The Wizard at Mecq

by Rick Shelley

  When he finished, Carillia took over. "I do not see the lights of souls seeking our protection," she said, glancing at the bishop, "but I hear their supplications. The fear that runs through Mecq this night is awesome in its pathos. The final assault of the Blue Rose cannot be long delayed. This fear ripples away from it across this pond, and the point where the stone falls is close." She made a sweeping gesture with her right arm. "The souls of your flock need comforting this night, Brother Paul." She closed her eyes and seemed to withdraw from the gathering in some unfathomable manner.

  There was hardly a pause between Carillia's last word and Bay's first. "Armies are gathering, but I can make out nothing of their nature. They are veiled in a mist I cannot penetrate."

  Egbert and Paul both stared at the horse. The friar was visibly shaken by the specter of a horse speaking. Bishop Egbert remained composed, but he too felt disturbed.

  "Do you speak only in Council, or is this part of your normal power?" the bishop asked.

  Bay didn't look to Silvas before he said, "It is part of my normal being. I usually do not speak in front of outsiders, for reasons good and plentiful. But Silvas said that we need hide nothing from you, Bishop Egbert of St. Ives. He said that you have the strength to know whatever may be pertinent."

  "And me?" escaped from Brother Paul's lips without his volition. Egbert turned and laid his hands on the friar's shoulders.

  "You have more strength than you dream of, brother," Egbert said. "That, and your faith, will sustain you. Our Unseen Lord stands with us."

  "That is true, Brother Paul," Carillia said, opening her eyes. She had not moved, but still she seemed to somehow reappear when her eyes opened. "His presence is very real to all of us."

  The others watched Brother Paul for several minutes. His inner struggle was reflected clearly on his face. Not until resolution was visible there did Bosc make his contribution to the Council.

  "I feel the Earth," he said by way of prolog for the outsiders. "I feel her bones and blood the way you might feel the pulsing of life by holding your hand against a man's chest." He held his hand against his own chest.

  "Upheavals are coming," Bosc said. "I hear mourning sing through the Earth. I feel passion erupting, shaking everything around it." He shook his head softly. "I do not fully understand these visions. They are new to me." Finished, Bosc looked first to Silvas and then to Egbert.

  "I don't know that I can contribute much," the bishop started, his hand moving to his chest, where his crucifix—or its image—hung.

  "Look!" Bay shouted. He jerked his head toward the sky over Blethye. Carillia and Bosc had been sitting with their backs to the duchy. Egbert and Paul had been at the side, intent on the members of the group, not on the outer surroundings. And even Silvas, who had been looking toward Blethye, had not been watching the sky. They all looked now.

  A storm was developing over Blethye, dark purple and black clouds blotting out the artificial light of the Council. The clouds rolled and grew, curling into one another and ballooning, swirling and climbing, coming slowly nearer, presenting a massive front. Yellow-green lightning flashed, showing wine-red highlights to the clouds. The thunder that rolled toward Mount Balq was the sound of whips cracking over a mighty herd of horses' hoofs stampeding through the night. As the clouds grew and thickened, the thunder increased and became independent of the lightning. An evil wind blew up the slope into the faces of Silvas and the others. Faint in the distance, there were ghostly images of demonic horses and riders, the armies of the dead coming to fight for the souls of the living. Even fainter were the banshee cries that Mecq had heard during the previous attack.

  "This is not happening now," Silvas said. The words came out slowly and required the full force of his concentration. The impression of overwhelming evil and unavoidable destruction that flowed across the hilltop was so strong that Silvas had difficulty resisting it. When he could force his eyes away from the assault on his spirit, he looked at the others. They all appeared transfixed by the show. Carillia was holding her own, projecting her customary aura of calmness, only vaguely distorted by the upheavals. Bishop Egbert stood with his feet well apart, facing the clouds, his hands raised against the storm. His lips moved as he went through the words of a silent incantation. Beside him, Brother Paul repeatedly drew the sign of the cross in the air before him. Bosc stood with his hands on his hips, face raised to the sky. He showed no reaction to the storm, and neither did Bay.

  Suddenly the heavens split open and a blinding light struck the observers, forcing them first to close their eyes against it and then to blink repeatedly to adjust to the brightness. The thunder of phantom hoofs was drowned out by dirges coming through the growing break in the clouds. This was a lethal music that froze the face and threatened to turn souls to ice. It seemed to almost physically swallow the people on the hill.

  The music ended. The scene shifted again.

  It was day and it was night—at the same time and in the same place. The people atop Mount Balq saw the gods doing battle on a brightly lit plain. But above the battle there was a night sky, with stars shining in their appointed places. There was no way to identify the gods, but none of the people on the hill had any doubt that they were gods. Even Brother Paul, who only knew the Lesser Mysteries that did not include the pantheon, sensed that these were gods and their chosen champions. And some of the gods were falling. The stars above them were snuffed out one by one, the pace of extinctions increasing rapidly.

  Total darkness settled over the Council on the hilltop, a blackness so complete that Silvas couldn't see his hand no matter how close he brought it to his eyes. It was as if the universe had ended, leaving only his disembodied consciousness to contemplate the void.

  —|—

  "Carillia?" Silvas waited but there was no reply. One by one he called each of the others and waited for an answer. "Is anyone here?" he asked at last... and he heard only silence. He shuffled around in a slow, tight circle, pausing frequently, straining his ears to hear any sound. But there was nothing. Even his feet made no sound when he tried stamping. He clapped his hands. That he could hear.

  "Where am I now?" brought no answer, not even an echo.

  "What do I do?" There was still no response.

  He waited, and he listened. Eventually he tried to walk, sliding one foot forward, just a little, testing his stance before bringing his weight fully forward. He didn't forget that he had been on top of Mount Balq, or a representation of that hill, before the darkness came. Even in the spirit, if he was still in the spirit, he didn't want to tumble from the hill. He couldn't guess what damage it might do to him. He counted his steps. He paused when the count reached ten and called out again, "Is anyone here?" and waited for an answer that did not come. He took another ten careful, sliding steps and tried again. And then ten more.

  "If I were still on Mount Balq, I would have fallen off the edge by now, so I must not be there any longer." Where am I? was just a thought this time.

  "If my body is traveling, I have strayed beyond the pentagram by now," he whispered. That possibility brought a shiver to him. He turned around, trying to be as exact as he could, and he counted out thirty careful steps, hoping that they were the same size as the steps he had taken before, hoping that they would put him back in the protected center of his pentagram—if his body had actually strayed.

  Silvas sat down, feeling for the ground under him. There was some sort of surface, but he could make out nothing of its composition. He sat cross-legged and rested his hands on his knees.

  "Even if there is no solution, there should be an answer." He closed his eyes and started an incantation. But there was no power to the spell. Long before Silvas came to the end of it, he knew that it would not work.

  This is not the same as the other time, though. I can feel the power. I simply can't manipulate it. It is just out of reach now, not nonexistent. He couldn't figure out what difference that might make, but it was a difference, something to hold on to until h
e had more.

  "Open your eyes. Stand up."

  The voice sounded vaguely familiar, stirring memories too deep within Silvas for them to surface instantly. But he obeyed. He opened his eyes and stood. The darkness was gone. There was good light around him now, vague, with no apparent source, but light. The figure of a man—idealized as only poets or artists could ever picture man—stood some dozen paces away. The only thing missing was something solid for the two figures to stand on. It was as if the clear blue sky of a summer afternoon extended in every direction. Silvas and this form of a perfect man seemed to stand on air. The wizard pressed down with his foot. The air seemed as solid below as rock ever had.

  "Look at me."

  Silvas had really not been aware that he had been avoiding looking at the figure until then, but he looked now, and the stranger's eyes grabbed his and locked his gaze.

  "I am your Unseen Lord. I am the god of the White Brotherhood, the god of all Christians who follow the orthodox Roman Way. I am the Lord you swore your vows to."

  "I know that, Lord," Silvas replied, shocked at how thin and child-like his voice sounded next to the voice of his Lord.

  "Come closer."

  Silvas could not have disobeyed if he had wanted to. He stepped forward, striding as if he had a mile to cover and not just a few yards. Silvas saw pain and fear in the eyes of his master. That sight brought tremors to Silvas, tremors that ran completely through him. He didn't stop walking until he couldn't advance without running into this god... and that was unthinkable.

  The god put his hands over Silvas's eyes and pressed. The wizard felt a heat that was intense, incredible, but still bearable, almost comforting. Silvas was reminded of the heat against his eyes when he tried to stare into the distant star with his telesight. That had been pure pain. This was also pain, but it was an almost enjoyable ache.

  Though no further words were spoken for an eternity, Silvas could feel knowledge and—inescapably—the power that this knowledge represented pouring into him, much faster than he could consciously assimilate it. He didn't worry about missing anything of importance, or forgetting some vital detail, though. Among the first pieces of knowledge that took possession of Silvas was the assurance that this would all remain part of him.

  And he knew that he was being made privy to many of the deepest secrets of the gods. That knowledge had to convey a power that was worlds beyond what he had possessed before, something greater than any wizard before him had ever enjoyed... or suffered. It didn't make him a god, but it removed him a step or two farther from his fellow men.

  The names of the gods were no longer beyond Silvas's ken. He knew their idealized faces, the range and limits of their powers—and even they had definite limits, the makeup of their alliances and history, who was on which side, who stood apart or remained undecided. He knew, beyond any doubt, that the god holding his eyes was indeed his Unseen Lord, the god of the White Brotherhood and of the Roman Church since Constantine made Christianity the official religion of his empire.

  I liked the new pomp and the efficient organization that spread the rites so quickly. It amused me. I took it and made it my own.

  I knew that, Silvas thought. It is part of the Greater Mysteries. Religions are made by men and the gods select from the choices that are available. More came to him now. While a god remained associated with a church or sect, there was a process of mutual adaptation, one to the other, change on both sides.

  If the usurpers behind the Blue Rose destroy me—and that is the only way they will unseat me—there will be chaos throughout the world, perhaps the fall of what remains of any civilization. It will be worse than the fall of Rome and it may be more permanent, an eternal age of darkness.

  The knowledge became part of Silvas—and more. This fight had become so important to the gods on both sides that the maiming or destruction of the mortal world was preferable to defeat. Knowledge continued to pour into him.

  Gods die more easily than churches, the religious power structures that you mortals create.

  Silvas took in the last burdens of knowledge. It is as I feared, he thought, almost losing awareness of the divine hands pressed against his eyes. What is coming could be both Armageddon and Götterdämerung. Our world could end with no gods surviving to even conduct a proper Judgment Day in its wake.

  He saw armies of the dead fighting alongside armies of the living. Gods and mages would duel, all centered on Mecq—for no reason that Silvas could find within the well of knowledge he had been given. And there was no explanation from his Unseen Lord. He still had only the guesses he had made so far.

  The god took his hands away from Silvas's eyes. The wizard blinked several times at the return of the light.

  "I have armed and armored you as best I can," the god told Silvas, and then he disappeared, taking the light with him.

  Silvas found himself alone in that total darkness again. This time he felt a crushing weight on his soul, a weight without precedent or equal.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  When Silvas woke back in his workshop, he wasn't surprised at his exhaustion. Since coming to Mecq, that had been the rule. The sense of weight remained, but it was different than it had been in the presence of his Unseen Lord. Silvas was prone, his face pressed against the marble floor. He breathed easily. This time he felt no apprehensions about the drained feeling. For several minutes he was content to keep his eyes closed and breathe as deeply as he could while energy returned to him.

  This time the energy returned quickly. A trickle became a flood as power surged through him—a new sensation. I have changed, he realized, and then he opened his eyes.

  The sensation of weight was immediately explained. Silvas was dressed in a full suit of plate armor. He had never worn armor of any sort before. His craft had always been his armor. This is like the plate the gods wore in their battle, he thought. It was as shiny as polished silver. When he got to his knees, he noted that there was even a sword at his waist, and he never wore a sword. It had been many years—decades—since he had even practiced with a long blade.

  Standing, Silvas found that the armor no longer weighed so heavily on him. From the feel it might be no more than heavy wool—winter garments, but stiff. Silvas ran his hands over the breastplate. The metal was cold. "I have armed and armored you as best I can." Silvas recalled the words of his Unseen Lord and believed that the armor was as strong as a god could make it.

  Memories of the Council and its sequel flooded Silvas's mind. There was so much there, knowledge that went far beyond any possible needs of this coming fight. There's no time to meander casually through the new corridors I see, Silvas thought with a certain amount of regret. In the most direct sense, knowledge was power to a wizard. The more knowledge he possessed, the greater his ability. And Silvas had just acquired a large fund of new knowledge. But there was too much to do. I need to check on the others. I need to look out to see how much of the demon force is already on the march. He needed to climb to the turret that looked out over Mecq, and he needed to look over the walls of the Seven Towers as well.

  "I think that what we saw in Council was premonition, or the lies of the Blue Rose, but I must be sure," he whispered.

  Quickly he spoke the spells to close down the defenses of the finished Council. There was finally time to notice that it was still night outside, though the darkness was waning, and that Satin and Velvet remained in their protective circles.

  "Mecq first," Silvas said when he stepped out of the pentagram. "Come, kittens. We have real work to do now."

  Even walking was no problem in the armor. The suit was complete, from helmet to cuisses. Only the hands, and the legs from the knees down, were left unprotected. Walking was no problem, but it wasn't silent. The pieces of armor moved against each other. The sword's scabbard rattled against the cuisse on Silvas's left thigh. On the metal stairs leading up to the turret that overlooked Mecq, the unaccustomed noise was quite distracting. Even the cats seemed bothered by it.
>
  Mecq was quiet. Silvas looked toward the sky over the twin peaks. There was nothing that looked like the gathering storm he had seen in Council. Closer, below, the village was already astir for the new day. A few people were up and about. More would be soon. Silvas looked at St. Katrinka's and remembered that the bishop was due to say Mass at sunrise.

  "That can't be far off," Silvas whispered. "I should make sure that the bishop has risen."

  He stared at the rough cross on top of Mecq's church for several minutes, then turned away from the view of Mecq at last and headed down the stairs. He needed to check on all of the participants of his Council, but Bishop Egbert had to be first. Silvas knocked on the bishop's door, and Egbert called for him to enter. Two candles were burning. The bishop was up, still examining the suit of armor that had been draped over him.

  "I woke with this on me," Egbert said.

  "As did I," Silvas replied. "Our Unseen Lord told me, 'I have armed and armored you as best I can.' "

  "There was even this." Bishop Egbert picked a mace off of the bed. "I have never wielded the weapons of war, but if I must..." He shook his head. "We are forbidden to shed the blood of men. Is it really so important that no blood is shed if we crush a skull or chest?" Though the iron ball of the mace was heavy, the bishop had no trouble waving it on its wooden handle.

  "I know you have questions. I have plenty of my own," Silvas said. "But first I have to check on the others who were with us. It's almost dawn. There is no trace of the enemy over Mecq, but how long that will remain true, I cannot say."

  Egbert nodded absently. "I will check on Brother Paul myself if you like."

  "That will save time. I'll meet you there as soon as I can, and I'll make sure that your brothers here have a guide to St. Katrinka's when they are ready."