by Lee M Eason
Brother Nimian had been a widely travelled man in his youth and unlike the rest of his chapter, and most of The North’s population, had risked the journey into The South. He’d seen much and learnt the common language. But had still longed for the wide-open spaces of the far north. So a stranger from The South was less of an event to him. Over the past four days since Naicarn’s arrival most of the brothers had found excuses to enter the room for a look at the foreigner whose dark complexion and hair contrasted so in colour with their own. It had been sixty or more years since Nimian himself had seen the features of a person from the south and he recognised Naicarn’s brown skin and dark hair as Amarian.
Nimian was an old man. His life was etched into the deep lines of his face, his weak watery eyes and his frail form. But he was content, at peace with the world around him. The stranger was not. Nimian had watched him as he slept and listened to the cries and words of the man’s nightmares. Now he watched the same troubled man eat. The weak candles barely lifted his face out of the shadows, a face once sharp now eroded and prematurely aged.
“You eat but it gives you no pleasure. You sleep but it gives you no rest even the calm of this place brings you little peace.”
“I eat, I sleep, I rest. They are things I must do and see no reason to make more of them than.” Naicarn spoke between mouthfuls. He realised his manner and tone was defensive but had neither the energy nor the patience to play games with this old man.
“Is that so,” Nimian replied untouched by the man’s irritation. “So what brings you satisfaction, what gives you pleasure?”
Naicarn paused. The spoon hovered and then returned to the bowl. “Silence.” He pushed the bowl aside. “Why should you be interested?”
“I am interested in all of the travellers who come through our doors but I am particularly fascinated by you.”
“Why?” Naicarn snapped. It occurred to him he could break this old twig of a man in two and be done with his observations.
Nimian got up unsteadily but without rushing, gathered himself and then walked to the door all the time with Naicarn watching. Taking hold of the handle the old man paused at the edge of the light. “Why, you ask? I will tell you why. You hide so much and closed doors have always interested me.” With that the monk shuffled out of the room leaving the door ajar. Naicarn sat for some time looking at it and the shadows about it, realising that the old man unnerved him.
It was several days later when he came across Nimian again. Naicarn had finally been able to get out of bed and explore the ancient abbey. It was a labyrinth of dark muffled corridors barely lit by yellowed candles and smuttering oil lamps. He walked in a half-light, almost like a dream and at times he wondered if this was real or if he still slept. The events on the plain still gave him nightmares and yet when he was awake he found it difficult to focus fully on them, they seemed somehow distant and detached as if they had happened to someone else.
He remembered dismissing The Children, knowing his Order would not be able to pursue him in such numbers again. The whispers had driven him through Coth wanting answers to questions they set in his mind. Winter had closed in quicker than he had anticipated, with deep snow and freezing temperatures. Even though the whispers kept The Beholder out of his mind, the constant effort to keep going and transport himself as often as he was able had been too much. He’d only just reached Dothica at the edge of exhaustion. The rest was fragments. Now rested, he was interested in the long forgotten library and its books. That had been his reason for travelling to Coth and the city on the edge of the world.
Lost in his thoughts he had not paid attention to where he was going and so found himself in a part of the abbey he had not explored. The corridor behind him was dark and silent, ahead he could just make out a faint flickering glow. He walked on, taking the pool of light, his candle offered, with him. He reached what he assumed to be one of the abbey’s few communal areas and stopped to warm himself by a fire under a large carved mantle. Its light danced on the walls around him, the only life in the space.
“You’ve closed the door again,” Nimian’s words brought him up with a start. The cleric was sat in a chair hidden by its high back and the eternal half-light of the crumbling building.
“Come and keep an old man company for a while. The library will wait for you,” he added as Naicarn hesitated.
They sat in silence with only the snap and crackle of the fire and much to his irritation Naicarn spoke first. “Who are you, old man? Why are you so interested in me and how is that you knew of my interest in the library here?”
“I? No person of note. But you - you are something we rarely see this far north. I ask myself, what is a sorcerer looking for in my library?”
Naicarn sat up turning to face Nimian in surprise. “Your library?”
Nimian smiled to himself. “My life’s work, a store of knowledge matched only, in the north, by The Mammoth Temple. I have travelled the continent and beyond adding to its store. A selfish pursuit perhaps as it is seldom used and little known. The Republic doesn’t encourage the spread of knowledge or an interest in the past beyond that of its own making.”
“On the contrary I and others in The South have heard many tales of the library in Dothica and its ancient books and stores of knowledge. They are what brought me here but I had not expected to meet its compiler.”
Nimian seemed heartened by this. “Then you must let me help you. My knowledge of the library would save you time so you can leave as winter withdraws.”
“That would be useful. If the collection is as huge as I have heard, your help would save me a…” Naicarn stopped, the old man knew too much about him. Had he talked in his restless sleep while the old fool ministered to him? If so, he would have to ensure this information went no further. He was about to ask the monk where the library was but the old man had drifted off and was snoring quietly.
In the following days they spent many hours searching the dusty volumes of the library, candles providing islands of light amongst the dark lines of shelves. Naicarn was surprised by the old man’s energy and knowledge once amongst the collection he clearly loved and cherished. Silence had gradually eased as their joint interest and value in the collected works gave them common ground. Gradually they began to spend just as much time on discussion, philosophy, theory and history as they did searching. As the months passed Naicarn actually began to enjoy their time together, despite himself. The old man was extremely knowledgeable and Naicarn found his insight less of a threat and his lack of pretence refreshing.
Their joint pursuit was deeply satisfying for Nimian and he was delighted by the challenges of Naicarn’s search and interest in the collection. Nimian also began to learn more of the stranger he spent time with and was increasingly intrigued by the contradictions in his nature.
“Here. Try this one,” Nimian shuffled over to the desk they had set up months earlier. It was now hidden beneath manuscripts scrolls and books. Naicarn got up to help the old man with the book and took his arm as he lowered himself into a chair with a grunt. “Thank you. My infirmity annoys me at times when it hinders our endeavours. I have never asked The Goddess for personal favours but now I would ask Iscca to grant me the gift of clear sight.”
“Your knowledge far out ways any weakness in your eyes and bones. You have saved me weeks of pointless searching. Your knowledge and this library would be prized as a true treasure by my Order. I regret that we had not met before now.”
Nimian settled himself, putting on the heavy glasses and dragging over his large magnifying glass to search the volume before him. “You flatter an old man and it is gratefully received. You have given me a purpose I had not thought I would have again. I had forgotten the joy of these books, as is obvious, my eyesight increasingly prevents my accessing them. If I have a regret, then that is it.” He shook his head as he turned a thick, yellowed page and peered through the magnifying glass in his tremulous hand.
The days wore on and finally late one afternoon
as the winter light faded fast Naicarn became aware of the whispering again. It was only then that he realised it had been absent for some time. He continued reading for a while longer, hoping it would recede. But its insistence grew, filling him with the need to move on. It became impossible to concentrate.
“Have you found anything more?” Nimian asked, gesturing with a gnarled hand at the delicate scroll Naicarn had thrown aside.
He shook his head sitting back from it. “Only a confirmation. One of the islands in the seas north of here.” He exhaled rubbing at his forehead in agitation. “I have learnt enough to continue my search but not enough to end it,” there was a hopeless tone to his voice.
Nimian nodded regretfully. “I fear my library will not be able to help any further and that you will soon be leaving.” He looked about thoughtfully. “These ancient walls are not impregnable. Things find a way in eventually.” He paused, considering his next words. “You will not want to hear this but none the less I will speak.”
Naicarn folded his arms, knowing the old man always spoke his mind whether invited to or not. “I have learnt much in my time here old man and know better than to argue with you.”
“Then I must congratulate you on your wisdom.” Nimian chuckled putting down his magnifying glass and removing the spectacles. His actions as always were unhurried and Naicarn waited while the old man organised himself. “I suspect you have become more like the man you once were in your time here.” Naicarn stirred in his chair uncomfortably at these words knowing them to hold some truth. “When you return to your search and the world outside I worry that other influences will take hold again. It is almost as if this search is not fully your own.”
“Not my own?” Naicarn interrupted sharply.
“I may need these crude things to help me see but I am not blind to what’s in there.” He jerked a crooked finger at Naicarn’s forehead.
“I am quite in control of what is in here,” Naicarn mimicked.
“All I ask is that you consider what I have said. It is in your interest only. You know me well enough by now.” With that he made to get up from his chair, shooing away Naicarn’s offer of help and stiffly shuffled towards the dark, endless rows of shelves. He paused there without turning, only just visible in the deep shadows. “I wish you well my friend.” Naicarn watched as he faded into the darkness.
Weak light filtered in through the threadbare curtains that hung across the small window in Nimian’s room. Naicarn looked down at the old man now gently snoring, the sunken eyes, the skin as aged and worn as the pages they had searched and the frail body that hampered a mind still sharp and vigorous. Could he be trusted to keep the nature of their search secret? There was a slim chance others would follow. He reflected on their time together and of the things he had said. But again Naicarn was interrupted and felt the urge to move on, to continue his… he questioned his own thoughts then. His, the word somehow seemed out of place and he lingered over it until the old man stirred. A part of him wanted to stay. He felt at peace here, the study, the discussion and the debate. He had forgotten the pleasures of kindred company but the pull of the whispers was there, the sense of urgency that had gnawed now overwhelmed. He had to follow it to see where it led and to what end. He focused his will and drew on the field reaching his hand out across the old man’s face and murmured. “Good bye old man,”
Nimian woke with a start as if from a dream. His hand searched for his glasses, fumbling across the small bedside table finding only a note. Without thinking he sat up and opened the neatly folded paper. ‘A gift’. Nimian puzzled over the inscription’s meaning and then it glared back at him.
Chapter 14
Amaria had learnt many lessons in its long history. The Emperor Attirick had spent his reign atoning for the actions of his father, Saracarn III. But this atonement had continued for too long, the country became too self-absorbed and closed to the world beyond its borders. The Empress’s accession to the throne began a new era, a period of slow progress. She had struggled to prove, and then assert, her authority against a government and an Order all too comfortable with the status quo. But little by little she had replaced, and at times forcibly removed, people who blocked her vision. Now she finally headed a government and an Order ready to work hard to create a strong, forward thinking and ultimately outward looking country. Ready to learn from the past and look to the future. The powder attacks and the shock of the Fury incursion had strengthened this resolve. A ruthless hunt, following the interrogation of Poltack had weeded out those who had betrayed their country. Their executions had been swift, public and without mercy.
Work then began in earnest and with an urgency that acknowledged the threat that marched ever closer. The walls that encircled the city were being greatly extended in height and thickness, offering an impressive demonstration of Amar’s organisation. Each block had been reinforced by skilful adjustments to its form field. Catapults and ballista crowned newly enlarged towers at regular intervals around and in the city. These weapons had been designed to bring down attacking sky ships. The Amarian shipyards had doubled their output as craftsmen and women worked around the clock in an attempt to bolster the marine and newly formed aerial navy.
The already formidable fortresses that stood guard in the west saw their own defences being enhanced as a steady stream of ships flew in resources to prepare them for land and air attack. The Ugarmas Mountain Range had long formed a natural barrier, preventing invasion along most of the country’s western border. The Ugarmas Dip, where the mountains lesser heights allowed for a narrow navigable stretch, and the Ugarmas Pass, a sudden break in the range, each had fortifications unique to the challenges of defending them. These now became the focus for Amaria’s preparations. The Mountain Forts of The Dip had long been acknowledged as one of the greatest feats of architectural innovation on the continent and were built on the very pinnacles of the mountains that safeguarded the southerly aerial route into Amaria. The five interconnected fortresses of The Pass, known interchangeably through the years as the Emperors or Empress’s Hand was a vast structure, surpassed only by the Ciad Enclosure and The Mammoth Temple of Issa in Kemarid. The Hand consisted of five forts linked by huge defensive curtain walls that stretched the full width of the pass. Two vast gateways allowed trade entry and exit into Amar, while five towers of awe-inspiring height closely controlled air passage. These towers could bombard an altitude beyond the limits of any sky ship and boasted offensive weapons until now no vessel could hope or dare to match.
The final development and the one least palatable to The Amar Order had been The Empress’s command to build powder weapons similar to the ones thought to be in existence in Segat’s armoury. Spies had been sent into the country to gather as much information about the design and operation as possible. Some information had been brought back along with more disturbing news of direct interest to The Order.
The Chancellor met with Gwen in his study. Its furnishings matched the Amarian fashion for low tables, richly cushioned seating and open archways, made private by light silk curtains that allowed any breeze to cool the air. He’d seemed determined to strengthen relations with Naddier and Gwen and Carrick had been asked to extend every courtesy to Gattick. Their official orders were to influence the development of Amar in a way that would benefit all. Unofficially they were to watch for signs of Amar’s old traits re-surfacing. A wary eye was to be kept on the past even as everyone walked amicably into the future. Gattick had been very open with them since their arrival. He seemed earnest in his cultivation of their trust and Gwen suspected he was in need of allies. The Empress had laid no small task upon his shoulders when she had appointed him as Chancellor of The Amar Order. The conservative and more fixed elements of his own Order had not been happy with his succession and he’d used many methods to re-structure The Corumn in order to achieve his and ultimately the Empress’s goals, often making appointments that surprised both his allies and his enemies.
It was in Naddier’s
long-term interest to support Gattick and extend its own influence further west. Durnin was intent on opening an embassy in Amar, as Amaria would ultimately effect the distribution of power in the south as she flexed her newfound muscles. Both Gwen and Carrick had spent hours working with The Amar Corumn but this was her first invite to join Gattick in his private study.
She could have filled days in this room searching and reading through the thousands of volumes that lined the shelves on every wall. Some books she recognised only from story and myth. The collection was easily equal to hers in Naddier.
She smiled as her eye caught sight of one book in particular. The Chancellor watched, taking a certain amount of pride from her obvious interest.
“You have found something?” he asked.
“That’s an understatement,” Gwen turned to look at him. “May I?” The Chancellor nodded, gesturing with an open hand and came over to see what was of such significance.
“Ah, The Agant Magica. Alas its twin is sadly not…” he stopped to look at Gwen’s expression as she reverently slid the book from its place. “You have it, don’t you?”
“Between us we’ve got the pair,” Gwen said shaking her head in disbelief and looking back at Gattick.
“Have you any idea how far I have searched for that book,” he laughed, returning her enthusiastic smile. “I wonder which other ancient encyclopaedia we may be able to complete between our collections.”
For a brief instance Gwen saw the real man in those words. “We’ll have to find out when all of this is over,” Gwen said and reluctantly replaced the book.
“A day to anticipate,” Gattick agreed and withdrew.
Gwen turned quickly, noting the return to his usual tone. He was already heading back to his desk. She gave the books a final lingering look before joining him. “I’m guessing you haven’t invited me here to talk books?”