by Scott Rhine
“I am practicing the Art of Peace. It helps me stay healthy by stimulating the flow of my ki,” the tenor began to explain. Suddenly, the boy’s face scrunched, as if the word meant something illegal or dangerous. Jotham hastened to ease Brent’s mind. “I’m not one of those vile leeches, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“But your eyes…,” the boy began.
“Hogwash! You can’t tell a wizard by the color of his eyes. The followers of Semenos have been spreading horror stories to weed out the mixed breeds. Magic doesn’t control how you look, your parents do. Do you think they should be able to burn me in their purity bonfires just because I was born different?” asked Jotham. The boy shook his head as the priest continued to fume. “And just because someone knows a thing or two about ki doesn’t mean he’s evil. There are far more disciples of the Art who use their knowledge to heal, sooth, and protect others than exploit it for consumption. The tin you hammered could be made into symbols of faith as easily as weapons.”
Jotham paused. Aware of how defensive he sounded, he shifted his emphasis. “Even the exercises that strengthen muscles can be used to harm, which makes my role as a teacher all the more critical. Students must develop moral grounding and practical knowledge to balance the secrets. One should never be taught to inflict more damage than one can heal, nor learn more than one can protect.”
Brent considered this for a moment. “What if you kill someone?”
Jotham shook his head. “Good priests would never do that.”
The boy considered this for a moment. “What’s the difference between a priest and a wizard?”
It was Jotham’s turn to ponder. This was the sign of a good student. “One would suppose that priests are concerned with why something is true and its moral value. A wizard is generally only concerned with the results. Priests are usually affiliated with a higher being. You and I follow the Way of the Traveler, who has handed down the Six Divine Teachings, also known as the Six-Fold Path. Each branch of our order has a temple dedicated to the propagation of one of these teachings. At the pinnacle of learning, the high priest may appear to work magic but is really operating on divine principle. Do you understand?”
Bored, Brent said, “Sure, you guys have to do lots of dull stuff before anyone tells you anything important.”
Jotham blinked several times, but he found himself unable to refute the child’s reduction of the situation. The priest couldn’t help but smile. The boy sleeves hung down six inches past his hands, and the tunic had room for two. “Perhaps it’s time we started teaching you some of that dull stuff. After I teach you to sew your own clothing, I’ll tell you your first mystic secret. How’s that?”
Brent agreed enthusiastically. Jotham pulled two needles and a ball of brown twine from his pack. It wasn’t elegant, but it would match the handed-down, home-spun garments well enough. Needlework gave the child something to concentrate on during his convalescence, and sharing the sewing made it go more quickly. The tinker’s apprentice already knew one crude stitch with leather cord and another for darning socks. Jotham did the fine work while leaving the hem for the boy. Brent was particularly interested in his trick to turn excess sleeve length into useful arm pockets. He almost applauded when the priest showed him how to perform the same feat inside a piece of clothing so that the pocket’s existence could be kept private. However, Brent sighed heavily whenever the white-haired man made him take stitches out and do them over.
“In the long run, this will save you time,” the priest pontificated, echoing an old man who had once taught him the same art. “A silver hour well-spent can be worth more than a gold week.” The memories triggered by the tired, old expression forced him to wipe his eyes. Old Eustace would have been proud. It was a shame he’d died in that prison before Jotham learned the Way of Freedom. Jotham cleared his mind so the boy wouldn’t see him shed tears and think him senile.
Once the boy demonstrated adequate stitch-work on a consistent basis and hit a rhythm, the priest began relating a story from the holy writings. First, he made a show of checking for eavesdroppers and then pulled the outside door shut. Jotham began in a formal voice, “Your first lesson concerns the gods and how they were made. These things were told to us by the Traveler, the only one who speaks to both men and the higher beings. He told us that we might know the Truth and grow. Not all men may hear this teaching. Give it only to those who are willing and have undergone the Ceremony. Do you still wish to hear the first teaching?”
Brent nodded. When the teacher remained silent, he said, “I do, sir.”
For the rest of the lesson, Jotham spoke in a gentle cadence, often in couplets, but softly enough that it wasn’t quite in song. “Many ages ago, the gods were men, not unlike ourselves. But through study and meditation, their sages uncovered the cornerstones of the cosmos. Some of their artifacts from the Dawn Times still exist today, but we understand little. To shield us from the harm these tools would do in immature hands, the Traveler has not told us all of their ways.
“It is important to realize that the higher beings who rule this world did not create it; rather, they learned enough about its rules to make themselves different—immortal. This did not make them better, only more powerful. Avoid bowing to gods.”
When Brent opened his mouth to ask a question, Jotham raised a finger and said, “I’ll tell you why.
“Consider the sun which gives life to us all. Plants drink the energy of life from it directly and, together with the minerals from the ground, thrive. But what if there were a second sun, unseen, that gave life to the spirits of men? The Dawn people found a way to tap this invisible sun for themselves. One by one, those who were able forsook the flesh to embrace the pure source of life.
“Not all aspired. Those who were left diminished. Our sages think there were wars, for the Ascend later made strict rules about communicating with the ephemeral humans and kept separate. For whatever reason, the Dawn civilization fell; their kind gradually vanished. The Ascended race became known as the People of the Air. The white lotus is our sign for them. Time passed for them as a dream, each day fluttering past like a heartbeat; a whole cycle of years evaporated like an hour. They loved, studied, and accomplished things we could scarcely imagine. But even in their lofty ways, they did not forsake this physical world entirely. Just as a plant needs contact with soil, so too did the People of the Air need to touch the world of their birth from time to time.
“That’s when the People of the Air noticed a disturbance in the flow of aetheric energy. In their long absence, something else was growing on this world—us. Few in number at first, their sages projected that, in a few millennia, we might become a threat to their food supply. The People of the Air debated this for centuries, falling into two camps: the pruners and the protectors. The pruners felt that we should be pulled up like weeds in their celestial garden. The protectors wanted to shelter us and give us the chance to become as great as they had, or maybe better. Calligrose was a staunch protector.
“For all their learning and aspiration, they squabbled like spoiled children. Mountains erupted. Plagues broke out among men and in nature. The great Harmony suffered. Then, one of the injured Air folk noticed that humans stored much more ki than we used, like an animal converting excess food to fat. They also noticed that, given a sufficient number of these small creatures, one could feed from the source indirectly as well. This ended their debate. Humans could live, but only as many as they could use to feed upon.”
“They eat us?” asked the boy, a little dismayed.
“Technically, they consume the mana we collect. But the important concept is that the People of the Air took the next step up the food chain to omnivores. Those who could learn the skills became the first gods. The world could only support a small number of them—thirty-nine. The Traveler also had the capability but remained a vegetarian, unwilling to siphon the life force of another thinking being. He was not alone in his morality. But the other new gods fought wars over huma
n cities and territory, learning that more humans meant more food and more power. Those People of the Air who could not take the next step slowly diminished as well. It seems to be the pattern with these things. The gods used their former brothers as fodder in their battles. A few survived, but those hid in the remotest places where humans never go.”
“That’s awful!” exclaimed Brent.
“It gets worse. More advanced in the studies of life force than any of his fellows, Osos took the next step. Osos learned to feed off of the other thirty-eight gods. His power grew enormous, but at what cost? The other gods began to weaken. If matters continued this way, they might one day die. The gods were no longer immortal.
“The clever Calligrose heard their cries for help. He offered to solve their problem—but at a price. He would be granted certain authorities, allowed to help humanity, and permitted to set a certain number of men aside for his own purposes. According to the contracts of gods, the terms were met, and we are his people.”
When the priest had remained silent for a full minute, Brent burst out, “Well, how did he fix it?”
Straight-faced, Jotham replied, “That is another lesson.”
Chapter 8 — Diving Belle
An hour before dawn, the young, female diver named Humi crept from the bedroom of Lord Kragen’s tower and dressed in on stairwell landing so as not to disturb his rest. The diving women lived in a prison-like dormitory by the docks and tended to have little modesty. The guards averted their eyes as she closed her robes and cinched her belt.
As pure-blooded Imperial wizard, he watched her by the light of the Compass Star and sighed, “Stay and have breakfast with me.”
She smiled. “The dock work doesn’t get done without me.”
“I have something I want to share with you.”
She closed her eyes as he ran his lips across her neck. “I’m well-acquainted with what you’d like to share.” Nobody else in the southern kingdoms would have refused him because Lord Kragen had a hand in all water traffic, legal or illegal. “There’ll be time tonight. Right now, I have to check the sesterina wire on all the safety ropes.”
Technically she was a captive, but, in practice, the Lady of the Depths ran his secret project with ruthless efficiency, focusing this entire side of the island to her purpose. Humi held his future in her capable hands. He didn’t understand the artifacts connected to the safety ropes, but he knew that they were basically hand-cranked prayer wheels that drove some form of life essence down the wires and repelled spirits away from the divers. The system usually worked well, but so many things could go wrong. If spirit activity was too heavy, the life essence in the jar could run out early, leaving the divers defenseless. Furthermore, the precious-metal wires were brittle and could snap, breaking the aetheric flow. The rowers chosen to turn the wheels sometimes grew lazy and slowed the rate below the effective threshold. “That won’t take long. Just fifteen bits?” he begged.
She wriggled out of his grasp. “I have to check the boat wards and gear teeth, too.”
He deflated. Once, a gear tooth on one of the prayer wheels shattered, eliminating a single word-glyph from the prayer. Since this word turned out to be a negative in a key location, its removal made the device function in reverse, attracting every predator in range. That debacle had taken months to recover from. “Can’t you leave a little late? Necrota can handle most of that without you.”
Humi rolled her eyes. “He’s got a bad case of indigestion. His apprentice is pretty inept.” Bigger spirits were not repelled by the ancient device, which was why the ki mages were kept on hand. If the line did not fend off a predator, the ki mages could suck the life force of the attacker back up through the wire, feeding on it instead.
“How’d he manage that?”
“The siphon trick only works if the diver unties from the line first. Two days ago, the knot couldn’t be undone in time, and the mage drank in both lives: the spirit and the woman. The mingling left the ki mage comatose.”
“And you short-handed,” he remarked. Humi had already survived two similar close calls by her wits and the application of a shard of wizard glass that she kept in her weight belt. “I want you to stay out of the water today,” he insisted.
“Why?” she ask, shyly. “My participation doubles the find rates. And we have to locate another center stone by the end of the month. Storms have caused too many delays already.”
He nodded. Behind his veil of secrecy, Kragen had worked for years to uncover the ancient mysteries. Now, they were so close to his goal he could taste it. His finances were depleted, both from the sheer cost of the project and a gang war over control of his territory in Innisport, the largest city in Zanzibos. Add to this the increasing harassment by both neighboring kings, and Kragen was stretched to his limit. “Nevertheless, your contacts among the glass artisans and talent for finding the richest digs are too valuable to risk. You shall attend me the moment you return.”
Kragen would never use the word “love,” but she heard it in his voice. After a quick bow acknowledging the order, she virtually floated down the spiral staircase and into the compound below.
The high wizard breathed in her scent from the sheets and sighed. When he ascended to the throne, she would make a worthy chief concubine.
****
Today, Humi noticed the grandeur of this remote palace, which had once been an abbey. The curved, red roofing tiles contrasted with the lush green of the mainland and the misty blue-gray of the sea. All of the fired-earth bricks in the many winding walls had the same burnt-umber tint, matching the color of the exposed soil of the island itself.
The young woman walked gracefully past the garrison, the rope factory, the wire works, the boat wrights, and onto the dock to ring the shift-change bell. At her signal, the caretakers lowered the freshly repaired and rune-covered longboat into the water. Next, craftsmen would put in three stout, well-tested ropes woven with sesterina wire, each bearing the maker’s name. One ki mage, six divers, and four oarsmen would row into the Inner Sea before the first color tinted the morning sky. At first light, the divers would begin searching the glassy bottom in pairs, attached to the safety rope. Two swam, two watched, and two rested at all times. The watchers were always next to go into the water while the previous swimmers rested. At midday they’d return to unload their cargo, and the bell would ring for the next crew. The second shift would stay out until the divers could no longer see. Often the rowers had to be guided in by great lamps in the towers. The two towers were also used to keep an eye on her boat in case of an emergency.
She hummed as she went through her chores, thinking of when she first met the lord wizard.
Humi had been born two years before the last emperor’s demise. Without the emperor, they had no protection from the wrath of the Inner Island spirits. People all over the world had felt the ground shake and saw the sky turn black with ashes as the Imperial race was punished for its failures. Apart from the College of Wizards, the only known survivors were the ones who’d been on the outer shores: merchants, diplomats, soldiers, and exiles.
Humi’s father had been an Imperial, master glassblower at the port, and her mother had been his exotic and elegant, bronze-skinned mistress. Humi had been able to apprentice in her father’s workshop, but as a woman, she’d never have been permitted to take the master-craftsman exam. She would’ve gladly borne the restrictions for some small fraction of her mother’s devastating beauty and the attention her father paid her. Humi learned more about the art of manipulating men watching her mother in one stroll through the market than most women did in a lifetime. It wasn’t a balife.
Then, about the time of her twelfth birthday, King Zandar began annexing former Imperial lands into his own holdings. The glassblower objected and, after long months of legal battles, he proved clear title to his family lands before the magistrates. In answer, the royal tax collector of Innisport assessed them for ten years’ back taxes. Her father died in debtor’s prison, all properties
and possessions forfeited to the crown. Her mother had been killed when the king’s men beat the front gate open with a battering ram. Humi barely escaped.
Humi wasn’t a beautiful woman by her own standards. In her mind, her mixed ancestry made her too tall, flat-chested, and pale for any proper man to marry. Had she the time to develop her form and practice the skills her mother taught, she might have made a living as a harlot. People were starving in the streets, and Lord Kragen had crates of food rotting unused in his private warehouse. One of the last, pure-blooded, Imperial wizards, anyone crossing him would become a plaything for unseen minions and then hung from the walls by his own intestines.
Two decades ago, before the Scattering, Kragen had been a ship’s warder, little more than an apprentice. But his greed, together with his organizational skills, made him an underworld figure of prominence. He used his magical abilities to build a loyal cadre of thugs and to acquire considerable private holdings. He either killed or subjugated anyone else who showed the slightest magical talent. No one else would have risked encountering the fearsome guards that patrolled there, but Humi found a way in that no one had considered.
Ships that unloaded at this warehouse used great doors in the center of the building that faced out into the sea. Whenever the doors were opened or closed, they brushed against the sand bar, wearing them down over the years. No one dared go into the dark, life-draining waters, not since the Scattering.
Her lungs were strong from glassblowing. Her Imperial half and the charm around her neck gave her some hope of immunity from the spirits, while the numbness inside made her immune to all other fears. Although the gigantic bolt mechanisms that locked the sea doors in place were still latched securely, Humi had discovered a gap over three hand-spans high where the doors joined, seven strides underwater. In the dead of night, Humi made the arduous swim under the sea doors and into the loading bay. In total darkness, she ransacked the first crates she could pry open. She took a blanket, several jars of the choicest fish eggs for later sale, and a week’s worth of soldiers’ rations. The job went so smoothly that she returned every night for a week. On the seventh dive, she met the owner’s thugs on inventory duty.