The village was in spring. Streams of living light flowed into every building around them. The nearby temple sprouted branches from its sides, and its peaked roof grew higher and higher. Some of the smaller buildings shaped more or less into their own twisting tangles of limbs and branches, shoots and vines. The snow fell only lightly now, falling on the living village.
“Impossible,” Brosk said.
Chelka laughed out loud.
“Amazing.”
Edmath opened his eyes, the magic still flowing through him as he looked out at the village. Father gave me one last gift this year, along with his enemies, and his weapons. The buildings rose from the snow all around. Green mixed with vibrant reds and yellows and blues as flowers both small and large bloomed across the outside of the structures.
Awe took his speech. Magic flowed upward into the sky, into the darkness. All around him the village continued to grow, to shift and warp. The pain went out of his wounds. The slash in his right hand sealed as the magic passing through it saw fit. The bones of his left hand knit together, rejoining their partners. Chelka reached down and felt the burn on her leg, or rather, where the burn had been. Brosk’s wounds closed and he laughed the same way Chelka had.
“I can hardly believe it. Why did this tear open now?”
He smiled as he watched the village of plants grew toward the sky. He knew it was sending its roots into the ground, knew it like the magic of this place must have known him and his father.
“I have no answer for that, my friend,” he said. “I only directed a little.”
Spring came in winter, he thought. The creator blessed them with this chance, as much as his father had acted as an agent of that chance. Life streamed from the earth itself to rescue them.
A flash of yellow light splashed across his vision. When it faded Keve Zasha stood at the far end of the lodge along with Morior Lem and the Saale called Savnon.
“Did you do this?” Keve asked. She stared transfixed at the still growing village. Her cheeks were red with cold. “We saw the village moving and brightening from across the lake.”
Orpus Lengbyoi crawled up from the ground, Brosk’s cart still chained to his lower branches and clanking against its trunk.
“Edmath, what is going on?” asked the tree.
Edmath poured residual magic into Lengbyoi’s trunk, healing the damage there. Edmath’s arms fell to his sides as the little tree climbed up to the lodge’s up-shooting roof. The Creator had given him a sign this night as well as saving his life. Time to return to his work, his study, his understanding. He faced Lengbyoi and shook his head, then turned to the High Emperor’s Saale.
“No, good lady,” Edmath said. “I could not truly say I did.”
Spring came to Diar three months later and brought with it Zuria and tidings still tense with the potential for war. Brosk told Edmath of Zuria’s return while they sat with Chelka in the gardens, each propped against the trunk of a young orpus tree. The next class from Lexine Park would be graduating soon if they hadn’t already. Edmath blinked up at the bright sky from his seat on the grass.
“It is good there are newer Saales to fight for his Grace now.”
Chelka nodded and climbed to her feet.
“War does not suit either of us, Ed.”
He chuckled.
“You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that, my dear.” He put his hand on the trunk of the slender tree behind him and climbed to his feet. “Will you walk with us, my good Orpus?”
“I would be honored,” the young tree said in its girlish voice.
Edmath stifled a laugh. He still had not grown accustomed to hearing voices different from Orpus Lengbyoi’s coming from the trees. He, Chelka, and Brosk led the way across the garden, followed by a procession of red and white-flowered saplings. He turned to Chelka as he walked.
“I suppose our time here is nearly up. It has been a year already.”
She met his eyes with a hint of sadness in her own. He wondered if his eyes would ever be green again. But at least he had been able to see his father because of the same affliction. Chelka’s pace quickened and Edmath fell behind by a few paces.
“An eventful year, I only wish the events had been less painful.”
“Indeed,” Brosk said from behind them.
The cool wind from the south rustled through his clothes. Edmath shrugged.
“I’d give my research for the sight of death becoming life again in a heartbeat.”
Chelka smiled at him, her little pains suppressed for that moment.
“Hmm, not too practical, Ed.”
Edmath’s heart beat evenly. He shrugged his shoulders again, turning to look back at the parade ground before them.
“I suppose not.”
They reached the hill overlooking the parade grounds. Orpus trees clustered around them and murmured at the sight of soldiers marching past in formation. Edmath watched for a few moments before turning to Chelka. She smiled, though a far-off look remained in her eyes. Before he could ask what she was thinking, a cry came from behind them.
Edmath turned where he stood and squinted through the afternoon sunlight, picking out a familiar form approaching. Gayaneb looked the same as a fully Saale as he had a year ago as a student, big, dark, and wearing a full beard. He raised his hand when he saw Edmath.
“It’s been too long, White Curtain Saale!”
Edmath raised his eyebrows, but couldn’t help himself from smiling. Chelka and Brosk and the orpuses turned to face Gayaneb as the dark-skinned young Saale approached. Edmath nodded toward him and grinned.
“Surely there can be only one reason you are here,” he said. “You are here to join the service of the emperors. Splendid!”
“I would not say that is the only reason,” Gayaneb said. “I have also come to see my now-famous teacher, the Lord Benisar.”
Edmath’s smile broadened and he looked at Chelka. He found her beaming as well. Gayaneb bowed to Brosk, and then to Chelka. When he looked up again he smiled at the seal of an orpus tree.
“More trees, I see.”
“We’re all orpus trees!” said the young tree beside Edmath.
“Splendid,” said Gayaneb.
Edmath shook his head. His former student remained eager to please.
“Truly, I feel with you here all of our work for the emperors will be well seen-to over this coming year.”
A murmur of assent passed through the orpus trees, but some of them sounded almost nervous. Edmath patted one on the trunk. He could not be with them forever, but they would not forget him for some time. Chelka took his hand. There was still much world to see.
Ursar
Ursar Kiet unwrapped the bindings on the end of his stump arm. He willed his blood to clot before it dripped on the earthen floor of the command tent. As he was a Dawkun, a physical mage of the holy nation of Roshi, it was natural his blood obeyed.
He lifted the bandages over his head with his remaining hand. His eyes fixed on the general he had led all these miles over the border to the Dreamwater and the abandoned village where he had lost his limb as well as his former master. She must see his purpose in this demonstration. Ursar hoped his gaze showed all the will he felt.
For her part, Mutrari Sinnet, sitting on her command throne in the center of the tent, arched an eyebrow. Her hands folded over her chest, languid, downplaying the power she held over life and death on this expedition. Her face, serene and framed by golden hair, belied the true fury of the fox tribe in her bloodline.
He doubted her emotions would be easy to sway.
Ursar scowled deeply, directing the expression at his ruined limb. She would see his fury, the wrong the Zelians had done to him, and Akalok. She must see his mission or he would be left bereft of restitution. The stump of his wrist could have flowed red with rage, but that blood had dried a season ago when the land was still cold. Mutrari nodded to him, but it was not she who spoke, but the woman standing beside her.
“The ga
rdener did this to you?” said Mutrari’s protector, the Lion Tribe warrior called Kagoni. “So what? Such is battle.”
Ursar turned his wrathful eyes on Kagoni, taking in the warrior’s tawny skin, dark hair, and bright green eyes.
“How dare you? Do you not see the slight against our nation. Warriors from Roshi fight and die and the Minister Regent does nothing.”
Kagoni shook her head.
“Kiet, your master chose his vendetta against Jurgat Donroi over reasonable sense. I would think one who has killed so many, both of his own countrymen and of the Zelians could accept the natural outcome of such a blood feud.”
“The feud was my master’s to wage by right.”
“And he paid the price for it.”
“Death is not—”
“Be still,” said Mutrari, speaking for the first time, her voice as calm as her features. She drummed her fingers on the arm of her throne. “Kiet, answer Kagoni’s question. How did you lose your hand?”
“Why did you travel all the way here if you doubt my story?”
“Reiterate your story.” Mutrari nodded to a nearby tempest scribe, standing ready with quill and scroll. “For posterity.”
“It was not Edmath who burned away my hand,” Ursar snarled. “His wife, the squid princess, crippled me.”
“Chelka Benisar.” Mutrari’s voice grew fierce when she said the burning light Saale’s name. “She wields fire like one of us Dawkun.”
“Yes, general. I would seek revenge against her for my maiming.”
Mutrari rose from her throne. She walked across the short rug leading from it toward Akalok. She stepped onto the dirt with careful feet clad in sandals as dark as her eyes were bright. She stopped less than a pace from Ursar. He lowered the bandages and bowed his head.
“Please, grant my request, general.”
“I cannot,” said Mutrari. “Only the high ministers may offer the life of a royal, even of Zel.”
“Are you not a high minister, general?”
She slapped him across the face. His head snapped upward, and he staggered in surprise. She flicked her hand to her side.
“After the battles in Zel last year, I must say I am not.” Her teeth bared in a grimace. “And you are no longer anyone’s champion, Kiet.”
“I would be yours if you could grant me my wish.”
“I would be sad, but I already have a champion. One with both hands.” Mutrari motioned to Kagoni.
Ursar glared at both of them.
“Let this be our last meeting,” he said, then turned and stormed from the tent.
As he let the entrance flap fall, he heard Mutrari say, “For your sake, I hope so.”
Outside, Ursar touched his smarting face where the general had slapped him. Not even respected enough for a closed fist. So this was what it was to suffer defeat. He glared toward the nearby copse of towering trees that had once been the village of Beliu on the Dreamwater. Edmath Benisar and his friends had created this from dead logs and frozen soil when winter was it’s coldest. Every branch was in bloom. Flowers and leaves sprang from what once had been dead wood.
Ursar Kiet stalked toward the tangled plants, fist clenched. He did not know what he wanted to do, but stripping the limbs from some of these trees would help vent his temper. He stopped in an archway formed by wooden limbs that had been the path between two buildings on the edge of the village. His gaze swept back and forth, but he saw no sign of anyone in the shadowy place beneath the branches. He continued beneath the overhanging growth.
He walked into the center of the former village, picking his way between the roots of massive trees sprung from the hewn logs used in constructing the old buildings, and now growing out of control once more. He stopped before what had been the village hall where the Worm King had waited for the Saales of the empire to strike him down, only for them to spare his life.
Miserable traitor, fool, and coward, that he was, the Worm King had escaped into the west, south of Roshi’s border. Ursar might have kicked one of these roots, but managed to repress the urge as he ground his teeth together.
“Looking for something?” asked a breathy feminine voice from within the shadows of the thicket where the hall had been.
Ursar squinted into the thicket.
“Who’s there?”
A woman stepped from behind one of the massive tree trunks. She wore a skirt and a backless tunic that left her pale shoulders exposed as well. Her shoulder-length hair was a common shade of brown, but that did nothing to diminish the beauty of her face and form. She carried no weapons, not even a dagger or sheath for one, but held a pair of crimson silk gloves in one hand.
Ursar advanced on her, brow furrowed.
“Who are you?”
“Call me Hyreki,” she said in the same oddly sensual voice.
“My name is Ursar Kiet. Are you Roshi, or Zelian?”
“A bit of both,” she said. “We who live on the borders have different loyalties, good Dawkun.”
“Is that so? I take it you’re here to scavenge through these strange ruins. Many seem to think this place has value, though a few months ago it was only an isolated village few could name.”
She shook her head.
“I don’t plan to stay here to look around. Ursar Kiet, I’m more than familiar with your name. I’m here for you.”
Ursar inclined his head away from her, keeping his stance wary. He started to direct the magic flowing from within him toward his head-gates. He would be ready if this encounter became violent.
“Don’t ever think about hurting her,” said a man from behind Ursar, close enough to speak into his ear.
Ursar stepped forward in surprise, and half-turned. A hulking man with thick dark hair and carrying two small blades, one longer than the other in sheathes on one hip, smiled at him. Terrifyingly Ursar had not heard him approach so close.
“You—”
“My name is Santh.” He smirked, lips curling beneath a black mustache.
“You’re a mage.” Ursar’s eyes narrowed. “Saale or Dawkun?”
“Not a mage at all,” said Santh. “But I’m practiced at fighting of all kinds, Kiet.”
“No need to show off,” said Hyreki. She kept her eyes on Ursar. “Santh is my servant and highly capable, but as he says, he is no mage.”
“So you came looking for me. Why?”
“You’re a famed warrior across the land, and judging by your face the general won’t be giving you a chance to pursue vengeance.”
“So.” Ursar frowned. “You’ll help me go after Benisar and his wife?”
“Our goals align,” said Hyreki. “We want to destroy their research. You want to take their lives.”
“I want more than that,” said Ursar despite the spreading grin he felt tugging at his face.
Santh tossed a purse of coins at his feet.
“You’ll be compensated in Roshi gold.”
Ursar nodded.
“Where are they?”
“Diar,” said Hyreki. “And the imperial city will be watching for you.”
“I don’t care about Zelian eyes. The cowards haven’t killed me yet,” said Ursar.
Santh sneered.
“A man only dies once.” He motioned to the stump where Ursar’s hand should be. “Will that be a problem?”
“You sure can talk when you’re not sneaking. No. It won’t be a problem.”
“Good,” said Hyreki. “Follow me. We leave at once.”
Ursar nodded to Hyreki, still watching Santh warily with one eye. He wished still had his Mirache, but the order had commanded the massive steed return, and Ursar had been powerless to stop it, as he lacked a royal voice, as a bastard of his tribe. A crossroads stood before him. Santh followed Hyreki along the path through the flowering village. Ursar picked up the coin-purse and followed them.
After a few weeks of planting and gardening by moonlight, Edmath founded he liked working at night. The night garden he tended had been built several miles
north of the palace by the edge of Diar, a short distance outside the city walls. It made for a good place to grow young orpus trees.
He never lacked for company, even when dealing with trees that had yet to awaken. Bats, mice, and other nocturnal animals abounded in the garden. The ground-dwelling creatures could have been an issue, going around chewing on roots and stems, but after the first time he caught a cluster of rodents watching him work, he started bringing bowls of raw food for them each night, telling them to only eat from the bowls to ensure strong plant growth.
Mostly they agreed, but the largest of them all did not. She was a massive rat, perhaps the size of a small wolf, with a long and spiny tail, obviously descended from a greater animal of the same species created in a past generation. Edmath called her Surba, a name he had picked up from Hesiatic lore. In its original context, it meant defiance.
Surba watched him weed around each tree by night, her tail lashing back and forth, little eyes gleaming yellow from the moon. She rarely spoke to him, but like the others had figured out he could understand her language easily, and respond to their questions in ways they could understand.
Despite being able to converse with any animal, Edmath often found individually they did not have much to say. Until the end of the first month of spring when clouds coalesced over Diar and obscured the waning moon, he thought Surba was one of that kind. However, as he set up his umbrella for when the rain inevitably came, she sniffed the air, then scampered to his side.
“Wizard,” she said, using the archaic word for mage that could indicate equally a Saale or Dawkun, “why do you work at night while the other humans sleep?”
Edmath stifled a yawn and then looked down at the rat in surprise.
“My good rat,” he said, “are you hungry?”
Spells of the Curtain Volume One Page 34