Disciple, Part I: For Want of a Piglet

by L. Blankenship

  Around me, brilliant tendrils arced up from the fount, traced across me briefly, and fell back. I called again, and a few more shot out to answer. No surprise I felt buoyant and alert; I brimmed with power.

  Blood. Do it right, this time. I focused on Anders’ meridian, on his artery and the blood inside, and shaped the kir to match its rushing, whirling pattern. Poured it into him. All of it. It felt like wind, or rushing water, that funneled down to a pinprick at the tips of my fingers and into his artery.

  A ragged gasp, and Anders lurched up. Then he wobbled and fell back against Kiefan.

  I blinked, dazed by how much I’d spent. A lot of kir made less blood than I’d have thought. The pool’s light was gone, its twinkle dulled — though not lost entirely. I could feel kir creeping back into the spring, when I called to it. It would be some time before it was strong again.

  “Pull him out. I’ll stitch the rest,” I said.

  “M’lady,” the captain breathed, eyes wide. “The Shepherd had him. You —”

  From my bag, I dug out a blood-stop and tossed it to Kiefan. “For his arm. Do you need one?” I reached for needle and catgut, and a cleansing charm.

  Anders’ kir patterns still glowed clearly from the washing, making the job of matching torn edges easier. Someone stuffed a blanket under his head and Kiefan left us both to confer with the captain. I sewed carefully, matching grain to grain as I had when a peasant’s hatchet had slipped onto his calf while chopping wood. Anders’ knuckles gripped white on his cloak.

  I ought to have given him a knock-out. Still failing, even in success. “I’m sorry,” I told him.

  He laughed, and the tension rolled out of him for a moment. “I’m alive,” he said. “I’m the last one you’ll need to apologize to.”

  Chapter 13

  They found Ulf. What the lamia left of him.

  “Just a few dozen yards off,” the woodsman reported, gesturing past the roots of the grandfather tree. “He put up a good fight, it looks. Followed a blood trail and found one of them half-dead with his knife in its side.”

  We all looked up as a second archer passed by, hauling a dead weight: the lamia. Blood darkened its fur, and the final arrow quivered from the dragging.

  “Men’re wrapping him up to bring. Something to bury, that’s good. Something for his wife and the boys.” The woodsman nodded.

  “I’ll speak to Baron Eismann,” Kiefan said, voice low as he tracked the dead lamia. “His widow, and Bjorn’s, will be looked after.”

  Two armsmen picked up Ilya’s blanket-wrapped body from the hollow we’d sheltered in. My throat tightened, again. They carried him to their own pack horse, slung him over and followed that with ropes.

  I stood in the eye of all their activity — seeing to the dead, collecting lamia fangs, filling water skins at the fount — reluctant to move. They asked nothing of me, in any case. I was still full of kir, but the sleepless night and healing Anders left me brain-weary. Unfocused. After the long day’s battle at Ansehen, I’d felt this and my master had warned me not to try any charms. Having felt kir slip my fingers, I knew why now.

  Two more men came from the brush, carrying a tarp wrapped and tied around — too small a bundle. Too thin. And despite the oilskin, it dripped. My stomach twisted, thinking of those two arrows that had helped me escape. But at least we could bring Ulf home.

  “Did you see the cougar?” I asked Kiefan, as we rode down the trail.

  “Cougar?” He frowned. “Here? Ulf said lamia drive out any competition.”

  “I saw a cougar on the trail. A lamia had chased us down, and the cougar destroyed it. When he looked at me, I had to follow — and he was leading the scouts.”

  “He was, m’lady,” the captain put in. “If I may.” He slowed his horse from a few steps ahead of us, twisting in his saddle.

  “You followed a cougar up this trail?” Kiefan frowned.

  The man breathed a laugh, shaking his head. “When a cat walks into your camp during last watch and tosses your bow to you, m’lord, you snap to attention. I’ll swear to Father Duty he had a man’s hands, when he did it. Not a one of us hasn’t heard the stories — Saint Aleksandr can wear a cougar’s skin when he pleases — but we never thought to see it. Yes, we followed him, and glad we did.”

  I’d heard more of Saint Aleksandr the craftsman, castle-builder, bridge-raiser, but I had no reason to doubt the captain. “We’re in his debt, then,” I said.

  Kiefan nodded at that. “But I never saw the cougar. Only you riding up, Kate. You stopped my heart for a moment."

  “Father Duty must’ve been watching. You’ve barely a mark on you,” I said. Some tooth-scratches on his forearms, a few sore spots, and nothing more. His woolens had suffered, but not his skin.

  He had no answer for it. “They didn't lack in trying.”

  We rode for Vorspitz as quickly as the horses could manage. I’d wanted Anders carried on a litter for the trip, so as not to worsen his wound, but he’d refused and Kiefan wanted to be home as quick as we could. Anders rode tied to one of the scouts — and he hadn’t much liked that either, but the grumbling had stopped once the riding worsened his pain.

  We made good time and pushed on past dark to reach the town. Baron Eismann waited at his gate, lantern in hand, to greet us. I was so exhausted I nearly fell from the saddle; a stable-boy caught me. Soon as my feet touched the ground, I saw Eismann’s physician crossing the gate-yard at a run.

  I knew her face, and she knew mine; we all had Saint Qadeem’s memory Blessing. Anders lay groggy against his scout’s back, and needed careful untying and pulling down. I could smell the blood on his bandage as soon as they laid him on a blanket. The physician put a hand on him, called his pattern, and told the men to wait when they began to pick him up.

  Putting my hand by hers, I saw the damage too. “He tore the stitches.”

  “Men.” She pursed her mouth and wove her kir into a charm. The top layer of muscle was worst off — and he’d torn the skin’s stitches too. Anders hissed through his teeth as his flesh shifted under the charm.

  “I’ll re-stitch his skin,” I said, reaching into my bag.

  “Let me help. You’re worn to a shade,” she said, through her focus on the charm. “Did he… was his meridian torn? You mended that before he bled out?”

  I nodded. Her brows rose and she nodded slowly. “Small wonder the Elect apprenticed you.”

  The men stood waiting; I could re-stitch Anders inside, with a lamp at hand. When the physician gestured for them to carry him in, I stood along with her. The weight of my bag on my right shoulder, so I could reach in with my left, twisted a sharp breath out of me.

  Her hand touched me, called my pattern. “You should’ve told me,” she chided. “Come inside. They’ve kept some mulled cider on the fire. Let me dull that so you can sleep, at least.”

  Across the gate-yard, as I went, I saw Kiefan and Baron Eismann looking at Ther Boristan’s notebook from the document bag. Then Kiefan closed it with a nod, and the Baron gave a few orders to the captain at hand. They followed us inside. I hoped, for a moment, Kiefan might stop, ask about Anders or me — but they strode on with business to see to. Plans to make.

  As they should. I pressed my lips together and looked away. Kiefan was the prince, after all. I had a patient to see to.

  I sipped a cup of mulled cider as I re-stitched and re-bandaged, and then a maid led me straight to bed. I dropped onto the mattress fully clothed and instantly slept.

  A hand shook me awake far too early. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we're home,” Kiefan said.

  He was right, but I couldn’t help a wince as I sat up; my shoulder stabbed pain at the least weight on it. My eyelids were made of lead. And another day’s —

  Kiefan kissed my cheek. I turned toward him, startled, as he leaned back. His mouth twisted to one side, for a heartbeat. “Word’s been sent to my father. We’re expected,” he murmured, and stood.

  I nodded and got up.

>   Kiefan took the baron aside again over breakfast. I wolfed down eggs and bread and cheese while the physician checked on Anders again. I had my days’ ration of kir, and could charm my shoulder a little more. Enough that it wouldn’t pain me all day. It needed a fresh bandage, too. The physician strengthened the stitches in Anders’ thigh, but it was too large a wound for her to mend entirely. She didn't think he should ride.

  There wasn’t much that could stop him once he was full of breakfast, though. I followed Anders into the stable and hugged Puck good-bye around his thick neck. He was more interested in the apple that Anders had smuggled out for him, and I would have understood if Puck had been glad to see us leave without him.

  Eismann sent a small escort of the Prince’s Guard with us and we changed horses at each village along the way. The frosty morning warmed nicely, but the trees were turning to gold and red. Fields were now half-harvested and stacks of oats stood drying.

  Ahead, Mount Woden loomed, snow-capped already, the city on its flank wreathed in chimney smoke. On the jutting promontory, the pale granite castle perched with watchtowers craning to take in the entire broad valley. A little downslope, the neatly arrayed roofs of the Order’s campus reminded me of the routine I’d be back to soon enough: patching up patients in the hospital, preparing medicines, studying my master's books, eating in the common hall.

  I stole a look at Kiefan, riding a little ahead with his eyes fixed on the castle towers. His home.

  I gripped my reins tighter, casting my eyes down with a heavy heart.

  Appendix

  Calendar of Moons

  Each moon is four seven-day weeks, covering one complete turn of the Shepherd moon from new to full and back. The last day of the moon falls on the new (dark) moon. The full moon falls in the middle, and equinoxes or solstices tend to land on the waning half-moon. Once, moons began and ended on Saint-days, but the system is old enough that things have shifted — it pre-dates Wodenberg’s saints by quite a bit.

  Number: Moon, Event

  1: Bitter Moon

  2: Ice Moon

  3: Slush Moon, Spring equinox, Kiefan’s Lambing-day on the 25th

  4: Spring Moon

  5: Field Moon

  6: Warm Moon, Summer solstice

  7: Summer Moon

  8: Fruit Moon, Kate’s Lambing-day on the 18th

  9: Grain Moon, Autumn equinox

  10: Leaf Moon

  11: Hunter’s Moon, Jousting tournament starts on the first, Anders’ Lambing-day on the 11th

  12: Snow Moon, Winter solstice, a new year begins

  Lambing-day

  One’s Lambing-day is the first Saint-day after you were born. If you were born on Saint-day, you were Lambed on the next one. The infant is presented to the Mother and Father, and then the entire Flock of a given Orderhaus before the communal meal. Everyone greets the new lamb with a kiss. Traditionally, relatives and friends bring extra sweets for the meal.

  Lambing-days are marked with sweets or small gifts, but they aren’t significant until a child reaches twelve and is ready for Blessing by the saints.

  On Ranking Kir-mages

  Laypeople

  Nine of ten people have little or no gift for kir. Perhaps eight of those ten can learn one small charm if they set their mind to it, but no more than that. These folk can only feel concentrations of kir if they are very strong (as in a fount or a highly charged kir-mage) and close by. They can retain a small amount of kir if they are given it through a bond or they drink it from a fount’s water. Any more than that will overflow and return to the earth.

  Laypeople’s overall kir-pattern is the baseline for comparison; on sounding, their kir gives a single, short note like a silver bell.

  One in ten people cannot use any kir at all, and are not even able to activate charms bound in small objects.

  Disciples

  Six in a hundred people are able to master a handful of small charms, usually within a certain area of talent such as healing, combat, or crafting in a particular medium. For example, a low-level healer may know: blood-stop, cleansing, how to patch small areas of kir, and how to untangle pain knots. A low-level fighter may be able to sharpen their reflexes, briefly, strike with unusual force, and resist cuts and bruises with a skin-level kir-shield.

  These six disciples can hold a bit more kir than laypeople, and the overall kir-pattern inherent in their bodies is a little denser, a little stronger. On sounding, their kir may give two notes, and will last a little longer. Two heartbeats, perhaps. The difference is subtle, admittedly. Advanced disciples — through skill or experience — may attain a full chord of three notes.

  Blessed

  Three or four in a hundred have the talent to be counted blessed. All of the Wodenberg enhancements are examples of one blessed-level charm — a true blessed would have two or maybe three such abilities, and a handful of lesser ones. At this level, the use of kir begins to creep out of the tidy groupings that people like to put kir-mages in. Someone who has largely focused on combat may, at this level, also show some talent for mending, or crafting, or shape-shifting.

  The person at this level knows that kir charms are not simple formulas, and can be extemporized to some degree. How successful they will be at trying new things, making it up as they go, etc., varies. They will find their limits, sometimes disastrously.

  A blessed, when sounded, will give three notes, maybe four, and sustain for as many heartbeats.

  An example of the generalizing of kir ability is the Captain of the King’s Guard, Aleksandra Rytsarova. In addition to her saint-given speed and anticipation Blessings, which gave her a head start to her full flowering of ability, she can shield herself with kir, charm her sword, and wields a full complement of ‘household’ charms — spark, flame-snuffing, mending torn fabric, sharpening blades, etc.

  Elect

  The defining sign of an elect is the ability to draw free kir from other people (barring resistance) and to cast charms on others without touching them.

  An elect has a deeper understanding of kir and it responds to him accordingly. Charms become large, complex things affecting the full body. They can collect and hold large amounts of kir, and diffuse it to avoid detection. Grouping elect becomes even more difficult, as they often have multiple areas of expertise.

  It’s often said that the only limits on a kir-mage are inborn ability and his own wit; the elect are in a position to truly explore the limits of that.

  Because of their scarcity and power, politics and control play strongly in the life of an elect. Saints seek them out and bind them, offering training and a steady supply of kir in exchange for loyalty and protection. They often function as gate-keepers for the saints, and as such are the focus of all the kingdom’s responsibilities — and luxuries — alongside whatever rulership there may be. Power corrupts, after all, and elect can live for centuries.

  Saints

  The pinnacle of mastery is both a gift and a curse.

  Saints tend to say little about what they’re truly capable of, but this much is known: a saint is one who can bind a fount to himself. Thus, the full power of one or more wellsprings of kir are always at his command. And therefore, saints seek out founts, guard them jealously, and surround themselves with kingdoms for further defense.

  This is because a saint can be cut off from his fount if another saint severs the binding — which can be done at the source. A saint with no fount is far from helpless, but he’s much more vulnerable.

  Furthermore, saints target each other in order to harvest their accumulated wisdom and charms. This applies to elect as well — blessed are generally not sufficiently interesting to harvest — and further thins the ranks of the weak, insecure or slow-witted.

  Exactly how many saints there are, in the world, cannot be said for certain as they can hide their kir and walk among laypeople undetected.

  Index of characters, Part I.

  Alphabetical by family name, then given name. No spoilers.


  WODENBERG

  Saint Aleksandr, of the Wodenberg Trinity. Crafter and shifter.

  Biya, Ter of the Order. Elect Parselev’s surgery assistant.

  Anders Bockmann, knight, Master of Horse to the Prince's Guard, two-time champion of the king’s jousting tournament. Bastard son of King Wilhelm and Baroness Frida Bockmann. Currently nineteen, soon to be twenty.

  Brauer, knight and sergeant of the Prince’s Guard.

  Kate Carpenter, Physician of Wodenberg. Student of the Elect, recently graduated to Physician. Recently turned sixteen.

  Meinrad Eismann, knight and Baron of Vorspitz. Advises and provisions the mission. Has a wife and several children, including a teenaged daughter.

  Adalrich Haken, knight and duke of Alemannia. Son of King Wilhelm’s younger sister, and Kiefan’s only cousin. Kate amputated his foot at the battle of Ansehen.

  Harold, apprentice blacksmith. Kate was betrothed to him, briefly.

  Holly, Ter of the Order. Nurse and a friend of Kate’s.

  Mechdan Parselev, bound Elect of Saint Qadeem, in service of Wodenberg. Physician of the Order. Attends the royal family as well.

  Saint Qadeem, of the Wodenberg Trinity. Philosopher saint.

  Ilya Rabskov, servant in Castle Kaltkern. Sent on the mission as a general handyman.

  Aleksandra Rytsarova, knight and Captain of the King’s Guard. Prince Kiefan served as her squire.

  Tomas Seagrace, knight and duke of Englia. Married Kiefan’s older sister and has two sons.

  Bjornhardt Schutze, knight and margrave of Knapptal. Nearly died in the first battle with Arcea’s forces.

  Boristan Tolstyev, Ther of the Order. Personal secretary to the abbot. Sent on the mission to document events.

  Stanislaus Vysokov, knight and duke of Russe.