“Your Godsmaw spared you for a purpose, Marco,” Savitu said. “Can a skilled captain make sail west from the Bay of Verkeerde?”
“If you can find a skilled captain insane enough to challenge the Godsmaw westward from Verkeerde, you’d bury him within three days—if you ever found the wreckage. The winds of the Godsmaw are the strongest in the world, and the most unpredictable. The current itself flows so fast, it can outpace a horse over the course of a day. You simply cannot sail west.”
More loyalists slipped into the manor, flickering past the corner of Savitu’s eye as he chased down a fleeting thought. “What if we took another direction?”
“The Gyre only flows one way,” Qisuk said.
Marco leaned forward. “The Godsmaw is an endless circle.” He traced a finger in a circle on top of the Godsmaw, indicating the endless swirl of current. “While I lived in Tynouria, I noticed on a few occasions the same wreckage floating by, every score or so days, before the Godsmaw took it into its depths. That tells me there’s at least some chance of surviving a full revolution atop its waters without sail power.”
Savitu examined the map. “You’re saying we float the long way around? Past the Fortune Coast?”
Marco nodded.
“Tuq guard us,” Qisuk muttered. Mitlik shot a worried look toward Savitu. The Fortune Coast, along the western side of the Gyre, was a cursed shore to the Raqtaaq—the eternal resting place for lost souls.
“Tuq will guard us,” Savitu said in a level voice. “We do his bidding after all, do we not? Qisuk, we need someone who can tell us where the current will send us. We must be able to make landfall at our safe location. Find me someone—a ship captain, a tradesman—who can tell us all about the Gyre. And make sure he doesn’t mention our conversation afterward.”
Qisuk smiled darkly and left the room.
Mitlik looked at the map. “You’re sure you saw the same wrecks floating past? It couldn’t have been similar ships?”
“They were the same. One was a Karkhedonian pleasure skiff. The red hull was unmistakable.”
Savitu nodded. “Let us check the plausibility of the plan, in any case, though how we might survive a score of days at sea, and on the Gyre no less, I do not know.”
“Proper supplies and precautions will increase our chances of success. Fresh drinking water and shade are essential. And…” Marco paused, then swallowed hard. “Don’t bleed into the water.”
Savitu opened his mouth, then shut it. “Duly noted.”
Tests
Bayan’s seat in the Wind Arena’s stone benches was high enough to catch the muggy breeze that dragged streaks of ragged cloud across the Academy’s perch on the mountain. Calder sat beside him, and his other classmates surrounded them, occupying the curve at one end of the arena. Dozens of elemental students sat next to Bayan and his classmates, clustered together in their hex groups. On the far side of them sat nearly three dozen avatar students. Teachers and staff filled the remaining seats on Bayan’s side of the arena. The rest of the arena was packed with villagers from Peace Village and travelers who’d made the trip to see the historic event.
In the arena’s center, the smooth dark pebbles were damp from a rain that had since moved eastward. A table was set up across the arena from Bayan, next to the tunnel that led under the arena seats. Instructor witten Oost, Headmaster Langlaren, and Pim Aalthoven, the Wood Instructor, stood around it.
Instructor witten Oost, usually dressed in a formal tunic, sported the same style of workout tunic that Bayan himself wore to class every day. Something about the way the man held himself in that outfit made him look dangerous.
Headmaster Langlaren walked to the center of the arena and addressed the crowd. “Welcome, students, instructors, and visitors. Today we shall witness the bid of Ignaas witten Oost for the rank of Master Duelist.”
He paused while the crowd clapped and cheered. Bayan glanced at witten Oost. The man was having a snack of nuts and a casual cup of tea with Aalthoven at the table. He didn’t look at all worried.
That level of confidence must be refreshing.
“The test we are about to see will be in two parts,” the headmaster continued. “The first will involve a demonstration of mastery over all six elements at the same time, in the form of creation and control. If successful, this will make an unforgettable display that will put even the most resplendent avatar to shame. The second part of the test will involve performing the same act on a single person, confining magical creations to the tegen’s mind alone. Aalthoven has been randomly selected from among the instructors to be tegen for this portion of the test. I’m afraid that, should witten Oost successfully perform the second part, there will be absolutely nothing for you to see.
“With no further ado, I call forth the examinee. Ignaas witten Oost, prove your worth.”
Witten Oost nodded to Aalthoven, then strode forward a few paces and bowed to the headmaster.
“Your avatars, if you please, Ignaas.”
Witten Oost gestured his way through the six elemental avatars. A walking candle whose head was its lit flame towered over the two men in the arena. It vanished and was replaced by a corn plant that rustled its draping leaves and angled its ears at various places around the arena as if it literally listened to its surroundings. After the corn vanished, witten Oost revealed a massive glittering spider made of bluish crystal. Its fangs were so thin as to be translucent, but Bayan guessed them to be nearly as long as he was tall. Next, the testing instructor formed a floating body of water that appeared to be contained within an invisible goblet. Its substance swirled in refractive calm, until a small bloop of water hurled itself upward, like a water drop the size of Bayan’s head falling in reverse. Before it could land again and rejoin itself, the water faded away. A small thundercloud filled with sheet lightning replaced the invisible goblet, zooming around the arena at a height even with the top row of benches and flashing in a manner more amusing than threatening. Finally, a spinning disc of howling air roared into existence, turning on its end and chopping a path through the pebbled floor of the arena. Gravel flew high into the air, but settled back exactly where it had been, avoiding both witten Oost and Langlaren. The last avatar vanished.
“Why the avatar check?” Bayan asked Calder.
“You’re asking me?”
“Cheeky Dunfarroghan.”
“Thank you,” Langlaren boomed from the center of the arena. “You may begin.”
Witten Oost bowed to him and to the watching audience. “Welcome, all.” His voice carried across the arena floor and up into the stands. “It has taken me more than a score of years of intensive study here at the Academy to strengthen myself enough to take on this challenge.”
As witten Oost trod a winding path across the pebbled floor, Bayan turned to Calder. “He’s just talking. Where’s the magic?”
Kiwani, seated behind the pair, hushed Bayan, and he glared at her, irritated by the worshipful expression on her face. Sure, Instructor witten Oost is powerful. But it’s not like he’s a sint or anything.
“Much of my work was done in solitary meditation, for it is true what we learn as soon as we arrive here: without the Void to shelter us from our emotions, we cannot control our own magic. And only within the Void can we explore the vastness that magic holds.”
Suddenly, a twisting green light flared next to witten Oost, solidifying into a date palm tree whose fronds waved in the breeze. The audience gasped in delight. Witten Oost held out a hand and a cluster of dates sprang into existence just below the palm’s leaves, then ripened in seconds. One fell into his palm and he ate it, spitting out the stone moments later.
“Not a single gesture,” Calder breathed. “He truly is a master.”
“What?”
“We have to do the sacred motions to make any magic. Weren’t you watching? He just stood there, and the tree appeared. No invocation, no avatar manifestation, nothing.”
Bayan sat up straight. After endless days of hav
ing his elemental instructors drill the six sacred motions into his head, he learned it was possible, at the highest rank, to make magic without using any of the motions at all.
Witten Oost continued around the arena, talking to the audience as if they were his close friends. He spoke of his time training with various duel dens around the empire; a white-hot jet of flame appeared in the center of the arena, roaring as high as Bayan’s head and melting the little pebbles around its stride-wide base into a sheet of perfectly smooth, dark glass. Witten Oost reversed direction, speaking of the support of his fellow instructors, and a light rain fell from the cloudless air at the top of the arena, hissing where it struck the jet of flame. Witten Oost approached the flame and waved some of the melted glass up into the shape of a stained-glass vase patterned with five-petaled red flowers. As soon as it had formed, he took the molten vase in his hands and set it down at his feet. He stepped a stride away and stood perfectly still. A lightning bolt shot down from among the raindrops and appeared to strike witten Oost directly on the head, before dispersing in miniature crackles around him. One of the miniature bolts shattered the vase as it sought the ground, but Witten Oost seemed entirely unscathed, though his ear-length gray hair stood out from his head.
“So you see,” he said, strolling again, “this is much more than just my effort. Others have helped me along the way. Some without even realizing it. And to each and every one of them, I am profoundly grateful.”
He dipped his head in another bow, and all of the magical constructs vanished, leaving the air quiet and dry. After a moment of stunned amazement, the audience cheered loudly. Bayan felt shivers run down his back as he clapped.
Witten Oost walked back across the smooth gravel to the table and poured another cup of tea for himself and one for Aalthoven. The audience buzzed with a pleased, impressed murmur. As the two instructors drank, Bayan noticed that witten Oost wiped his brow a few times. Clearly, he had expended a massive effort in summoning without motions. Perhaps he’d developed that ability through all his meditations in the Void.
Witten Oost and Aalthoven walked together to the center of the arena for the second part of the test. Witten Oost stepped back from Aalthoven, and they stood still, facing each other. For a while, nothing seemed to happen. Then Aalthoven raised his hands as if to ward off an unfocused attack which, to Bayan’s eyes, looked like he was swishing away a swarm of harmless gnats.
Moments later, Aalthoven backed up several steps, then squatted down and smoothed a hand across the tiny stones at his feet.
“Is it plants, or an animal?” Calder wondered aloud.
“Can elemental magic make animals? That sounds like anima magic.”
Kiwani leaned over. “Clearly, you know very little about elemental magic,” she hissed. “Maybe if you just watched instead of trying to teach, you’d learn something.”
It wasn’t her words so much as her tone that aggravated Bayan. As if she knew everything and thought he was worth no more than swamp mud. Is she like this with all the common folk too, or is it only common duelist students she feels this superior to?
“That’s amazing!” Aalthoven cried, sieving pebbles through his fingers. “A river of emeralds! Can’t believe you managed—whoa!” He dived sideways and skidded through the pebbles as nothing whatsoever whooshed over his head. The Wood Instructor glanced up as he got cautiously to his feet, dusting himself off. “Flying stone hat… with four arms…” His voice trailed away as he remained still, listing to the side, staring up at the sky.
He jerked his chin down and looked at his feet; his posture fairly shouted of alarm. Aalthoven fell to his side, batting madly at his toes. After wrenching at them as if trying to detach them from his feet, he abruptly flipped onto his hands and knees. He stared at the ground ahead of him with an agonized expression Bayan could identify even at a distance, then crawled across the arena with grasping hands, grunting, “No, no, no,” while his hands dug amongst the pebbles as if trying to locate a small, lost object.
Giving up the chase, the instructor turned his head slowly and stared across the arena, mouth agape. “What are you doing here?” he shouted. “How can you be here?”
At that, witten Oost came to squat at Aalthoven’s side and murmured something. Aalthoven shook his head. Witten Oost spoke again, and this time Aalthoven nodded. Together, they returned to the table at the side of the arena, and witten Oost poured his tegen a cup of something that wasn’t from the teapot.
The crowd murmured, uncertain. Headmaster Langlaren approached the table and spoke to the two men. After a few moments, he stepped forward into the arena, then raised his hands to get everyone’s attention.
“My apologies, everyone. The experience of being tegen to an applicant for Master Duelist seems to have overwhelmed Instructor Aalthoven. He has, however, assured me that he saw various elemental objects created by Instructor witten Oost, and he described them to me in detail. My question to you as observers is critical in the completion of this examination: did any of you see anything whatsoever aside from the two men in the arena?”
“No!” came the overwhelming response.
Amid the cheering and clapping, Headmaster Langlaren turned to Instructor witten Oost and waved him out to the center of the arena.
“Then it is my most humble pleasure, on this historic day, to present to you the foremost of all duelists in the empire, Master Duelist Ignaas witten Oost.”
The audience was on their feet, cheering, shouting, and sharing looks of awe and excitement. Bayan tried to figure out how Master witten Oost could possibly have accomplished all that he had, but Bayan simply didn’t know enough about the ranks of magic yet.
Next to the table, Aalthoven bent over and threw up.
~~~
Bayan squeezed the shaft of his quill, feeling it try to retain its cylindrical shape, as he read the last essay topic on his Imperial History exam. The summer heat made the enclosed classroom stifling, and he had a hard time concentrating with sweat soaking the back of his tunic. After answering questions about everything from the date range for the Teresseren Empire—1685-1911 I.C.—to the first usage of battle pennants to mark veteran duelists during the chaos of battle—883 I.C., at the turning point of the First Tuathi War—his brain felt like the pulpy rind of a freshly squeezed orange.
The last topic read: Discuss the factors that led to the Era of the Dual Emperors, the events that resulted from two Waarden empires, and the eventual changes that were made to prevent a repeat of this disastrous chain of events.
“Calder drilled me on this two days ago,” he whispered to himself, willing the answer to materialize. “Oh, wait. Eunuchs.” The rest of the situation solidified in his mind, and he began to write.
His gull-quill pen scratched out several paragraphs of indigo squid ink, detailing how Emperor Elbert van Akkeraad’s younger brother Gerlof had formed the Western Empire among those Dunfarroghan who supported him over the rightful ruler, bringing about the civil war known as the Century of Blood. In the confusion, the Tuathi attacked, and both the Western Empire and Waarden Prime eventually fell to them. The young Emperor Hubrecht fled to Shawnash’kote. In order to prevent destruction from within by a single ruling family ever again, his son, Emperor Washa, decreed that castration would be introduced as a form of imperial family population control.
Bayan thought of Kipri and Philo for the first time in a while. He looked around, realizing he was one of the last trainees still writing. Quickly, he jotted down a few more lines.
This edict created a new class of citizen, the eunuch, whose sole purpose was to serve the empire. With no hope of siring further generations, eunuchs had only their own lifespan to leave their marks. Today, the eunuch class is vital in the daily workings of the empire. Many rebellions have been prevented, and many people have found a better, or at least a safer, life in the service of the empire.
That last bit rankled as Bayan considered how it might also apply to his own service to the empire. He sto
od and handed in his sheaf of papers. It’s not the same. I didn’t ask to come here, and I wasn’t rebelling before they found me. Possessing magic is treated like some sort of crime.
He stepped outside. The air was warm and fresh, delivering on its promise of freedom. Calder pushed off from the wall where he’d been waiting for Bayan.
He wore an anxious frown. “How did you do?”
Bayan had already passed his form performance tests over the last three days. He considered the written test he’d just taken. Passing meant he could advance with the other trainees. Luckily, all that working out had helped him get plenty of rest last night, after Calder had crammed a few last facts into his head.
“I think I passed, at least.”
“Did you remember which son of Empress Aasa tried to assassinate her and was foiled by a loyal chambermaid?”
“Yes, for the love of Bhattara, I remembered. I looked for a question about that because I couldn’t remember anything else until I’d written that down.”
Calder grinned. “That’s me boy.” He threw an arm around Bayan’s shoulders. “Let’s go do absolutely nothing.”
They took one of the minor paths to the top of a mesa with a popular valley overlook, and found a few other trainees there as well, enjoying the breeze that brought cooling air up from the river below.
“Bayan,” Eward called from his sprawled spot on the thick moss. “How did you do?”
Tarin and Katje stopped talking and looked over. Bayan knew they were mostly worried about their own advancement. If anyone failed the test, the entire class would be held back while he retested.
Let them wait, then. He crossed his arms and looked out at the glorious gold-flecked green blankets formed by the alder forests that clung to the nearby mountainsides.
Rebel Elements (Seals of the Duelists) Page 13