by CS Sealey
All eyes were upon her – waiting and watching. She glanced at each person in turn, trying to see whether they had seen something she had not. She felt nothing, but was she really meant to? She did not know what she was supposed to do or feel. She was still reeling from the realization that she had blasted Emil across the room, caused the fire in the Gifted Rose and killed the master.
She sighed. “This is a waste of – ” Angora nearly dropped the staff but something stopped it from leaving her hand. A great power emanated from it, binding them together as though invisible ropes had ensnared her. It was a curious feeling, similar to the writhing sensation she had felt in Rasmus’s apartment. A great surge of energy pulsated outward, enshrouding her in an impenetrable darkness. One moment, she was standing in the castle room with the queen and her five advisers, the next, she was alone in a terrifying blackness. She opened her mouth in a scream but no sound escaped her lips.
Her hair was flying across her face and her clothes were billowing as though she were standing on a cliff being battered by stormy winds. She felt something creeping down her arm to her fingertips like icy water. She looked down but found that she could not see herself – she was a bodiless spirit, drifting in a world of shadow. But something was taking shape in the gloom ahead. The figure was humanoid but with horrific mutations: horns on his head, spikes running the length of his spine, a long tail covered in thick fur and claw-like nails on grotesque fingers and toes. He was wearing rough clothing fashioned to accommodate his animal features but the material was ripped and fraying. The creature turned to her, his beastly orange eyes narrowed.
“My double?” the figure asked, showing a mouthful of sharp, yellowing teeth. “Sss…so you have come out of the darkness at last, Angora. It is a pleasure to finally see you for myself.”
Then two men appeared, one tall and lean, the other shorter, with flaming red eyes. The latter stood between the beast and the tall man, his hands grasping the arms of his companions. Angora tried again and again to hide the vision by closing her eyes but to no avail.
“Pitiful,” the one with the red eyes said. “You see, my lord, no more than a child! Vrór will make short work of her. Her new position will be brief.”
The tall man sniggered.
Then the vision faded and Angora found herself in the castle again. No one had moved but all eyes were anxious. Only seconds had passed. She felt herself begin to shiver in shock. The staff dropped from her fingers and she heard it hit the stone floor with a curious sound, as though it was made from something other than wood and metal. She backed into a corner of the room, pressed herself against the wall and sobbed. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks and dripped onto her shaking hands. She saw Aiyla and Kayte hurrying toward her, both anxious.
“What did you see, child?” Emil asked, approaching her with eager eyes. “Tell us what you saw!”
“Demons!” she cried as she collapsed into a heap on the floor. “What have you done to me? I do not deserve this!”
Emil bent down in front of her and put his hand on her forehead. Her vision blurred and her muscles went limp. Then she fell into darkness once again but, this time, the men of her vision were nowhere to be seen, and she slept.
CHAPTER 11
So the time had come – the Ronnesians had all six mages, just as the Ayons did. It was unfortunate, but Varren comforted himself in knowing he could not find any reason to blame himself. He had tried to persuade Samian to allow him to intercept the girl but, yet again, the king’s mind had been elsewhere and he had forbidden Varren to leave Delseroy.
During the past week, the king had transformed from an energetic and irritating youth to a drained and depressed young man. What, Varren wondered, had changed Samian’s attitude so dramatically? It seemed as though all the sorrows of the world now weighed heavily on his shoulders.
Varren was unsympathetic. He remembered all too well the manner in which the king had taken off to the islands near Kirofirth – in secret and with no guards, not even leaving a note! All for some woman… After returning from his escapade, the young king lapsed into relative silence and became less demanding of his servants for company. The change had been pleasant to Varren for a while, but now, despite himself, he was concerned for his master. Varren’s initial suspicion for the cause of the transformation was that the woman the king had pursued had refused his hand in marriage, but he was not entirely convinced of this theory. King Samian spent hours with his own thoughts and neglected his duties. This irritated Varren. The empire could not rule itself, and bringing Prince Nildemar, the king’s half-brother, back to deal with state affairs…Well, that would be taking a risk. Samian might consider it a threat to his position.
Perhaps that would not be so bad, Varren thought bitterly. It might make him act like the king he is, make him work to make the empire great again.
Varren began to write his thoughts in his journal as he did most evenings but gave up after a few lines and rose from the high-backed chair, casting his quill down angrily. The light was easing away toward the west and night would soon fall, bringing with it the darkness he so loved. He wondered whether the new leika was sleeping soundly, and chuckled to himself. He had managed to combine his own gift with Vrór’s and channel it through Galenros’s power of the sight in order to surprise the girl. Varren had spotted a small and fragile girl; young and afraid, she had made him laugh.
“One day,” he had said to Vrór afterward, “you will be able to do to her what you will.”
“Sss…I anxiously await that day, my lord.”
Varren was also preparing for the day when he would meet his double – the sorceress Kayte Heron. Slow deaths were shameful deaths, and he liked inflicting them on his victims. The woman would be small sport to him, or practice before he tried the old wizard, Markus Taal, and the shaman, Emil Latrett.
It was strange, he realized, how cruel he had become, serving under the Ayon kings. He had not always been so. He remembered loving a woman once but now that memory was unwelcome to him. He would kill Kayte without hesitation and the others as well if he had the chance. He would unleash the power that flowed through his blood and the Ronnesian Empire would never recover.
He turned his eyes to the darkening sky and smiled wryly.
What do you have in store for me, my lord Thraine?
CHAPTER 12
Angora stirred in her bed, feeling horribly stiff. Slowly opening her eyes, she saw the blond-haired woman peering down at her with a cautious smile. The shadows under her dark eyes suggested that she had not slept for some time.
“How are you feeling?”
“Terrible,” Angora replied weakly, propping herself up. “Where am I?”
“In a healing room. Do you need anything? Water, perhaps?”
“No, I am fine…Oh, I have forgotten your name.”
“Aiyla,” she said, offering Angora her hand. “Our introduction yesterday was not the most pleasant, I’m sorry.”
“Can you tell me what happened last night?” Angora asked, squeezing Aiyla’s hand briefly.
“Don’t you remember?”
“No, I remember everything, but not why.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you there. The realm of magic is complex and my knowledge of it is very limited, I’m afraid. You may have to speak with Emil.”
Angora shuddered at the mere thought of the shaman and quickly steered the conversation elsewhere. “You seem different from the others. Were you born here?”
“No,” Aiyla replied, “Cithille, in Londston.”
“Where is that?”
“South, Londston borders the elven lands.”
“How long have you been in Te’Roek?”
“Only a few months. Markus Taal is helping me control my dreams.”
“Dreams?”
“I’m a seer,” Aiyla explained. “I see glimpses of the future, past and present. That is how I found you and knew your name. The queen asked me to locate you, or someone like you.”
“It may seem quite daunting, discovering where you fit in. This world is so much larger to me now that I know why I am here and what I must do. If you like, I’ll explain everything the way Markus did to me. He made it much easier to understand.”
Angora nodded and the seer brought her chair closer to the bed.
“Legends say that when these lands were younger there was a great period of war. Every tribe, village and city was at war with someone. At the same time, one of the Spirit guardians who worked to protect us from our own destruction, Thraine, wanted to taste what it was like to live in the mortal realm.”
“As a mortal?”
“No, just to walk the lands. The Spirit plane is very different to ours, so it is said. There are no imperfections nor diseases, no hunger, grief nor anger. You see, we believe that the Spirits of those times came down to the mortal plane to help those who could not protect themselves, to guard them against the brutality of their enemies. Legend says that Thraine craved for something to fight for, not simply to shield innocents but to fight with and for them. So he defied the laws of the Spirits and came down to the mortal world for his own purposes. Six guardians were sent after him, to stop him, but Thraine resisted them.”
“I have heard nothing of this tale.”
“I’m not surprised. No one knows how accurate it is to what really happened, or whether it ever did. The stories say, however, that five Spirit friends aided Thraine in his struggle to gain his freedom. There was a great battle of magic – twelve Spirits in all. Each side possessed a master of the elements, an illusionist, a keeper of souls, a seer, a blademaster and a beast forger.
“This event, according to the stories, is what set the balance for ages to come, the balance that still resides today. Whenever a seer like me is born, another must be born to create an equilibrium. This ensures that the powers of one cannot be misused, that the second will always balance out any evil with acts of good. That’s the theory anyway.”
“But what exactly are all those things?” Angora asked.
“Yes, I was confused, too,” Aiyla said, chuckling. “A master of the elements is sometimes called a warlock or enchanter, though Emil himself refers to himself as a shaman. Before he discovered his powers, he trained in the arts of mental healing in his homeland, so gained that title. The power he possesses allows him to use the wind, water, fire and earth to his advantage. I once saw him call up a great squall and aim its power at a single ship. You should have seen how fast it sailed!”
“I imagine an illusionist is some kind of wizard, then,” Angora said.
“Markus told me that his powers range from changing the color of flower petals to razing a building to the ground. I have only seen him perform a few simple spells, though they were still fairly incredible. He can conjure up magical shields and scatter particles of light around a room to make it shine brighter than any flame! Kayte is another matter. She practices on the rooftop all the time and sometimes lets me watch. She is what the legends call a keeper of souls, though it’s not entirely clear why. Emil believes it’s because her bloodline is capable of communing with the dead.”
Angora shivered. Though she missed her mother dearly, the idea of being able to speak with her recently dead spirit made her feel very uneasy.
“However, Kayte tells me that she is not in the least bit interested trying to speak with or raise the dead. She can unlock bolted doors, silence or amplify someone’s voice, channel the powers of the earth into fierce bolts of pure energy…Emil’s, Markus’s and Kayte’s powers sometimes overlap, though. I have seen Kayte summon fire to her fingertips and, well, you’ve experienced Emil’s conjured rope. I suspect those three gifts originated from the same talent, though that’s just what I think. I heard Markus say once that if Kayte ever reaches her full potential, she will be more powerful than Emil! Imagine that!”
Angora found that hard to believe and absently massaged her wrists where Emil’s magic rope had bound her the previous evening.
“Then there’s the seer, me. Though I have been suffering dreams for most of my life, I have only recently begun to train. Before Markus found me, I received only confusing flashes of vision. Now, however, I can call upon the sight, ask it questions and understand the answers. I have a long way to go before I truly master my gift, but at least I can sort of control my visions now. Before, I would often collapse in the street or at the dinner table.”
“That sounds horrible!”
“Yes, it was,” Aiyla agreed, grimacing. “Everybody thought I was possessed by some demon. My parents tried all the doctors in Cithille and several priests, but nothing worked.”
“It must have felt reassuring when Lord Taal discovered you and told you what you really were.”
“Oh, yes! Instead of feeling like an outcast and a freak, I suddenly realized that I was special, the Spirits had chosen me.”
“How exactly did he find you?”
Aiyla looked a little uncomfortable and her eyes drifted to the window. “He followed rumors concerning a demon in Cithille. Apparently, Markus has a web of informants in every town and city throughout the empire. One of these informants must have told him about me.” She brightened up a little and smiled. “His decision to follow up on the rumor was the best thing that could have happened to me!”
“But what about the other two powers you mentioned?”
“The blademaster or swordsman gift made itself known in Tiderius four years ago, so I’m told. During a ceremonial fighting display, Markus sensed a flare of power ignite in Tiderius and acted immediately. He possesses a beautiful sword imbued with magic, which has been passed down through the generations. Only he can wield it. It’s stronger than any metal we know of and it also acts as a barrier against spells if it’s held up like a shield. One of its main abilities is the power to banish summoned creatures, which is where the beast forger comes in.
“This is the power you have, Angora,” Aiyla explained. “Nowadays, we refer to the beast forger as the leika and the staff you were given last night is your weapon.”
“How does it work?”
“I have never seen a leika in action, not even in my visions. But from what I have been told, your staff is the conductor of your gift, it channels your power, forms your magic into whichever creature you picture in your mind. So long as your concentration is fixed, you will be able to make your imaginings quite real!”
“I have the ability to create wild animals?” Angora asked, stunned.
“They will not be entirely real, mere beasts of magic, but once you have mastery over your powers, they will be solid and indistinguishable from the real thing. You will be able to command them with your mind or voice. They are very strong and normal weapons have very little effect on them. Though leikas can set their beasts against each other, they are best destroyed by a swordsman. It is a great gift you possess!”
Though she was still a little skeptical, Angora could not deny that she felt a prickling of interest. She had always been fond of animals but Teronia had possessed very few forest creatures beyond birds, rodents and lizards.
“But I don’t understand something,” she said after a moment’s thought. “You said there was a great battle involving twelve Spirits. How did their powers pass into mortal hands?”
“Mmm, I asked much the same question,” Aiyla said. “The reason for that is unclear and there are many theories. One is that, due to the trouble that Thraine caused, the Spirits were no longer willing to involve themselves in the mortal world, for fear of coming to crave as Thraine had done. So two of each power were chosen to produce children from mortal partners. Through these unions, the powers of the Spirits were passed on to mortals. Another theory is that the Spirits selected worthy mortals and gifted them with their powers and the knowledge of how to use them in order to pass them down to their children. I’ve also heard it said, by those who don’t believe in the Spirits, that mortals always possessed magic, that the legends w
ere created in an attempt by the priests to control mages. But as I said, it’s very unclear. None of the books tell us for certain and the sight can only reach so far back.”
Angora gasped. “Then that means all those who bear these gifts could be descendants of Spirits!”
“That’s one theory, but we are not immortal. We live and die just the same as any other man or woman; age wearies us and disease weakens us. However, we follow the same path the Spirit guardians once did – protecting the weak. That is our duty.”
“But how can you do that and also align yourselves with a military force?” Angora asked. “If you are loyal to Queen Sorcha, how can you prevent yourselves from killing innocents on the other side?”
“Our doubles have chosen to support the Ayon Empire and have been doing so for centuries. To keep the balance, we must side with their enemies, the Ronnesians. Our main duty is to safeguard the queen, so she can do all she can to protect her citizens through more natural means. Since magic is rare in this world, it should be hidden wherever possible to avoid the spread of fear and unease in the populace. That is why we don’t protect the weak directly, on the front line, but rather strengthen others who do the same thing less conspicuously.”
“But my parents never bore any powers, so how could they have passed them on to me?”
“The Spirits choose those they believe to be worthy. It has been many generations since any mage wielded the staff you now possess, perhaps in excess of two hundred years. But a distant ancestor of yours must once have lived on the mainland and wielded the weapon alongside perhaps even my own ancestors. I have been searching for you ever since Markus discovered me. Every day and night for three months, I waded through the mists of the sight. Yesterday, I was finally successful. I informed Emil at once and we went to fetch you.”
“And you said there will be a balance?”
“Yes, you are one of two leikas. Vrór Saranov is your double. Eron Galenros is mine.”