by JD Hart
Veressa’s second question came much easier. “I know enough about the six orders to see that they do not, as social groups, reflect the elementals they wield. For example, Mystics work with Air and Fire, the two dynamic elementals. Yet, as an order, they live by egalitarian rules, always seeking mutual agreement through logic and discourse. On the other hand, Paladins, who use Water and Earth, the two stable elementals, have been known to be quite capricious as the spiritual caretakers of Harmonic life. And the Shamans seem to be the most fluid with Fire and Earth, but are really the most unstructured gaggle of nonconformists I have ever known, while those of the Warriors Order avoid conflict at any cost—”
Annabelle’s laugh caught Veressa completely off guard.
“Did I say something wrong?” she asked, confused.
With a delighted smile, Annabelle answered with a song in her voice. “I do believe you have your father’s perceptiveness, Veressa. No, you hit the target dead center. If you can say one thing about the orders, it is that we are all different.”
“Okay, but is there a reason for this? What purpose does it serve to adopt such styles?”
“Harmonics, Veressa. It serves the Harmonics.” She struggled to find a better way to describe it. “Being Harmonic means living in balance with life. Nine hundred years ago, under the signing of the Armistice of the Orders, the six restructured orders realized they needed a framework that would bring equilibrium to the lives of those who wielded the very essence of the Physical plane. I’m afraid I can’t put it any more simply.”
Annabelle pulled her horse to a stop, then decided to say more. But her voice had lost its song. “Anarchists are not so compelled. In fact, for them, being Anarchic means living out of balance. That is why the shadow orders assume different structures than the orders from whence they were born. Barbarians, unlike their Warrior cousins, are held together by powerful clan leaders and embrace conflict completely, while the Necromancers, the shadow Shamans, are rigid, rules-driven, authoritative, and steeped in tradition. In a way, I suppose all of this is a holistic form of balance between the six orders and their shadows. In either case, the structures of the orders fit the specific needs of the ordermen and that which they serve.”
The two rode in silence for a while, each lost in contemplation amid the scenic landscape.
Veressa broke the silence when she pointed at a tuft of dry, brown grass. “Sageweed. It can be dried and smoked with tobac to soothe a troubled spirit, but if crushed and sprinkled on an open wound, it will keep the wound from healing.” She pointed with her other hand at a taller, round bush. “Tanglebrush. Arrowheads dipped into crushed spring berries slow your enemy, while the seeds can be used to extend energy.”
Annabelle nodded at Veressa’s observation. “Balance, it seems, is everywhere.” Nudging her mare forward again, she asked, “And where would I find redwing butterflies?”
Veressa looked perplexed for a moment, then mumbled a few words while gesturing the Detect Plant Earth spell with her hands. “Ora pheto anakavios.” Then pointing behind Annabelle to the left, she responded smugly, “On the other side of that rock is a patch of red star thistle. I would start by looking there, since it is the redwing’s favorite food.”
Annabelle, despite her desire to do so, did not waste her energy with a smile. Veressa’s was plenty big for both of them.
Chamber of the Oracles
King Jonath clenched his hands into fists behind his back as he paced the entrance of Graystone’s central keep. Hemera’s late morning rays streamed through the open windows high above, bringing out the gold inlaid flecks of the Cosmic Star embedded in the polished marble floor. Beggar reflected her bond’s impatience with bristled feathers and a constant frown while watching him from a window above. The entire castle was in pandemonium. Servants, guards, yeomen, guildsmen, even noble lords and ladies worked to keep up with the queen’s flurry of last-minute demands to perfect the plans for the night’s festivities. But neither the list of tasks his dear wife had assigned nor the constant bustle of harried people giving him wide berth held the king’s attention.
Jonath had received an urgent request from the College of Mystics to meet with him, and though he had only arrived at the meeting place moments before, the waiting already gnawed at him. The entire college of thirteen doyens, the ruling body of the Mystics Order—all here in Graystone! Whatever had brought the entire college to Graystone, he could most certainly rule out that it was a desire to attend Griffinrock’s Festival of Midsummer’s Night. Occasionally, several doyens might travel together. As many as five or six had been known to attend a royal coronation or the signing of a treaty between the monarchs of the three Harmonic Realms. But he had never heard of the entire college leaving Chateau of Brionne in the southern Realm of Elvenstein, for any reason. All thirteen, of course, were good friends. He had tutored under or with most of them during his thirty-three years within the Mystics Order. Many had been involved in selecting him as the order’s champion advocate.
A familiar voice at his back broke his anxious reverie. “My most sincere apologies for not arriving sooner, Majesty, but it does seem the entire castle is in such turmoil I had difficulties negotiating my arrival on time.”
A smile filled Jonath’s face before he turned to face the shortest man he had ever known, who became suddenly shorter as he bowed deeply to the king. Jonath did not seem to care or notice the show of respect. Instead, he reached down and gripped the shoulders of his dear old friend. “Dane Norterry!”
Of noble birth, Dane had entered the Mystics Order at the same time as Jonath. Many of the other Mystic pupils played cruel pranks on Dane because of his size. But it was the proud stature of the boy that had drawn Jonath’s attention. No matter how cruel the other pupils could be, Dane never responded in kind or in retribution. Jonath, who was similarly harassed because of his previous social status, befriended him. It was not long before the two became inseparable. Both possessed exceptional raw talent in manipulating the Air and Fire elementals, so with patience and perseverance, they rapidly advanced to the rank of sage. The privileges afforded them by their newfound rank included the ability to command those who before had abused them—which was more than adequate recompense.
But the years had left their mark on Dane. Though his eyes were as sharp and clear as they had always been, he was nearly bald, having exchanged a thick crown of dark, curly hair in his youth for thick graying eyebrows, beard, and mustache. What hair remained, low on his scalp and over his ears, was thinning, and it hung in curls long past his shoulders. He wore the blood-red gown of a grandmaster Mystic, with a braided golden rope tied tight around his thin waist. A wide gold and red brocade sash decorated his narrow chest from right shoulder to left hip, and down his back hung a matching blood-red cloak trimmed in thick gold braid. But what drew Jonath’s attention was the large medallion around his neck, the Modeic symbols of missile and magical combat in billowing clouds etched within a raised circle of gold. Jonath’s smile widened. “So you are Keeper of the Order.”
Dane only nodded slightly with a smile in response, then faced the keep’s arching entrance, signaling that they should be on their way.
Jonath and Dane stepped out into the bright late morning, slowing only long enough for a detail of royal guard to form in front and behind. Jonath whispered into Dane’s ear as they wove through the crowded castle streets toward the eastern gates. “I don’t understand the reason for the secrecy, Dane. Why can’t you explain what is happening? You know the queen is in a tizzy preparing for tonight’s festivities. If even one Illuminary goes off at the wrong moment, a single note is missed by the royal troupe of musicians, or a guest is seated at the wrong table, I will pay dearly.” In truth, while Izadora was quite particular about the Realm’s festivals, especially in celebration of Midsummer’s Night, these worries paled in comparison to the queen’s concern for Veressa’s safety since her departure the previous morning.
“I truly am sorry for the inconven
ience, Majesty. If I thought it possible to describe what you need to see, I would surely do so.”
The king bit at his impatience. “And it is something that must be seen before noon today, you say?”
Dane offered Jonath a reassuring smile. “I promise you, Majesty, once you grasp the truth of the matter, you will understand its import and the reason for such secrecy.”
Jonath considered this in silence while the two, along with their guard escort, stepped through the massive castle gates and into the city of Graystone that surrounded the castle. The royal castle of Graystone had been built on a massive rock island jutting out of the middle of the River Tresdan. Not only was the site central to the Realm’s fiefdoms, but for nearly twelve hundred years, the natural rocky banks of the island and the wide river had provided excellent protection. As the city began to expand between castle walls and island banks, it was decreed that all structures in and around the island must be constructed from the same light gray marble quarried along the edge of the Dragon’s Back Mountains twenty miles to the north. Hewn blocks of various sizes were floated on large rafts downstream to Graystone, where they were strengthened with clerical spells of command, giving the castle and the surrounding city their name. Many sonnets and verses had been put to pen by poets and bards sitting on nearby hillsides, inspired by Hemera’s brilliant reflection off the castle walls.
The company moved north, proceeding along a wide and busy cobblestone street. As with all his infrequent trips into the city, the king waved in response to those who paused long enough to bow and curtsy before hurrying on. But his thoughts were on the events ahead. To send the Mystics’ Keeper of the Order as a messenger was definitely the way to raise his interest. Since further questioning would not yield any useful information from his dear but determined friend, Jonath used the time to catch up on Dane’s life over the past ten years.
So enjoyable was the lighthearted discussion that it seemed only moments before the entourage came to a halt in front of a large octagonal building more than thirty paces high. The lower half of the building was made from the same gray marble as all others, but what set Graystone’s Temple of the Mystics apart as being truly unique was its upper section. The walls were made completely from a series of eight massive stained glass windows chronicling the early days of the Mystics Order. A golden dome roof and statue above completed the prominent building.
The royal guardsmen assumed positions outside the large temple doors while the two Mystics stepped through. It had been a long time since Jonath the Mystic had been inside the temple, so he paused to admire the stained glass glowing in Hemera’s midday rays. The first depicted magicians, enchanters, mathematicians, astronomers, and other artisans coming together twelve hundred years ago to create the first mystic guilds. It was followed by one showing the creation of the first mystic orders a millennium ago to advance the basic skills of manipulating Fire. The next showed the first mystics’ exploration, one hundred years later, binding Air and Fire elementals together. In the next glass was an intense battle scene from the War of the Orders between the twenty-three orders and the Armies of the Seven Realms. The next was taken twenty years later with the remaining grandmasters of the mystic orders signing the Armistice of the Orders, ending the bloodiest war in Cronoan history. The union of several orders into the modern Mystics Order one year later was shown in the next; an image of the first thirteen doyens elected to the College of the Mystics Order to follow. And lastly, a stained glass of the newly reconstructed and shining Chateau of Brionne, designed to help usher in a millennium of peace that lasted but twenty years. Nearly seven hundred years later, mankind still grasped for true and total peace. Jonath shook his head sadly at the scenes, not sure if his sorrow was for the fools so long ago who believed peace would someday be upon them or for the fools today who believed it still possible. A survivor of more Anarchist skirmishes than he dared count, he had no compassion for the first and no patience for the second.
At last, he came out of his contemplation and gazed about. Except for a few Mystic Pupils and their preceptors, the large temple was empty. Dane waited a few paces away. From his expression, Jonath could see he was worried he would not get the king to the college by the appointed time. Jonath followed him briskly to the center of the temple, where a steep metal stairwell descended into the polished granite floor. Thinking the college was below in the practice arena, Jonath had taken several steps down before Dane’s hand on his shoulder gave him pause. Jonath looked questioningly up into the little man’s eyes.
Dane replied softly, “We must ascend from this point, Majesty.”
Jonath’s eyes followed Dane’s to the ceiling above, where a large room hung suspended from the domed roof. The Chamber of the Oracles was a secret room where the order’s mysterious oracles supposedly divined their understanding of future events, using mathematics, physics, astronomy, astrology, philosophy, psychology, alchemy, and probably a dozen other sciences Jonath could not even name. No one was permitted there except the oracles and members of the college. Even his standing as king of Griffinrock, Champion of the Realm, and grandmaster Mystic did not give him privilege to enter the room.
Dane studied the king’s puzzled expression with amusement, quite satisfied he had gotten the reaction he wanted. “Aetha eftos anypzorizo,” he chanted a spell of levitation. With hands clasped in front of him and eyes studying the ceiling above, he floated upward.
Jonath repeated Dane’s incantation. “Aetha eftos anypzorizo,” forming a thin sheet of Air under his feet. Pushing gently away, he followed the Keeper of the Order to the domed ceiling above. He found Dane hovering in front of a large mirror.
Dane placed his palm to the mirror and recited an incantation, “Heter energi tikoporeia.” First the surface of the mirror shimmered, then rippled like waves on the water. Giving the king another smile, he disappeared through the liquid door.
Jonath drifted closer, the surface once more solid. He tentatively ran his palm down the cold polished surface, then glanced down past his dangling feet to the granite floor thirty paces below. It was ingenious. Anyone but a grandmaster Mystic attempting to simultaneously hold a sheet of Air at this distance and transform the door would find themselves nothing more than a puddle of blood and cloth below. Jonath called forth the Fire and Air elementals, spoke the incantation to melt the door, and stepped through his rippling reflection.
The Chamber of the Oracles was much larger than it appeared from below, with the arching gold dome roof as its ceiling. Around the circular walls were the Mystics Order Doyens, seven women and six men dressed in blood-red robes identical to Dane’s except for the thick white brocade stitch trim. The doyens were so absorbed with a large metallic device filling most of the middle of the room that they were unaware Dane and Jonath had arrived. At the far end, half a dozen more Mystics, wearing the white robes reserved for the oracles, were huddled studying a thin rod protruding from the floor under a skylight. Occasionally, several of the oracles would become quite animated about the rod’s placement over a sheet of parchment. This would result in a flurry of pushing, shoving, and arguing until the entire gathering would, once more, sink into quiet contemplation.
Jonath stepped next to Dane to get a closer look at the contraption holding the doyens’ interest with such intensity. The metal device, placed precisely in the middle of the room, reminded him of a huge spider lying on its back. The body of the metallic beast contained a tangle of gears and wheels reminiscent of the oracles’ Great Clock of Brionne, a mechanical chronometer of incredible precision installed in the Mystics’ chateau tower. From the spider’s body, seven metal legs with springs fanned upward in different direction. From each leg sprouted several thin metal limbs extending up to more than a pace above the floor. And on the ends of these thirty or so metal limbs were balls, all in a wide range of sizes and colors.
“My Lords and Ladies, King Jonath of Griffinrock,” Dane announced above another argument erupting among the oracles. The room f
ell silent, a few startled by their arrival. In a moment, the room burst into motion and noise as the doyens stepped around the device and greeted Jonath with smiles and wrist clasps, offering their appreciation for his arrival on such short notice.
After all the formalities had been dispensed with, Lady Mille de Noray took advantage of a lull in the noise among the oracles to call the assembly to order. “Lords and Ladies, with Jonath’s arrival, I believe we should begin. If the oracles’ calculations are correct, there is not much time remaining. Sir Giles, you may start.”
A tall, thin oracle in the middle of the group of white cloaks bowed deeply to Lady Noray, then to Jonath. “Thank you, Lady Noray, and to you, King Jonath. Because our time is limited, I will try to be brief, and for King Jonath’s benefit, summarize what the rest of you already know.” He stepped forward and gestured at the spider before him. “This is a replica of the heavenly planets and moons eternally trapped by our star, Hemera. The device was constructed by the oracles six hundred years ago, led by a brilliant oracle named Orterus Montovia. Its precision challenges our current understanding. Since the time of its construction, only twice have the oracles had to make adjustments to—”