In the blink of an eye the warrior was gone, and on the man’s other side stood a robed and solemn young man with eyes the color of the roiling sky above. His vestment was colored a neutral gray, and his hair was cropped meticulously short and was the color of inky night. His expression was pitied but resolute, and deep within his eyes Dormael could see an even handed righteousness. Dormael felt suddenly that he was laid bare, all his secrets and thoughts were as a book to this silent watcher. He placed his hand upon the kneeling man’s shoulder, and in the other he held a pair of silver scales.
An instant later he also disappeared, and a beautiful young woman was wrapping her supple arms around the shoulders of the praying man. Her hair could only be described as molten gold, pouring from her head in lively waves that bounced playfully to the floor of the stone temple. Her eyes were closed, but from beneath her long lashes poured tears of a pity and love so deep that Dormael himself almost fell to tears. She moved to kiss the man’s cheek, and as her lips met his stubbly face she was gone.
Another woman stood upon his side, with her hand resting lovingly upon his downturned head. She was as darkly pretty and mysterious as the woman before was bright and lovely. She wore a simple brown robe of homespun, and in her dark brown curls were woven leaves and berries from all the trees and plants of the world. Her love radiated like ripples on a warm summer pond, but it was a maternal, nurturing love. Her expression became comforting, and as her eyes looked down upon the man she also faded away.
Behind the kneeling man and slightly off to the side another man appeared, wearing a deep purple robe with the cowl drawn up to shadow his face. He was sagely and shrouded in a wisdom that seemed immeasurable. He cradled a staff to one shoulder and held a book in the other, and as he looked down upon the man his eyes twinkled like an old storyteller with a secret to impart. He winked, and in the blink of an eye another man had taken his place.
This man appeared like a thunderclap with a presence so amazing that it brought Dormael to his knees. He was large and thick in the shoulders and arms, and a leather apron covered the parts of his chest that Dormael could see under his crossed arms. Muscle and sinew rippled as he relaxed and let his arms hang to his sides. His hair was long and dark, and a great shaggy beard hung from his face. His eyes were a deep dark blue like the southern seas, and they burned into Dormael like hot nails. This man, he knew, could see him, and did. He looked right at him, looked right through him. He nodded once, as if he was coming to a decision so momentous that the fate of worlds hung in the balance. He raised his right hand, and in it was a large hammer made of dark, cold iron.
“Forger of all..,” Dormael gasped.
Suddenly the world dropped away from him, and he rose into the sky like a great rock from a catapult. He flew through the clouds, out into the dark abyss of the Void, and beheld the world like a tiny pinpoint of light far below him. There were stars dotting the blackness around him like diamonds scattered across the heavens, strange clouds of red shining gasses and somewhere in the distance a shining comet streaked through the Void like a lonely rider in the night.
There was something here with him, a presence he could undeniably feel, but not see or touch. He could feel it caressing him like a curious child and a long-lost lover all at once. It looked down upon the world with him, and Dormael felt a strange yearning emanating from deep within it, as if it were answering to some call from below.
All at once, there was a great torrent; a magnificent release of energy surged around him, and Dormael realized that he was in the center of it all. Light rushed in from the dark corners of the abyss to coalesce beside him into a pinpoint of stirring, colored energy. Dormael was deeply exhilarated and, at the same time, terrified by it.
Then, they began to fall. He and the ball of compressed light beside him were rushing back toward the world at a speed that made Dormael grit his teeth in expectation of the impact. The world suddenly rushed up to him, and he was falling though clouds trailing a great tail of burning fire. He closed his eyes and screamed from the depths of his chest. There was a roar coming from the presence beside him as well, but it was a shout of pure elation. Their screams intertwined, mixing together to form a terrible harmony that Dormael was sure would tear the world asunder. He realized that his Kai was awake and was screaming with him, twisting and dancing with the power that emanated from that awesome awareness beside him.
The ground rushed up to meet them.
****
Dormael awoke with the guts-in-throat feeling that always jerked him awake from dreams of falling. He half expected to see that blinding presence beside him, but as he took a deep cool breath and sat erect, he saw he was alone. The huddled forms of his companions were scattered about the fire, sleeping soundly. He let out another long breath and rubbed his hands over his face to clear the ghosts of his dreams.
He rose and tossed his blankets aside, feeling the cool night air enfold his skin and sending goose bumps down the back of his arms. He strode quietly over to D’Jenn’s saddlebags and rummaged around inside until he found what he was looking for: one of his cousin’s bottles of wine that he picked up Gods-knew-where. He pulled the cork out with his teeth and took a deep swig of the tart, peppery red wine.
His eyes watered as the wine poured into his mouth. Squinting, he swallowed and gulped even more of the wine. Dormael let out a lung full of air as he wiped the dribble from his chin and took another deep breath to steady himself.
The dream had seemed so real to him. He went over the details in his mind again, trying to grasp at the things that he remembered and the things that jumped out at him as odd. He got a hollow feeling in his chest and chills ran through his stomach as a single thought echoed throughout his mind.
Those were the Gods in that dream! In my dream!
Shuddering, he ran that thought over in his mind again, trying to decide if he was supposed to receive some special message from the Gods, or if they were simply a part of the picture that the armlet had been showing him. Either way, he was getting tired of these unsettling images in his normally content and uneventful dreams. If only he could go back to dreaming of beautiful women!
He glanced over at Bethany, sleeping soundly and wrapped in her too-large blankets. With a start he realized that Bethany had not been a part of this latest dream. It had been for him alone.
The armlet, since the day that it had “met” the youngling, had seemed to favor her above the rest for some reason. Why now was it only showing this dream to Dormael? He sunk back onto the ground and wrapped himself in his blankets, pondering the last question as his eyes drifted closed.
****
The next morning dawned clear and cold, and the wind ran unchecked across the low hills to water the eyes and redden the noses of the companions as they awoke and ran though the routine of breaking camp. Dormael decided not to share this new dream with the rest of his friends until he could get a chance to talk to D’Jenn, and possibly Shawna, alone. He didn’t want to clue Seylia in to exactly what was going on, so he remained silent.
They headed west along the dusty road as the sun rose behind them, casting long shadows from the odd bush and tree that scattered the hills around them. Dormael’s breath misted before his face, and the rising sun glinted a thousand times from dew drops scattered among the long blades of brown grass. No one said much that morning and Dormael found that he was too busy trying to hunker down against the wind, and draw his cloak about his exposed face and neck, to come out and converse.
They picked up a quicker pace around midday, with D’Jenn’s announcement that they were nearing Gammeritus. Deciding to forego lunch in exchange for the time it would take to prepare it, they rode on towards the capital of Soirus-Gamerit. Dormael did not complain.
As the sun began take the journey towards the horizon, the city came in sight a few miles ahead.
“Behold, Gammeritus,” D’Jenn waved dramatically toward the city in the distance.
Gammeritus huddled in the dis
tance, a squat city encased in a high wall built upon the highest point for miles around. From this distance, the city was nothing special to behold, and Dormael knew from experience that once they got closer there wouldn’t be much to change that point of view. He sighed as he gazed upon the tribal seat of his homeland.
“It has its own sort of beauty,” Shawna commented, squinting into the afternoon sun. Gammeritus was the oldest town in Soirus – Gamerit, built simply for the need of the tribe to gather in one place for meetings and trade. As the years passed, inns and houses replaced the trading posts and meeting yards of old, and a wall was erected around the old settlement to protect it from other tribes. Still, time moved on, and the city sprang to life, spilling out over the walls and onto the hillsides. Eventually the Gamerits had built a new wall surrounding the outlying buildings and residences.
Thus, the city was of two main districts: the High City, where all the municipal buildings, residencies of the tribe’s leadership and temporary Clan holdings were, along with a few of the more wealthy citizens, and the Low City, which was everything outside of the inner city wall. Though he understood the need for the tribe’s leadership to reside near the center, the rebel in Dormael was always slightly irritated at the city’s design. He imagined a siege in which the richer and more important citizens would be protected inside the inner wall, and the common men in the Low City would be abandoned to the advancing horde. Perhaps that thought was far-fetched, but then again, perhaps not.
Gammeritus was a city of squat, single story buildings huddled low under the walls that protected them from the strong winds that blustered across the hills. The streets seemed to meander along with a carefree wandering between the tidy low structures, eventually making their way into the High City. Most of the buildings and houses were made of stone; timber was expensive in this mostly treeless land, but just to the north of the town there was a long, low gulch full of useful granite. It had proven invaluable to the Gamerits of old. Thus, the prevailing color in Gammeritus was a depressing, unyielding grey.
Dormael had never been fond of the place. He sighed as he clucked to Horse, beginning the trudge uphill toward the city. The sun sank slowly behind the capital as Dormael and his friends walked up the dusty road that led to the eastern gate, outlining the city above them and plunging it into contrasting darkness. It gave Dormael the impression that Gammeritus was some sort of squatting goblin or lurker, tirelessly swallowing up travelers who were foolish enough to enter the dismal place. It didn’t help that the wind shifted and came suddenly from the south as they made their way up the hill, and the foul stench of a tannery assailed their noses on the way up. He would be much happier once they found an inn and he was settled with a nice mug of ale or firewine.
There’s always drinking, Dormael thought, even in this dusty, boring hovel, there’s always drinking.
****
Bethany squeezed her eyes shut, her mouth twisted into a rictus of concentration. She sat completely still, little legs crossed underneath her, arms resting in her lap, hands clutching her dress. Her brow knotted up now and then, as if she were straining against some invisible foe.
Dormael could feel her Kai pulsing along with his own and D’Jenn’s. The three of them sat upon the dusty floor of Dormael’s room, in the middle of a space in the floor that they had cleared out for just this purpose. In the center of their circle sat a small rock, jagged and gray in color with the smallest bit of moss growing on one side of it.
“Be calm, dear,” D’Jenn told Bethany for the third time since they’d begun the exercise, “You don’t have to force the magic to do anything. Concentrate. Feel the rock through the magic…let your mind’s eye see it lying there.”
“I see it,” Bethany sighed, her patience beginning to waver.
“Now, reach out with your Kai…”
“Okay…”
“Feel the rock…feel the force holding the rock to the ground…”
The rock gave a slight shudder and scooted slightly away from Bethany.
“You’ve got the idea, Bethany,” Dormael soothed her, “but control it. Don’t let it do anything you don’t want it to. Just flow with the magic, become one with it, and it will do what you wish of it.”
Bethany’s brow knotted up.
The rock began to quiver, rising slowly from the floor, spinning in midair.
“That’s it,” D’Jenn said calmly, “you’re doing it Bethany”
Bethany smiled brightly and opened her eyes, gazing down at the rock as it rose slowly to her eye level. Dormael felt the melody of her magic as it held the stone in thrall, spinning slowly in midair. Her eyes were a vibrant blue today, and they seemed to shine from within as she concentrated on the floating rock. Suddenly she gave a squeal of delight and looked over at Dormael.
The rock shot into the air and embedded into the ceiling.
Dormael felt Bethany’s Kai fade at the same time the youngling squealed again in surprise. D’Jenn rocked backwards onto the floor, holding his stomach and laughing. Dormael was in a similar state, one hand on Bethany’s shoulder and the other clutching his own gut, trying to hold in his own mirth. Bethany was stunned into silence for a second, and then began to giggle along with the cousins.
“There’s a lesson in this, dear,” Dormael said, recovering and holding up a finger, “do you realize what happened?”
“No,” Bethany answered, “it just flew away.”
“Yes, but do you know why it flew away?”
“No,” Bethany repeated, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion.
“You became excited. Your emotions affect the magic, it responds to how you feel, to what you want. The more agitated your feelings become, the stronger your magic will be, even if you do it without thinking. That’s why it’s important to keep strict control of your Kai, dear. Magic can get away from you very, very quickly.”
“And how do we control our emotions? How do we keep our mind clear?” D’Jenn asked.
“Meditation,” Bethany sighed, smiling and rolling her eyes.
“Get to it, then,” Dormael instructed, picking the child up by her shoulders and setting her on her feet. “And don’t roll your eyes, love. It’s rude.” Bethany hugged both wizards around the neck and planted tiny kisses on their cheeks, then skipped to the door and went across the hall to the room she shared with Shawna.
“She’s progressing quite well,” D’Jenn commented, watching the girl depart.
“Quickly, for one so young…at her age I could barely keep my mind clear enough to sense my Kai, let alone play Flying Stone,” Dormael agreed. Flying Stone was a staple of Conclave training. It was the first exercise that young students performed numerous times when learning to affect the world around them.
“Indeed. What do you say to a drink?” D’Jenn asked, clapping Dormael upon the shoulder.
“Nothing, you drink it,” Dormael deadpanned.
“That wasn’t funny at all, coz.”
“No?”
“No. In fact, now I don’t even want any ale.”
“You’re a liar.”
D’Jenn laughed in reply and headed out the door into the hallway. Dormael followed, feeling cramped in the narrow hall outside their rooms.
The Kneeling Mare was the name of the Inn where they were staying, and like most buildings in Gammeritus, it was built mostly of stone. There were some items constructed of wood, of course. No building in a town like this would have stone doors, and most of the flooring was laid in timber, though the ground floor was granite. For some reason, all of the doors and hallways in the Inn were narrower than most, and it gave the entire building a cramped feeling. It only added to Dormael’s general dislike of the city, and his anxiousness to get going as soon as the sun poked its head over the horizon.
As the cousins descended into the common room, they were surprised to find it more silent than expected. Patrons were lightly scattered about the taproom, sitting sparsely at round tables and conversing in hushed tone
s. A somber feeling seemed to lie over the room like a blanket.
“Where is Seylia?” D’Jenn asked, turning to look at Dormael, “I thought she was going to play here tonight.”
“I’m…not certain,” Dormael replied, but in truth, he suspected that Seylia had slipped away during Bethany’s lessons. Something in the way she’d smiled at him while they had retired upstairs had told him that she would be gone. It was Seylia’s way, blowing into your life for a few short moments and leaving again in the same fashion, always leaving you wanting more. Though she flirted with Dormael and hinted sometimes to him that she would settle down if he gave the word, she would be gone before any lasting relationship could be established between the two of them, and Seylia never said goodbye. Dormael preferred it that way. It kept things uncomplicated between the two of them.
“Ah well, let’s sit down and have some ale,” D’Jenn shrugged, and moved over to an empty table in the back of the room. Dormael followed him, and the serving girl brought over two frothy drinks followed soon after by a plate full of spiced mutton, trenchers, and soup. The cousins gulped it down with gusto.
“Shawna should perk up now that Seylia is leaving,” D’Jenn commented slyly, regarding Dormael with a raised eyebrow, “those two were at each other’s throats enough to make me uncomfortable.”
“Indeed,” Dormael agreed, “I hope that all this cattiness has been exhausted.”
“Still, you should have that talk with the noblewoman.”
“I know, I’m just waiting for the right time is all,” Dormael consented, “I don’t want her too surly before the conversations even begins.”
“Well good luck with that, coz. We both know that sometimes she’s surly for no good reason at all.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Dormael laughed, and the two cousins tapped their mugs together.
As they finished their draughts, the cousins’ interests were caught as the conversation in the room died down to a tense murmur. Dormael looked to his cousin’s face and saw an intense cold expression in his eyes as he stared over Dormael’s shoulder. Raising an eyebrow, he turned to see what the problem was.
The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs) Page 40