“Did you have any dreams last evening?” Mycah asked.
“No, nothing.”
“A pity,” Mycah said.
She loved his accent. It was fluid and vibrant, and most important: different. Perhaps she loved it because she loved Mycah; because he represented family and home.
Mycah sniffed. “I have been scrambling all morning to decide what I must tell you before I leave. I had hoped that perhaps the gods would fill in anything I have forgotten.”
“The gods do not speak to me, Mycah,” she lectured. Null was tired of making this point. She didn’t care for Mycah’s beliefs, and yet he continued to insert his ideology at every opportunity.
“Of course they do,” he said. “Do not be so closed minded. You must embrace what you feel. Embrace your experiences. Even those that might seem extraordinary.”
As was always the case when Mycah spoke of religion, the queen grunted.
“My Queen,” Mycah responded, “you may doubt me, but you have not seen the things I have witnessed. There are powerful forces in the world, and your Lockish denialism does nothing but hold you back.”
The queen chuckled. This was an argument they often had. “I have seen plenty,” she said.
Mycah smiled back. He seemed to have a hard time arguing with the queen, which Null didn’t understand. When it came to magic, Mycah was the most knowledgeable man in the Lockish court. Still, it was hard even for Null to believe everything he said. According to Mycah, the gods were smarter, more powerful, wiser, and more creative than any human alive. So why couldn’t they make the world perfect? He seemed to believe in the Trellish idea that a single god called the Mother had once ruled the entire peninsula, but if that were the case, why had she given it up? There were too many unanswered questions in religion; that was Null’s problem with it.
Mycah didn’t try to argue. Instead, he turned his attention back to Null. “Has the healing taken?” he asked.
“Yes,” Null answered. “I feel fine.”
“That is great. There are times with magic that I wonder, because it is too often destructive. Thankfully, I no longer have to deal with the heartlessness of Atherahn and Butcher worship. Even the ignorance of Lock is preferable.”
“The resources of a king can cure any woe,” the queen mocked.
“Yes,” Mycah smiled. “That helps as well.” The look he gave the queen was almost flirty. He had a good sense of humor, even with a woman who reviled everything he held dear.
Mycah stopped his frantic packing to stare at a gargantuan iron cauldron, as if he were wondering whether it would fit in his luggage. It most certainly wouldn’t. Coming to the same conclusion, Mycah gave an emphatic sigh.
“I will have to find another,” he mumbled.
Again, Null had never seen him use the thing. She was confident that if she looked inside, she would see nothing but dust and cobwebs, but Mycah was a romantic – in everything. And that included his most worthless possessions.
Looking stunned, he paused and turned to Null. “What am I doing,” he exclaimed. “I must speak to you before I leave. Have I taught you translocation?”
“No, Mycah.”
“Barriers?” he asked.
“No.”
“Healing?”
A third time, “No.”
He came to the table and dropped onto the opposite bench. “Gods,” he sighed, “what have I taught you?” He asked that sort of question often. Null had learned to simply smile and wait until he came back to himself.
Mycah looked thoughtful for a moment. “Hmph!” he groaned. He sounded almost offended, but if so, his disappointment was for himself or his lack of time, not for Null. “I do not have time to teach you anything more. I have contemplated this decision all evening and I have decided instead, to give to you a gift.” He went to a small side table and unlocked the single drawer. From it, he pulled out a large tome that he placed before her on the table. The book was bound in plain black leather with no author or title. “I have been hesitant to give this to you. Indeed, I rarely use it myself because of the dangers.”
“What is it?” Null asked.
“It is a spellbook,” Mycah said. “So that you may continue your learning while I am gone.”
The queen nodded her approval, or maybe the column she was studying on her ledger had added up to the appropriate amount. Either way, Null was reassured by Mycah’s gift.
“I didn’t know there were such things,” Null said.
“They are rare, even in Atherahn where mages are most abundant. In my homeland, sharing magical knowledge is uncommon, as doing so only makes your enemies stronger and yourself weaker. Often, secrets are passed down only within the family, or within certain social clubs, and they are almost never written down for fear that the knowledge might be stolen.”
Null nodded, not because she understood, but because that was what he expected. She couldn’t imagine a culture where information was so guarded.
“I myself was taught by my mother,” Mycah continued, “and after that, by Rathervian, my mentor within the cult.”
“Why is this spellbook so dangerous?”
“Because magic is dangerous. It is one thing to be guided in your discoveries, as I have done for you. It is another thing entirely to read it from a book and hope to recreate it. The first tenant of Alchemy is that anything is possible. Unfortunately, just because something is possible does not mean that your idea on how to make that thing happen is a good one. There are a million ways to do a thing, but often, only a handful of those ways do not end in disaster. In Atherahn, the third most likely cause of death for a mage is death by stupidity.”
“And the first two?” the queen asked.
“Being murdered by another mage is second, and first is ‘unexplained phenomena.’ It is the term the Rightful use when they cannot determine between homicide and accidental death.”
“How are there any mages left in Atherahn?” Null asked.
“When a mage dies, it is likely that some experiment has gone awry, or he has stepped on the toes of a political foe. But few outstep the desires of the cult or their Rightful puppets. And it is seen as impulsive to kill before attempting first to control an opponent. Even still, the high statistics are the result of other factors. Mages live inexplicably long and healthy lives, thus when a mage finally does die, it is more likely to be the result of one of those two things rather than by natural causes.” He paused, seeming to realize that he’d wandered off point.
“Null,” he continued, “I am going to give you this book, but with the harshest warning. Do not attempt anything in here without thinking it out fully. I have heard of too many fools who kill themselves because they believe they have come up with an ingenious idea, only to misstep egregiously.”
Mycah put both hands on the tome then pushed it across the table. Null was worried. Other than the dreams, she didn’t discover much about magic on her own. It was hard to know where to start. She didn’t have that mind; that way of thinking or intuition that could create realities and formulas and spells. Thankfully, Mycah had always offered his knowledge selflessly. She wasn’t certain she could learn without Mycah’s help, but she didn’t want to fail him, and she didn’t want to fail her kingdom, so she would have to try. She pulled the book closer.
Mycah closed his eyes and nodded his head.
“I hope this is not a mistake,” Mycah said. “But we are out of time, and I must let you fly on your own.” He stood from the table and resumed his pacing. “But it is a shame. Every mage should know how to knit flesh.”
“Then teach it,” the queen rebuked, without looking up from her scrolls. Even though she was fond of reciting her own complaints, Queen Tepa was impatient when others did so.
“I cannot,” Mycah admonished, the criticism directed inwards instead of at the queen. “That topic might take her years to understand.”
The queen shrugged. She was a wise woman. If she didn’t know a topic, she didn’t argue, but Loc
k help her opponent when she did. The queen had an incisive way of speaking that left her victims with little to reach for. Null had always wished she could replicate that trait, but whenever she tried to argue with Beda, or one of Tyvan’s other fools, she was always too caught up in trying to present every fact and idea she had, that it allowed her opposition to latch onto any minor detail and use it to dissect her argument. This always left her flustered, and in her frustration, her arguments would fall apart. Distraction was a powerful tool. That had been one of Mycah’s first lessons, but Null had never been able to apply it to debate.
Mycah halted his pacing to stare at another object. This one was an hourglass. Null wasn’t sure what Mycah saw, but the sand had already run through. Regardless, he shot his eyes to Null as if remembering something. “Null. Your dreams,” he said while tugging at an earring.
“What about them?” Null asked.
“I… I have not been wholly honest with you about them.”
Suddenly curious, Null perked up in her seat. One of the queen’s eyebrows raised in unison.
“How do you mean, Mycah?”
“In the past, I have found your ability to learn in your sleep remarkable. I have often told you to trust those visions, but in the past, I have always been here to… screen the ideas. To be truthful, Null, these insights frighten me.”
“But you have always called them a gift, granted by the gods.”
“Yes, and that is what terrifies me. I know that you do not believe in the gods, but they are very much real. And more often than not, one should fear their attention. Be hesitant of your dreams. You and I cannot fathom the motivations of a god. Your helper may not remain benevolent forever.”
This was new. When Mycah spoke of the gods, it was always, “Mystic be praised this,” and, “light of Mystic that.” She had never heard him speak ill of those he worshipped.
The queen guffawed. “Don’t fill her head with such nonsense.” Her speech was slightly muffled by the pen she chewed on. “There are no gods.”
“Stop trying to think for her,” Mycah accused.
The queen’s eyes did not flinch as they met his. “I cannot correct your own beliefs, but I will not let you shape hers,” Rin Tepa said.
“And I will not let your Lockish ignorance put her into danger.”
For a moment, Null was made nervous by the thought the two might turn on one another. She could feel her throat begin to tighten and prepared herself to correct her breathing should the tension continue. The queen studied Mycah a moment more, before she smiled and turned back to her scrolls, unabashed. Mycah huffed.
A knock at the door announced the end of their meeting. Almost immediately, the queen began rolling up her scrolls as Mycah went to answer it. The queen must have recognized the knock, for she was already on her feet when her assistant stepped into the room.
“My Queen,” the assistant said, bowing. “Commander Dims is asking for the final numbers on his expedition into the Northeast Province.” Giving an abhorrent look to Mycah she added, “He has also asked that the priest be ready to leave within thirty minutes.”
Queen Tepa handed the two scrolls she’d been marking to the assistant. “Of course,” the queen’s voice trailed away as she left the room. Null got up to follow, as the queen would expect, but on her way past, Mycah grabbed her arm and pulled her close.
“I was not completely honest in the queen’s presence, but I must tell you this,” he whispered. “There are more things in the spellbook than spells and lessons…” His voice trailed ominously.
Null looked down at it and frowned. “What do you mean?” she asked, glancing up at him. Mycah shrugged and motioned for her to look inside.
With a sense of nervous unease, she flipped open the cover and began to read the first page:
Mycah,
I write these words as a means of explanation. It was me that saw you exiled, as I’m sure you’ve discerned. I apologize, but it was necessary, as you will realize in time. As I can no longer be there to serve as your teacher, I have written down all the things you need to know, so that when that time comes, you can help me to do what must be done.
Within this book, you will find the knowledge you require. Spells, drawings, explanations, but you will also find the real history of our Butcher’s Cult, and its purpose in this world. Read it carefully and with an open mind, for much of it will contradict those things you think to be the truth. I swear upon the Return of Death, that all of it is true and accurate, to the best of my knowledge. May the knowledge serve you well.
Your Mentor,
Rathervian
Null looked at Mycah and frowned. The first page seemed innocuous, at least given Mycah’s history. “I don’t understand… why couldn’t you show me this in front of the Queen?”
Mycah glanced at the door, then leaned near and placed his hands under hers, staring into her eyes. “Null… there are some mages who see blood as a path to power, especially within the cult.” His words were slow and careful. “These mages kill indiscriminately, because often there are no repercussions. As I said, the cult is not questioned. This book was written by one such mage. The man who wrote it, my former mentor, Rathervian, is dangerous, bloodthirsty, and cruel. Not everything in here will make sense to you. Much of it is vile, sinister work. This is the real reason I left Atherahn. Because this is the type of magic my peers undertake. Heretics are not banished in Atherahn. They are slain. Given to those who would make themselves stronger by killing another. If the knowledge in this book were to make its way back to Atherahn… I do not need to tell you, that it would not be good for anyone. But…” Mycah groaned an annoyed sigh. “But you need to learn these things. And more, I need you to learn them with the proper knowledge and understanding. With the proper precautions.” His face was deadly serious. “I need you to make me a promise.”
“Anything,” Null said, taken aback.
“Do not kill. If you get caught in the fighting, you must use your illusions, use your snares, use your wits, but do not kill. Whatever this book says, death is not a path to power; it is a path to madness. Do you understand that?”
Null nodded.
“I need to hear it from your lips. Say the words aloud.”
“Whatever the spellbook says, I will not kill.”
Mycah sighed in relief then pulled her into a hug. “Good,” he said. “You will do well, just be cautious.”
“I will.”
Mycah let go of her and turned back to his chest. He continued throwing random objects into it, though for some reason she felt that he was doing it more in an attempt to avoid looking at her, than for any other reason. His eyes were wet.
“Be safe,” he said. “We will see each other again.”
She mimicked the sentiment, staring down at the book in her hands and wondering what knowledge it might hold that would make him this serious. With one last look at him, she smiled then left the room.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ivan was enjoying a long-awaited rest. In fifty years, the old butcherspawn had never given him a vacation. Not a single day. It was always, “Ivan! The parishioners!” or “Ivan! A letter!” or “Ivan! I’ve slaughtered three cows, a mountain goat, and a sparrow in a divining.”
“And what did you divine?” Ivan had asked foolishly.
“Why, that you would clean it up! Get to it. The bodies are in the auditorium. Oh, and do remember to let the other animals out of your quarters.”
“My quarters?”
“Of course.” As the Cleric left the hall, his voice echoed back around the corner to Ivan, “That is where I have always kept my pets.”
That week had been monstrous. It had taken him three full days to clean the auditorium, and then, “Ivan! Where have you been? We’ve had business to attend. Did you know that the kitchen has lost several animals? They think they’ve been stolen.”
Exhausted, he’d nodded and listed: “Three cows, a mountain goat, and a sparrow.”
“
Yes! No, not the sparrow, but the others. How did you know?”
“You killed them. In a divining.”
“A divining? I would never! I assure you, I have no memory of such a thing. Not even the gods can foresee the future; I would not waste my time on such a foolish endeavor.” Despite these protestations, the High Cleric’s face had been a guilty smile.
Emotionally dead after pulling entrails from chandeliers and wall sconces, Ivan had simply asked: “Where did you get the sparrow?”
“Oh,” the High Cleric enthused, “it was in there already, nesting in the rafters.” The High Cleric winced, waited, and then smiled, seemingly certain that Ivan hadn’t noticed his admission of guilt.
In answer, Ivan had yawned and said, “I’m going to bed,” then without smiling, “right after I visit the kitchens.”
“No, Ivan, it wasn’t me, I swear!” the Cleric had pleaded. “It was a monster. A big scary beast… named Thinkasumthunlu. Yes! That’s it, Think-a-something-Lu!”
Stopping, Ivan asked, “And how do you know this?”
“I… I? I saw it in a vision! Of course! Yes, a vision! And… and there’s more! If you go into the kitchens the beast will return again. It will come back in four days and all of Trel will suffer for your arrogance. Ivan, I have seen it. Do not test my visions!”
“Of the future? The same future that cannot be seen?”
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 22