Moira looked at me with an expression of surprise. “Why not?”
“I would destroy my hand doing that,” I said with a flat stare in her direction.
“Too bad, that lesson had two parts, the first being a crash course in healing yourself. Obviously you’ve spent a lot of time applying your powers in various situations. In my time a mage of your age was usually a lot less experienced in such matters.”
“I’ve been forced by circumstances,” I told her.
She smiled, “That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Very well let’s move to the more practical application. Listen to the stone… and pay attention to it carefully.”
Despite what I had already undergone with the voices of the wind and the earth it hadn’t really occurred to me that something as small and innocuous as a rock might have its own voice. Some of the books I had found in my father’s library had discussed the matter of sentience and existence… concluding that the very nature of ‘existing’ included a certain amount of awareness. Inanimate objects were alive in a sense, which is why the earth had a voice, though its awareness was completely foreign to the human mind.
What I hadn’t really considered was the full ramifications of that fact… it meant that even small objects, such as this stone, had their own limited awareness… though it might be very minimal. I stared at the rock for several moments before asking, “Is that possible, to hear something so small?”
Her blue stone eyes reflected the light of the afternoon sun, giving her an eerie look for a moment. “Yes it is possible. You must be careful in how you do it though; listen and make the stone a part of yourself, like an extra hand or arm. Do not let yourself become the stone. You must make it a part of you, not the whole of you.”
I laughed at the thought. “Surely I couldn’t become something like this.”
There was no humor in her expression. “You could.”
“Is it difficult to return from a state like that?” I asked. Her seriousness was sobering.
“What do you think the chances are that the stone in your hand will suddenly decide to become a human being?” she replied.
“Oh.”
“Stop thinking about it and listen. Clear your mind and focus on the stone. Don’t be dismayed if it takes a while, just listen,” she repeated.
I did as I was told. Hopefully no one would tell Penny that, she might take it as a hopeful sign. The most difficult part was ‘clearing’ my mind. In the past when I had listened to the earth, or even the wind, it wasn’t very hard. Both of those things were large and in their own way very loud… finding the voice of one small stone, amidst the background noise of everything around me… that was a different matter entirely. I never did succeed in clearing my mind, not completely anyway, but I didn’t need to. Soon after I began to focus and clear my mind of its usual clutter I started to hear the voice of the stone in my hand. It wasn’t particularly well defined, but once I started paying attention it was fairly easy to find. “I can hear it,” I announced.
“Are you sure?” my strange companion asked.
“Yes, I wouldn’t have told you if I wasn’t,” I replied in annoyance.
“Listen carefully and include its voice within your own. Make it a part of your own self. Once you can identify with it I want you to change it,” she said.
“Change it in what way?”
“Any way you wish,” she clarified.
Typical, I thought. “Thanks for your guidance,” I said dryly, and then I got serious. Focusing I listened until the stone did indeed feel as if it were an extension of my own being. It was a curious sensation, but it felt completely natural. It was only afterward, when I had withdrawn myself that it seemed strange to me.
Once I had made the stone a part of myself I tried to think of something interesting to do with it. The most obvious thing would be to cause it to relax… which would result in it falling apart like sand. I think that is what my new ‘teacher’ expected. Given my contrary nature I decided to try and surprise her. Drawing on past experiences I thought of the first time I had experienced my gifts as a mage, the day I had saved Star from the river. On a whim I coaxed the stone into reshaping itself, molding it to resemble my memory of the beautiful horse. It was a shape far more delicate than you might expect to see in stone, especially at that scale.
I had done similar things frequently with metal, using my power to help shape the metal in my hands but this was different. It still required the use of my imagination, but there was no sensation of effort. I did not force the change myself, I asked… no I showed the stone my vision and it obliged me by taking that form for itself. When I had finished I looked up to see Moira’s reaction. “How is that?”
Her face was impassive, “Very good, better than most when they first attempt it.” Though she gave little outward sign I could sense a feeling of shock in her. She hadn’t expected what I had done. More importantly, she was trying to avoid letting me know I had surprised her.
“How good?” I asked pointedly.
“Too good,” she admitted. “You’re a danger to yourself.”
“I’ve heard that before,” I chuckled wryly. “I didn’t like it then and I still don’t.”
“This is no laughing matter. You need a meillte, several in fact, so they can rest. In my day someone like you would have at least three,” she declared.
“Why three? I don’t see the advantage of having more than one.”
“There isn’t for you. It gives them the opportunity to rest. Three would be enough that one could keep an eye on your mental state at all times, even while you slept,” she explained.
“That seems excessive, what would I do while sleeping?”
“Probably nothing, but possibly anything.”
“How many of these ‘miellte’ did you have?” I asked.
“Two… I wasn’t judged sensitive enough to warrant a watcher while I slept. The last archmage to require three was my friend, Gareth Gaelyn,” she said promptly.
That seemed odd. Gareth Gaelyn had supposedly been defeated in battle with Balinthor, while Moira later went on to defeat the dark god, yet he had required more watchers? That doesn’t make sense, I thought. “If he was more powerful why did he fail… where you succeeded?” As I said it I immediately realized it was rude, but sometimes my mouth gets the best of me.
“Power… you have to stop thinking like that! An archmage does not possess power! He becomes power. Because of this no archmage is intrinsically more powerful than another; the difference lies in the ease with which they can adapt themselves. Gareth’s talent made him a brilliant shape-shifter, something most archmages avoid. It also made it easy for him to attempt something that would have daunted a mage with more caution, someone more aware of their own limits!” she spat out angrily.
“I did not meant to offend,” I hastily apologized. At the same time I was mentally reviewing what she had said. Shape-shifting wasn’t something I had read of in the few books I had had a chance to study so far. The term was intriguing, while also being frightening in its implications. I stayed silent for a while before speaking again, “If you don’t mind telling me… what did he do?”
She watched me for a moment, as if considering her words. “We were being driven from the Kingdom of Garulon. It was the first time we had met the shiggreth and they were something of a surprise for us. Balinthor had kept them hidden from us until that day and they overwhelmed our defense of the capital. Because we had not faced such creatures before we had no idea what they could do… or how to fight them. We lost the city and the army routed. Thousands died in the span of a few hours and those of us still able to keep order withdrew, seeking to escape the chaos. The fear and despair drove Gareth to attempt something radical. He was desperate or he would never have done it.” She stopped then and turned her back on me, as if to hide her face. Despite her alien body her demeanor was entirely human, as were the emotions I felt running through her.
I waited.
“He b
ecame a dragon,” she said at last.
Apparently I had used up my supply of ‘wisdom’ because in my surprise I interrupted, “I thought dragons were only fairy tales.”
“They are, or rather, they were… until that day. Gareth had always been fascinated with the stories. In a moment of desperation he sought to create the beasts he had dreamed of from the stories of childhood. I am not sure if his fear and anger twisted his imagination, or if it was purely a foolish thing to begin with, but the dragon he became was a creature of fury and destruction. It tore into the enemy, tossing them about as if they were dolls, incinerating those it could not reach with its claws. Very few of the shiggreth that had come against us survived, and even the avatar of Balinthor left the field, rather than face the dragon directly.”
“The history book I found did not mention any of this,” I said.
“I doubt any of the scholars would have written of it. The shame of it stained his memory. Before that day Gareth had been well respected and loved by all that knew him,” she replied.
“But it sounds as if he succeeded. What went wrong?” I already had a fair inkling of what she might tell me, but I wanted to hear it in her own words.
“After he had killed as many of the enemy as he could find he turned on what was left of the defenders of Garulon. He slaughtered friend and foe alike. Few survived, apart from those I was able to hide.”
I had expected something tragic. If anything it helped put my own experiences in perspective, especially the end of the recent war with Gododdin. At least I didn’t kill my own people, I thought. “What happened after that?” I asked finally.
“We hid for days, waiting for the dragon to leave, but the creature was cunning. Like a cat it waited, catching those who revealed themselves. Eventually, when I felt him leave I emerged from my hiding place in the earth and gathered up those few others who had managed to escape. The dragon that had been Gareth was gone. Whether it still lives or died long ago I have no idea.”
We talked for a short while after that, but our conversation had taken on a dark tone and I had lost my enthusiasm for it. Eventually I decided to return to the castle. I had had enough of dark tales and tragic endings. My own life had nearly become one after all.
“I need to return, do you mind if we continue talking at another time?” I asked.
“No need to be polite Mordecai. I am only an echo, turn your attention aside and I practically cease to exist. Call me when you would speak again,” she answered. With a wry smile she sank into the earth and as quickly as she had come, she was gone again.
Dusting the leaves from my trousers I headed back toward the keep, people would be looking for me by now.
Chapter 6
That evening Marc explained his plan to visit the capital to everyone over dinner. Dorian and Penny had been relieved simply to see him attending the evening meals again so the news that he would be traveling was rather disappointing for them. Still we were all glad to know he was beginning to find a new purpose for his life.
Dorian had many a question for him regarding his reason for exploring my father’s library but Rose was strangely quiet throughout the meal, quietly picking at her venison. Considering her usual chattiness I couldn’t help but wonder at her reticence.
“So how long do you think you’ll be gone?” asked Dorian. As he spoke he skillfully cut a large joint of meat from a serving platter before passing it along.
Marc smiled, lighting his features with a warmth that made it seem as if his recent depression couldn’t possibly have been real. “A while my friend, after I finish there I plan to travel a bit… see if I can get access to some of the records kept by the various churches.”
Dorian still wasn’t comfortable with the fact that Marc had rejected his goddess. The Thornbear family had been followers of the Lady of the Evening Star for many generations and despite what both of us had told him he still seemed to feel that the goddess must have some good reason for her refusal to help. Deep down I’m sure he secretly hoped that Marcus would reconcile with Millicenth. “Are you trying to figure out why she did what she did?” he said.
“Partly,” answered Marc. He knew better than to voice his desire for vengeance against the gods. It would only upset Dorian and ruin the meal.
Dorian snorted, “’Partly’ isn’t much of an answer… why don’t you just spit out what you’re thinking?” Sometimes Dorian could be more perceptive than people expected from such a massive man.
Rose interrupted before I could, “Dorian don’t badger him! He’s been through a lot, let him enjoy his food.”
“I wasn’t badgering him,” Dorian groused. “I’m just tired of not hearing what’s on people’s minds.”
Marcus spoke up earnestly, “Look Dorian I’m not trying to shut you out. I just need to get away. This gives me something to do and a reason to travel.” I marveled at how sincere the half-truth sounded coming from my friend.
“When do you plan on going?” Rose asked suddenly.
“Tonight if Mort doesn’t mind teleporting me,” Marc answered immediately.
We had already discussed this earlier so I simply nodded my head in agreement. “Would you mind taking a note to my father for me?” asked Rose. “I haven’t seen him in months and I’m sure he must be worried.”
“Certainly Rose,” Marc agreed quickly.
She thanked him and the rest of our meal went quietly after that. I caught Rose looking at me once or twice but she looked away whenever I caught her staring. Even with my advantage in sensing emotions I had no idea what was on her mind. Rose Hightower was a complex puzzle that I had long ago despaired of understanding. It was clear though that she was curious about something.
After we had finished eating I walked with Marc back to his room to gather his things, and then I accompanied him to the teleportation circle I had set to match the one in my house back in Albamarl. He glanced at me in surprise as I stepped onto it with him. “You don’t have to come with me.”
“Yes I do. I have to tell the house to tolerate your presence. Didn’t I ever tell you what happened to Rose that time she went exploring the library without me?” I said. It turned out that somehow I had neglected to relate that tale to him. Consequently we both got a chuckle as I relived the story with him. The part where the golem had Rose upside down left him in stitches.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about that before,” he remarked as we stepped off the circle in my house in Albamarl.
“I guess I was busy. A lot did happen after all,” I replied. In point of fact the events we were discussing had been only a few months prior, but now looking back it seemed as if years had passed. I went through the house and made sure it would let him enter and exit through the front door in my absence. I also made particular effort to ensure that the golem in the library would allow him to look through the books without interference. “Are you sure you’ll be alright here by yourself?” I asked again for probably the tenth time.
Marc laughed, “I’ll be fine Mort… and if I’m not, you’ll be the first to know.” He emphasized the last part.
“I’ll be back in a few days for my meeting with the king,” I repeated again. “When you go deliver Rose’s note to Lord Hightower don’t let them see your face. Just leave it with the doorman. I’d rather no one knows how easy it is for us to enter and leave the city until after I visit the king.”
“I doubt he’s forgotten your visit to his warehouses already,” said Marc sardonically.
“That’s certain, but he may not realize I still have a means of entering and leaving other than the circle that was in James Lancaster’s storehouse,” I said.
“True enough,” Marc replied. “I’ll keep that in mind. Never fear, no one will know I’ve returned to the city for at least a few weeks.”
After that I said my farewells and returned to Cameron Castle. Penelope was waiting for me when I got back to our rooms. As soon as I entered she looked up, she had been combing out her hair in
preparation for bed.
“Already back?” she asked.
I would have thought that was obvious but I decided not to be a smart ass. “Nothing could keep me from your side my dear!” I said chivalrously.
“You say that now. Wait till I get fat… I’m already starting to show,” she announced with a mixture of pride and trepidation.
“Really?” I asked with a healthy interest.
“Look,” she said standing up and smoothing her nightdress. She stood sideways in front of a full length mirror that had been a gift from Genevieve Lancaster. Sure enough there was a distinct protrusion of her belly. There were also more interesting changes.
I stepped up behind her and put one arm around her waist, feeling the modest swelling of her midriff. “That’s not all that’s grown,” I announced as I brought my other hand up to cup her breast in a familiar manner.
“I despair of you ever growing up,” she said with a smile, and then she leaned her head back to engage me in a rather distracting kiss.
Sometime later she nudged me; I had almost fallen asleep in the bed. “Do you think our baby will be happy?” she asked with a note of uncertainty.
I tried to focus my thoughts. I have never been sure why she always wanted to talk ‘afterward’ but I had learned to accept it. Personally I had begun to suspect it was because she knew I was less likely to dissemble and more likely to answer honestly. “I hope so,” I replied, “but the future is never certain. And you should say, ‘our son’,” I added.
“Are you really sure about that? I couldn’t have been more than a month along when you healed me,” she said.
“Is it so hard to believe? I never question your visions,” I told her.
She snorted, “That’s because they’re always right, and you don’t have that gift… how can you be sure?”
“I’m sure,” I answered. “You’re just feeling nervous because you haven’t had any visions to confirm what I said.”
“That’s not true!” she answered self-righteously, “I’m just nervous. If I decorate the nursery for a boy and we have a girl you’re going to be in trouble.” She poked me in the ribs as she said it.
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