had taken me hunting with them, and they didn’t believe me. They couldn’t see her.”
I have watched over you for a long time. Saraid’s tone was equitable. You could see me. That interested me. And I had a sense of things to come. A sense of time and power and connections. Of opportunities to be pursued. You are a nexus. Or will be one.
Trennus blinked. It was the
longest speech he’d ever heard from the gentle spirit on the topic, and he filed it for later consideration, before admitting to Kanmi, “For the longest time, I thought I’d just imagined her. I could always see the house-spirits, though again, my brothers didn’t believe me.” He paused. “The local ley-mage—Senecita Tancorix—took me as her apprentice when I was thirteen. She never told me why, but now I tend to suspect my parents told her about my seeing spirits. And when I was eighteen, a rogue summoner was on the run. Tried to hide from the authorities in the Caledonian Forest.”
“The one from Blood Pact, or whatever that group was called?” Kanmi’s memory was good.
“That’s the one.” Trennus grimaced. “Senecita, my father, my brothers . . . everyone took to the woods, the hills, the crags. We know them, as no outsider can. Still took two weeks. He was using his spirits to help hide him. Senecita went off ahead at the end, and found him. Challenged him to a formal wizard’s duel.”
Kanmi snorted. “No one does that anymore. That was charmingly old-fashioned of her. Not to mention, forgive me, somewhat stupid.”
Trennus shook his head. How to convey that the chase itself had been thrilling? Like the best game ever invented, running through the snow in the forest, hip-deep in places, chilling to the bone, but knowing that something out there was dangerous, and in need of being put down. He and his brothers had laughed about it at night, but his father, Senecita, and the grim-faced Praetorians had been quiet at the campfire. All too aware, Trennus knew now, of the risks. Of course Senecita had been aware of the boyish bragging going. Of the fact that Vindiorix, ten years Trennus’ elder, had lightly told him that he should have stayed home with his books, by the fire, for all the use he’d be. I’m a ley-mage, Trennus had objected, angrily. I don’t see you telling Senecita to stay by the fire. Perhaps you’re scared of her? A little woman you could pick up with one hand, Vindiorix? Then again, you’d be right to fear her. She could snap you in half.
Vin had punched him in the shoulder. Hark, he barks and shows his teeth. It’s a fine sheepdog you’ll make, little brother. But you’re not a hunter of wolves and bear. You don’t have the stomach for blood.
How to convey that Riacus, next-oldest, had chuckled and bragged he’d bring the man down with an arrow through the eye, and that will teach lowlanders to come running through our forest, eh?
Of course she didn’t want me, or anyone else, to do something stupid out of false pride or slighted ego. Trennus’ mouth formed a hard line. “She put her life on the line to protect others, Esh. Even if it was mainly from our own stupidity and arrogance.”
“I have a hard time putting arrogant in the same sentence as your name, Matru.” Kanmi’s tone was dry. “For a noble-born, you’re remarkably self-effacing.”
“Everyone is stupid and arrogant at eighteen. I wasn’t immune.” Trennus winced. He hadn’t bragged, but he’d definitely envisioned success. Being the one to bring in the summoner’s head. He just hadn’t expected success to come with the kind of price it had. “She had old-fashioned honor in a world that has no time for such, anymore. She was a good teacher.”
“What happened?”
“As I said, she’d gone off ahead. I . . . climbed to the top of a crag to get a better view.” Boots slipping on ice and snow-covered rocks. Breath coming in white clouds, looking down into the tangle of the forest. Vertical lines of tree trunks, crazed, mazed, horizontal lines of limbs in black, against a white backdrop. And then he’d caught sight of movement, and pulled his bow over his shoulder . . . and held his breath in awe. Spirits spinning in the air around the summoner, dazzling, beautiful, terrible, all at once. Senecita trying to crush the summoner with a fist made of earth.
And then one of the spirits pulled itself into a tree, used it as a golem-like body . . .and had picked Senecita up and broken her spine, like breaking a piece of kindling over a man’s knee. “It was the first time I’d ever seen someone killed,” Trennus admitted. Even at that distance, it had been shocking. The numb, dazed look on his mentor’s old, lined face as the tree had dropped her. “The white hind appeared right next to me. She told me she hated this man, these spirits, in her woods. And said she’d help me if I shot him. She’d make sure the arrow got through the spirits.”
Saraid had been as good as her word, shifting to stag form, and racing forward. Tossing this creature or that out of the way with massive antlers, even as Trennus had lined up the shot with his bow. Allowed for wind. Quietly prayed not to clip a tree branch along the way. He’d fired, and the summoner, distracted by the spirit of the Caledonian Forest in front of him, hadn’t felt it coming till the arrow found his heart. Trennus had slipped and slid his way down the rocks. Run through the snow to Senecita’s side . . . but it was too late. He hadn’t dared touch the body. It seemed so . . . small. Not really her, with all her force of personality. He’d crouched beside her for a long moment, remembering the first time he’d successfully tapped a ley-line, with her help. The way she’d occasionally thrown a bucket at his head when he’d been particularly dense with his lessons. And then he’d stepped over and looked down at the summoner. Saraid had whispered, Take his book of Names. His grimoire. It holds things that I do not trust with anyone but you.
“What if someone asks me what happened to it?” His voice had been dull, and he hadn’t been able to register the importance of her words.
Say his spirits made off with it, as they fled. I will take it for you, for the moment, that you may honestly say that you do not have it.
He’d looked up then. “Why do you trust me with this? Why not one of the gardia? One of the Praetorians chasing the man?” He’d barely been able to choke out the words, and the clearing in the woods, snow muffling his voice, had been appalling quiet.
Because I know you. I know your heart. I have watched you for a long time. My Name is Saraid. Call on me, when you need me.
He’d called on the patient spirit often during his four interminable years in Londonium. His pronounced Pictish accent in Gallic had gotten him his fair share of hazing. He’d never mentioned to his classmates that he was a king’s son. It didn’t really matter. Picts didn’t go in for primogeniture. Kingship had to be earned. It could fall to any child in the line, or even to a brother or an uncle of the sitting king—or, these days, it could go to a sister or an aunt. There were literally more than a dozen people in line ahead of Trennus, and he genuinely didn’t care.
So, he’d had Saraid’s mark tattooed across his back, sealing himself to her, as she was bound to him. He’d studied the forbidden rituals in the book she’d kept safe for him, and committed them to memory. But she hadn’t prompted him to use them in Gaul, on the summoner who’d been forcing Lassair. Trennus had made that choice of his own free will. Senecita would probably have considered it reprehensible. Then again, considering what the man was doing? Maybe Senecita would have approved. It’s a little hard to ask her, now, though.
Kanmi’s voice roused him from the memories. “I take it the arrow got through?”
“Yes. It did.” Trennus kept all emotion out of his voice. Killing was a . . . private thing. He didn’t like doing it, but when it was necessary, he’d gotten appallingly good at it.
“Good.” Kanmi’s tone matched his. Empty. “We’re coming up on the Lines. Hopefully we’ll meet interesting people while we’re here today.”
Trying to shake off their persistent escorts, in light of Lassair’s having desecrated the Lines last time they’d been there, was annoyingly difficult. Finally, however, they managed to walk off on their own, and that was when Cocohuay appeared, as if summoned, herself. “Finally,” the god-born woman muttered, dusting off her clothes. “I have been hiding in the underbrush like a chinchilla. I may have ticks.” She scratched at her hair—freshly dyed and darkened, and grimaced. “I have tried to disguise myself. Do I look like a tourist?” She gestured down at her clothing. No more alpaca wool and elaborate beadwork. Instead, she was evidently trying to pass for Nahautl, with a white
, thin shirt and a colorful skirt. And smoked lenses, to hide her piercing eyes.
“You look cold,” Kanmi told her, bluntly. “Gods know, I am. But with luck, people won’t look twice at you, and we can say we blundered into you when you got lost from your tour group.”
“I will try not to speak. Some of the guards here have seen me before. Many times.” Cocohuay sounded apprehensive. “I do not know if I am to be detained on sight, or not, but it is best not to take the chance, yes?”
Smart woman, Trennus thought. She reminded him of Senecita, and the thought brought with it a pang. No-nonsense, straightforward, a little gruff. Sigrun might seem like both of them in forty years or so . . . assuming a valkyrie ever really ages.
They trudged across the hard-packed ground that felt as forgiving as any poured-stone road underfoot, feeling the dryness in the air suck at their mouths. “Tower first,” Kanmi said, tightly. “A few of the Lines along the way.”
Most of the actual animal figures, such as the Condor, to their left, were interlaced with long, straight lines that connected them, one to another, tracing the conduits of the ley-lines in the earth. It was a maze, and they had no choice but to walk on some of the Lines to cross them. Trennus could feel a flush of power every time he did. “Verify,” Cocohuay told him, sharply. “Is there a being trapped in the Condor?”
Trennus nodded. He could see the interlocking web of power that streamed up, like a vortex, from the Lines. “Yes, but I can’t sense power or intent.” They looped north, letting Trennus re-verify that the Spider figure was occupied, and, hesitantly, they walked along the rectangular outline between the Spider and the Flower. This one made Trennus suck in his breath. “This one, I can feel what’s inside,” he muttered, a little dazed. “There’s a sense of water, but . . . gentle. This is a beneficent spirit, I think. Trapped like one of the damned alu was crammed into a bottle.”
The Valkyrie (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 1) Page 105