Magic's Genesis- The Grey

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by Rosaire Bushey

“Gloating doesn’t become you, Kimi.” Lydria said aloud. The others looked at Lydria and Kimi and soon they too laughed until Lydria could not help but smile as well. And when she did, the saliva rolled steadily down her chin, which made everyone laugh more.

  The ill effects didn’t last long and by the time the group stopped to water the horses and have a meal, Lydria was ready to try again.

  “What do you suggest?” Lydria asked Haustis who seemed the most determined to find a way to use magic practically in battle.

  “As Haustis I can feel nature, sense it, and, in a way, speak with it though not in the way you speak with Kimi. Most things on Eigrae are alive – even things we don’t consider so. Rivers, mountains, trees, these have an energy which we daily ignore.” The old woman put down her wooden bowl and stared at her hands for a moment as if in them she might find the words she wanted to say.

  “When I met Wynter, I was drawn to him because of his voice. I don’t know who he was talking to when he yelled out, ‘stop,’ but in my head, there was a force as if I had been hit with a rock and for a moment I stopped – whether from his command or surprise I cannot tell. The river I walked besides, however was as still as a tree. Drops suspended in the air as they flew over hidden rocks, and the course of its movement halted. Two score paces from where I stood the river bottom was bare where the water before it rushed ahead. It didn’t stay this way long. But a sizeable force could have crossed the river in the time it stood still. As I continued I made my way to where I heard the voice and found Wynter. He could hear and talk, but he was otherwise completely still. I doubt he knows what he did.”

  Haustis’ voice trailed off, her face full of concern and awe at what she had seen. Turning her attention to face Lydria directly, she continued. “Do not limit yourself to what you would consider given the limitations of your hands and your tools, Lydria. The power you possess is no trifle.” Haustis opened her mouth as if to speak again but abruptly closed it, mumbling only, “I must consider” before picking up her gear and moving to mount her horse. The others looked at each other silently, as if gauging whether to ask Haustis to continue. In the end, they did not, and within minutes were on their way east again.

  Kimi suggested Lydria use her magic to try to find him as he lopped through the trees. After feeling for his energy which she knew very well, it took her only an hour before she could find the cat regularly despite the noise and movement of the horses, and the natural elusiveness of Kimi’s kind. Considering Haustis’ suggestion, Lydria began launching small thorns from nearby brambles to poke Kimi’s short tale and bottom. It was difficult at first, and the yelp of the cat startled Haidrea and Wae Relin who immediately looked to Lydria. Lydria smiled widely before grasping her head and falling sideways onto the path.

  Rather than continue, they made camp where Lydria had fallen. Summer was ending, and the night air was chill, so they made a fire without magic. Lydria was awake but her head throbbed with pain from her efforts and her shoulder ached from the fall. Still, Haustis, after hearing from Kimi what had been done, smiled.

  Haustis sat next to Lydria near the fire and applied a salve to her bruised shoulder. Lydria’s headache was so fierce she could little but sit still as Haustis worked.

  “Haustis,” said Wae Relin, “what is it you were thinking when last we gathered around a fire?” It was a formal way to ask a simple question, but it was obvious, even to Lydria, that the respect the man had for Haustis demanded he be formal. Despite the time they spent together and the stories they shared, to the Eifen, Haustis was still a legend. Lydria put her energy into relieving the pain in her shoulder and was successful enough to be able to concentrate on Haustis’ response. The pain caused by magic, she could not dull.

  “I have told of how people may, for short times, live in the grey,” she said. “I have always believed so. And yet, since the last full moon, I have begun to think differently. Surely, people still walk a fine line between what we consider right and wrong, but they do so within the light or dark of good or evil. I now start to consider that perhaps The Grey is the domain of magic and only those who wield its power may live there. What is more, magic must exist solely in The Grey. That is my thought now. Who knows what truths I may unlearn tomorrow or what lies will fall apart under my gaze on the next full moon?”

  Haidrea spoke after Haustis, hesitantly at first. “Because magic does not follow the natural way; everything is grey, and open to being both good and evil?”

  Haustis smiled widely and clapped the young woman on the shoulder. “Yes. It is exactly so, or so I now believe. As Lydria tracked Kimi through the forest, she did nothing wrong, but she negated the natural benefits of the forest, dismissing its protection for Kimi. As she launched thorns into our dear young bobcat’s hind quarters, she pulled away the natural defenses of a plant, and used them for offensive purposes against a creature far away, who the plant was unaware of.”

  “At the end of the day, however, it changes nothing,” the voice, thin and distracted fell from Lydria’s mouth like an accusation. “Knowing this doesn’t make it easier to use. It doesn’t make it hurt less, or get me any closer to, or farther away from, Wynter. So, what is the difference?”

  Haustis and Haidrea, both reawakened to Lydria’s physical pain, moved to either side of her. Haidrea clutching her unbruised shoulder, and Haustis holding her hands firmly between her own, thin, cold palms.

  “Perhaps not yet,” Haustis grinned with enthusiasm. “But, one day, as you master your gifts, you will be able to consider how using them effects the world around you. Knowing that, you can perhaps learn to harness the power of the earth, share the knowledge of the Haustis, and work your way to the edge of The Grey – to the colorless light, or the encompassing dark.”

  “Right now, encompassing dark doesn’t sound like a bad thing.” Lydria untethered herself from the two women and gingerly made her way to a bedroll beside the fire. Kimi joined her and despite her mood and discomfort, she quickly wrapped an arm around the cat and drifted off to sleep.

  Haustis, Haidrea, and Wae Relin looked at the sleeping form of Lydria. “Will she be well?” Wae Relin asked. “Will she be ready when the challenge comes?” It was the question they had all been thinking since Weaver’s news.

  “Will we be ready?” asked Haidrea.

  “We will have to be,” Haustis answered. “As for Lydria, she is the daughter of a warrior. She knows what lies ahead only too well. She will be ready. Or we will all fall.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Wynter was aglow in his triumph and kept his head high as the last echoes of his name drifted over the flats and away across the lake as the people, his people, genuflected on the shore, the natives of the village led in obeisance by the newcomers from the south. But he could feel his energy slipping away and turned stiffly and marched into the mouth of his new fortress as Nethyal gave orders to workers who would be responsible for provisioning and serving the castle.

  It would take the villagers weeks to build and outfit the kitchens, sleeping quarters, and everything else necessary to finish what Wynter had begun, but Wynter would let them do every bit of it. He wanted them to stand inside the structure and tell the townspeople of what they saw. He wanted the Fourteen Pillars to do their job and send a message – fear to those who would dismiss Solwyn, and pride for those of Solwyn. The Pillars, as Wynter would later tell people, represented how men believed so much, they sacrificed themselves for this edifice and for the idea that was Solwyn.

  In the weeks following the rise of Castle Solwyn the glowing beacon of the great blue north tower did its job well, as people flocked to the town, drawn to the curious blue light that stood still in the sky above the lake. Men who came to the castle were welcomed and urged to return home, gather their families, their wealth, their weapons, and as many supplies as they could bring back as their price for joining the burgeoning community. Tradesmen, shop keepers, farriers, blacksmiths, miners, fishermen, seamstresses, surgeons, cobblers, tinkers
, tanners … over the course of weeks they all returned with their families and trains of carts loaded with their possessions and everything else they could find, scrounge, or steal.

  As the people arrived, Wynter spoke to Nethyal as behind them several oxen-drawn carts made their way across the worn path into town. “More will come in the spring. The minor nobility, the land-lords, and inevitably, the militia.”

  Nethyal didn’t ask the question out loud, but he turned to Wynter, his eyes seeking explanation.

  “As people arrive here, the lords lose their tax payers, their workers, their shops, their servants, their food, and their own comfort.” Wynter’s gaze never left the town as he answered. “The only reason they don’t come now is because the crops are in and they will be well-fed until spring. But, come spring, they will ride here to reclaim their property.” Wynter thought about how he could welcome his guests and turned to face Nethyal and smiled. “We must prepare for them before they gather together to prepare for us.”

  As Solwyn grew workers engaged themselves in building the necessary infrastructure. All worked with enthusiasm and in concert with one another under the shadow of the Cobalt Tower. Nethyal found men and women able to organize people into teams for farming, foraging, fishing, construction, and other work and, by Wynter’s design, Nethyal told each team of their duties under the watchful gaze of Kelmenth and the rest of the Fourteen Pillars. Those who saw the Pillars were moved by the sacrifice of the Fourteen and were in awe of the grandeur of Wynter’s new order.

  Before the first snows came every man, woman, and child walked through the castle entrance and into the throne room beyond to witness the spectacle of the Fourteen. Six men held hands to encircle one of the massive ice towers and everyone who saw the pillars gazed into the open eyes of those encased within. Wynter greeted everyone who came to see what he built, and he lavished praise on the men and women he said so heroically offered their strength to Solwyn.

  “Each of the Fourteen pleaded with me to be allowed this honor,” Wynter told the townspeople, digging deep into his wellspring of charisma, choking back emotion. “I could not have done it without them. The strength of the people of Solwyn will always rest here as the foundation of our town, ennobling even the lowest among us. And I see the same strength as I look across to the city you are building even today.”

  “Do you think you’re pouring it on a bit thick?” Wynter’s wife was never much for speech making, and thought her husband was over-selling pride.

  “I could rule by fear alone, but this is so much more useful,” Wynter responded smoothly. “People want to feel useful and they want to be part of something special. When I need them to take up arms and kill their enemies, there won’t be one here who won’t gladly do it – to live forever in memory in the same way as the Fourteen. No, I am not overselling pride. I’m planting pride and it will be the single greatest crop of my kingdom. It will grow quickly and spread like a weed.”

  As the days grew shorter and colder families joined together to ensure everyone in Solwyn was housed. All able-bodied men, women, boys and girls were put to work, and Nethyal ensured people were warm and fed. For the men and larger boys, basic weapons training was begun, and the forges of Solwyn rang out a staccato of metal on metal that went on for hours after the sun had set each day.

  “The people work hard and they long to see their king.” Nethyal repeated a phrase he had first uttered some weeks after Wynter had raised his castle. He was a wonder, this Eifen; he was efficient and smart and asked for nothing. It was this last thing that gave Wynter cause to wonder. What was it, exactly, the warrior wanted? Certainly, he wasn’t fulfilled being an administrator – though, to his credit, he was the finest Wynter had ever seen. His role as a protector was rarely needed. With his wife back and speaking to him only when he allowed, Wynter found tasks that routinely taxed him to exhaustion, rarely caused him more than physical pain and almost never incapacitation. Still, there was too much to do to worry about Nethyal’s needs. When the time came, Wynter knew, he could deal with the warrior.

  “Why do you think they need to see me?” Wynter asked. The massive throne room had been softened and warmed with the addition of polar bear pelts and rich wooden desks and furniture crafted by some of the finest artisans in the north. It occurred to him that Bayside might be a step down from the Cobalt Tower. But his plan was about power, not a better house.

  “You are their king, and they look to you,” Nethyal did not disbelieve it. In his own town the chief was an integral part of the community and was expected to take part and be part of life with the people. He believed even a king should be seen by his people.

  “Yes, they do,” Wynter said, looking at the blue-green vaults spanning the distance between pillars. The warrior stood like a pillar himself, his back as straight as his gaze as he met Wynter’s eyes. “And if I were to go out among them each day and work by their side, there would be no mystery,” Wynter continued. “By making them wait, it becomes a celebration when I go into the town. I can bestow gifts, and congratulate, and if need be, set an example. But, as you say, it seems it might be time. I will come to the town tomorrow.”

  As Nethyal left, Wynter turned his attention to his desk. On it was a rough map of the small towns and villages strung out along a line from the Frostspine mountains in the west to the shores of the great ocean to the east. These were the former homes of many of his subjects. Some had also come from the south, but Wynter had learned much about these northern towns from his people, some of it by talking to those who passed through the halls of the castle, and some from Nethyal who spoke frequently with men and women in town. He learned about the towns’ defenses, their land, their resources, their crops – in short everything he would need to determine which towns were worth collecting as part of his northern kingdom, and which he could safely ignore. These latter were not worth fighting for and as Solwyn became the major power in the region, he knew they would quickly beg to be part of his new kingdom.

  To the south, lay Bayside, one of the smallest of the capital cities of Eigrae of which he was aware. In his former life Wynter had seen far grander, more opulent places - places that didn’t yet have a space on his map, but that had a place in his schemes. “Yes,” he thought to himself, “Bayside will be a fine trophy, but it is a mere trifle.”

  “What of the girl?” The voice of his dead wife didn’t annoy him as it used to. He had been practicing how to shut her out and he could do so as easily as lighting or extinguishing a candle. She was only in his head because he allowed her to be and when he was by himself, he often allowed her access, if only to have someone to discuss his ideas with. It was, Wynter thought, a marvelous way to tell a secret and rest easy that it would be kept.

  “The girl with green and blue eyes. I have not forgotten about her. In fact, I hope this will bring her to me. She has something I want.”

  “Could you not just find her and take it? How hard could it be to best her with your power?”

  “If she were any other girl, you would be correct. But she isn’t. She has the same power. Nethyal said she had not realized her potential, but it would be unwise, after all this time, to assume that remains the case. She will have harnessed some of this power – how could she not? Still, eventually, she will come to me. She will see her world being altered and she will try to save it.”

  “How can you be so sure? Is it because she’s a woman, and you don’t think she’s strong enough to fight you openly?”

  It was insulting, this line of questioning. Wynter didn’t see male or female; he saw potential and skill and cowardice and courage. He knew a bowstring pulled by a child or a woman was as deadly as one pulled by himself.

  “It is because she is a human-being,” Wynter said. “I’ve watched many people down the shaft of an arrow or through a crack in a wall. People don’t like change. They don’t like war. They’d don’t like what they can’t control. Even the most cowardly among a group of people will stand up when every
thing they know is being threatened. She will stand. And she will act, and that will be her undoing. She will play by the old rules. Because she does not understand the new rules.”

  Wynter shut his wife out before she could reply and went to a window in his great northern tower that overlooked his castle and the growing town before him which was spreading west so that the work going on was nearby his fortress. Below, workers were busy constructing an armory, stables, and barracks. Everything was being done by lamplight and fires. Work was slower in the winter with limited sunlight, colder weather, and heavier clothing, but everywhere the town was alive with activity. In his heart, Wynter was proud of what he had accomplished and of the people who were making his goals real.

  “You are a proud people,” he said out loud to himself as he watched logs and stone being unloaded. “And you shall be named anew. From tomorrow you will begin your own race, and you will be known as the Kelmen.” With a smile, Wynter’s magic moved stone and logs to their places where workmen had been laboring for hours to shift the articles and would have labored hours longer until it was done. The group of men turned toward the great blue tower and placed their hands to their hearts in thanks. Wynter lifted his right arm in response. His left side was a hanging weight, tingling from his fingertips to his toes. Even his mouth had gone slack and he could feel a small rivulet of saliva forming at the corner.

  Magic, he had come to understand, was limited by distance. The further away one worked magic, the more difficult it was. Taking the small towns to the east and west would be more challenging with this limitation as he would have to travel with his small force. At that rate, it might take a year or even two to overthrow all the towns from the eastern shore and west to the mountains. Still, half his face smiled. He dragged his body across the room to his bed, and as he lay down and closed his eyes, he heard the faint echo of ‘Hail, Wynter King; Hail, Solwyn.’

 

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