by T. A. Miles
Firard answered with a grumbled fact. “War is dangerous, Priest Sharlotte.”
Eighteen
UPON ENTERING THE FALLS, Ashwin and the other Superiors with him were greeted by the stern gazes of three stone lions situated far overhead, warm water streaming from their ever-open maws. Light from the enormous brazier overhead painted streaks upon the soft brown color of the polished stone walls. The room was among the more ancient and original of the Vassenleigh Citadel.
“A century ago, when both Vassenleigh and the Old Capital were attacked by the Vadryn, the entire core of the Rottherlen family was murdered.” Ashwin found himself rehashing events they were all aware of for the sake of retracing their recent steps. At this point, it seemed more a verbalizing of the logic they had used in the last one hundred years. At times, he struggled to convince himself that it was the correct logic. “An army of horrors and men possessed by them arrived in retaliation for a Release, which I performed that ousted one of the archdemons from a willing and long-term host. On top of revenge they had come to seize one of the primary elements of physical magic known to our world.”
Ashwin and his most immediate colleagues in age and experience traversed the massive chamber of the falls, unoccupied during the various morning sessions resident priests partook of. Individuals would begin to filter in to enjoy the soothing waters after early training routines and study. A tall, solitary panel, typically of little notice, awaited at the back of the room, tucked close beside the falls themselves, flowing in cool sheets over the natural rock face.
“In our early phases of growth, we deemed this element the Source, as it was a strong generator of magical current. Our precursory era utilized it as a means by which energy was channeled throughout the Old Capital for purposes mundane to vital. Before the blood lilies, it even recharged priests simply by virtue of its cycling energy. It still does, as we know, but we are much less reliant on it since fully incorporating the lilies and the system we have built from them. We now empower one another. Life regenerates from death. Priests are selected naturally. No longer by the inconvenience and perhaps misguided method of recruitment and appointment that had once been our way.”
At the decorative panel—a door in actuality—which stood nearly as tall as the falls themselves, they each performed a minor, though exclusive to Superiors spell which affected the veins of silver scrollwork throughout the door. A glow traced through the intricate length of the design, and ultimately the door was unlocked. It was the undoing of a complex Binding, one set by them and one which only they could take down. Afterward, Ceth went to a lever beside the door and used both hands to pull it down. A mechanism released within and the door slid inward onto a darkened space; the start of the caves from which the citadel had grown. Ashwin put a Lantern into the air and they entered.
“The Source was not a natural element on its own, but comprised of natural elements. As all of us recall, it was a joint effort between priests and the original head of the Rottherlen house. The Source was created to store and generate. It did so for a long time and was an inherited responsibility of both priests and the Rottherlen family. The core of it is as a family heirloom for the Rottherlens. Each member to ascend in power and responsibility to Edrinor ritualistically—and perhaps actually—received the wisdom of their ancestor. Through that connection, that moment of communing with the spirit of their past, sprang the flow of the Rottherlens’ unique current along the Spectrum of magic. That rare and undefinable virtue imbued them with the necessary balance and power to govern and to guide. Through them, ordinary men felt optimism and vigilance. It was enough to keep the ill powers of our world at bay. For generations, the system succeeded. And then a very large and malignant force interrupted it, violently. Up to that point it and its fellows had tried for centuries and failed. With its success, brought about through betrayal of one of our own, Edrinor was left without an Ascendant to receive the inheritance from the Source. Optimism and hope dwindled, depleting to such levels that Edrinor became a country of people who only wanted to survive and otherwise be left alone. Unity beyond individual towns and families was no more. Weakness was perceived and the opportunity to strike taken. Morenne’s turn to violence and greed invited the Vadryn and, whether wittingly or unwittingly at first, the two became allies.”
“The war among men has been ongoing ever since,” Ceth concluded for the four of them.
Ashwin said nothing more after that, leading them through corridors of rough rock with the sound of the falls following. Hundreds of years ago, the Vassenleigh Order had existed exclusively within these corridors. Before that, the priests had been a smaller class of individuals who were understood essentially as scholars. Many of them led reclusive lives buried in study and experimentation while others served the Old Kingdom, helping Edrinor to grow. It was not a perfect system, in spite of the singular leadership of the Rottherlen family, but it had felt far less desperate. The fighting with the Vadryn was more among individuals than armies. The Vadryn had been discovered initially in the way that one stumbles upon a predator in the wild, a creature whose existence was not immediately recognized until one ventured into the wilderness and discovered it.
The thought dislodged an ancient memory, leading Ashwin to recall that it was a cousin of his and Eisleth’s who had first told them of the world’s darker spirits. Their cousin had been something of a wild child, mysterious and erring on feral at times. Ashwin recalled a certain fondness for the uniqueness of their cousin’s ways. And their cousin seemed to find Ashwin’s lifestyle equally endearing, so much as he continually came around to visit and wished wellness upon Ashwin and his children.
Sadly, the names of any of his children or of his first wife still would not be dredged up from the annals of his personal history. In spite of that, his cousin’s name flared forward almost with intent. His name was Demartas. A part of Ashwin wanted to stop and to ask Eisleth if and what he remembered of him, but he ignored the urge in favor of completing their path to the Source, what of it had been transferred to Vassenleigh from the Capital.
“I’d like to ask again,” Jeselle said, “why you and Eisleth took it upon yourselves to have us move only part of the Source? Why not all of it?”
“Because all of it would have been too much for any of us to move, alone or together,” Ashwin answered.
“It was partially rooted in its location by the Rottherlen family,” Eisleth expounded. “It was also, in part, rooted to them. A piece of it died with each member of the family lost.”
“A portion of it was left—not unprotected—for the Ascendant, should that individual find cause or direction to return to the home of their ancestors.”
“But, could that individual not also come here?” Ceth asked.
“Yes, they could,” Ashwin said. “And for that reason, as well as to ensure that our enemy could not take all of the Source without defeating us utterly, the Source is securely bedded in two locations. Presumably, the Ascendant would claim both remaining portions.”
“I see,” Ceth said, and odds were high that he actually did. Though Ceth was younger than the other three in present company, he was old enough to know many things, and intelligent enough to put ends together quickly. Blue and all that it offered at that point along the Spectrum was truly his domain. He was invaluable, for his talents as well as for the many talented students he graced them with. Ashwin knew well that battles had been and were being decided because of his guidance. It was odd to consider now that he had had his beginnings as a hunter, and that they had him to thank for Merran’s discovery. It was Ceth’s spark of influence, on the night he tracked a demon to an isolated farmhouse far west of the Old Capital, that inspired Merran to come to Vassenleigh.
That thought brought them to a roughhewn staircase, which they took upward several stories, until they arrived at the highest point from which the water streamed into the chamber behind and below them. At that point, above the water, and also encircled within it, was a metallic-ap
pearing substance in the form of an orb. It shined as if it had been polished over the centuries by the water coursing around it, though they all knew that it had held that cast originally and that the water was not channeling around it, but being channeled by it.
“And there it sits,” Ashwin said on behalf of all of them. “Safe for the time being.”
“And otherwise serving as a beacon of temptation and of contempt for our enemies,” Eisleth added.
That was true. But it was also true that the Vadryn viewed Ashwin similarly. For that matter, they were as tempted by and as incensed by the existence of any of them. In their ancientness they had been so saturated and were so capable of channeling magic that they also were Sources in their own right. This war was not about a coveted item, or even about the potential of an important family to return to power, though Ashwin felt both were important for Edrinor’s survival. This war was about eradication, complete and absolute. The Vadryn were destroyers set upon the world and not by accident. Ashwin believed that their creation was deliberate.
“You brought this upon yourself,” came the undying voice of the crone. “All of it, didn’t you?”
Merran had been standing idle in the darkness, aware of a light forming at his hand. For an instant he considered that he might have been healing, that his ability to wield magic had not been abolished by his injury. His ability had always been too focused, too dependent upon a system he had learned for himself within the system better utilized by any other priest. Perhaps it had not been his calling after all. As if in response, the vagrant light around his hand refused to connect with or acknowledge him.
“You were stronger for your weakness,” the crone told him. “But weak just the same. Strength fades, defiler. It fades quicker when it is forced.”
“You’re only a part of my dream,” Merran told her in an attempt to dismiss the persistent memory of her.
“You’re not dreaming now, are you?” she taunted, her deep voice tumbling like small boulders through the dimensionless space. “And you weren’t dreaming then.”
As before, her voice returned him to memory.
Morning came to tell me I wasn’t dreaming the night before. Somehow, I knew it as soon as I opened my eyes. I was out of doors, but still at home. Near to it, at any rate. I thought I smelled something burning and began to sit up. A gentle hand pushed me back.
“Not yet,” the man said. “I’ve patched your wound, but I’m not a true healer. You lost a lot of blood. You should rest a little longer.”
I obeyed. The sky above me was clouded and gray. The air around me felt chilly, except where the stranger sat to my left. He was dressed all in blue, quiet shades of it that made me think of clear summer skies. It made me feel warm, in spite of the cold inside me. I wondered who he was and what he was doing here, if I should thank him or curse him.
“They’re all dead,” the stranger said directly, but still gently. “I’m sorry for that, but if it comforts you, they were spared a crueler fate.”
I wanted to ask him how he meant that, but I was crying. I had never bawled a lot, even when I was little, but now I curled onto my side and let the tears fall however long and hard they wanted to. I cried for all of my family, but I cried hardest for my sister.
“I set fire to the house,” the man continued. “It was the only way to ensure against further contagion and to protect your family from the worse fate I mentioned. The beast got you as well, but I sealed its poison. You’ll carry the scar for the rest of your life, however you’ll not be joining the Vadryn’s ranks anytime soon.”
That was when I stopped crying. The Vadryn were demons, savage murderers of the living, who increased their numbers by corrupting the souls of their victims. The dead ones became mindless ghouls and the living were turned into unwitting slaves. That was how the legends went and I had never paid them much attention before now. I never dreamed that their evil would reach my family. Why should it?
“I’m sorry that I did not get here sooner,” the man said, standing. “I can’t stay, but I wanted to be sure that you would survive the night. This won’t be easy for you. I realize that, but I would credit you a strong young man, if it pleases anyone to know. I think you’ll do fine.”
I felt numb. Watching the stranger in blue, I saw him approach a brown mare that had been waiting quietly nearby. He rummaged in the saddle packs and produced a cloth with something folded in it and a small pouch. With the items in hand, the man came back to me and crouched down.
“My journey’s been long,” he said. “I don’t have much left, but I would like you to take it. I know you don’t feel hungry, but you must feed your strength. People know you in Imerenne?”
I nodded.
“Then I recommend you go there,” the man said. He handed me the two small bundles and something I hadn’t noticed before; a rolled parchment. “This is a signed statement of what I witnessed here. Bring it to whatever authority will be responsible for sorting the matter out. You’re old enough to inherit. I mentioned that in my statement, so don’t let some greedy landlord try to absorb what belonged to your father.”
“We were tenants,” I said. “My father built the house.”
An unhappy irony crossed the man’s features. He looked noble, belonging to a class well above me. I ought to have been addressing him more properly, but he didn’t call me on it or let me correct myself.
“The house was all you had claim to, and I just burned it.” He paused for a long moment. “I can’t undo that, but I apologize again. Still, you’re old enough to inherit your father’s status as a tenant farmer. Your hands tell me you’ve been working hard already.”
I glanced down at my rough, callused hands. My gaze lifted again when the stranger stood.
“You’ll do fine,” he said once more.
“But they’re dead,” I said, making him look back at me. Fresh tears tumbled down my cheeks. “My brothers...and my little sister! Da killed them!”
“No,” the man said, sternly. “The Vadryn killed them. Your father was taken over by a demon’s will. He is not to blame for this.”
“He was supposed to protect us!” I shouted unreasonably. “He didn’t! I hate him!”
“Mourn for him,” the stranger said, his tone and expression grave. “Not many of us visit Hell’s depths before death. Your father did.”
The man turned away from me long enough to mount his patient horse. When he looked at me again, he tried to smile a little. “Take care of yourself now. I’m sure your family would have wanted you to.”
He left and I stayed behind, wishing for some reason that I could have gone with him.
I looked down at the tiny bundle in my hands, shooing away a large brown moth that found it warm enough to be out and about as it tried landing on the package. I watched it flutter away, in the direction the man had gone, then gave my attention back to what the stranger had given me. The cloth had a chunk of cheese and some stiff bread in it. The pouch had a few silver coins within that added up to more than my father could have earned in a week. I ignored the parchment since I couldn’t read it anyway. I could read and write a little, but surely not the formal style that a nobleman would have used.
I thought about that. A nobleman, who hunted demons. I didn’t know there were such things. Clearly, I didn’t know much about the world, and now I would have to face it alone.
They stood beneath the silver-blue glimmer of the Source. It was a relatively small item made larger by the amount of energy streaming all around it. Eisleth believed looking upon it now served as an adequate reminder of how magic and its function and use in their world had altered.
“The Source seems but a token,” Jeselle said. “It’s value bordering on sentimental.”
“Educational,” Ceth added. “I have surely learned much of magic and its movement from this.”
While that may have been true for Ceth, Eisleth required no such visual aid. For him, it merely represented a physical model of what he intrinsical
ly knew, and had known from a relatively early age. Red worked faster, though. He believed that was the consensus of the day.
Ashwin looked at him just then, as if he felt the edge of Eisleth’s sarcastic thoughts and found it important enough to cite. Looking at his twin’s expression, however, made it clear that he was troubled over something else.
Eisleth looked once more toward the Source, then took steps in the direction they had come getting there.
Ashwin walked with him, as Eisleth knew he would. “For some reason, the spell-touch will not cease,” he said, and Eisleth did not have to be told that it was in reference to Korsten. “I am constantly exposed to him, at every level. I incessantly hear the echoes of his thoughts, of his dreams. It does not disturb me. I’ve grown accustomed to it and can sift it from the front of my thoughts and feelings easily. The point in my addressing it now, is that it has made me privy to Korsten’s current state and brought me into indirect contact with what is affecting him.”
“The wraiths, clutching at his spirit in post trauma over his encounters.” The diagnosis was not one Eisleth, or any of them commonly made. It required a considerable amount of exposure to the Vadryn, and typically of a specific nature, in order for the memory of them to manifest a near physical presence.
“Yes,” Ashwin said contemplatively, which let Eisleth know that his answer was actually something of a lie.
“You suspect something else.”
Ashwin looked back at Jeselle and Ceth before he and Ashwin began down the stairs. “I suspect, yes, but only after the fact. When I encountered the wraiths—we’ll continue to call them that until I’m certain otherwise—I felt that, more than presence, they had purpose.”
“They could not have been the Vadryn themselves,” Eisleth decided and shortly thereafter presented his evidence as to why. “No demon could push past the Barriers without our knowledge. Furthermore, Korsten could not have stood in the presence of the Council without not even one of us detecting his passengers.”