Seven Sorcerers: Book Three of the Books of the Shaper

by John R. Fultz

  The New Seraphim agreed that Sungui should serve as High Consul of the Senate that replaced Zyung’s rule. During their journey back across the world they had drafted a charter for this new form of governance: Rule of the many by the select few. The Holy Mountain itself would be the seat of this parliament, and its holy shrine would become a hall given to legislative action. The Lesser Seraphim were affirmed as enforcers of Senate law across the length and breadth of the empire. This was not so different from their duties under Zyung, yet their titles and methods would change.

  Sungui spoke from the great terrace three days after the Holy Armada’s return. She confirmed the news of Zyung’s passing and announced the sweeping reforms that would forever alter his empire. First, all slaves were granted freedom; the Slave Estate was immediately blended with the Earthbound Estate. The Lowblood Estate, composed of non-human and semi-human individuals, was also elevated to Earthbound status. All labor performed in the empire must be rewarded with fair wages, according to imperial laws and local statutes. These were delivered at the hands of the Lesser Seraphim, who were now called Magistrates. The penalties for slaveholding in the Reformed Empire were heavy and unpleasant; the wealthy would be stripped of titles and holdings if they failed to comply.

  Second, religious freedom was granted to all the peoples of the empire. Although Zyung would remain the chief deity, worship of the old Gods was no longer prohibited, and even new faiths were to be tolerated without persecution. This edict, too, would be enforced by new laws.

  Third, the ruling body of the Reformed Empire was the Senate of the New Seraphim, who would hold court monthly inside the Holy Mountain. Every province would be assigned one of these dignitaries, as well as a number of Magistrates.

  Fourth and last, voices of dissent would no longer be silenced with death or imprisonment. Any citizen of any province could make his voice heard by filing a petition with the appropriate Magistrate, who would carry his message to the Senate itself. The New Seraphim would make a regular practice of listening to their subjects and trying to meet their needs.

  With these four decrees the great reformation of the Living Empire had begun. Across the entire continent voices were raised in jubilation. The New Seraphim were praised and met with reverence when they walked the streets. For centuries they had been icons of terror and destruction, tools used to spread Zyung’s wrath. Now they were all saints and heroes.

  All of them except for the Thirteen Skeptics.

  These were the confederates of Damodar, the voices of malcontent in the Senate. Sungui could hardly blame them. Damodar had been killed by Khama the Feathered Serpent at the Battle of Ongthaia. His physical form had re-manifested here on the other side of the world, in the heart of the Holy Mountain. The other twelve Skeptics had been slain in the Sharrian valley by Khama and Vireon. They, too, had regained physicality months later. By the time they had arisen from the Inner Sanctum of the temple-palace, the armada was already on its way back to Zyung’s land.

  Damodar and the Skeptics had not faced the ultimate choice of the other Seraphim, and they had not become the Eaters of Zyung. They remained unchanged, and they did not understand the enlightenment that the consumption of the Almighty’s salt had delivered. Nor did they share the Gift of Iardu, the birth of compassion and empathy that evolved the consciousness of the Eaters to create the New Seraphim. Sungui had sacrificed a small part of herself to share that enlightenment with Lavanyia, but there were none willing to make that same sacrifice for Damodar and his twelve.

  Sungui had made her decision to spare Lavanyia the doom of salt because she did not have the heart to lose Lavanyia. But the Skeptics were not loved or overly valued among the New Seraphim. None of the transformed had stepped forward to sacrifice parts of themselves, so the Skeptics were caught in the middle of the great reform without truly understanding it. Eleven Senate meetings had occurred since the return, and the Skeptics had been the voices of opposition at each of them. Yet there were seven hundred New Seraphim against Damodar’s faction of only thirteen, so they were outvoted at every turn.

  “They are a poison in our midst,” Lavanyia had told Sungui. “We must deal with them.”

  “How?” asked Sungui. “Will you sacrifice your salt to bring them understanding?”

  Lavanyia laughed. “If you asked me to.”

  Sungui had kissed her for that sentiment. “I will not ask it of anyone,” she said. “I do not even know if such a gift would work, were it not given freely with the giver’s blessing upon the receiver. Yet perhaps Damodar and his followers will see the worth of what we are doing. Let them remain among us and take positions in the Reformed Empire. We changed in an instant. They must change slowly.”

  “As to that,” said Lavanyia, “it is I who remain skeptical.”

  Now came the parchment, with its message of tragedy and doom.

  Sungui stood upon the lofty terrace, directly below the great face of Zyung that dominated the Holy Mountain. From this vantage point she saw far across the Holy City. She had missed the avenues of pristine marble, the sprawling gardens and orchards, the striped horses and web-footed Snouts that carried men through the streets. The twenty-nine ziggurats grew thick with vine and flower, green hills rising from the cityscape.

  Towers of ivory and jade cast their shadows across canals of green water. The great river flowed through arched gateways, bringing merchant vessels from distant provinces. Dreadnoughts floated in lazy patterns across the blue sky, and the distant ramparts about the city were purple in the rising dawn.

  Every spot of the Living Empire must be made this beautiful.

  This holy.

  The laughter of children rose from the gardens of the temple-palace, which had been opened to the public six months ago. Even the great stone face of Zyung seemed to be smiling, its eyes flaming with benevolence now instead of judgment.

  Perhaps it was all a matter of perspective.

  Lavanyia joined Sungui on the terrace, wrapping her arms about Sungui’s neck from behind. “You’ve been weeping.” She knew Sungui’s moods better than anyone ever had.

  “You were right,” Sungui told her. “Something must be done about Damodar and his Skeptics.”

  “What has happened?” Lavanyia asked.

  “Do you know the city of Avantreya?”

  Lavanyia nodded, moving to stand beside Sungui at the white railing. “It lies in the Outer Province of Yetva. Not a great city, but well known for its silver mines.”

  “The population began rioting there days ago, and the Magistrates failed to stop it. The merchant lords who run the mines refuse to pay their former slaves a decent wage, so the Earthbound ceased working. The merchants hired mercenaries to subdue the rioters, and the city became a battleground.”

  “Yetva was given to Zolmuno,” said Lavanyia, “one of Damodar’s brethren.”

  Sungui breathed deep of the flower-scented air. “It was,” she said. “Zolmuno must have feared he was losing control of Avantreya. Not only did he murder his own Magistrate, but he called upon Damodar to help him pacify the city. Damodar gathered his Skeptics, and the pacification became a slaughter.”

  Lavanyia exhaled heavily. “They are prisoners of the old ways,” she said. “Zyung’s method for trimming the Tree of Empire.”

  Sungui nodded. “They rained Celestial Light upon the city for a day and a night. The message that I received estimates thirty thousand dead. Men, women, children. The Skeptics did not discriminate.”

  “So Zolmuno restored order. But who will work his mines?”

  “The few thousand men that survived have been pressed into that service,” said Sungui.

  Lavanyia took her hand, pressed her forehead against Sungui’s.

  “What will you do?”

  “What I should have done months ago,” Sungui said. “Help me gather an emergency quorum.”

  “I will send out the voice of my mind,” said Lavanyia.

  “I will speak with Damodar,” said Sungui.


  “Be careful what you say to him.”

  Sungui shrugged. “I will offer him a choice.”

  Damodar met her in the lower gardens. A dreadnought had carried him overnight all the way from Yetva. Even he did not dare ignore a summons from the High Consul of the New Seraphim. Surely he must have known the purpose of this summons. The dead of Avantreya had not even been buried yet.

  Dark eyes glimmered above his hawkish nose. Sungui hated the sight of the silver robe upon him. Yet she hid that hatred, knowing it was her own weakness to feel this way. She must not let it pollute her heart or her judgment.

  Damodar bowed briefly and joined her on a bench overlooking a sunken fountain. The sound of gurgling waters brought a welcome calm to Sungui. The early sun was bright above the green canopy. A circle of roses grew about the fountain, spreading petals red as blood. She found it an appropriate venue for this conversation.

  “Greetings, High Consul,” said Damodar. “You wish to speak of Avantreya.”

  “You are direct,” said Sungui. “I appreciate this.”

  Damodar smiled. His arrogance was tangible.

  “I need not remind you,” said Sungui, “that formal executions of imperial citizens are only permitted by consensus of the Senate. Yet you have spat in the face of our laws and executed some thirty thousand without our approval. I know that you do not share our respect for human life, but I had thought you at least respected our laws.”

  “These were not executions,” said Damodar. “They were casualties of war. The people of the silver city were out of control, pulling merchant lords from their houses and putting them to death. Looting, burning, and instigating a full-scale revolt. If there is any fault here, it must be placed upon Zolmuno, who could not maintain order without our help.”

  “Our help?” said Sungui. “You mean the Thirteen Skeptics. It was these noble personages who Zolmuno called upon rather than any number of the seven hundred New Seraphim who might have aided him in a legal manner. I sense a lack of trust among your brethren, Damodar. Or is it perhaps some deeper flaw?”

  Damodar brushed a fallen leaf from his knee and shrugged. “You know well that we are not as you Eaters of Zyung,” he said. “We remain unchanged.”

  “And unconvinced?”

  Damodar smiled. “If you will.”

  “Skeptics or no Skeptics, you have broken the law. You must face the Senate.”

  Damodar’s smile turned to a frown. “As High Seraphim we are above the laws.”

  “No longer,” said Sungui. “Once that was true, when there was no law for us but Zyung. Yet none of us are above the laws of the Reformed Empire. If you understand nothing else, you must understand this fact.”

  Damodar said nothing.

  Sungui endured his frosty silence, then spoke again. “We have discussed your fate and decided that we have only two options to address your crime. One, we could banish the Thirteen Skeptics from the empire. Yet if we do this you will only foment rebellion in the Outer Provinces and rise against us at every opportunity. Therefore it would not be a wise decision. Two, we might grant you the enlightenment that we have all shared. In order to do this, each one of you must consume salt from one of us. Not all of it, mind you, simply a portion invested with our understanding. The tip of the smallest finger will do.” Sungui raised her hand and showed him the missing tip of her own finger. “Yet who will make such a bold sacrifice? I have already done so, by sharing my wisdom with Lavanyia.”

  Damodar offered no suggestion.

  “Or perhaps there is actually a third alternative,” said Sungui. “We greatly outnumber the Skeptics. We might pursue you to the ends of the earth until we have captured and salted and devoured every one of you. Oh, you might evade us for weeks, months, or years, but eventually the seven hundred will catch up with the thirteen, and you will face oblivion. Does this idea appeal to you, Damodar?”

  “I would not choose that fate.”

  Sungui smiled, though it was difficult to do so.

  “Well, since you would not choose oblivion, and we would not choose banishment, there remains only the option of sharing our enlightenment. I am assured that if you partake of our salt, you will see the rightness of our reforms. Then there will no longer be conflict between us. Are you agreeable to this remedy?”

  Damodar shifted uncomfortably on his seat. He did not truly believe that eating a modicum of salt from a New Seraphim’s body would transform him. Sungui saw the doubt in his eyes. She had lived with doubt for millennia, so it was easy to spot. This very doubt was what made him a Skeptic. Him and the twelve like him.

  “It seems to be the most preferable of options,” Damodar said at last.

  “Then I have good news for you,” said Sungui. “I have found thirteen volunteers among the New Seraphim willing to share their salt with you. Do you understand the nature of this sacrifice? Such altruism is rare among the Seraphim.”

  “I understand this,” said Damodar.

  “Good,” said Sungui. “Assemble your Skeptics at once. Tomorrow the New Seraphim will gather at midday. The ritual of salt-sharing will take place on the Senate floor. I trust you will explain the necessity of this act to your brethren?”

  “It shall be done,” said Damodar.

  Sungui left him beneath the sun-dappled leaves, contemplating the change to come.

  The great throne room of Zyung had once been dominated by the nineteen-stepped dais supporting his oversized diamond throne. That noble platform had been removed and the high seat broken down to fund the empire’s costs of reformation. Yet the great pillars of agate, emerald, and onyx remained standing about the domed chamber. An amphitheater had been sculpted in the exact center of the hall, with enough benches for eight hundred New Seraphim, although little more than seven hundred existed.

  At the northern end of the amphitheater’s polished floor rose the seat of the High Consul, with an Assistant Consul seat placed on either side of it. Only a hundred Seraphim were required to attend for a Senate session to convene, but all seven hundred were present today. The Thirteen Skeptics stood upon the floor before the High Consul, each of them paired with a member of the New Seraphim who had volunteered for the ritual.

  Normally the Senate sessions were open to the public, who often attended in great numbers. Yet today the Senate Hall was filled only with Seraphim. Even the guards had been excused from the hall to preserve the secrecy of today’s doings.

  Sungui sat in the High Consul seat and watched the faces of Damodar, Zolmuno, and the eleven other Skeptics. She was confident in the choice she had made, but still the seed of doubt lay inside her. There was no other path to walk than this one. The preservation of the Reformed Empire was the most important consideration. The New Seraphim had agreed. Yet something about their choice did not sit well with her. It smacked too much of their old ways. Too late now to change course.

  “Skeptics,” she called out, her voice ringing upward across the benches and traveling the length of the hall above. “You stand face to face with those who have tasted the salt of Zyung the Almighty, sprinkled as it was with the blood of Iardu the Shaper. You stand on the cusp of ultimate change, the threshold of glory. Are you prepared to accept the gift these New Seraphim will give you?”

  Each of the Skeptics responded with a “Yes,” beginning with Damodar and moving down the line.

  “Givers, are you prepared to do what must be done?” Sungui asked.

  The thirteen New Seraphim spoke as one. “We are.”

  “Take up your blades.”

  The thirteen New Seraphim pulled daggers of black metal from their robes.

  “Lift your hands.”

  The Givers raised their free hands, each displaying spread fingers to the Skeptic who stood before him. Sungui kept her eyes on Damodar. His face was impenetrable. He may not believe in the power of their enlightenment, but like her he knew this ceremony was his only true option.

  “Sing your songs,” said Sungui.

  The Give
rs chanted their ancient syllables.

  The sharp edges of the blades hovered close to the skin of their smallest fingers.

  “Strike,” said Sungui.

  Moving as one, each of the Givers plunged his dagger deep into the breast of the Skeptic before him. The mouths and eyes of the stabbed ones widened in disbelief. Yet there was no sound from any of those mouths, and not the slightest of movements.

  The Givers stepped back, leaving their blades transfixed in the hearts of their victims.

  Sungui stepped down from the high seat and walked across the floor. She paced along the line of immobile Skeptics. Traces of crimson ran down the chests of their silver robes.

  “Each of these blades has been aligned with the Ninety Aspects of Higher Being,” she told them. “Your positions in the universe are now fixed. We might keep you like this until the stars shift themselves into new patterns. Yet we are not so cruel. Not anymore.”

  Sungui reached Damodar at the end of the row. She stood with her face close to his unblinking eyes. An expression of shock was frozen there. The last expression he would ever wear.

  “As I explained to Damodar, none of us are above the law,” Sungui said. “The New Seraphim must be held to the same standards as their subjects, or the law itself is meaningless. The old days are gone, and the old ways with them. For the massacre of Avantreya and for the memory of its thirty thousand dead, we the Holy Senate condemn you. In honor of our shared heritage, we will accept you in the Ancient Way.”

  Sungui raised her arms and began the Song of Salt. The silver robes of the paralyzed Skeptics paled, their flesh turning white as bone, their fleshy substance altered to saline crystal. Thirteen statues of salt stood before her with the hilts of black daggers protruding from their chests. She finished the song and a moment of silence lingered above the Senate floor.