So we can now see how the nature of the universe is both order and chaos, for they coexist in both opposition and cooperation. By their very nature, chaos and order are opposite, yet you can now see how they are part of the same thing—nothing more than folds and bunches in the fabric of existence we call the ether that we perceive as the figments of reality: matter, energy, time and space.
Still, this brings me back to the same old question—why? This is the eternal question that has plagued philosophers such as me since we first discovered our navels. Our only solace is that when we inevitably roll over and die, we may find out firsthand, but then who would we have to boast to? In death, the knot of life that we are becomes unknotted and all that comprised us flattens back out into the ether and is free to be bound up again as part of something else.
Keeping in mind that nothing is ever lost—matter and energy and time and space can simply change form, but the ether is infinite and unchangeable—what becomes of our mind?
Your current consciousness would end and, if it were weak enough, it would become unbound and distributed throughout the soup of other such tiny motes of experience. If the mass of experiences and memories and all that we call ‘self’ is hardy enough, it may remain singular enough to withstand the torrential ocean of death, and the spirit may remain intact. These are the echoes of lives that once were and these are the spirits that sometimes return to terrorise us on stormy nights. Not quite intact, not quite dissolved, they hang onto their existence with stubborn tenacity. It may even be feasible that some learn to persevere indefinitely and forever resist the tugging presence of the ether and perhaps even learn to mould the ether around them. These are what we foolishly call ‘gods’, for man has a habit of categorising all things with such labels in an effort to comprehend them. Again, whether or not there is any point to this, we will perhaps never know.
This is the cycle of our existence. Those who attain enlightenment remain conscious, one with everything, yet in a state of individuality, using the un-variation that surrounds them, to create energy and matter and life, creating potential that, one day, may itself reach enlightenment. This is the only reason for life that we can fathom: to create more life. And the reason for this? I believe the answer is ‘to experience’, for once everything has lived and everything has died and the universe, all matter, all energy and all consciousness have passed back into a state of non-being, what will have changed? What will be different? Nothing. Nothing, except all that which has occurred. All things must end and all things will begin again, the universe included. So what is there to do in the meanwhile? Nothing, but to make use of the passing aeons by enjoying our experiences. It is better than doing nothing, after all.
So what can we learn from all this? Perhaps that life has no meaning? Perhaps. Perhaps that our only goal is to better ourselves as much as we can? I believe that is more the logical choice. We have an innate instinct to create and to procreate and to ever become greater. This is a noble goal, but it should not be mistaken for greed or competition. By improving others, we improve ourselves. Money and wealth and personal belongings may have been necessary at one time, but we have evolved—we are changing. We are well on our way to becoming that which we are capable of being and it is time we left behind the weights and anchors that keep our mortal minds and bodies tied to the earth. We should take our place amongst the heavens, for there is limitless opportunity for those of us with the foresight to raise our gaze from the soil at our feet, where simple life struggles, and envisage the countless, churning stars above.
But I grow far too sentimental. For I know nothing of this from my own personal experience and, if I did, I would not tell you anyway, for one must learn for oneself to truly find the way forward. What else is there to do unless you are a god already?
My last point. There are several ways I can conceive of for one to exist after death and remain conscious amongst the ether. One is the path of betterment; another is the path of corruption. While the former leads to beings we call gods, the latter leads to those whom we call demons, those who can only exist through the suffering and consumption of others. They act in opposition to the gods, working to devour all others while selfishly sustaining themselves, destroying all life and potential instead of creating it. To the creatures that seek to live their lives unhindered, such demons are a terrible threat. They cannot be allowed to proliferate and must be countered by those who cherish life at all costs. If any such beings were to gain a foothold on this world, the results could be disastrous, to say the least.
I have not heard of any demons interfering with this world for many ages, but of course, there are many ways for them to get here. Indeed, they are ever trying to do so—whispering in the back of our minds when we are weak and needy, they can sound infinitely enticing with their promises of power. They may even grant it, temporarily, in order to take that which they covet most.
Hopefully, no one in their right mind would listen to such demons—it being such a foolish act. Of course, not everyone is in their right mind, and I fear that, one day, the demons shall appear upon our world, and we will be forced to battle for our very souls.
I pray I have passed on long before we see this day.
—Darrig Lin, Leader of the Council of the Wise
What is it that can best undo man, but man himself?
For men are little more than devils in the wait.
—chiselled into the stone wall in the vault room of the Temple of Shadows
CHAPTER SEVEN
A Long Way from Home
TINDAL WAS A land of grassy hills and meadows at the very limits of the Turian Empire. Further east, there were only woods and mountains, devoid of civilisation. Beyond that, the Eastern Reaches sprawled all the way up to the endless Paatin Wastes. Villages were scattered about and, occasionally, Samuel found himself passing through what could almost pass as a small town. The roadside fields were sown with grains or filled with grazing cattle, goats and black-faced sheep. Every so often, a wagon would slowly creak by along the bumpy, rain-scoured road, its driver eyeing Samuel with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. Few from central Turia ever had need to visit these distant parts, and the local people had their own customs, traditions and style of dress that marked Samuel instantly as a stranger.
Their accents were thick and curling and they seemed to have an entire collection of words that were entirely unique and often had Samuel in a quandary as to their meaning.
Samuel pulled his cloak tight as it fought to fly free, tugged at insistently by the bitter wind that howled across the hilltops. Here, far from the reach of the Order of Magicians, Samuel’s robes were simply protection from the elements. The affiliation such clothes represented was lost amongst the simple folk in these parts. People here seemed much less complicated than in the cities, yet their lives were far more difficult. Their very faces showed hardship and often despair. Magical cures and remedies were unknown in these far-thrown lands, replaced by boiled roots and poultices that did little to improve any but the feeblest of ailments. Many a bone ached with arthritis and many a tooth was blackened or lost. It was a sorry state of affairs for anyone to live in such a manner.
Jess—as he had named his horse, after his favourite and only cousin— began unsteadily down the long slope towards the frosty meadows below, where the sporadic dots of milling animals could be seen amongst the short grasses. Samuel patted the purse at his hip and winced as he felt its lack of substance. Spells had granted him food and a bed before, but now, in these distant lands, it was only coin which gained favour. The mention of magic often caused misgivings and Samuel had long since abandoned using his spells. Even the use of these Imperial coins had become difficult. The peasants preferred to barter, or use ancient currency from a time in their history before the Empire had marched across their lands. The people eyed and bit Samuel’s coins, scrutinising them well, before begrudgingly handing Samuel his provisions.
The wind blew up again and his eyes began to water.
He hoped it was not too much further before he reached his destination, for he had long grown tired of travel. It had taken over a month to reach these distant parts and he had no idea how much longer his journey would last. He was certainly feeling tattered around the edges and could do with a long bath and a good rest.
After leaving Turia, Samuel had passed through his home nation of Marlen. Reaching Stable Canthem, he had stayed shortly at The Burning Oak. Master Kelvin had been elated to see him and they had talked long into the night, discussing every aspect of magic possible. Kans was still there, begrudgingly serving the others. Now that Samuel had experience as a magician, he could see that Kans was about the poorest excuse for a mage he had ever seen. The man was lucky if he could cast a spell to save his life, which perhaps explained his unenthusiastic demeanour and lowly position at the inn. Fennian was still working there and he was now a strapping young man himself. He recognised Samuel at once and passed him a wink and a nod.
The Three Toads Inn was now run by a northern family who had no knowledge of Jessicah or her wretched parents. Samuel only hoped that, wherever she was, Jessicah was happy and that her mother and father were somehow miserable.
While in Stable Canthem, Samuel had also called upon Mr Joshua who still traded in secrets and not-so-legal wares, and who was utterly astounded and overjoyed to see him (after he had recovered from the fright of having a magician come striding into his office). Mr Joshua had declared he thought he would never see Samuel again, let alone dressed in the robes of the Order. He stated that he always knew there was something special about Samuel, the moment he had set eyes on him. He even looked into his records to see how much money he still owed Samuel, but Samuel only laughed and waved the offer off.
Mr Joshua made several offers for Samuel to join him in partnership, but Samuel had to politely refuse. However, he did gladly pass on all he knew about the recent events in Cintar while Mr Joshua nodded and smiled as he listened, no doubt memorising every single word. Mr Joshua was genuinely disappointed with himself when he could shed no light on the whereabouts of Jessicah. He could only say that some ill-conceived scheme of her father had left them packing in the middle hours of the night. Samuel was disappointed by the news, for he had been rehearsing the moment when he would reveal his horse’s name, and had imagined many times the feigned look of disgust on her face, followed by the giggles and laughs they would have together. Still, he was surprised how very little escaped Mr Joshua’s attention. Promising to visit at some time in the future, Samuel had turned from Stable Canthem and continued on his way.
His path had led him back through Stable Waterford, the tiny village of his birth, where he was met with a bouquet of familiar scents and sights. The houses and buildings looked virtually unchanged and children ran and played in the streets, exactly as he remembered them doing when he was one of them.
Samuel had spied the weaving stall belonging to Tom’s and he went on in, with a childish grin on his face. Tom’s parents were both inside, each looking a little greyer and a little plumper in the face.
‘Hello, there,’ Tom’s mother greeted him, standing up from her small stool, surrounded by half-finished baskets and lengths of mill plant strips. Her face slowly showed recognition and surprise as she looked up at him. ‘Samuel? Is that you?’
Samuel did not have time to reply before she had leapt up and thrown her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. She seemed to have shrunk greatly since Samuel last saw her.
‘Yes! Yes!’ Samuel replied, laughing. ‘It’s me.’
Tom’s father then stood and tried to shake his hand almost off his arm, while Tom’s mother continued tackling him. He had a modest smile on his face. ‘Good to see you, lad,’ he declared earnestly.
They then sat together on their small, wicker stools and Samuel told them all about his exciting life in the big city. They had heard nothing of him since he had left Stable Waterford and Tom’s mother wanted to hear every detail, while Tom’s father nodded solemnly at each fact. When Samuel mentioned being a magician, Tom’s mother had looked horrified for a moment, before recovering. Tom’s father looked at her and glowered. The air suddenly felt uncomfortable and Samuel had the sense to change the subject, leaving his tales unfinished.
‘What about Tom?’ Samuel asked after a time. ‘Where is he?’
‘He has his own business now, trading barrels in the old Clarnet store,’ Tom’s mother answered. ‘The Clarnets left the village about the same time…well, about the same time you did.’
‘Well, it’s been good to see you,’ Samuel told them, standing. ‘I’ll go see Tom and then I must be on my way.’
Tom’s mother hugged him again and Tom’s father shook his hand once more, and then Samuel waved goodbye and left their store. Outside, the day had grown warm and it was hot, sunny and dusty on the street.
‘Wait a moment, lad!’ called Tom’s father, hurrying out after him. ‘I need to talk with you a moment.’ Tom’s father drew Samuel a few steps away into the shade. ‘I want to tell you some things.’ Samuel waited expectantly and Tom’s father continued, somewhat nervously. ‘Things have never been the same here since you left, boy. Many things changed on the night of your parents’ murder, almost all of them for the worse.’ Samuel’s interest plucked up. ‘There were many murders that night, although we didn’t tell you at the time.’
‘Many?’ Samuel asked.
‘Yes. You see, for years before that time some foolish women, my wife amongst them, would meet each month, about the time of the full moon, and have a meeting.’ The man looked increasingly uncomfortable. He glanced around at others on the street, as if they could hear him even from far away. ‘It was just foolish women’s things at first—even now, I don’t know what they got up to—I don’t want to know. Three families were butchered that night and several others in nearby towns, so I heard. They were killed because they were meddling with things better left alone. Maybe they didn’t mean for it to happen, and perhaps it wasn’t even true, but some people at least believed they had begun fooling with witches’ business. In their ignorance and foolishness, they had been running around chanting spells and making silly incantations, even though they thought it harmless at the time. No one here wants anything to do with witches, witch-hunters or magicians.’ He started sounding a little upset, but added, ‘So it’s best to keep such things to yourself. Walking around here dressed like that will only get you into trouble.’
‘I understand,’ Samuel replied, looking down at his black clothes. ‘Do you mean to say my mother was killed because someone thought she was a witch?’
‘I don’t know. All I know is that everyone knew what those women were up to, and no one thought it would come to any harm, but only they were killed. I thank my lucky stars I wouldn’t let my wife go in those last few months or we could’ve been killed, too. The murderers were never seen and never caught.’ He sighed and gathered his thoughts for a moment. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be sounding so upset, but that was a hard time for everyone—yourself included, I’m sure. I’m not saying they were bad people—your mother and the other women—because I loved her like a sister. It’s just they got mixed up in things they shouldn’t have.’ He wiped his hands absent-mindedly on his trousers. ‘Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. I thought it better you knew. Why don’t you go see young Tom? I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to see you.’
Samuel smiled as much as he could, nodded and walked away.
Walking into the old Clarnet store, Samuel found a young man hammering away at some newly-made barrels. The man stood up straight and wiped his brow and Samuel had to look closely to recognise his old playfriend.
‘If it isn’t Tom Cooper!’ Samuel declared.
Tom peered at the strangely dressed man before him with some uncertainty. ‘Samuel?’ His chin was covered in blonde whiskers and his voice was gruff and deep—all too deep for the young boy that used to jump into the river with Samuel on those hot summer days. ‘I don’t
believe my eyes!’
‘Believe them!’ Samuel said and they hugged like brothers. Tom squeezed him like a bear, and Samuel had to break away before being crushed. ‘It’s been a long time.’
‘Too long! Where have you been? What have you been doing all these years?’
Samuel laughed. ‘It’s too much to tell in one sitting, but I’ll try.’ Samuel began to tell of his time in Stable Waterford and Cintar all over again, making sure to avoid all mention of magic.
‘So what were you studying in Cintar?’ Tom asked him.
‘History, literature, politics, mathematics. Nothing too intriguing.’
‘Argh! Sounds terrible! You should have stayed here with me. Our adventures were never the same without you. But look at your strange city clothes!’ Tom declared. ‘And where are you off to now?’
‘I don’t really know,’ Samuel admitted. ‘But I shall find out, as soon as I get there.’
They chatted a little more, but Samuel soon felt himself longing to leave. It was wonderful to see Tom again, but the whole atmosphere in Stable Waterford had him feeling uncomfortable. Remembering his past had turned out to be more of a painful experience than he could have foretold. He shortly made an excuse and promised to come back again soon when he could.
Stepping outside, the village now seemed altogether small and empty. Years of city living made his childhood village seem remote and lifeless. So it was for only a few hours that Samuel had remained in Stable Waterford.
He had passed by his family’s home and waited for several long minutes at the end of the road. It looked overgrown and long unused and the thought of seeing the place of his childhood had been all too alarming, so he had urged Jess on with a flick of the reins and a kick of his heels, and he turned his back on the place where his family had all been killed.
The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) Page 34