by Nat Russo
“We?”
“The Hall of Power may demand I pay the price,” Gormala said. “Perhaps both of us. There is no way to know until it is paid in full.”
“What was the price you paid when you Awakened?” Kaitlyn asked.
“That is an inappropriate question.”
Judging by her reaction, Nicolas got the feeling that was similar to one necromancer asking another how many symbols of power they had. A priest didn’t talk about that unless they trusted the other person. A lot.
“Do you have an object you hold dear?” Gormala asked.
Kaitlyn looked at Nicolas, then pulled out a small cross hanging from a delicate gold chain under her shirt. The cross was gold as well. It was the one Nicolas had given her before they were engaged. They’d gotten into the habit of looking through the church’s gift shop after mass, and she’d always spend a few minutes admiring it.
“The cruciform,” Gormala said. “An ancient symbol of power, and a good choice.”
That got Nicolas’s attention. First the similarity in religious architecture between Erindor and Earth, and now this?
“You know that symbol?” Nicolas asked.
“For some it symbolizes life. For others, vengeance and death. It depends upon the culture and age in which you ask the question. Let’s begin. Call to mind your Hall of Power.”
Kaitlyn closed her eyes. “I see it. Two doors. Blue and Red.”
“Given that Siek Lamil brought you to me, I assume you see the disembodied head floating beyond the blue door.”
“Yes.”
“Good. This will be your path from now on.”
“Will I ever see what’s beyond the red door?”
“Perhaps,” Gormala said. “You may enter it in the future if you wish. If you can. But remember that any test beyond the red door is a test outside of your natural abilities. Therefore, the likelihood of failure is high.”
“What happens if I fail?”
“A meaningless question. If you fail, you will not live long enough to perceive anything happening.”
“Okay,” Kaitlyn said. “No red door.”
“I will take your hand,” Gormala said. “When you step through the blue door, I will guide the disembodied head to dissolve into your mind. It will become the substratum in which you mold new realities.”
“Wait,” Nicolas said. “No attack? No confusion? No…bad acid trip that involves a stinking, fire-breathing skull?”
Gormala took Kaitlyn’s hand in hers. “Step through the door when you are ready.”
Kaitlyn leaned back slightly and Gormala smiled.
“That’s it,” Gormala said. “I will perform the Awakening now. You’re going to feel light-headed as the symbol dissolves. When it passes, you will feel a new construct in your mind. That is when you may collapse the Hall of Power. And when you do, I want you to create an image of something that brings you great peace. Touch your cruciform symbol—it must come into contact with your skin—and send the image into it.”
“Why?”
“It will provide focus for more complex tasks in the future. I’ll teach you after the Awakening.”
Kaitlyn reached out and grabbed the arm of the bench. It must have begun. A moment later, she winced, then smiled.
“It’s…strange,” Kaitlyn said. “It’s like air rushing around my brain.”
“It is nearly complete,” Gormala said. “You are doing splendidly. Allow the energy to dissipate.” She tilted her head to the side. “That’s it. Now, I will tie off the flow of ethereal—”
Gormala gasped.
“I feel something in my mind,” Kaitlyn said. “It’s like a…you remember those pin art toys back home, Nick? The ones where you’d press your hand into them and it would leave a perfect impression? It feels like that, only…huge. And the pins are smaller, and closer together. It’s like I could make an impression of an entire building in it.”
Gormala stood, but she wobbled. Her eyes, which had remained pointing forward until now, spun backward in their sockets, and she collapsed to the floor.
“Gormala!” Nicolas yelled.
Nicolas knelt beside Gormala and tried to find her pulse. But he wasn’t sure where to look. In all his time in Aquonome, they’d never taught him anything of cichlos anatomy. One thing was certain, though: he hadn’t felt a rush of necropotency. Gormala must be alive.
“What happened?” Kait said.
“Siek!” Nicolas yelled. The outer door dilated and Lamil and Toridyn entered.
“One second she was there, in my mind,” Kaitlyn said. “The next, she was gone! Faded!”
“They’ll help her,” Nicolas said.
As Lamil knelt next to Gormala, a powerful wave of energy struck Nicolas and funneled down into his well of power. He turned toward Gormala and found Lamil and Toridyn staring back at him.
“No,” Nicolas said.
“Why are they stopping?” Kaitlyn asked. She stepped toward Gormala, but Nicolas took her hand gently in his.
“It’s too late,” Nicolas said. “She’s gone.”
“How do you know? They’re not even…” Kaitlyn lowered her head. “What am I saying? Of course you know.”
“Sab Toridyn,” Lamil said. “Inform the others.”
“Yes, Siek,” Toridyn said. He spun and jogged from the room.
Nicolas led Kaitlyn back to the bench and sat.
Kaitlyn stared at the ground with a blank expression.
“Gormala told you to do something after the Awakening,” Nicolas said. “With your cross. Remember?”
Kaitlyn nodded and clutched at the cross.
“She said she’d teach me after,” Kaitlyn said.
“We’ll figure it out,” Nicolas said. “There have to be other enchanters.”
Kaitlyn let go of the golden cross and it fell against her chest. “It’s done.”
Nicolas hadn’t sensed anything. “You…did something with it?”
“Exactly what she told me to do. I imagined something peaceful and sent the image into the cross.”
“You mean…just like that? No struggling, no almost killing yourself, no nothing?”
“You should know. You’ve been through an Awakening too. Why? Did you have problems at first?”
Nicolas pursed his lips. “Nope. Not a one.”
Lamil harrumphed and stood.
Three cichlos priests Nicolas didn’t know entered the room and carried Gormala away.
“That poor woman,” Kaitlyn said. “She told us there’d be a price to pay. I never thought it would be this.”
Kaitlyn crossed herself and rested her hand on Nicolas’s wrist, but she drew back as if she’d been shocked by static electricity.
“No problems Awakening, huh?” Kaitlyn said. “How many times did you pass out, mister not a one? Mujahid was right to be upset. You didn’t raise his friend properly.” She scooted farther back in her seat. “Whoa, that was a big bug. Its arms were swords?”
Nicolas snapped his gaze toward Kaitlyn. Her eyes were as wide as his felt.
“How do you know all that?” Nicolas asked. When Mujahid led him through his Awakening, Nicolas had lost consciousness while raising a penitent. The penitent—a skeletal warrior—had been Mujahid’s old friend. Mujahid had to summon a warrior of his own and destroy the uncontrolled skeleton, sending his own friend back to the Plane of Death. He’d gotten quite angry with Nicolas after that.
Kaitlyn blinked several times and her eyes came back into focus.
“I don’t know,” Kaitlyn said. “When I touched you, I saw a bunch of things. No, that’s not exactly right. I felt a bunch of things. Knew a bunch of things. Can I try something? On you?”
Nicolas scratched the tip of his nose. “Sure.”
The room fell away, and once again Nicolas stood face to face with Ensif, the argram he summoned when Paradise was under attack. Ensif stood with all six tarsal swords extended. Nicolas heard shouts behind him. Saw Mujahid melting the rock. He smelled t
he stench of—
The room returned.
“That’s what I saw,” Kaitlyn said. “Was I close?”
“Close? You were precise. That was exactly what I lived through!”
Toridyn ran into the room, out of breath.
“Siek,” Toridyn said. He was breathing heavily. “The fishing pod out there saw an army on the southern shore. It wasn’t Shandarian.”
“Human matters,” Lamil said.
“That’s what I thought, Siek, but this army appeared from nowhere. The pod says they materialized outside of Tur along with their fortifications.”
“Materialized?” Nicolas said. He recalled what Tithian had told him about the Barathosian armada appearing off the coast of Dar Rodon. “Barathosians.”
“Whoever they are,” Toridyn said, “they took the city. The pod says it wasn’t much of a fight. They knocked down the city walls within an hour of appearing and Tur surrendered. Now half of that force is marching north toward Caspardis.”
This wasn’t good, and Nicolas couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. He was the archmage. He had to help somehow.
Now that Kaitlyn was safe, his duty was clear. He recalled Arin’s words: Take your rightful place in this world.
It was time to obey that command.
“How fast can we get to Caspardis?” Nicolas asked. “Faster than that army can?”
“Much faster than the marching ones,” Toridyn said. “But if they have others who can appear out of the air, not even our transport system is that fast.”
“You can drive those things, right?”
“The aqua-pneumatic chimeraporters?” Toridyn asked. “You bip your betty!”
Nicolas had no idea what he was trying to say.
“I think you mean bet your bippy,” Kaitlyn said.
“I don’t get it,” Toridyn said. “What’s a bippy? And why is it valuable enough to bet on a game of chance?”
“Never mind,” Nicolas said. “I want to get close to Caspardis, but not so close that we end up in the Barathosian’s laps.”
“The observation promontory,” Lamil said. “During your father’s reign—”
“Birth father.”
“Apologies,” Lamil said. “During Kagan’s reign, we used a promontory to conceal our access to the surface.”
“Between Blackwood and Caspardis,” Toridyn said. “About a day’s ride west of Caspardis, by adda.”
“But what is your purpose?” Lamil asked. “What do you hope to accomplish?”
Nicolas was afraid Lamil would ask him something like that.
Kaitlyn stood after an awkward silence. “I think it’s a good idea.”
“You do?” Nicolas said. He stood. “I mean, thank you.” He leaned in close and whispered. “What the hell’s my idea?”
Kaitlin faced Lamil. “If we get there before the Barathosians, we can warn them. Maybe if they know what to expect, they can defend themselves.”
Not a bad idea.
“How soon can we leave?” Nicolas asked.
“You should speak with the fishing pod first,” Lamil said. “Perhaps they have details a cichlos ear might think unimportant.”
Nicolas nodded and Toridyn led the way out of the room.
As they stepped through the iris, Kaitlyn leaned her head against Nicolas’s shoulder.
Nicolas put his arm around her waist. “I wish this would all settle down so we could just talk. It’s been ages.”
“Me too,” Kaitlyn said. “Then you can tell me about the angel. You know…the one on the Plane of Death who was almost as pretty as I am?”
Kaitlyn smirked and stepped ahead of him.
Great. This new power of hers is going to be just great.
CHAPTER NINE
1Zubuxo’s Anger
2And Zubuxo discovered the tears of Shealynd in his prison and was angered.
3“Why have you done this, sister?” he asked.
4“Punishment without love is vengeance,” she said.
- The Mukhtaar Chronicles, attributed to the prophet Habakku
Origines Multiversi, Emergentiae 8:1-4
This chapter of the Origines is deceptively short. Deceptive in that it hides two key tenets of Mukhtaarian theology: Anger is not a sin, and mercy for one’s penitent is to be considered the most important attribute of a Mukhtaarian priest. Though the Mukhtaar Lords have disagreed on many things throughout the ages, on one thing they agree: mistreat a penitent and you will know their wrath.
- Coteon of the Steppes, “Coteonic Commentaries on the Origines Multiversi” (circa 520 RL)
Mujahid glanced around the Great Hall of the Pinnacle. It hadn’t changed much in the six months since the barrier came down. Stoneware had given way to more delicate glass, now that the quakes had stopped. And the general atmosphere was more positive. Less fearful.
All thanks to Nicolas.
Mujahid sat in a plush chair in the dining area waiting for Tithian. He looked at the stairs, half expecting to see the man taking the steps three at a time.
The ornate spiral staircase on the north side of the room wound up to the sanctuary and other important chambers. Some rubble remained in the stairwell, but the sconces which once littered the floor were back on the wall where they belonged. The last quake had taken place after the barrier vanished, and it had been a bad one. Another unintended consequence of Kagan’s actions. Reports from the northern borders suggested the Three Kingdoms had sunk into the ground. Mujahid hadn’t verified the reports. Six months of stable ground had lulled everyone into a sense of security.
Peace, however, was always short-lived in the Three Kingdoms.
Mujahid caught the eye of a nearby servant and waved him over. It would be nice to finally relax a little. Nicolas’s problems and the Barathosian Armada—anchored off the coast of Dar Rodon hundreds of miles to the east—could wait an hour or two.
The sight of Tithian emerging from the stairwell lifted his spirits. They’d spent time renewing their friendship over the last few months, catching up on mutual friends, listening to the traveling bards that frequented the Pinnacle, and generally making merry when possible.
“Ale and bread,” Mujahid said when the servant arrived.
“We have many ales, my lord,” the servant said.
“Shandarian Black,” Mujahid said.
The servant returned with an open bottle and a glass and set them on the table. Mujahid inhaled the musty caramel aroma and smiled. Shandarian Black had long been his favorite. It was one of the few amenities at the Pinnacle upon which he placed any value.
Mujahid heard Tithian long before the man arrived. Tithian wore a set of laceless boots with hard soles, similar in fashion to the ones Nicolas was fond of. Their steady tap tap tap on the marble floor echoed off the walls and ceiling.
Mujahid looked at the servant and held up two fingers.
“Right away, my lord,” he said.
“Religarian?” Tithian asked as he sat down.
Mujahid rotated the bottle until the label was facing Tithian.
Tithian grimaced. “A little too stout for my liking.”
“I can tell him to keep the second glass if you like.”
Tithian smiled, grabbed the bottle and Mujahid’s glass, poured a drink, then slid the glass across the table to Mujahid.
“Drink deeply, old friend,” Tithian said, “for tomorrow…tomorrow…how does that go again?”
“For tomorrow we may not have anything to drink.”
Tithian chuckled. “I think the original dripped with more poetry than that. Something about warriors and death, or some such.”
“The only drip I’m interested in today, is this ale dripping into my glass,” Mujahid said.
“Careful. You’re beginning to sound like Lord Nuuan.”
“There isn’t enough ale in the kitchens to accomplish that.”
“There’s enough to make you a decent Council magus,” Tithian said with a laugh. After a moment of silence, his face grew mo
re serious. “You really should get more involved in politics, you know. A man of your stature and wisdom could—”
“Prime Warlock!” The shout came from a Council magus running into the Great Hall from the eastern hallway.
Mujahid wasn’t familiar with the woman, but her stiff accent gave her away as a Tildeman. She shoved a servant out of her way as she approached.
“Forgive me, Lord Mukhtaar,” she said. “I didn’t recognize you from behind.”
“I get that a lot.”
“Why the haste, Magus Kelley?” Tithian asked.
She glanced at Mujahid.
“Speak,” Tithian said.
“I tried to find the archmage,” Magus Kelley said. “But his guard informed me he’s away from the Pinnacle again.”
“You did well to seek me out.”
“An invading force has taken King’s Bay and is sweeping north.”
Mujahid nearly choked on his ale. “Barathosians?”
“They were neither Shandarian nor Religarian, Lord Mukhtaar. That is all I can say with certainty.”
Mujahid glanced at Tithian. “Did the news come by translocation orb?” Tithian would be the only one beside Nicolas who could authorize the use of an orb.
Tithian shook his head.
Mujahid rose from his char. “This news could be a week old! Gods, they could have taken Rotham by now. What of the Religarian scouts off the southern coast?”
“By all accounts,” Magus Kelley said, “the scout ships saw nothing. By the time they were alerted, King’s Bay was on fire and the invaders were moving inland.”
“What of the survivors?” Mujahid asked. “What are they reporting?”
Magus Kelley’s eyes misted. After several failed attempts, she spoke.
“There were no survivors.”
It was as if all the heat had fled the room.
“Not possible,” Mujahid said.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have to meet with the council,” Magus Kelley said. “Twenty-thousand of my countrymen are dead this day.”
She bowed and left the way she had come.
“I don’t care what she thinks, that’s not possible,” Mujahid said. “There’s no way the Barathosians could slip past Religarian scout ships. Not a fleet large enough to take King’s Bay and slaughter twenty-thousand people. The number of archers and swords they’d need to accomplish it…it’s just not possible.”