Earth

by Rosie Scott

  I frowned, slightly confused. “He studied what?”

  “Why mages resemble the elements they wield.”

  This fascinated me. I often wondered the same, myself. “What did he find?”

  “I'm not sure he ever found the answer, my dear. If he did, he never wrote of it.” The woman turned to look over the museum. “You are free to look through our archives. We don't charge to visit, but we do ask that you make a small donation if you find something of interest.” She glanced toward a locked donation box on the counter.

  I waited to donate until the woman finally left to go back to her chair, because I planned on donating quite a bit, and I didn't want this to be suspect. I was able to slip a dozen or so gold coins into the box before she sat down and faced us again, so I left it at that. It would be enough to sustain the entire building for a season or two, I figured, and my gold reserves had done nothing but grow over the past year from our trip to Whispermere. It was a small amount for me to part with, especially given I hoped to find some answers here.

  Everyone split and went their separate ways, and to various displays. I found myself reading about my father's upbringing as a middle class citizen of Comercio, the son of a merchant father and blacksmith mother. If either of my paternal grandparents had magical abilities, I did not read any evidence of it. Arturian's bright red hair had caused his parents to believe he may have a future as a mage, and thus, they allowed him to attend an event in Comercio in which mages of Sera traveled to the capitol city in search of magic skill. He was given a fire spell to test, and when he'd wielded it correctly the first time he spoke it, he was offered a place in the Seran University.

  Much of my father's next journeys were described in journal entries. Beneath the glass of a display, the actual journals from his teenage years were lying flat, opened to relevant pages. Beneath each journal, rewritten on thicker parchment and with better handwriting, were direct copies of his words, so visitors could read Arturian's words past the two pages with which they could see. I read his words with much interest, knowing this was as close as I would ever get to speaking with him and knowing his thoughts.

  17th of New Moon, 320

  Today was so hot and dry that I nearly forgot it was New Moon, and that Sera was just covered in a few inches of snow little more than a fortnight ago. The weather has been finicky. This is only my second year in Sera, so I am unable to ascertain whether this is normal behavior for the skies. I have been to the libraries, but no one here studies this. “Why would we study the weather?” I am asked. “We are mages!” It is for this very reason I believe it needs to be studied. We know that wherever the Orders of the Mages go, stormy weather turns to calm. I am baffled as to why everyone notices this, but no one seems to care as to why this is. If we do not know the science of magic, how can we ever fully pretend to understand it?

  My professors here seem to think my questions are those of simple curiosity. Because I am only fourteen, they shrug away my musings and believe I will someday forget them. This enrages me. They are professors! They teach me things even they do not fully understand, and my parents pay good money to send me here! Little do they know, I have little intention on making my career as a healer. I know it would bring me riches, but it would not bring me happiness.

  I seek answers. For thousands of years, magic has existed and has been wielded by nearly all races of mortals, but there is still so much we do not know. Does manipulating the weather by taking its energy have a negative effect on the atmosphere of Arrayis? Would it ever be possible for a group of criminals to utilize this and wage atmospheric warfare on lands they have qualms with? How could we defend against such an attack? We have been taught here that some mages have saved dying forests by offering them rains, or changed landscapes with their magics. Is no one else concerned with the ramifications of this? Surely, if a forest is dying, its time in nature is up. Who are we to interfere? Is it a humble act to save the forest, or is it an egotistical move that would only prove one equates themselves with the gods?

  The words my father had wrote nearly one hundred years ago reeked of his incessant curiosity. It reminded me much of my own thirst for knowledge as a child. I remembered listening to my birth mother, Nanya, describe Arturian back when I'd visited her in Whispermere. She had admitted to telling Arturian she was pregnant with his baby, before having him assassinated because he wanted to raise me and was insistent on answers. I could see this described him well. To his supporters, Arturian was probably a person to admire. To others, he most likely had the capacity to annoy or frustrate with his constant questions.

  “Kai.” It was Cerin, his voice barely a whisper to my right. I glanced up at him, and he continued, “When you get a chance, I think you'll want to see this.”

  I was finished reading the first journal entry, so I followed Cerin over to see what he had found. Beneath another sheet of glass, was a letter from my father petitioning the regent of Sera long ago. Given the date, it would have had to have been Sirius's grandfather.

  72nd of High Star, 331

  Dorian Sera:

  Once again, I must plead you reconsider your stance on necromancy. As you may know by the seal which sat upon this letter, I am Arturian Kilgor. You surely recognize the name, as it was I who discovered the law which started being taught to students in your university last Red Moon. I tell you this not to boast, but to plead you to listen to my expertise.

  Necromancy can be an ugly, brutal magic. I understand that. But what is more ugly than its simple use is how many have died trying to combat it. Valerius the Undying is the most recent example; his corpse has long fed the worms of your cemetery, but your armies are still healing in both numbers and morale. Because of its illegality, necromancy is taboo, which only serves to entice more to learn it. These young men and women are teaching themselves necromancy, only to find they cannot control it and have nowhere to turn to for help when they find themselves out of sorts. What is worse is the fact that your university's methods of dealing with the magic encourage fear and denial. If your mages and professors are unfamiliar with necromancy, how can they ever hope to successfully combat it?

  Each element can be counter-acted by another, and death magic is the only element that counter-acts itself. By keeping well-intentioned people from learning it, you only handicap yourself when it comes to dealing with renegade necromancers. Is it not criminal necromancers to whom you owe the majority of the credit for killing other necromancers? How many necromancers have you been able to cross off your most wanted list because another has killed them in a fight over power or land? That credit could be yours, if you would only teach it and control it!

  I plead you to be the first Seran ruler to change the tides of history and allow necromancy to be a teachable element at your prestigious university. For the first time, you could rule that Serans do not blindly fear necromancers, but that they, too, are a force to be reckoned with.

  Thank you for your thoughtful consideration.

  Yours in magic,

  Arturian Kilgor

  Cerin watched me as I finished reading the letter, realizing I had much in common with the father I'd never met. When I met his gaze, he said, “Your father was clearly very intelligent.” He nodded toward other display cases. “And just as clearly a thorn in Sera's side.”

  I chuckled softly, noticing all of the other letters petitioning Sera to change or alter its ways. “I can see that. It is a wonder they view him as highly as they do today.” It gave me hope, however. Arturian was not a blind follower to Sera's ideals, and still became a notable mage of history. Perhaps my views on necromancy would not doom my own legacy.

  Of course, I was still a criminal. That was something Arturian had managed to avoid.

  I slowly made my way through all the small historical society had to offer, learning as much of my father and his work as I could. It was all interesting to me, especially considering he lived much longer ago than I could have ever anticipated before my trip to Whispermer
e, given my mother had said her pregnancy lasted over six decades. It was an odd feeling to read about events and happenings which had taken place over half a century before and know my father was behind them. Perhaps some elves and other long life races were used to that. But until this year, I had always thought I was only human.

  The last display case ended up being the most intriguing for me, as it showcased Arturian's last known communication before his assassination. It was a letter sent to his friend and former colleague in Sera.

  43rd of New Moon, 376

  Aleem Hadit,

  I am afraid I must put my trip to Sera on hold, my friend. I have received some wonderful news from an old acquaintance and have a personal matter I must attend to immediately. My trip will take me into the depths of the Cel Mountains. In my old age, I am afraid this trip will be treacherous. Do not fear for me, my friend, for I have people here in Kilgor who have offered to take me there. While I cannot go too far into detail until I see you next, it appears my infertility is not as I once thought, for I may have a daughter. This is a joyous occasion for me, and I can only hope I have enough years left in this old body with which to form a bond and see the extent of her magic abilities. I have reason to believe she may follow in my footsteps as a dual caster. My reasons for thinking this must be kept secret, for now. I am sure when I make my trip to Sera for our research, I will have her with me. There are many factors involved that make this personal situation of mine a field ripe for study.

  Please do not wait for me to continue your research or your discoveries, friend. There are limitless questions we must find the answers to, and I look forward to hearing of your progress when I come to Sera. Given the trip to the Cel Mountains, I believe I may be there by early to mid High Star next year.

  To research!

  -Art

  I couldn't help but tear up at my father's curiosity over me and my abilities. Nanya's admittance to me that he was excited to have a child and wanted to raise me was clearly true. The only thing Nanya had failed to fully explain was that Arturian had been under the impression I was either already born or that the pregnancy was almost to a close. He had seemed to assume his journey to Whispermere would allow him to leave with me. Nanya's letter to him had clearly been quite vague. On the same token, it was evident my father knew my mother was a goddess. Somehow, a man who had once thought he was completely infertile had a child with a goddess who also thought she could not have children, particularly with mortals. Arturian's words that my existence was a field ripe for study meant he knew how unique the pregnancy was.

  What was it that my birth mother had once called me? Ah, yes. A mistake of nature. Perhaps that was how to accurately describe me. Against all odds, here I was, living and breathing.

  Whatever the case may have been, Arturian had been assassinated by my own mother just weeks after departing Kilgor for the Cel Mountains. He had died in the midst of researching many topics, including the affects of magic use on our planet, and what makes a person predisposed to elemental magic. They were fields of study no one had seemed keen on picking up after his death. In his own way, Arturian was an anomaly, like myself, but he had died before he could fully know the extent of my abilities.

  I felt some peace in the knowledge that he would have found me fascinating, because it was his way. Given the documents here which portrayed his thoughts on all things magical, our beliefs were similar enough that I knew had we been able to meet and form a relationship, we could have had a great one.

  That was all I was ever going to get. Perhaps, finally, it would be enough.

  Three

  The attack came after the darkness of night fell over us near the end of Dark Star, just as the year of 417 came to a close. Our trek after leaving Kilgor had taken a detour from the Caravaneer Road, though we were still going in the same direction. We were planning on visiting Comercio, as it was the last settlement we would come across before the remaining trip to Nahara. Caravaneer Road led there, of course, due to the fact it connected all major cities to Comercio, but we wanted to avoid traveling on the road. The closer to Comercio we got, the more populated it would be. We didn't want to risk being seen or recognized before making it to Nahara.

  We were in the midst of setting up our tents in the middle of the grasslands which appeared to continue for miles in every direction. As always, it made me feel unsafe. Though Dark Star would soon be making the way for the warmth of New Moon, for now, snow still blanketed the earth. Our mish-mash of cream and brown colored tents stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the fields of white.

  Tonight, I found I had reason to fear, for our pursuers found us with little problem.

  At first, I heard a distant beating which vibrated with power in the air. The noise was unfamiliar to me, but I knew it was not any of my companions, and we were sure to be far from the main road, so it couldn't have been a type of caravan or pack animal.

  My friends quieted. I quieted. We all froze, all in the middle of finishing the preparations for camping, because to move felt like it would call attention. Even as the unfamiliar beating came closer and got louder, I hoped for innocent explanations.

  FWOOSH. FWOOSH. FWOOSH. FWOOSH.

  My golden eyes rose to the sky. Up ahead, patches of the stars in the night sky were blackened, squelched from their places. My heart picked up its pace, and my hands dropped the bag I'd been carrying. Keeping my eyes on the sky, I recited two identical air spells in my mind, and felt the energy building in my palms.

  FWOOSH. FWOOSH. FWOOSH. FWOOSH.

  Theron grabbed the bow he'd put just inside his tent, and pulled the quiver over his shoulder, preparing an arrow. Nyx watched the sky, holding her daggers, looking as if she was trying to think of a plan. She had nothing but melee.

  Cerin, on the other hand, had his mind set on raising the dead, two growing orbs of black casting shadows over the snow at his boots. He watched the skies with trepidation. Out of all of us here, he was the only one to have experience with such a foe, as I was pretty sure I knew the identities of our airborne pursuers.

  FWOOSH. FWOOSH. FWOOSH. FWOOSH.

  Perhaps in my ignorance, I waited to attack. I did not wish to kill anyone I didn't need to. There had been a time when Sirius had used words before attacks. If I didn't immediately attack, it was possible only words would need to be exchanged with our pursuers. It was hard to tell if this could be the case; despite the stars which had darkened to black in the sky, I could not see our followers. I was unable to tell if they were immediately hostile.

  Then, through the loud vibrations of the beating in the air, came a whistling. I recognized the noise, but was unable to switch to life magic to prepare a shield.

  Shik!

  “Gah—!” Cerin jerked back from the force of the arrow that had sunk deep into the soft flesh between his neck and shoulder. The pain didn't stop him from releasing the death magic. Black tendrils raced across the snow in dozens of directions.

  “All right, you sons of bitches,” I grumbled, thrusting my hands toward the sky, releasing the air magic. More stars were blocked out of the sky as thick storm clouds began to gather above us. Now, not only did the beating in the air vibrate through the sound waves, but the sky itself groaned with such pressure that the ground beneath my feet trembled. Even as I prepared another spell, small veins of lightning began to light up patches of the sky with anticipation. With a flash of purple light, my worst fears were confirmed.

  Sirius had sent the Twelve. The entire dozen of them. In the sky above us, twelve griffons of various shades hovered heavily in the air, their wings manipulating the air with a laborious effort. Though I had seen the Twelve's griffon mounts a select few times, it had always been at a distance. The creatures were magnificent in both size and beauty; they had the heads and wings of birds of prey, only at many times the size. Their large, waterproof feathers glistened back from their elongated necks into the thick fur of the lower body, which was double the bulk of most mounts, including horses. The
four thick paws of each creature hung heavily below their bellies, thick razor-sharp claws extending outward from between toes as a threat.

  On top of each griffon was the form of its rider, each wielding different weapons and each intent on leaving here today after the death of my friends and I. Many of the riders were people I knew. All of them had been trained by Bjorn, back at the beginnings of their individual military careers. They would be magnificent fighters, and they outnumbered us.

  But I fully intended on making it out of this alive. Despite my sorrow for it, I would be the death of the Twelve.

  One of the griffons let out an ear-piercing screech of warning, fighting its rider for control of its reins. The animal knew of my spell preparing to wreak havoc on it from above, and sought to remove itself from the skies.

  The Twelve were battle veterans, and they knew what I was capable of. Even as the storm finally unleashed, they were swooping down over us, attempting to both avoid my spell while picking us apart from above.

  Cr-cr-cr-cr...BOOM! The first bolt of my lightning storm crackled down from the sky, funneling a white hot bolt of electricity into the back of one of the Twelve. The griffon screeched in agony, its wings flapping at an accelerated rate as it attempted to stay afloat, even as the feathers of one wing began to sizzle and fry. Its rider fought for control of the panicking animal, but the griffon bucked and jerked in the sky, and the soldier lost his balance on the creature's back. He slid off of one side of the saddle, falling from his mount. For a few intense moments, he hung upside-down from his struggling mount in the sky, only attached via the strength of one stirrup.