by A. J. Smith
‘It is clear,’ he responded, speaking in a monotone.
‘You may leave and go about your work now,’ Saara concluded with a wave of her hand.
The guardsman stood up in one jerky movement and walked blankly away from the enchantress. His eyes blinked slowly, and Zel thought he was gradually regaining his senses as he opened the door and left the apartment.
Zel walked over to stand before his mistress. ‘Shall I lay out some appropriate clothes for your appointment at the Well of Spells, mistress?’
She considered this for a moment before saying, ‘Yes, I believe I’ll wear something blue today.’
* * *
Kessia was built in a series of walled circles, stretching out from the imperial compound and the Tower of Viziers at its centre. The first two circles were home to the richest merchant princes and most influential mobsters, housing them in opulent luxury, surrounded by slaves and armies of paid guardsmen. The third and fourth circles were for the less well-off, and by the outer wall of the fourth circle the sprawling rainbow slum stretched across the arid plain.
Class was everything in Kessia, and these Karesians would spend as much time amassing a fortune as looking over their shoulders to make sure no one was planning to take it from them. It was a paranoid city which lacked the strict laws of Tor Funweir and the honour-bound traditions of the Freelands.
Zel tried not to have too many opinions, preferring to rely solely on what his mistress instructed him to think; however, he disliked the capital and the pervading aura of fear that hung over it. These Karesians had no time to relax and enjoy their lives. Nor could they raise their families in any kind of positive atmosphere. At all times, the people of Kessia were obsessed about their place in the larger order of things and how someone might be trying to do them out of it.
The Well of Spells was situated in the middle of this carousel of status and fear. It was one of three buildings that dominated the central piazza of Kessia, the others being the imperial palace and the Tower of Viziers. The Well was home to the Seven Sisters, and only they and their servants were permitted to enter. It exercised the highest authority in Karesia, though Saara had frequently instructed her slave to keep this knowledge secret, as the common citizenry preferred to believe that the wind claws and the high vizier held the power. In reality, nothing happened in the vast lands of Karesia without one of the Seven Sisters willing it to happen.
The Well was small compared with the huge white marble palace and the lofty tower, but no less significant for its subtlety. The architecture was strange, not employing the clean, rounded lines of traditional Karesian buildings, and no balconies, minarets or open terraces could be seen. It formed a heptagon with a featureless grey wall on each side, possessing no doorways or windows. Looking up, Zel had always found the castellated rooftop five storeys from the ground more reminiscent of a Ro fort than a Karesian building, and the Well was rugged and somehow more solid than the neighbouring buildings.
Saara was wearing her customary black robe, chosen to keep her identity a mystery as she walked amongst the people of the city. She enjoyed the anonymity and Zel often saw her smiling to herself as they passed guardsmen, wind claws and others who would have been shocked to see an enchantress in their midst.
She didn’t stop as they approached the Well of Spells, causing passers-by to look with interest at the woman who stepped closer to the building than most would dare. The area immediately around the Well was always deserted, for people feared to step too close and risk the Sisters’ wrath. With her slave close behind, Saara strode across the empty ground and stopped within a few feet of the featureless wall.
With a dozen or so of the people of Kessia watching, Saara held out her hand for Zel to take. The slave complied and she cradled it tenderly before closing her eyes and willing the two of them inside.
Zel had been transported inside the building several times in the past and was always disappointed that he never got to see the reactions of the common citizenry when they saw a woman and her slave vanish before their eyes.
Within, the Well of Spells was radically different from its outward appearance. Sparkling white columns emblazoned with arcane symbols circled an open central yard, and the darkwood tree in the centre was well maintained and tended by a stone golem. The golem was large, over seven feet tall, and possessed shining red eyes. It was constructed to be a facsimile of a man, but had no features save for a rudimentary mouth, and its limbs were huge with stone hinges replacing the joints. The building in which it lived had no interior walls and was spacious and airy, with a permanent and barely perceptible chime in the background.
The golem rose from its crouched position at the base of the tree and moved, in a jerky fashion, across to Saara. The creature had been constructed long ago by the first of the Seven Sisters to serve all those who came after. Zel found the construct fascinating and enjoyed talking to it when he had the chance.
‘Mistress of Pain, welcome. Zeldantor of Lislan, welcome,’ the construct said in a rumbling voice that echoed from all around the building. ‘You are expected.’ The stone golem slowly turned back to the tree and loudly returned to its work.
Saara and Zel walked round the outer line of pillars to a raised platform against one of the seven walls. The Mistress of Pain was the eldest sister and, as such, held the high chair and was responsible for all of the enchantresses’ designs.
As they walked up the white steps to the high chair, Zel could hear the golem talking to itself. ‘The Sisters meet. What will they discuss? The Sisters meet. We tend the tree while the Sisters meet. We will be quiet and the tree will be cared for.’
‘Mistress,’ Zel said, as Saara took her seat, ‘how much does the golem know… about the world outside, I mean?’
Saara smiled warmly at her slave. ‘The golem has been here for as long as there has been a Well of Spells and, in all of those hundreds of years, it has never ventured outside. I don’t think it’s even aware of the lands of men. It lives only to maintain the tree and to protect the Well from those who would seek improperly to gain entrance.’
Zel had often wondered about the darkwood tree that stood in the centre of the Well of Spells. He had even asked Saara about it, confused about her birthmark and the significance of the tree. In response she’d always spoken vaguely about a dead god; the tree was the last remnant of lost divine power – the priest and the altar, she had often said. In fact, she had once told Zel that the place of his birth, deep in the forests of Lislan, had been peopled by Kirin who revered a similar tree. Zel knew that this was part of the reason he had been selected to be a slave to the Mistress of Pain, but the exact details about the tree and the god it symbolized had never fully been explained to him.
The tree was black and gnarled, with a thick trunk and a strangely squat appearance. The only branches it had protruded directly from the top of the trunk and snaked out in an irregular fashion, creating the impression of black, writhing tentacles.
The golem rose to its feet again and several slight distortions appeared in the air around the outer edges of the Well. Two more of the Seven Sisters appeared and were approached by the golem.
‘Isabel the Seductress, she is welcome to the Well of Spells,’ the Golem said to the younger of the two enchantresses. It then moved jerkily to the second woman and said, ‘Shilpa the Shadow of Lies, she is also welcome to the Well of Spells.’
Isabel and Shilpa both bowed with deep respect towards, first the Golem, then the seated form of Saara. Neither of these women had slaves and Zel was again reminded of the fact that he was unique, being the only man ever to have become slave to one of the Seven Sisters.
Saara rose from her chair and crossed the open space to greet her younger sisters. The greeting was formal at first, with each sister bowing respectfully, but the mask cracked quickly and the three women shared smiles and hugs of genuine warmth.
‘It has been, what, three years since we met as a group?’ Saara asked her sisters.
Shilpa nodded and said, ‘Yes, that sounds right. Last winter was when Ameira and Katja left for Ro Tiris.’
Saara laughed a silvery peal of amusement. ‘Ah, yes, I remember Katja complaining about the need to go somewhere so cold.’
‘It’s Ameira I feel sorry for, she’s been with the men of Canarn. That land is cold and uncivilized. At least Katja has been afforded the comfort of King Sebastian’s hospitality in a civilized land,’ responded Shilpa, as she joined in her elder sister’s laugh.
Zel was struck with how similar the three women appeared. All were tall, with lustrous dark hair and curvaceous bodies. Isabel was a little younger and had a playful glint in her eye; Saara had deep green eyes that stood out next to the blue eyes of the other two, and Shilpa possessed a languid grace, as if she were always dancing as she moved. Saara had no facial tattoo, a privilege of being the eldest sister; the other two both had intricate patterns in black ink across their left cheeks. Shilpa’s was a series of birds in flight, and Isabel’s a coiled snake. Both shone brighter within the Well of Spells and Zel couldn’t take his eyes from the beautiful designs. Despite the differences, Zel thought there were many more similarities and from a distance it would be difficult to tell them apart.
‘And how is young Zeldantor today?’ asked Isabel with a girlish smile.
‘He’s well,’ replied Saara. ‘Zel, come and pay your respects to Isabel and Shilpa.’
The Kirin slave bowed his head and glided across the floor to stand in front of the three enchantresses. ‘It is an undreamt of honour to see you both again, most noble sisters of my mistress,’ he said with formality.
All three laughed and Zel closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy the sound. Their voices harmonized and rose in volume beyond a simple laugh to become something magical to Zel’s ears.
‘And will your other sisters be joining us today, mistress?’ he asked Saara.
‘The two others who remain in Karesia have all been summoned. Katja and Ameira are otherwise occupied and, based on the news I received from Larix earlier today, I would surmise that they have met with success in their endeavours.’
Shilpa and Isabel had not heard this news and both had eager and excited looks on their faces. Zel knew that whatever had transpired in Ro Canarn had done so at the Sisters’ urging and the plan, whatever it was, was proceeding well.
More subtle distortions in the air followed and two more beautiful women appeared at opposite sides of the central room. The golem rose and approached each in turn.
‘Lillian the Lady of Death, she is welcome in the Well of Spells,’ it said in its rumbling tones, before quickly crossing the room to stand before the last of the sisters to arrive.
‘Sasha the Illusionist, she is also welcome in the Well of Spells.’
The golem returned to its tree-tending duties, removing moss and lichen growing around the base of the sacred tree, as Sasha and Lillian moved to occupy two of the seven faces of the central room.
Saara sat in her raised chair and looked out with fondness at her four sisters. Zel stood behind her left shoulder and glanced around the room, witnessing possibly the largest meeting of the Seven Sisters in several years and certainly the first to include a male slave. On all of the previous occasions that Zel had been to the Well, it had been to accompany his mistress during a time of contemplation, but he’d never felt as dwarfed by power as he did now.
The last two sisters looked much as the others did, although Lillian was the tallest and Sasha had slightly darker skin. Much like Shilpa and Isabel, their facial tattoos appeared less subtle within the Well of Spells and Zel found himself staring. Lillian was to his right and was the closest to him. Her design, featuring a hand drawn as if grasping her face, was the most sinister-looking amongst them and in sharp contrast to the beautiful flowering rose on Sasha’s cheek.
‘Sisters,’ Saara began, ‘we are five. Let us look at the empty spaces and include in our deliberations the shadows of our absent sisters.’
The five enchantresses turned to the vacant spaces and Zel thought he detected warm remembrance on their faces, as if they were all recalling some pleasant memory of Katja and Ameira.
Saara let the silence linger for several minutes while all present closed their eyes, and Zel imagined a collective working of magic was being undertaken, though he could not perceive its effects. When they opened their eyes it was clear they had been communicating with each other on a level the slave could not detect, and the smiles they wore lightened the room. Zel found it disconcerting that several of them glanced at him with interest, and Saara nodded as if to confirm something to her fellow enchantresses.
‘It has been five years,’ said Saara, ‘five years since we found the true significance of this tree and all those like it; five years since we uncovered the grand deception of our former master.’ Her words made the smiles on her sisters’ faces turn to hard and resolute expressions of defiance. ‘And now,’ she continued, letting her voice rise in volume, ‘our plan is nearing its end.’
‘What news, sister?’ Shilpa asked eagerly. ‘What news from the north?’
Saara smiled as she replied. ‘Good news, yes, good news indeed. Ameira has successfully enchanted the Red knights of Ro and their hearts are hers. Katja has successfully enchanted the king and his fool son; these weak men are hers to command. And Bartholomew Tiris, the exemplar of the One, is trapped by one of the Dark Young. He can be of no further use to his god. His son, King Sebastian, signed the order to cage Bartholomew personally. The house of Tiris is ours.’
‘And the One’s last remaining old-blood?’ asked Shilpa, the eagerness on her face turning to near-euphoria.
‘The Stone Giant old-blood that Bartholomew kept chained under the house of Tiris has been executed by order of the king. Even if the exemplar were free, his channel to the One has been severed.’
A chorus of chuckles, laughs and sounds of gleeful excitement filled the room. Zel began to piece things together. He found it strange that the sisters had orchestrated the imprisonment of one exemplar and the forced exile of another. In the slave’s estimation, that only left the exemplar of Rowanoco the Ice Giant.
Voon of Rikara had been the exemplar of Jaa, supposedly the father of the Seven Sisters. However, through the death of his old-blood, the vizier had been forced to journey to the south and was, to all intents and purposes, inert. This meant that two of the three Giants had no way of communicating with their followers, whether the common people realized it or not.
Zel found this disturbing and the motivations of his mistress were obscure in the extreme. The Sisters had done this purposefully, but their designs were a mystery to the slave.
‘The king of Tor Funweir will soon be in Ro Canarn himself with an army of Red knights sufficient to assault the Freelands,’ Saara continued.
This caused concern on the faces of some of the enchantresses, and Zel thought he detected fear in Isabel’s eyes.
‘My dear sister,’ said Isabel, ‘what of Teardrop and his unwashed berserkers? Surely they will resist.’
She spoke of Algenon Teardrop, a name well known to Zel and one of the few men the Seven Sisters held in respect. He was the exemplar of Rowanoco and, by all accounts, a most dangerous man.
Saara smiled again and nodded towards Lillian the Lady of Death. ‘Sister, if you would alleviate dear Isabel’s fears.’
‘Of course, beloved sister,’ began Lillian. ‘Last year I had occasion to visit a particularly unpleasant mercenary knight named Hallam Pevain. Sir Pevain has, in the past, lent his sword to various Ranen warlords and we are assured that one of Algenon’s battle-brothers, a barbarian called Rulag Ursa, is, in fact, our man.’ The last two words were spoken with delicious relish and Zel detected pride in Lillian’s demeanour.
‘I am assured that, should it be launched, the dragon fleet will never make landfall. I believe that Ursa
plans to wake the Krakens of the Fjorlan Sea,’ Lillian said, evidently relishing the prospect.
Zel had read about Ithqas and Aqas, the blind and mindless Krakens of the Fjorlan Sea, and he had in the past been assured by Saara that the monsters were very real and woke every few years to devour anything in their path. He shuddered as he recalled the strange pictures of tentacled monsters rising from the waters.
Lillian was smiling broadly as she continued speaking. ‘Once Algenon and his fleet are gone, by axe or by the Krakens, the Red knights need only deal with a few ragtag Free Companies. Ursa requires only that we assist him to become the new high thain of Ranen. His vanity and ambition have made him an easy ally.’
All five of the Sisters were looking pleased with themselves and Saara nodded with pleasure at Lillian’s words. She then looked towards Isabel the Seductress and motioned for her to talk.
‘My sisters, I have made all the necessary preparations for the occupation of Ro Weir. The Hounds are supplied and their kennel-masters understand what is expected of them. Duke Lyam of Ro Weir is…’ she smiled broadly, ‘most pleased to accept our occupation.’
Zel knew what this meant, that Isabel had enchanted the duke and he had agreed to allow the army of Hounds to sail across the Kirin straits. The bloodless occupation of a major city of Tor Funweir was to Zel an ingenious scheme, well worthy of the Seven Sisters.
Saara closed her eyes, lost in concentration. The other enchantresses joined her and together the Sisters threw back their heads and spoke in unison. ‘We are not of Jaa. We possess the power of a Giant killed by other Giants.’ They almost sang the words.
Now Zel was even more startled. The Seven Sisters were the priesthood of the Fire Giant, Jaa. At least, that was what Zel had always thought, and what the people of Karesia and the lands of men had always thought.