Arcanist

by Terry Mancour

  Thankfully, enough of the new recruits from Enultramar had been practicing knights that the horsemen who rode for the Iron Band tended to be of good quality, though lightly blooded. Southern Alshar doesn’t have the same great chivalric tradition that the Wilderlands had, but those men of the upper Vale, especially, were well-trained in horsemanship and war. Three hundred knights who wore the Iron Band were placed under Azar’s command, much to their distaste. As my Master of Horse, he would command the mounted forces for the war.

  In general, I was pleased with how rapidly and professionally things were coming along. Ordinarily, it took far longer for feudal armies to be assembled, trained and deployed, one of the reasons the goblins had been so successful in the initial invasion.

  But my Vanadori, and the other domains of the Magelaw, had accomplished more with magic and good leadership than many dukes could boast. Long before Shakathet’s armies would march, our positions had been fortified. Once the spring flooding had subsided, the rivers would be passable, and our foe would advance.

  Spring tested our ingenuity, forcing us to rely on magic for plowing and planting as seven men in every tithing were now under arms. But the crops got planted, if not as many as most had hoped. That’s bitterly important, for a feudal society. Disrupting the agricultural cycle, even for one season, could have disastrous consequences. The lambs still needed to be birthed, the cows milked, the chickens and geese fed, and the garden crops had to be tended, regardless of who marched where. I made certain that no region lacked the basic requirements to do so, while their men were away fighting.

  According to the temples, that’s the sort of thing a wise lord does. In addition to a long list of other responsibilities of nobility that usually only gets token service, for most lords who pay attention to them at all. But, apparently, such attention to detail does get you noticed, in some circles.

  I was asleep in my chambers at Spellgarden, Alya next to me, when an odd noise woke me – startled me – awake. It was like the rumble of thunder, or hoofbeats. The moment my eyes opened in confusion, a large figure appeared outside of the curtains, at the foot of the bed. At the very same moment the Magolith launched itself into the air above me . . . of its own accord.

  “What–?” I began, automatically, as the sound rose to a crescendo, and the figure flared into proper existence.

  “ALYA OF VANADOR!” came a deep, but decidedly feminine voice from the foot of my bed. “ARISE, FOR YOU ARE BLESSED!”

  As I struggled with the sheets and blankets to grab a tool or a weapon or something, I glanced over at my wife, who was cowering under the sheets with just her eyes peeking over the hem, wide with fear. Then I tripped over the sheet and stumbled into the little table next to the bed and sprawled onto the wooden floor in a profoundly graceless fashion.

  “Who are you?” I demanded, as the Magolith lit up the room. It faced the figure defiantly, like a wary watchdog.

  As I asked, I took stock of the woman who had suddenly appeared out of thin air in the middle of the night. From my odd vantage point on the floor it was a challenge. But she was a large woman, in every way – easily a foot taller than me. Her shoulders were as broad as mine, and she had long legs and an abundant bosom, under the fine leather cloak she wore.

  Her face was wide, framed by long, straight, dark brown hair that seemed black in places. Her eyes were big, brown, and deeply expressive, as were her lips. She was a very large woman bearing a very serious expression.

  “I am Bova, Goddess of the Kine,” she declared, proudly. “You have honored me, Lady Alya, by your careful devotion to my rites!”

  I realized that she bore a strong resemblance to her priestess, Milksister Dawnza.

  “Bova?” I asked no one in particular. “The Cow Goddess?”

  “Behold my bovine glory, mortal!” she demanded, flinging back her cloak dramatically as she spread her arms. She seemed to take up the entire room. The Handmaiden was not happy about this, I realized, as the Magolith rose in a challenge. I don’t know what part of her bovine glory she wanted me to see, exactly, but I couldn’t argue that there wasn’t a decidedly cow-like demeanor about her.

  “Bova,” I acknowledged, tiredly. “Hail, oh . . . I’m sorry, I don’t know your divine salutation,” I admitted, sheepishly.

  “Really, baker boy?” she asked, snidely. “Bearer of Burdens, is often favored, as is the Milk Mother. But I am here to honor your good wife, not you.”

  “Honor me? What did I do?” Alya squeaked from under the covers.

  “What did she do?” I asked, suspiciously.

  “What did she do?” Bova asked, impatiently. “Why, nothing less than building and blessing the most perfect creamery in the western lands! No better place has been prepared for the production of cheese than her dairy. I have come to bless its grounds personally and bestow blessings on the faithful daughter of the herds who saw it to fruition!”

  “I did pay for it,” I grumbled, as I got to my feet. “And I did some of the enchantments.”

  That earned me an eye-roll from a goddess whose expressive eyes are legendary. “She is the mistress of the creamery,” Bova insisted. “To her falls the glory!”

  “Fine, I’ll just stay out of the way,” I sighed, as I directed the Magolith out of the way. It was highly reluctant to do so, surprisingly, as if it didn’t trust my judgement about the Goddess of the Kine. Without asking, I quietly summoned Insight, both to observe the occasion and to provide a distraction if things went awry.

  I mean, when a full-fledged cow goddess manifests in your bedroom in the middle of the night, wanting to bless your wife for her devotion to cheese, what could possibly go wrong?

  “Countess Alya of the Magelaw,” Bova said, as she calmly approached my terrified wife, “your great attention to every detail in the preparation of the creamery has provided an example to all who seek to harness the wholesome goodness of the sacred milk,” she explained.

  “An example?” Alya asked, confused.

  The goddess began lecturing – preaching? Pronouncing? Prophesying? I was a bit out of my element, here.

  “The nourishment of life is the most blessed wholesome of all activities,” she began, with calm assurance. “Yet, though the blessings of life pour forth from the teat, it takes the skill and attention of a human heart to transform that raw blessing into the boon of prosperity. Separating the curd of human kindness from the whey of human misery with the rennet of good judgement gives us holy purpose,” Bova insisted, raising one large hand for emphasis. “When the curds are cut and drained, they can be salted with the tears of our struggles and joys, pressed into the form of Nature and Culture, to create the wholesome prosperity all aspire to. But . . . that is not the end,” Bova said, dramatically.

  “It’s not?” Alya asked, more confused than frightened, now.

  “Nay! That is but the beginning!” she said, her eyes flashing and her nostrils flaring. “The wholesome prosperity of youth prepares you for the greater mystery! For the true art in this blessed transformation is to allow the sacred wheel of your soul to be wrapped in the cloth of your faith, placed in a haven of contemplative darkness, and then allow the trials of age and experience to manifest on your earthly rind whilst the fungus of wisdom grows. Only in the fullness of time can that great wisdom be manifested. Then – when the paring born of tribulation comes, you are truly ripe in the maturity of your human wisdom!” she declared, triumphantly.

  Alya just stared at her. I could only guess at the thoughts going through her mind. My mouth blurted mine out.

  “You just created an entire theology based on cheese!” I gasped in wonder and confusion.

  “Related, not created,” Bova corrected, firmly. “For the sacred truth has always been there, to be discovered by my disciples and cultivated across time, as it should be.”

  “I was just trying to make good cheese!” Alya mumbled.

  “You tried to make great cheese!” the Cow Goddess affirmed. “And you did it with a p
ure heart,” she added, gently. “You sought neither profit nor envy from your cheesemaking. A creamery begun with such pure intent and genuine desire naturally attracted my notice. Having a sacred milksister properly conduct the rites was just cream on top of the crock,” she smiled. “My priesthood rarely gets the respect it deserves, sadly.”

  “So just what does this blessing entail?” I wondered, aloud, holding Insight casually in my hand.

  “I reward thee with a herd of surpassing magnificence,” Bova declared. “Their milk shall never fail, and from its products the greatest cheeses in the Western lands shall come; of great virtue shall the milk be, and all that comes from it.

  “Thy hands shall be especially blessed; you shall calm and direct all kine with a touch. When used in the craft, and when thou shall chance to churn, mighty shall the vision be in thy eye. A wholesome feeling shall come upon all who consume thy works. Healing and peace shall overtake those who eat of thy cheese and thy butter, and drink of thy cream and milk,” she pronounced, as she laid her hand on Alya’s head in a blessing.

  Insight went a little crazy.

  My connection with my baculus – or, more properly, the ancient enneagram my magical stick was imbued with – was always pretty quiet and friendly, compared to, say, dancing with the Handmaiden. But when Bova gave her benediction to Alya, there was a wave of magical power that emanated from the goddess that sent my baculus into hysterics. Nor was the Magolith unaffected. I had to physically restrain it from flying angrily at the goddess for interfering with my wife.

  I struggled to get my magical implements under control as I witnessed a powerful divine blessing in my bedroom. I admit it. I have a complicated life.

  Once I managed to keep my toys from leaping around and doing dangerous things, which took an assertion of magical will, the transformation – or whatever it was – was complete. Alya didn’t look any different, particularly. Bova looked smug and satisfied.

  “There,” she sighed, her great bosom heaving. “My blessing is bestowed. My purpose is fulfilled.”

  “And now I expect you want to discuss a few things, before you lose your manifestation,” I predicted. “Briga and Herus suggested you might.”

  The Cow Goddess looked at me with discernment. “I am aware of your power to bestow persistence on the gods, Wizard. But the decision for you to grant it is yours, alone. As a goddess of wisdom, I cannot make it for you.”

  “You’re a goddess of wisdom?” I asked, confused. “I thought Briga was the goddess of wisdom?”

  “She the goddess of inspired wisdom,” Bova said, patiently. “I’m the goddess of contemplative wisdom. There’s a difference. Sometimes wisdom comes in sparks and flashes. Sometimes it comes when you’re chewing your cud. Blame the Imperials, they’re the ones who ascribed all these abstract concepts to us simple folk divinities,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But my contemplative wisdom recognizes that wizards, despite the best intentions, will do what they will, quite apart from any reasonable perspective.”

  “I . . . we . . . okay, that’s fair,” I admitted, after I tried to find a counter to her argument. “So, I have to decide if it’s a good thing to grant you permanent manifestation,” I realized. “You’re not going to ask, or bargain for it, like . . . well, like some others.”

  “That is not my way,” Bova nodded, somberly. “If you decide to grant me the boon, I will accept it. If you decide to deny me, that, too, I will accept.”

  “That’s uncommonly agreeable for a goddess,” I pointed out.

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t be pissed off,” she replied, evenly. “I’m just letting you know that I will accept your decision.”

  “Well, I’m a little concerned that you just cast a bunch of unknown spells on my wife,” I pointed out, warily.

  “Nothing I blessed her with will be to her detriment,” Bova promised. “Indeed, it might have some small, soothing effect on her condition.”

  “It would have been nice if you asked my permission,” Alya said, grumpily.

  “Goddesses rarely ask for permission about such things,” Bova sniffed. “Whether she sought it or not, she earned it. But I see all things one of the kine see, for all cow’s eyes are my eyes,” she informed us. “I have witnessed the kindness and care you provide for your beasts. You are a worthy recipient of my divine power.”

  “I . . . I suppose,” agreed Alya, still confused. “I do feel a bit different.”

  “Should I grant you persistence, oh Milk Mother, to what benefit can you be in the struggles ahead?” I asked, carefully. “Ishi pledged to increase our numbers. Herus pledged to brings us news. Crouthr lends us cheer, and Slagur teaches us with games. Sisu . . . well, he hunts a lot. Goblins, in particular,” I added.

  “I am not a martial goddess, save at great need,” Bova admitted, quietly. “Yet I may provide support and give aide in unexpected ways. I’m not particular fond of goblins,” she added. “They slaughter the herds they find and delight in the terror of my poor children.” I didn’t know if she was discussing my people or the cows, and I didn’t really want to know, I decided.

  “I expect that we’ll have really excellent cheeses, at least?” I ventured, with a sigh.

  “Of course,” she affirmed. “And butter of surpassing quality.”

  “Butter,” I nodded. “Of course. Can’t forget the butter. All right, Goddess, I don’t see much harm in granting you this boon, and perhaps a little benefit, in the long run. I will make you persistent,” I decided, as I rummaged around for the ring with the hoxter that contained the Alaran Stone, the only known magical artifact with the ability to make an enneagram – even a god’s – permanent. “We appreciate the blessings,” I nodded, and Alya joined me, “and I welcome you to the new pantheon. Just . . . let’s keep the midnight divine visitations to my bedchamber to a minimum, shall we?” I asked, in what I thought was a reasonable tone.

  “The proper place to address a divinity is within their temple,” suggested the goddess, patiently.

  I sighed. “Of course, it does. I shall get right on that.” Damn it, I was building more temples than castles, lately.

  When I was done, Bova had the grace to thank me and offer me some small blessing, as well as several long-winded pieces of general advice about ruling and wizarding and parenting, of all things, before she departed to the sound of cowbells. I felt Alya’s arms cling to me as she faded.

  “What in nine hells just happened, Husband?” she whispered anxiously in my ear.

  “You were blessed by the Cow Goddess, Bova, Bearer of Burdens. And I made her a persistent divinity, which means she’ll be hanging around with all the others, now.”

  “Min, I think she . . . she did something to me,” Alya said, quietly.

  “She blessed you,” I agreed. “Just what that entails, thaumaturgically speaking, I don’t know. It’s more of a matter of theurgy.”

  “I just feel different. Changed,” she insisted.

  “Would you mind if Insight took a look?” I asked. “I know you’ve been through a lot, tonight, but I’d like to examine what she might have done. And maybe have the Handmaiden do a treatment,” I suggested.

  “If you think that’s wise,” she agreed.

  Insight revealed a number of small changes wrought throughout her enneagram, and even some physical alterations that were subtle, but detectable. The interesting thing to me was that they weren’t really thaumaturgic signatures in the changes, the way there would be under normal spellwork. The changes Insight related seemed completely natural, by comparison. If Insight had not previously examined her, you would never have known she’d been . . . altered.

  The Handmaiden was more aggressive in its judgement than Insight. Once the glowing green sphere hovered above my wife, pulsating with the distinctive thaumaturgic purr it emitted when the ancient enneagram was working, it seemed to act with more purpose than usual. It was as if the Handmaiden resented her charge being interfered with, no matter what divine pedigree was involv
ed.

  Two important things came from the event; first, when we woke up the next morning, there were five new beautiful shaggy brown cows and a fuzzy, well-spirited young bull in Spellgarden’s new byre. The milkmaids were astonished at their appearance, and the milk from them came in abundance and was delicious, blessed or not.

  The other important thing that happened was the new sense of calmness that overtook Alya, after Bova’s visitation. It hadn’t made her any less prone to sudden fits and bizarre visions and dreams, but they were less violent in nature, after the Bearer of Burdens blessed her. She was also more attentive to the children, which was gratifying, and a little more interested in events around her. The fact that she was also even more devoted to her new herd and her creamery was a small price to pay.

  All in all, Bova’s visitation was beneficial . . . but it gave me great pause. Bova was a minor goddess, a peasant goddess, and one who, by all accounts, very rarely manifested. While I appreciated her assistance, I couldn’t help but think that I was attracting a fairly low class of divinity.

  On the other hand, considering how complicating each of the gods was, in their own way, that might be a good thing. Bova was an inconvenience. Having Duin or Orvatas or any number of other divinities show up in my bedroom and wake me up in the middle of the night could prove disastrous. I don’t always wake up pretty.

  The entire matter gave me a great deal of unease. As a wizard, I was naturally suspicious of the unexplainable, miraculous nature of divine magic. It could do things that thaumaturgy – or even the songspells of the Alka Alon – could not fathom. The nature of the gods and their manifestation has always confounded and perplexed my profession, and the supposed blessings they bestowed on the devout among us were often dubious, if the lore was any indication.

  Yet I could not deny the importance of the divine in the tasks ahead of me. Briga had been invaluable, and Herus had done great work on my behalf. Even Ishi had provided insights into the nature of the undead most gods would have missed. Their willingness to take my advice, and sometimes my direction, could very well be key to determining the future. Indeed, I could not see a future where it wasn’t . . . for good or ill.