He tapped the tattoo on the back of my skull with the same steady rhythm as he had tapped the window earlier.
“Do not fail, Shi’iran-daz-ithrav. Do not fail. The Empress herself will be watching,” he repeated.
I remained kneeling for a long time, waiting for his command to rise. None came. My knees began to hurt, my back ache.
“What must I do? Who must I hunt?” I asked.
Gol-Gorom touched me with his foot, signalling for me to rise. My head swam as the blood rushed out. He took my face in his hands, his empty white eyes locked onto mine.
“Bring me the soul of a sylfolk princess.”
12
Bram Tan Heth
Council had adjourned for the day. I found myself upon a wide balcony that overlooked the sparkling sea. A smooth, summer breeze rolled off of the Violet Ocean; I heard the wash of surf gurgling upon the sharp rocks somewhere below. Sea birds, wings outstretched, floated lazily in the azure sky above the College of Valethucia.
The council was entering its second month. There was time yet before it ended, time yet before it terminated and we all dispersed back to our respective towers and cloisters, courts and schools. Then we would wait five or so years and another council would be called, hosted in some other corner of the Vindayan Empire, and we would all come together and the politickers would politick and the gossipers would gossip and nothing would actually be achieved, but everyone would feel important for having been invited.
I did not know why a scholarly council had to be so personal. It seemed like every two-bit magi from whatever half-rate conclave had a vendetta to settle or an agenda to push. It made me happy to be alone, happy to have neither mentor nor mentee. I felt, at the very least, unsullied by such pettiness. There were far larger issues at stake, far larger than any one individual’s ambitions, and it was a calamity that so few understood and even fewer were willing to raise such a concern.
It was also a shame that I, of all folk here, was shunned as a reclusive lunatic.
Bram Tan Heth the Mad, they called me. Never to my face, mind you. But no one spoke to my face, if they could help it. And I preferred it that way regardless.
An unwarranted giggle ruptured from my mouth. I tried to quell it, but resisting made it all the more difficult. I squinted my eyes and gripped the railing that overlooked the ocean.
I took a deep breath once I was in control again. The effort of staving off the Black Laughter left me shaking.
I looked over my shoulder, hoping no one had seen my convulsions. Luckily I was one of the only folk out enjoying the fresh ocean air. Not that it mattered if anyone saw; I was a leper here, a thing not to be touched. A mangy, rabid dog.
Bram Tan Heth the Mad.
None even called me by my proper title of Magus. If they were going to call me Mad, they might as well call me Magus Bram Tan Heth the Mad. I had worked hard for that title, just as my forebears had. We were the true elvish of the northwest, inhabiting those craggy hills long before the Vindayan colonists crawled up from their grand river city to claim it as part of their ganglious empire.
The Maker himself placed us there, surrounded by enemies and hostile races. A hundred generations of short-lived elves had eked out an existence in that stony hill country, fighting an endless war of attrition against wave after wave of restless low folk, swarms of marauding bird-folk, even gangs of roving giants.
Or so the story goes.
Another sudden urge overtook me, more powerful than the last, cutting my thoughts to pieces. I struggled to keep my eyes from rolling back into my head; I ground my teeth.
The Black, the Black, the Black Laughter!
Tar pumped through my blood, hot and thick and corrosive. It reached my head and set the whole thing on fire. My face was hot, it was hot, it was melting,
melting,
meeeeeeeltiiiiiiiinnnnggggg……..
I sucked in a cold breath.
The Black Laughter subsided. I reconquered my mind, reconsolidated my soul. I was dizzy, but I was back in control.
It was definitely getting worse.
I looked out to the great Violet Ocean and beyond. The sea birds cried, lonely and far away.
I drew a dried leaf from the pouch at my hip and chewed it. It was Kov leaf. An effective balm for frayed or overused souls, popular in small doses at most magickal institutions across the empire. It was a well-kept secret, and I kept it as well or better than any.
A ‘small dose’ consists of perhaps a shred of a single leaf, no larger than the nail on your smallest finger. I regularly chewed an entire leaf as big as my palm. It was all I could do to keep the Black Laughter down.
I developed the symptoms of the Black Laughter perhaps two years ago, and it was only getting worse. I should have been worried, but my little life had no use at all outside of my research, and so I saw it as a harsh but reasonable trade.
My mind, my soul, in exchange for knowledge.
Not just any knowledge, either; I traded my mortality for knowledge that could save us all. I wasn’t in it for the power. I wasn’t in it to dominate, to accrue favours or wealth. I desired knowledge because I needed it to save the Maker’s very creation from the Twin Pillars of Woe that grew like a tumor out of mortal sight, beyond the Bulwark Mountains and even across the Southern Sea.
Was it a noble act? Of course it was. Heroic? Absolutely. Misunderstood? Without a doubt.
And that is how I consoled myself as I chewed the entire Kov keaf and felt my pupils dilate.
At least the Black Laughter was one of the milder maladies that I could have contracted from magickal oversaturation. There were many others; Soulrot, blindness, amnesia, necrosis of the bones, Giant’s Curse… some died outright. Some went mad.
Just like me, actually.
I had come close to death many times as a result of my delving, my peeking into the unknown. At great risk I overburdened my own capacity to see beyond the shadowed veil, peer into the Void, or even see through the murky Shade that lay thick over the Witchlands. And there was little time to rest in between these titanic exertions; it was a game of cat and mouse, seeing the watchers in the dark before they saw me.
Twice I had even needed to remove myself from existence entirely.
Removing oneself was the easy part. Coming back was the hard part. And it had to happen almost simultaneously; for one can’t continue to exist if one ever stops. It took an incredible understanding of time and the texture of time and the Maker’s view of it all, and luckily, I no longer understood it – if I ever had – for if I still did, I truly would be mad.
A shuddering giggle passed through me unbidden like a cold winter breeze. I chewed the Kov Leaf more thoroughly.
One must at least try to understand my predicament, even if they cannot understand how it came to be. At least, not the exact ‘how’, for then you, too, would be mad.
Yes, you. Whoever you are.
If you exist; but you do not, because every thought I ever have is in my head. Just like everyone else.
Where was I?
Ah yes. How I became mad.
It wasn’t simply magickal overexertion; it wasn’t simply magickal oversaturation, although both had very critical effects in wearing down my soul.
But my mind – my mind – was also sickened. It was sickened not only by any malady, such as the Black Laughter, but by what I had seen in my dream delving, my scrying.
Terrible things stirred in the dark. Bloated behemoths languished in the blackest pits of the deepest wombs of the Shadelands… There was a land of ten covens, one hundred abominations, one thousand pigs, ten thousand rats, and a hundred thousand creeping things, whose wicked horror I dare not revivify even with a cursory recollection; I saw blasphemous technologies powered by a million pained screams, and engines of flesh to lay waste to all living; above even the slime-soaked peaks I witnessed the sutured colossi, concocted of fleshpits and magicks darker than the lightless aby
sses that pock the wastelands in places long putrefied…
I spat into the ocean. My saliva was dark from the dried Kov leaf.
And the fools here were concerned about the Empire of Un.
Hah! If only they knew what lay beyond. If only they knew how much lesser of an evil they were focused on. Yet if they truly saw, they would not hesitate to throw in their lot with that barren empire, the Empire of Un, and support her evils in the name of lesser evil.
Such was the wisdom of Vindaya. Supremacy at all costs… even if supremacy meant bending the knee for a time.
Should the choice be up to me, I would fight them both, even if the Vindayan Empire alone could only ever resist – never defeat – even but one of these legendary enemies. But the choice was not up to me; it was up to this scholar’s council, who would send a report to the Great Council in the capital, who would then eventually make a decision based on the findings and the advice of so many other committees.
So, I would just have to save the world on my own.
I would. I had a plan.
But I can’t tell you – if you’re even real, which as we have discussed, you are not. Because if I tell you, then you may begin to exist, and you will steal my idea – my secret plan – and you will accidentally let it slip to the watchers in the void, or whatever other evil thing lurks in the corner of my eye.
I just had to be patient and survive until it was all set up. Then I could stop the Priesthood of Un and the Disciples of the Void from ‘cleansing’ everything. Then I’d also stop the Witches from becoming too powerful.
The empires and kingdoms and tribes would forever dance in their game of land and dynasty and war; that much I could not stop. No one folk could stop that; no group of folk could stop that. Such is the nature of the things the Maker made.
But I could at least try and give them all a chance at living. A chance at making those terrible mistakes, or even making good mistakes once in a while.
Was it a noble cause? Of course it was. Heroic? Absolutely.
Misunderstood? Without a doubt.
But I had to do it. Survive just long enough to see it begin. Keep chewing as much of the bitter Kov leaf as I could handle without dying from its toxins. It was better than succumbing to the Black Laughter, at least.
Seabirds keeled above the choppy waves, cries shrill and lonesome. A ghostly apparition of Im, the green-hued moon of the north, hung like a pall of acrid smoke just above the hazy horizon.
From somewhere in the pillared halls of the college a bass gong sounded, signalling the commencement of the evening meal.
I guess that’s why I had the balcony all to myself this whole time… I frequently lost track of time these days. One moment seemed to glide seamlessly into the next, slipping away like water, while others had the density and duration of basalt columns in a desert waste. I was adrift on the currents of time, a little boat in a twisting river, and I never knew when or where the rapids would appear, where the sandbars would arise. It was seldom opportune.
I gathered up my rough-spun robes about me and wandering back inside.
But I didn’t get far.
A stiff-backed, imperious figure appeared from around the corner, cloak trailing behind him. It was Avaxenon Orn. He had a hardened look in his eye and a firm scowl.
“Bram. Come with me,” he whispered urgently, taking me by the arm.
“Avaxenon? What’s wrong?” I asked as he whisked me away back outside.
We walked along the balcony, headed to the eastern wing of the college. There the connected buildings ended in an open terrace, and beyond, into a stone-strewn meadow that edged along the sea cliffs. I struggled to keep up with his long and determined gait.
“Don’t speak. Not yet. And for all that’s good, don’t you dare laugh,” he growled, eyes set straight ahead.
We walked down a long flight of stone stairs to the terrace below. A small tower was the last structure that connected to the rest of the college buildings on the extreme end of the east wing. We walked until we were in the middle of the stony meadow, even out of sight of the tower, hidden by a crest in the field.
Finally we stopped. Avaxenon gripped my shoulders with both hands and looked me dead in the eye.
“Bram, are you listening? You need to listen dearly. If ever there was a moment to control your episodes, it is now,” he said, breathing heavy.
“Of course I’m listening,” I snapped, trying to push away his hands.
“Then hear me when I speak; Bram, you aren’t safe here.”
I already knew it wasn’t safe for me to be here. There were many who resented me, distrusted me, and worse, those who had reported me to the Vindayan authorities in years past for magickal recalcitrance. It was only because I was so far away that it was probably deemed not worth their time to do anything about it.
“Let me guess, Vindaya sent enforcers to take me to the capital? Probably a gang of Nameless led by a tawdry mage. Nothing to worry about, I’d wager-” I began, before Avaxenon cut me off with a violent shake.
“No, you asinine seer! Someone sent mercenaries. They’re dressed as wizard’s attendants. I was in my room, using my Occura Avaeda to receive communication, when they knocked. I bid them enter, thinking it was a servant or courier,” he looked over his shoulder as if suspecting eavesdroppers in that empty field. “There were four of them. They upended my instruments, vandalized my belongings… all the while holding me captive at knifepoint!”
Mercenaries… clearly this wasn’t the work of the Vindayan authorities. It must have been someone here.
“Then why are you still here? You should have gone to someone in charge!” I said. “Do you think they were after your research?”
Avaxenon shook his head fervently.
“No, Bram. No. You don’t understand. They were destroying my research. And I was powerless to defend myself; between the four of them, they had drained my reserve, and there was no way to cast a spell anyway with a blade levelled at my heart.”
I could see now that Avaxenon was shaking. There was sweat on his brow.
“But you escaped? Or did they let you go?”
“The window. I jumped from the window. They split up after I told them where I thought you might be – which was a lie, because I never know where you’ll be – and that’s when I decided it was time to jump,” he said, evidently quite proud of his daring manoeuvre. “Then I went to the library to look for you. Then the dining hall. Then I passed by the balcony and, well, here we are.”
“So they’re looking for me as we speak?” I asked, suddenly aware of how exposed we were in the open field.
We may have been out of sight from the college, but that wouldn’t count for much if they headed this way.
“Likely, yes. They were all in different clothes, but would have fit in just fine. A hobgoblin, an elf, and two ur-men.”
I surveyed the crest of the low ridge. Beyond it lay the College of Valethucia, and likely, the four assailants.
“But you have no idea why they’re looking for me? Or why they destroyed your research?”
“None at all. It all happened in the blink of an eye. Interrupted an important message, too.”
I was more concerned now that I knew they were mercenaries than I had been when I assumed they were working for Vindaya. Who could have sent them? And why?
Better yet, what would they do once they found me?
I blinked back a nervous giggle. It turned into a spasm. I coughed.
An entire Kov leaf and I still couldn’t keep it under control…
“Well, my friend, it seems like the only thing we can do is head back and alert the Council,” I said, hitching up my frayed rope belt. “Otherwise we’ll just be stuck in this field all night. That won’t do.”
“Go back? With those thugs still prowling? They are clearly adept in counter-magick. I didn’t even have a moment to react!” Avaxenon protested as I walked back toward the co
llege.
Avaxenon was a great orator; a wise elf who knew much of scrying and the dreamscape. But he was no warrior. And neither was I.
“That’s right,” I replied. “You had no time to react. But I will not be reacting. I will be acting.”
I started walking toward the college.
“Bram! Don’t be rash. If you do anything crazy they’ll banish you for certain. Show them you aren’t mad. Show them you’re not unhinged!” Avaxenon called after me.
But I didn’t turn around. I kept walking. As I did another laugh tried to escape from my throat.
And this time I didn’t stop it.
13
Ortham
My knee ached. I rubbed it, stretched it. My ankle hurt, too. And my ribs. Many parts of me ached in the morning these days.
The ankle and ribs were from last time I travelled through the Weeping Hills; the low folk ambush that nearly killed me. It’s a miracle I had survived any of that. The ambush, the fight with Jolthar, the battle at Ithtine. Now only the scars remained, the aching bones. The sour memories.
Perhaps with time it would all fade, fade away like memories of home.
I didn’t ever think of home anymore, not since entering Auvale. Did that little sod house still stand? Did the field out back still flood each winter? It took me a whole summer to build that little sod house. That was years ago now. It felt like a lifetime since then. Many lifetimes, even. I had lived a whole life as a whole other being, as Mister Morath, as a mercenary mage.
And now it meant nothing at all. Just dust in the wind.
I stretched my aching knee.
It was a cooler morning, despite it being midsummer; mist hung heavy in the air. Maybe that’s why I ached.
The sun had not yet risen over Plin Oèn. The four of us, Dawn, myself, Herace, and Majira had left early the day prior and arrived late last night at Herace’s estate. It was a beautiful piece of land, from what little I could see; I wondered just how big it was.
I looked back to the towered keep. It sat on a sweeping hillock, surrounded by swaying grass, which in turn was surrounded by dense forest. Further on lay a small village.
Day of the Hunt (The Faun Quartet Book 2) Page 10