The moonlight grew stronger and brighter and empowered him. His body absorbed its energy, and now he began to turn in mid-air, slow at first, then quickly increasing in speed until the dome became a blur. His arms spread wide uncontrollably, and light streamed from the cuffs and collar of his cloak. The howl of a wolf pierced the chanting and sent intense fear to his heart. He eyes looked this way and that trying to see the source of the sound, but he found he was unable to move his head.
Unseen to Coinin, the Constellation of Lupæs in the shape of the wolf glowed brighter and brighter until the form of a spectral wolf ripped itself from the wall, its appearance more smoke than substance.
Something new like a wisp of mist on a sunny day flashed before his eyes, not enough for him to discern what it was, though still enough to make him afraid.
Without warning the creature stopped to face him, keeping the same momentum as he, and then let loose a great howl before flitting behind him and raking its claws down his back, searing its pads into his flesh like a hot poker. Coinin screamed in agony, a terrifying noise that cut to Menin’s heart. She had witnessed this twice and endured it herself once before, and it was as unbearable then as it was now.
Polinus had lied; the pain was agonising, if only fleeting, an experience he wished not to repeat. The pain was nothing compared to the immediate feeling of power, a tremendous influx of strength and instinct. However, the ritual had not finished. Moments after the ghostly wolf vanished, Coinin began to slow down, the spinning decreasing rapidly, enough for him to see once more the faces of those chanting. He was shocked to see the shelves behind the chanters begin to glow a soft gold as if a fire had been set behind them. This new glow spread in a clockwise fashion like a corkscrew along the walkways that spiralled almost all the way to the summit. As it reached the final book, each volume sailed unsuspended from the shelf. The thousands of books hovered with their covers open. With a flash of light from the pages, a sea of words left each page and blotted out his view like a sudden dark rain cloud. The young initiate absorbed countless volumes of knowledge and experience. His back arched and his eyes flickered as this new knowledge, word by word, was assimilated rapidly.
At the end of the ceremony, he would have all the knowledge collected by Curator after Curator since the founding of The Brotherhood, and it would be his responsibility to record his own experiences over a lifetime of service, just as his predecessors had done.
As the words completed their journey, and the final letters had entered Coinin’s mind, a brilliant flash of white light and a pressure wave issued forth from the boy. So intense was this that it bowled over every onlooker, immediately ceasing the chant.
A great crack appeared in the dome wall, accompanied by a noise like thunder. This completed the ritual, and Coinin fell from his mid-air suspension to the platform below and landed on all fours exhausted.
There was silence save for the rush of water from the river that cut through the dome, and then Coinin heard footsteps quickly climbing the iron steps to the platform.
He did not look around as someone rushed to his aid and carefully placed a cloak over him. He did not know it now, but his back was weeping blood from his wounds inflicted during the ritual, and his cloak and undergarments were torn to shreds.
‘Coinin, the ceremony is over, you did well. Come, we will see to your wounds,’ the familiar voice of Laliala Menin fussed.
Menin supported Coinin to his feet, and immediately the gathered crowd upon seeing him burst into spontaneous applause and cheering. A spectacle they had come to see and a spectacle they had received, to their delight. No other ritual had ended with such a show of power. No other ceremony performed here had exhibited such power to crack the walls of the dome, and this left many wondering who was this boy who could wield such magic.
Menin slowly escorted Coinin from the platform and down the stairwell, one step after another, slowly and surely until they reached the bottom. The lack of food, water and the sheer amount of energy expelled and the amount of knowledge gained in such a short space of time had drained him so that he would need to eat and then sleep.
As they reached the final step, Menin slowly walked Coinin through a corridor of people eager to shake his hand or wish him well, though Menin was too quick for them, her looks were known to terrify a man, and hers said it all. Stay back!
She took him to a small comfortable room hidden under the high plinth they had dozed at throughout the ceremony and sat him at a small oak table. There, water and food waited for him.
‘Coinin, you must eat and drink, the ceremony was a success, and it has drained you of your energy. Please eat, drink, and then sleep. I will fetch your brother,’ Menin half whispered to him before leaving to find Marrok.
Coinin barely had the strength to reach out and grab a goblet of water; his fingers grasped it and held on long enough for him to down the contents in one. He swallowed the final drops and released the goblet. It crashed to the ground noisily and left it where it lay.
His eyelids drooped with tiredness, and he would have fallen asleep where he sat if it were not for Marrok slamming the door open and rushing to his side.
‘Coinin, how are you? You took some punishment. Are you well?’ Marrok asked worriedly and looked into his brother’s face for signs of distress.
Coinin, his eyes half closed, looked at Marrok and gave an almost imperceptible nod and closed his eyes fully.
Marrok turned to Menin who had returned and closed the door. ‘Please help me get him onto the bed; I will attend to his wounds.’
Menin did as asked and took Coinin under the left arm and Marrok the right. They gently walked him stiffly to a small, but comfortable-looking bed that had been dressed with clean linen, and laid him face down. Menin disappeared for a moment and returned with a pail of water and several cloth sheets.
‘Here, Marrok, these will help. His are magical wounds and cannot be healed with anything other than time and water. I will take my leave and join you in an hour.’ Menin bowed.
‘Why did you not warn him that he would be hurt like this?’ Marrok demanded.
‘Would he have gone through with it if I had?’
‘Perhaps not, but surely that was his choice to make?’
Menin looked pained, even guilty. ‘Indeed so. I will seek his forgiveness for withholding the true nature of the ritual at the first available opportunity.’
‘Very well, thank you, Laliala.’ Marrok looked up at her. ‘He will be recover well?’
‘If he’s anything like your father Ædelmær, then yes.’
Marrok nodded and watched Menin leave. He smiled, remembering an insignificant event from so many years ago. His father bore the same injuries that Coinin now possessed, it was evident he too had undergone the Ritual of The Wulf, and now he realised why his father had not wanted to talk about it. One day, he knew that one of his boys would undergo this rite of passage, and it was not a pleasant experience. Why frighten the boys unnecessarily? He did wonder, though, why he hadn’t undergone the ritual.
He felt a small pang of jealousy at that moment. Coinin now shared something unique with their father, and he had nothing. It was not until Coinin let out a groan of pain that he realised how foolish he was for thinking that way. Right now Coinin was in pain and in danger of infection, and the living were far more important than the dead.
He gingerly removed the cloak Menin had draped around Coinin’s shoulders; only each inch seemed to have stuck to the quickly coagulating blood from his wounds. After apologising several times for the pain he was inflicting, he had completely removed the garment and cast it aside, where it crumpled in a heap beside the bed.
His work, however, was not complete. He still had to remove Coinin’s own clothing, and that would cause him more pain.
He gritted his teeth and removed a thin steel dagger from his boot to cut the remains of the cloth that still clung to his brothers back. He then dipped a cupped hand into the icy water of the pail and dren
ched the remaining fragments of clothing embedded into his brother’s skin to break the blood bond binding the fibres.
He carefully peeled back the coarse cloth until nothing remained. He now blanched at the painful claw marks on his brothers back, very deep track marks left by the ghostly wolf, and marvelled at the animal’s paw prints over each shoulder blade, seared into the flesh, the outline blackened like charcoal.
He took a clean cloth, dipped it into the water and laid it across the wounds on Coinin’s back. His brother flinched in pain as he did so, though, it seemed, while asleep. A gentle snore confirmed it. Marrok smiled in relief and continued to tend to his injuries.
❖
Menin was deep in conversation with the architect Prentis. He was worriedly waving his arms around while pacing back and forth.
‘I’ve never seen such damage, I just don’t know if the building will hold up. Have you seen the size of the crack?’ said Prentis, pointing at the severe damage the dome had acquired.
‘All I need to know is will it hold until the final ceremony is complete?’ Menin asked with a hint of frustration in her voice.
‘If there are no more outbursts of energy as witnessed from the boy, then it may. But if it fails, I will not be held responsible.’ Prentis crossed his arms defiantly.
‘No-one is going to blame you, Prentis. The oath for the Archmage is much simpler and more refined. There will be no repeat of the Curator’s ritual today.’
‘See that it does not. I may yet be able to repair the damage, although that will set back other projects for quite some time,’ Prentis huffed.
‘We will declare the dome off limits until such time as a repair can be made after the ritual.’
Prentis nodded approval and trotted away at speed to check on his drawings of the dome.
‘Why do you let him talk to you like that?’ Polinus asked.
Menin thought for a moment. ‘Because one day I may be wrong, and I may need to be brought down a peg or two, and I need people to know I’m not beyond straight talking. Besides, no harm really, he is at an advanced age, and his mind is not what it once was,’ she replied.
‘Isn’t that then a bit risky asking him to repair the dome? What if he makes a mistake and the whole thing comes tumbling down?’ Polinus asked, suddenly aware that it might come crashing down at any moment with him in it, He looked up to the cracked ceiling worriedly.
‘He may be a bit eccentric and obnoxious now and then, but when it comes to buildings, I wouldn’t trust anyone else to build them,’ Menin responded. ‘Now, shall we proceed with this ceremony sometime today, or what’s left of it?’
‘As you wish,’ Polinus muttered and hurried back to his platform.
Laliala Menin checked herself, smoothed her hair and inwardly smiled. Today was the day she had worked so hard to achieve, to live up to Rindor’s expectations and to be accepted as Archmage of The Brotherhood of The Wulf. No words could describe how she felt right now. Apprehension was mixed with nerves. She was about to take control of a universal religion and be the guiding light in the worship of Rindor, Maresh, and Taminoth. Archmage Orodor had done well to prepare her over the years and had given her a long leash, allowing her to make her own mistakes, which she always took as a learning experience. Long nights spent in prayer and discussions with Orodor were now memories and served to strengthen her resolve. She smiled again at the thought of teaching Coinin all the things she had been taught in preparation for his eventual ascension to Archmage, so confident was she that this was the future path for the boy. She mentally corrected herself, she could no longer refer to Coinin as a boy. After all, he was a fully sanctioned Curator of the temple and deserved the respect of being called a man.
‘Brothers and sisters,’ hollered Polinus from his perch high in the air. ‘I call you all to order, so that we may conclude the last of today’s ceremonies.’
Those assembled quickly scrambled to once again be seated, eager to witness the induction of a new Archmage. Observances like this did not come along too often, and to be present at such an event was an honour and a blessing.
Polinus, satisfied that everyone was properly seated, called out once again. ‘Laliala Menin, I call you forth to undergo the Rite of Archmage. Please step forward.’
Menin noted the dropped title of Curator as this role now belonged to another. A small pang gripped her insides like saying goodbye to a familiar friend for the last time.
She sighed upon seeing the climb ahead. Perhaps they really needed to redesign this ritual hall. Simply stepping forward was not an option, it involved a climb of sixty feet up a winding and narrow staircase. She stepped forward to silence, aside from an occasional cough, and climbed the stairway to fulfil her own destiny.
A dozen minutes later Menin for the second time that day stood on the raised platform ready to begin her life anew.
‘Laliala Isabella Menin. Are you willing to undertake The Oath of The Office of Archmage?’ said Chief Scribe Polinus loudly.
Menin said a silent prayer and bowed her head. ‘I am ready,’ she replied, equally as loud.
‘Please take the scroll of office and recite the words therein.’ Polinus handed her a larger scroll than Coinin’s.
It too was made from golden rollers and parchment. She, like Coinin, broke the seal and unfurled the document.
Without hesitation, she began to read aloud. ‘The Oath of The Office of Archmage. I, Laliala Isabella Menin, do hereby swear that I am of sound mind and do henceforth take the Oath of Office of my own free will and without duress in full agreement of my peers…’
❖
Coinin jerked awake, suddenly aware he was missing something important. He lifted his head and looked about him, unfamiliar with his surroundings. He spotted Marrok dozing in a chair, his legs angled up on an oak table.
‘Marrok?’ he asked. ‘What’s happening?’
Marrok stirred from his slumber and smiled broadly at his brother. ‘Thank the heavens you’re well.’
Coinin shook his head. ‘Never mind me. What’s happening right now? I have a feeling something’s going on I should be part of.’
‘Nothing’s going on, just Menin is being sworn in, I think. There’s been a great deal of cheering and clapping.’
Coinin looked appalled. ‘Help me up, please, I can’t miss her big moment.’
‘You need to rest, and it’s not wise to move you so soon. You are pretty badly torn up.’
Coinin scowled. ‘Help me so that I may witness Laliala being sworn in, please. It’s important, and I don’t want to have to order you.’
‘If it’s important to you, then it’s important to me. Here, let me help you.’
Marrok assisted Coinin from the bed as gently as he could, though the latter barely uttered a complaint.
‘Thanks, Marrok,’ said Coinin quietly.
Coinin allowed himself to be covered loosely with Menin’s cloak and was then stiffly escorted from the room and back into the auditorium where Aniol waited patiently. He instantly smiled; he had not missed the rest of the ceremony, Polinus was droning on about an Archmage’s responsibilities and duties.
‘We now come to the final portion of the ritual. I ask all in attendance to kneel as an act of respect and a show of your submission to the authority of the Archmage,’ Polinus commanded.
As one, the whole dome stood and then knelt in humble respect to Menin. Coinin found the pain bearable and followed suit with the aid of Marrok, who then knelt himself.
Menin had also knelt to allow Polinus to perform the last act of the ritual.
‘I place upon your head this ceremonial band of gold, which symbolises your unbroken and unending devotion and service to the mighty God Rindor, and the peoples of Er’ath.’ Polinus held high in both hands a thin golden band and brought it slowly over Menin’s head. ‘I hereby, in the sight of the Gods Rindor, Maresh, and Taminoth, and in the presence of The Brotherhood pronounce you Archmage Laliala Isabella Menin. You may rise.’
She placed her hands on an iron barrier running the circumference of the platform and spoke to the crowd for the first time as their new Archmage. ‘Brothers and sisters, it is with a humble heart that I thank you for the support you have shown me today. It is with a sad heart that I remember those who could not attend today, and ask that you offer a prayer for them.’ She bowed her head for a few moments of silent prayer and thanksgiving. ‘It has been a long day, and I would suggest that we depart for the Great Hall where a feast has been prepared for us. Please make your way there now.’
A rousing cheer erupted around the dome, and people started to move for the exits, relieved to be able to stretch their legs and have the chance to finally eat and drink something since breakfast that morning.
Archmage Menin took a deep breath; her nervous shaking was subsiding to be replaced with an inner contentment. She had a lot of work ahead of her to ensure The Brotherhood ran smoothly. She was happy for now to set the administrative side of her new office aside for the rest of the evening, in favour of allowing herself a few happy hours of enjoyment, followed by a contemplative prayer to Rindor in thanks.
She made her way down the stairwell, lost in thought, and was pleasantly surprised to find Coinin, Marrok and Aniol waiting for her, all smiles.
Coinin painfully knelt before his new Archmage in supplication. ‘My allegiance to you, Archmage, always.’
Menin visibly cringed knowing what pain Coinin must be suffering. ‘Thank you, Curator, now please get up off the floor.’
Coinin with Marrok’s aid stood and smiled. ‘I couldn’t miss your big moment.’
‘I thank you for that, but if you have introduced an infection to your wounds, that may cause us a bigger problem.’ Menin frowned. ‘Speaking of which, I wish to apologise for not revealing the true nature of the ritual to you.’
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 27