by E B Rose
Tesla scratched his head, confused. He raised his eyebrows to encourage Kato to keep going.
“I would like you to observe the Wording and put your name as a witness.”
“I see,” Tesla said, crossing his arms. The sense of danger that worried him for a brief moment was now replaced by a powerful reluctance. He could see it all more clearly now. Part of him even pitied Kato, though he still thought the man was a foul representation for mages.
He glanced at the three behind him. The mages in Chinderia were scared. Their new king kicked them out of his council, Eternal Pillar was running an investigation that could affect all Chinderian mages if it went in the wrong direction, and worst of all, Kiejain’s Army was on its way. And everyone knew, they asked less questions and made more… deductions.
The future of Casters Board was at risk and they were desperately trying to cover their backsides.
“I am not here to audit your spells,” Tesla said.
“I know,” Kato admitted. “I am requesting formal peer supervision, on the record, from one mage to another. You are a class three mage, and a Senior Investigator of Eternal Pillar. Your testimony would be the most credible.”
A formal, recorded peer supervision of a spell would be a strong defence against any investigation, especially if it’s witnessed by someone with Tesla’s position and experience. Even Kato, the leader of the Casters Board in Chinderia was only class six and had no active duty with Eternal Pillar.
Although Tesla didn’t have the stomach to watch the spell Kato wanted him to observe, he didn’t have any solid reason to refuse the request, from one mage to another. “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll witness.”
Relief washed over Kato’s face and removed at least ten years from his shoulders. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, and continued to lead Tesla through the streets.
The woman’s screams were heard as soon as they entered the street. Tesla’s face darkened. He wished his sensory integration spell was stronger, so that he could tune out the details of their barbaric ritual and just focus on the spell.
Kato climbed up the stairs of a rich house with a well-maintained front yard and Tesla dragged his feet after him.
A room in the basement was prepared for the spell. “To remain closer to the source of the spell,” Kato explained unnecessarily. Tesla didn’t comment. He examined the room, the few pieces of furniture, the plain walls, and the equipment on the table, before finally looking at the woman.
A ward was drawn on the stone floor; a half circle with runes in it. The woman was lying on her back, with her lower half inside the wards and her upper half remaining outside. She was covered in sweat. Her eyes were puffy from fatigue and lack of sleep. Her breathing was loud and laboured, interrupted by painful screams. The skin on her stomach was stretched tight over a mound and she had a slave tattoo on her neck.
A midwife attended to the woman, looking at the opening between her legs. The well-dressed, angry looking man in the corner must have been the slave’s owner. The one next to him, carrying a golden whip on his belt, would be the slave breeder. “Can we start now before I lose my property?” the owner demanded.
“We are starting now,” Kato nodded.
One of the three mages walked over to the table and poured a liquid into a wooden cup. He brought the liquid to Tesla.
“An herbal mixture,” explained Kato. “Just some eclagane and pireanis, to help the birth.”
When Kato waited expectantly, Tesla waved his hand over the cup and spoke a revelation spell. He nodded, confirming the ingredients in the liquid. The mage took the cup to the slave woman and helped her drink. Only seconds later, the birth started with the woman’s violent screams.
This time, the mage brought a necklace for Tesla to examine. “Gold dragonscale, to protect the mother from the spell,” Kato explained. Tesla put his hand on the gold, metallic stone at the end of the necklace and confirmed again.
The mage put the necklace over the woman’s head and placed the stone between her swollen breasts, so it touched her skin. Then, the mage kneeled beside the slave, placed his hands over her stomach, and started the spell. He spoke the words loudly and clearly so Tesla could hear them.
Tesla shook his head vaguely. He’d seen this spell before. It was more sickening than he remembered. Biting down a selection of more hostile comments, he retorted a humble one: “Rhoa binding and extracting is wrong, not to mention it’s dangerous, and you know it.”
Kato tensed. “We do not extract rhoa; Hunters of White Tower do that and they have no relation to us. As for binding, we follow Eternal Pillar’s regulations, as you can see for yourself.”
“Casting a binding spell like this on another human’s rhoa is forbidden,” Tesla scoffed.
“Chinderian law defines slave as property, not human,” argued Kato respectfully. “And Eternal Pillar defines human as living and breathing. Which is why, we start the Wording before the baby takes its first breath.”
Tesla clenched his jaw, hard. The only reason they were able to continue these inhumane rituals was a technicality. That baby still had a rhoa in there and it was being scarred by one of the most brutal spells that was ever invented. And all because Eternal Pillar’s definition of human was inadequate.
Reminding himself that he was there to witness, not to judge, Tesla regained his composure. He was never going to be at peace with the Chinderian slave system.
The mage’s spell ended only seconds before the baby entered Earthome. The slave woman tilted her head back and screamed, nearly ripping her throat open, in a one last push. The mage stepped back and the midwife took his place. The baby’s strong cry replaced the mother’s screams.
“It’s a boy,” the midwife announced and the owner smiled, pleased.
Next was Tesla’s least favourite part; the midwife wrapped the child in a towel and took it out of the room, almost in a hurry. The part when the young mother raises her head and looks behind them, hurt Tesla’s heart.
“Why can’t you just let her hold the baby for a minute?” he asked with revulsion.
“It has nothing to do with the Wording…” Kato started to reply, but the slave breeder cut him off.
“Because it messes their training,” the large man explained before he followed the midwife out. “The longer she spends with the baby, the harder it gets to re-train the mother.”
The slave’s owner arranged a couple of servants to take the mother somewhere she could rest, then followed the breeder outside. The mage who had conducted the spell wrote three long words on a parchment, rolled it and sealed it.
“We do not share the binding words with the breeder until the child reaches maturity,” Kato explained.
“You mean the age of five?”
Kato ignored the contempt and disgust seeping out of Tesla’s tone and continued: “Slaves get their tattoos at the age of five. Words are written in Odtu alphabet on their tattoos, as a way of ensuring they will remain with the purebred forever.” Kato adjusted his robe and fiddled with his red embroidered sleeves. “Well, this was the Wording spell and the ritual. It is conducted in the exact same way in all around Chinderia.” He paused, prompting Tesla to speak.
Tesla let the silence drag. Regardless of how he felt about their slave system, the spell complied with Eternal Pillar’s rules. It was a type of Farmagic that was permitted, as long as the caster was at least class nine as a registered mage.
Tesla looked away as he spoke. “I, Teslaturahel Asilamas, class three mage and Senior Investigator of Eternal Pillar, have observed and witnessed this spell to comply with the Eternal Pillar’s regulations and to be cast professionally. I’d like to go to my inn now.” Before I throw up the rest of my breakfast at your feet, he added in his mind.
“Thank you, Adept Teslaturahel,” Kato said, bending slightly.
Tesla didn’t wait for Kato to lead the way and took himself out of the room. His sensory integration spell was going to last for at least another several hours, but the sight and the sme
ll of the room was starting to make him edgy.
He heard the baby’s cry when he stepped into the corridor. It was coming from the door on his right, slightly ajar. Out of reflex, Tesla glanced inside as he walked past. He froze, suddenly feeling as if punched in the guts.
“Adept Teslaturahel?” Kato enquired behind him.
Tesla pushed the door open and marched inside. The slave breeder raised his head, his face assuming a defensive scowl. “What?”
“Why are you doing that?” Tesla demanded to know.
“This part has nothing to do with the Wording,” Kato explained, confused. “It is a superstitious belief, a breeder tradition.”
“But why?”
A servant was holding the crying baby in a sitting position inside a tub, filled with golden sand. He was gently rubbing the baby’s kicking feet with the sand. The breeder was wrapping the rest of the child’s body in a very thin, cloth-like steel.
“He’ll be raised as a beast,” the breeder barked. “Sand and steel are going to be a part of his body. This is so that his feet know the feel of the sand and his skin hardens as steel...”
The man continued explaining their odd but harmless tradition, but Tesla had stopped listening. Sand and steel... The words echoed in his mind.
Sand and steel becoming part of his body. Sand falling into a hole... at his feet... His skin reflecting the light as if made of steel...
He shuddered, feeling light-headed.
The man he saw in his nightmares, the one with the face of a demon, was a beast.
15
VALNAR
Valnar was grateful for each time the Twelve had tested his virtues. He regarded each trial as an opportunity to prove his faith. He knew he had nothing to fear from the trials to come, as long as he held Kiejain close to his heart. Their journey ahead was full of opportunities to prove his worth to the Twelve Riders, and to his friends.
Yet, each time he looked at the beast, he could feel his greatest trial was nearing, and all he could do was to pray for Kiejain’s light.
He pulled his knife out and used its tip to draw a large circle on the half-frozen ground. The sun was just sinking behind the hills, but there was still enough light to see what he was doing. It was a blessing. If it was any other night, they would have pushed on until they couldn’t see ten steps ahead and Valnar would have to pray in the dark. However, the slave had started tripping and they had to call it a day.
When Valnar finished drawing the circle, he kneeled in it and placed the two-handed sword in front of his knees. The sword was tightly wrapped in thick cloth, every bit of it hidden from prying eyes. Valnar had kept the sword wrapped for nearly ten years, and he prayed he would never have to unwrap it.
Placing his right hand on the Kiejain’s symbol on his breastplate, he closed his eyes and opened his heart to the Twelve’s grace.
Since they were not rushing tonight, he decided to hold the long ritual. He recited twelve passages, one for each god and goddess, repeated twelve times. The passages were spoken in Praxese, the holy language, which Valnar was a fluent speaker of. The thirteenth passage addressed to the people who have passed and journeyed to Farhome, and he only recited it once. He touched his fingers to the ground, then touched them to his forehead. When he opened his eyes, it was almost dark.
Valnar found himself reluctant to leave his prayer circle. The feelings of peace and fulfillment had not entered his heart yet. He put his hand back on his breastplate. “Uniting Kiejain, leader of all men and gods. The first Rider, the first Husband, the first Warrior. Lend me your wisdom, so I make the right choices. Guide my sword, so I bleed my enemies. Bless my rhoa, so I steer away from the heathens.” He took a deep breath. “Help me stand by Him until the end.” He drew a religious symbol in the air and stood up.
His muscles had turned stiff from sitting motionless in the cold. He picked up his sword reverently, stretched his back, and started his walk back to the campsite. He hadn’t wandered too far from the others, in case of an emergency. He could still hear them mid-prayer.
He was pleased to see they hadn’t lit a fire. Their campsite was nearly half an hour off the road and completely hidden from eyes. Moreover, Kiejain’s vigilance was with them. Still, they couldn’t be careful enough.
“Guess what we have for dinner?” Ink welcomed him. “More dried meat and hardtack.”
“All my prayers have been answered,” Valnar scoffed, as he sat down and took the plate they’d reserved for him.
“How was Kiejain?” Lodi asked with a half smile.
“A great listener as always.” Valnar glanced at the slave, who was tied to a tree with the horses. He was lying on his back, staring at the sky without blinking. His plate remained untouched at his side. “Still not eating?”
“Probably too tired to eat,” Ink guessed. “I would be too, if I ran all day.”
“He’ll eat,” Lodi said as he gnawed at his hard bread. “We’ll have to get another horse, or he’ll slow us down.”
Ink laughed. “With what money exactly? You’ve spent all we had on him. To be honest, I don’t even see what all the fuss is about. The way you talk about beasts, I expected one with sharp teeth and claws. He seems like a regular man to me.”
“He is not a man,” Valnar explained. “He doesn’t have any rhoa.”
“You know, all King’s warriors in Kaldoria are raised from childhood. I don’t see any difference.”
“Trust me, it’s not the same.” Valnar took the slave’s Words out and passed them on to Lodi. “I think we should all memorize his Words. I also wanna make sure he is the Lion, and get him to acknowledge the ownership.”
Lodi took the piece of paper and started studying the Words. “Well, he is the Lion of Zarall; I’ve seen the brands. And I don’t see what difference his acknowledgement would make. We have his sales paper.”
“It will help me sleep better.” Valnar finished the last piece of dried meat, dusted his hands, and walked over to the slave. Lodi passed the paper to Ink, and followed him.
“Stand up,” Valnar ordered.
The slave complied without hurry. His movements were sluggish, as if his muscles were leaden, or he had no care in the world. The collar was tight around his neck and the chain was attached to one of the lower branches of the tree. Despite the chain’s length, he had limited room to move or lie.
“Take your shirt off.”
There was that disrespectful delay again. Valnar narrowed his eyes as he watched the slave comply lazily. He pulled his shirt over his head and pushed it back on the chain. He stood with his hands at his sides. His bare chest appeared pale and scarred under the cool, starry night. If the slave was cold or uncomfortable, he didn’t show.
“See,” Lodi said, pointing at the brands on the slave’s wide chest. “That’s the Stallion Tournament, that’s the Painted Rose, and Maiden’s Grace. And that would be the Golden Sparrow, the most recent one. The first few are clearly older, so they can’t be fake.” He walked around him and pointed at the deep claw marks on his back. “And that must be Marzul the bear. What I wouldn’t give to have seen that fight…” He completed his walk around him, and gestured at the slave’s face. “Hair and eye colour match too. I say that’s him. Have you got more doubts, Valnar?”
Valnar rubbed his chin, staring hard at the slave’s blank face. Lodi was right; the scars and the description matched. The Lion of Zarall stood in front of him. He opened his mouth to confess his satisfaction, but Ink spoke over his shoulder before he could.
“Padlociatius.”
Lodi caught the beast as he collapsed. Grunting under the weight, he stumbled and let him on the ground as gently as he could, almost falling in the process. “Ink!” he sneered. “What in Earthome did you do that for?”
Ink held the piece of paper in one hand, and his last piece of hardtack in the other. He shrugged, took another bite. “Just wanted to see how these things worked.” He leaned closer. “So, is he paralysed or something?”
> Lodi shook his head in disbelief while Valnar explained. “Yes, he is temporarily paralysed.”
Ink made a curious noise. They stood in an awkward silence as they waited for the First Word to wear off. The slave laid at their feet, defenceless. Part of Valnar was grateful to Ink, for reminding him that they could do this with one word. Maybe he was wrong to worry about the slave.
The beast’s arms and legs twitched as he slowly regained control of his body. He grunted and pushed himself to sit up on his knees. Valnar unfolded the sales paper, scanning for the acknowledgement section.
“Prihjtivaviula.”
“Ink!”
Valnar had been following Lodi the last five years, and he had rarely seen him this angry. Lodi snatched the paper from Ink’s hand. The Kaldorian hardly noticed Lodi’s wrath; his eyes widened as he watched the slave writhe in pain. The beast’s back arched, his body convulsed, his eyes rolled back in his skull. He dug his heels in the ground and clenched his teeth hard, yet made no sound. The veins on his neck bulged, making the steel collar look tighter than before. Valnar winced.
“This...” Ink stammered. “This is sickening! You Chinderians are sick.”
“I explained to you what the Words did before,” Lodi bared his teeth. “Don’t use them unless you have a good reason to.”
“A good reason?” Ink gestured at the thrashing slave. “There can never be a good reason to torture a man like that!”
“He’s not a man,” Valnar reminded him. He had to take a step back to evade the slave’s convulsing legs. “He doesn’t have a rhoa.”
“This looks like Darkhome magic, you see that right?”
“It’s actually Farhome magic,” Valnar corrected him. “A purebred’s body has to be bound by Farhome magic, because they don’t have any rhoa. It is to keep them safe from demonic influences.”
“Safe?” Ink snapped his mouth shut, deciding not to argue with them. He wrote this down as another subject Kaldorians and Chinderians would never agree on. He walked away, shaking his head. He tossed his leftover hardtack back in his bag.