The Zi'veyn: The Devoted Trilogy, Book One

by Kim Wedlock

  Anthis's frown grew, touched in concern as well as a battering confusion. "So a few of you are able to manipulate everyone else's thoughts?"

  "Yup," she smiled simply.

  "But..." his brow knotted tighter still. "That's not a good thing."

  "No, it ain't really, is it?"

  "We don't do it, though," said the crowned one, "'cause it ain't right. I mean, no, stealin' ain't right, I s'pose, but sometimes a pie smells too good. But this is a different kind of 'not right'."

  "So...you've never been inclined to try it? To see if you can do it?"

  "O' course we have," said another cheerfully, as if it was nothing. "Just like you've been inclined to choke someone. Difference is, we don't do it, just like you don't. Probably."

  "And you can't do it to other races?"

  "No, it's..."

  "Biog..."

  "Bi-bibilo.."

  "Biochemical?" Anthis offered.

  "Yes!" Several of them cried, and suddenly all fourteen pairs of eyes - and others beyond, he noticed - looked to him with relief. "We been tryin' to remember that 'un for ages!"

  Anthis couldn't help smiling in amusement, but it shortly dropped in fascination as his doubts finally began to subside. "So do you know when something is fact, not just an idea or a random thought?"

  "We do. Fact is fact, you know? It's..."

  "It's fac--no, you said that."

  "Yeah but that's what I mean. Fact is fact, and we know it's fact because it's fact."

  "Because it's true?" Suggested another.

  "I get it," Anthis assured them. "Does that have roots?"

  "It has roots of fact."

  He nodded very slowly. "I think I can appreciate that."

  "He gets it." They all grinned.

  "So," he turned back towards the corner, "can you pass on thoughts a while after you've had them? Such as, if one of you found somewhere you could stash food, but it wasn't relevant at the time, you could pass it on when it was relevant even if it was, say, six years later?"

  "We have good memories," one nodded, "so yeah."

  "And if it wasn't used, that one could pass it on after another six years?"

  They nodded again.

  Anthis frowned thoughtfully at the runes. "Then does your collective knowledge know anything about this place?"

  Now, to his disappointment, they all shook their heads.

  "No Arkhamas has been here before us, and we didn't get here that long ago ourselfs," one of them replied. "Aside from the Lady, it's just rocks and trees and grass to us." He narrowed his giant eyes as he peered at the notebook in Anthis's hands. "But you know more, don'tcha?"

  "Would you tell us?"

  He had little choice as twenty eight silvery-green eyes swelled in hope, so he indulged their wonderful curiosity as he resumed sketching out the runes with the pencil the deer-girl had brought him. They asked almost constant questions throughout, mostly 'why didn't they just...?' and 'what was the point?' and he learned - upon everything else he had in the twenty minutes they'd spent in the grove - that curiosity wasn't necessarily a happy thing. These creatures seemed more interested in passing judgement than truly learning anything, but from what he gathered, they didn't care all that much for the elves. Evidently just as they had the remarkable ability to pass on memories after time, they could pass on grudges, too, and their insult at the elves' conceit seemed not to have lost its novelty even after unknown centuries.

  Once he'd told them all he knew of the place, and answered a few other strange questions that seemed entirely irrelevant - as far as he could tell, unable to 'see their heads' insides' - they decided to go and play a game and finally leave him in peace. Of course, typically, he'd finished by then, but at least he was able to indulge his own curiosity at what his unlikely colleague had learned without being interrupted.

  "Rathen," he began quietly as he stepped beside him into the shadow of the tree, glancing warily around at the nearby ditchlings and subsequently missing the mage twitch in fright, having startled him out of a daydream, "did you know ditchlings are telepathic?"

  "Yes," he sighed, shaking it off until his shock was replaced by panic at the fact that neither Aria nor Nug were any longer in front of him. He spun about and spotted them a moment later climbing over nearby stones instead, and Garon appeared to be keeping an eye on them. Relieved, he only passingly noticed that she seemed to be having a great deal of fun with the child-creature. "I also know that they're impulsive and over-imaginative," he continued with a definite tone of disapproval, following Anthis as he walked slowly towards the tree. "They up and leave everything because they have a dream that a spirit has moved and told them to seek it out. It's madness."

  "You sound almost concerned for them."

  "Not concerned," he corrected carefully, "just confused."

  Anthis slipped him a sideways glance, then looked around at the ditchlings as they interacted with the grove, noticing again that they either kept a respectful distance from this particular tree despite its very climbable trunk, or quietly sat at the foot of it. "Not a very faithful individual, are you?"

  "Faith?"

  He returned his frown mildly and lowered his voice. "I'd say this 'Lady' is as good as religion to them, and who are we to say what - or who - does and does not exist? If they really do believe this spirit protects them then of course they'd follow her if they thought she'd left."

  Rathen's eyebrow twitched. "I prefer to rely on my wits. It's proven much more dependable than divine intervention."

  "'It's a troubled man who would view the world through the harsh light of truth than entrust himself to a little faith.'"

  Anthis's blood turned cold as Rathen's eyes crashed upon him. A strange and abrupt darkness swarmed within them, one frighteningly different from his usual acidity, and as the lines in his face deepened and twisted, they revealed the traces of a demon. "Don't quote scripture to me," he hissed. "Vastal has had little good to give me throughout my life, so don't you, or anyone else, blindly tell me that I should 'have more faith'. My decisions are what keep Aria and I safe, not the will of a god." His contemptuous gaze gripped the young man for an eternity, his eyes as sharp as the teeth of a steel trap.

  When he finally looked back to the tree, Anthis managed to stifle his gasp for breath. He watched him fester in his anger, studying the sourness in his eyes and the curl of his lip, both of which were so intense it was clear he'd bitten back a great deal of venom.

  So there was a grudge here, too, but this time Anthis had no intention of indulging his curiosity at its nature. Wondering at his broken ties with the Order was one thing, but prying into the history of a man with so perpetually miserable a countenance was quite another. Whatever weight he carried, it had little relevance to their collaboration.

  He shifted uneasily under such a fuming presence, but Rathen's eyes soon began to soften, and as they gave way to some unknown and grievous thought, Anthis's discomfort passed along with it. Now he wasn't so sure that his faith was as weak as he made it out to be - or perhaps wished it to be.

  A small smile touched his lips and he looked away, following the mage's gaze back to the tree. "You have Aria."

  Rathen's eyes flashed towards him again. Anthis saw the movement, and though he didn't look, he knew it was a shameful realisation at somehow having forgotten to count that detail as 'something good'. "Faith is funny, really," he continued lightly, cocking his head and looking at the hanging bird nests as he toyed with a fine chain that hung about his neck. "Early elves believed the gods were responsible for all the good that happened in their lives, and that the bad was just a passing detail, a stepping stone to the next good thing. They truly embraced the idea and devoted themselves to the gods and believed they were in such safe hands. That devotion vanished when they became aware of their own power, of course, but even in their conceit, they still thought of the gods. But, in time, their views degraded and they took to the idea that the gods weren't omnipotent, they were just liv
ing beings like themselves, albeit powerful, and that everything that befell the elves - good or bad - was of their own hand. And while that's not necessarily untrue, I believe pushing their faith and reliance aside like that was ultimately their undoing. They fell from grace to become selfish and arrogant, and whatever actually happened to them was a result of this, be it the manifestation of Zikhon's natural hate for everything of Vastal's creation because the loss of their faith disempowered her, or simply something magic-related that we have yet to discover.

  "But," he continued before Rathen could protest to the suggestion that he was leading himself to his own downfall, "humans are different. We each carry our own degree of faith, and we utilise it for different purposes. For some, it's a way of telling themselves that everything bad that befalls them happens for a reason, that there's some kind of plan and there is good still to come to them, they need only get through it. For others it's a feeling of safety, that they're always in good hands and that whatever happens to them was something Vastal allowed, whatever her reasons, and that they will overcome it because Vastal is still with them. And for some, like me, it's a way of maintaining perspective. Given all the war around us - now and in the past - and never mind the troubles in dark alleys or behind closed doors, the idea of a higher power, grander designs and wider intentions makes everything awful feel a little less significant. After all," he shrugged, "a war will be won - who by doesn't matter in the end because we'll all make the best out of whatever hand we're dealt - but a god's wrath?" He shook his head. "That, we can't do a thing against. So it's best to take care of what we can, where we can--"

  "And rely on our own wits."

  Anthis's small smile widened, and he found Rathen looking back at him with the slightest smirk of his own. "I suppose that is what I said, but I didn't mean it so absolutely. But in the end, every single one of us chooses our own priorities and we do what we must for them, whatever that might be."

  Aria and Nug suddenly hurtled past them, dashing towards another ruined structure held together by a weaving tree, and began climbing its anchored limbs like chipmunks. Rathen smiled after her. "That we do."

  "Gentlemen." They straightened at the sudden dampening of authority. "Any luck?"

  "I have all I'm going to get on this place," Anthis replied assuredly as they turned to face the inquisitor who followed the two as they continued their games, but as Rathen quickly agreed, Garon stumbled to a halt. "Parts of this place are in remarkable condition, so I can say with confidence that it was an important place of craft."

  Hope faded as the two older men frowned dubiously. "So it's not a religious site?"

  "Oh, no no," Anthis quickly amended with a frantic wave of his hands, "it certainly is. Places like this were dedicated to the God of Hands, and there's a very clear inscription stating as much - it's remarkable, really," he stepped absently towards it as if to lead them over to marvel at it themselves, but Garon raised his hand to stop him. "Sorry."

  "The God of Hands?"

  "Yes - sorry, Vastal. I said before that elves were very contextual and, irritatingly, that extended to the way they viewed the gods as well. Vastal was given new names and new faces in different circumstances." He released a long-suffering sigh. "For example, as we know, Vastal is the God of Life, but in some situations she was named the 'God of Death' when 'death' referred to the simple and inevitable end of a life cycle rather than anything dark or evil, just as Zikhon, the God of Death, was called the 'God of Life' when referring to legends of dark creatures that lived forever." He scratched his head and puckered his lips distastefully. "They did it on purpose to confuse us, I'm sure of it." He shook it off as he looked back over the ruins, a small, faraway smile playing over his lips, oblivious to the others' growing impatience. "Here, a few craftsmen would have created family talismans and images of Zikhon and Vastal's various faces and associations, and crafting those kinds of things in a place the God of Hands watched over was believed to ensure their creations were not only wonderful, but also appropriately blessed, whichever god they may have been dedicated to or purpose they were to serve--"

  "Wait, they would have crafted blessed images of Zikhon here?" Rathen asked, horrified, as he finally managed to interrupt Anthis's explanation which was delivered with ever increasing speed. "The God of Death?"

  "Yes," he blinked, "they needed effigies of them both in all contexts and in equal spiritual weight. Stone masons still carve Zikhon with detail equal to Vastal in our temples even now, though our own depictions aren't nearly as varied." He sighed sadly as he looked around himself again. "It's a shame that there are no tools left here, no half-finished works - at least, not to be found without digging the ground up--oh! But there is a kiln!"

  "So," Garon summarised before Anthis's excitement could overtake him again, "this is also a religious site."

  Anthis blinked. "Yes."

  The inquisitor then turned to Rathen, and Anthis shortly followed with similar expectation. Neither of them posed the question. There was no need.

  The mage nodded. "There is magnetism here," he confirmed, "and focused around this tree, but it's a bit weaker than the last site."

  "We know that the feeling of being watched isn't related," the inquisitor reminded them, though his tone remained hopeful, "but is anything else different here? Anything that could help with understanding how this magic got here? Where it came from?"

  He shook his head regretfully. "Nothing. It's the same as before: just as beautiful, just as peaceful..."

  "Peaceful?" Anthis suddenly frowned. "Silverwood was beautiful, but not necessarily peaceful..."

  "I'd have said almost disturbing, myself," Garon agreed. "Uncomfortable, at the very least. None of it sat right with me. In fact I feel the same here."

  "Me too, now you mention it."

  Rathen's brow knotted as he thought back to the ruined archway, wondering if he'd just forgotten or grown confused by his present surroundings... No. He knew as a fact that he hadn't. Silverwood may have been almost two weeks behind them, but its tranquillity was unmistakable, and it was one perfectly mirrored by that which tried to tempt him now.

  Perhaps these two simply didn't sense it. Perhaps the lure was a result of his own magic; the tingling in his veins was there again - which, of course, was another detail he still couldn't begin to explain. "Either way," he frowned, pushing it out of his mind with some effort for the time being, "this place feels no different to Silverwood. But feeling the magic again may have helped a little, I think. I've had time to think on it since, so hopefully something will come to me..." He held absolutely no confidence.

  "Well?"

  The three turned together at the demanding grunt and found Nug marching towards them, an air of superiority about him that was neither successful nor out of place, while Aria skipped hurriedly behind him with a cheerful grin on her face.

  "'Well' what?"

  Nug narrowed his eyes at Rathen. "You're rude. And 'well' have you fixed it yet?"

  They each frowned at the expectation. "We can't stop the magic's interference right here and now..."

  "But we can learn from it," Anthis quickly and tactfully added while Aria reminded Nug that she 'did tell him'. "We're working on a way to stop it - even reverse it, if it's possible."

  "And how long will that take? A day?"

  Anthis frowned carefully.

  "Two?!"

  "We don't know," Rathen snapped, feeling the weight on his shoulders double, "it's unlike anything any of us has seen before, but we're...going to find a way to stop it."

  Nug turned to Aria accusingly. "You said they'd fix it."

  "I said they'd fix it eventually," she replied, rolling her eyes. "You just have to give them time."

  The ditchling sighed as he looked back to the three adults, and each duly fell under his scrutinising gaze. Anthis's eyes flicked past him to those of a few others, and as he found them all staring back with the same studious regard, he wondered just what they were all thinking - to
gether. He shifted uncomfortably.

  "You're clever," Nug began at last, startling Anthis as he looked towards him; "you're clever, too," he continued, turning to Rathen, "not as much, but you do have magic. And you," he finished, glancing to Garon, "well, I dunno, but you watch things and you got thinking-eyes." He looked over the three of them again and a frown took hold of his young features, growing so tightly knotted it was as though he was wrestling with something quite severe in his head. Finally, he gave a single nod. "You might be able to do it, together. But if you do, you've gotta fix this place first." He blinked. "No - you gotta fix this place second. Don't want you to mess up your first go and make it worse."

  "And we certainly will fix it second," Anthis promised him. "In fact, the sooner we're off, the sooner we'll be back to do so!"

  "Wait wait wait wait wait," Nug stepped towards them, eyeing them seriously. "If you ain't fixing this now, you're definitely not walking in here for nothing."

  "Ahh," Anthis hesitated. "Right, yes. What...what did you want?"

  Giant eyes fell on each of them while Nug's seemed to glaze over, and silence filled the grove again. There were no spoken suggestions; it was as if the question hadn't been heard. They exchanged wary glances between watching the little wildlings, and in those few long moments, thoughtful gazes were gradually dragged onto other targets, until they all finally settled upon Aria.

  Rathen's heart leapt. "No--"

  "We wanna know how to do that."

  Aria grinned knowingly as he pointed towards her, and as Rathen continued his absolute refusal, she lifted the plait she'd tied into her hair at breakfast that morning.

  Anthis frowned in confusion and put his hand on Rathen's shoulder to subdue him.