Lastly, a few Alka seemed concerned neither with the environment nor what was in their hands. Instead, they had a certain contemplative manner about them that Dara found familiar, for some reason. Then she had it: they had the same sort of sense of preoccupation with deep thoughts that she’d often seen in Gareth, when he was working on a magical problem. Those she mentally labelled as ‘scholars,’ the Farastamari kindred of the enigmatic Lady Varen.
“They really aren’t so different from humans,” she concluded, after nearly half an hour of quiet observation. “They have farmers, artisans, and scholars. Just like we have peasants, knights and priests.”
“That is one way to describe it,” Pentandra giggled. “Although I doubt you’d win favor from the Alka Alon by the comparison. They consider us hopelessly superstitious and primitive, compared to them.”
“Yet we discovered clothes, and they didn’t,” Dara pointed out.
“They have no need of clothing, as such,” Pentandra defended. “With their songspells to keep them warm and protected, they prefer a more natural look, is all.”
“I’m hoping the fashion doesn’t catch on back home,” Dara said, shaking her head.
“Don’t worry, we humani are far too invested in clothing for status and adornment to give it up just because we didn’t need it, anymore,” Pentandra said with a smirk. “Besides, the Alkan naughty bits don’t hang out quite so provocatively as ours do.
“In any case, thanks to the Emissaries, there is a growing movement among the Alka Alon to renew their contact with humanity more widely,” Pentandra reported. “There are many who are sympathetic to us. And some who would support us to enforce their own political positions,” she warned. “Master Minalan treads a very dangerous road, here, despite the serenity of Carneduin.”
“Is that why the Emissaries have taken their larger forms?” Dara asked.
“Yes, although that, itself, was a highly controversial decision, from what I understand. The spells used are known as transgenic enchantments, and they have the potential to be very dangerous. They were used in their wars,” Pentandra explained. “But their use was prescribed by the Council even before we arrived on Callidore, and is only authorized in certain special circumstances. Extraordinary circumstances, from what I understand.”
Dara swallowed, but didn’t say anything. She’d known Lady Ithalia was taking a risk in helping her with the falconry project. She didn’t realize just how much of a risk.
“We . . . we may actually see many more Alka Alon in human sizes, before long,” Pentandra continued, unprompted. “There are many, particularly among Ithalia’s people, who see the rise of the goblins as a threat that must be met. The other kindreds are less convinced of the severity of the emergency, and advocate caution. But once dragons began to be used on the battlefield by the Dead God, they started to re-think their position.”
“Dragons will do that,” Dara agreed, suppressing a shudder. She still had nightmares about being in the throat of that great beast, though she’d not been in any real danger. Not like Sire Cei, who’d charged the thing all by himself.
Before Pentandra could continue, a beautiful-sounding bell tolled from some hidden location, and she stood.
“That’s the Council bell,” she explained. “You won’t be needed any further, I’d wager. Not until the reception this evening. Why don’t you wander around and explore a little?” she proposed. “Lady Ithalia said that there were several interesting things to see, in Carneduin – things from our own ancient past that have been preserved here, and nowhere else. See what you can learn,” she directed, simply. “As a wizard, you never know what little piece of information will become vital, later on.”
Dara nodded, and Pentandra left her alone on the ledge to return to council. Dara continued just watching the serene activity unfolding around her, and even experimented with searching for local animals whose consciousness she could borrow to improve her perspective.
She was trying to convince a rather impertinent crow to give her a better view of the valley from above when she realized an Alkan maiden had appeared at her side, and was patiently waiting for her to speak.
“Yes?” Dara asked, shaking off her connection to the crow. “Can I help you?”
“Lady Ithalia sent me to guide you, Lady Lenodara,” the tiny maiden said, politely. “I am Astalia, a cousin of hers.”
“Lady Lenodara of Westwood, called the Hawkmaiden, apprenticed to Minalan the Spellmonger,” Dara introduced herself. “Ithalia sent you?”
“She thought you might like to see the Hall of Memory,” the young Alkan proposed.
“The Hall of . . . Memory?” Dara asked, standing. She nearly regretted it, as Astalia had to immediately crane her neck to look her in the eye. “Sure. I’d be honored. What is it?”
“It is an ancient place,” Astalia explained, leading Dara down a path toward a large and impressive-looking hall. “A great storehouse of lore and knowledge. There are many important things there, remembrances of our mutual past held for review and contemplation by the Wise.”
“So why are you taking me there?” Dara objected. “I’m not wise!”
“Are not the magi of humanity examples of its greatest wisdom?” Astalia asked, surprised.
“Technically,” conceded Dara, with a sigh. “You haven’t met many human wizards, have you?”
“You are the first humani I have met,” conceded Astalia. “Ithalia thought it would be instructive to us both.”
“That sounds like Ithalia,” Dara agreed. “I suppose I’ll pretend to be wise and hope no one notices.”
“In truth, I was anxious about meeting you,” Astalia told her as they walked. “The humani have a certain unfortunate reputation. But Ithalia assures me you have a keen and clever mind and will appreciate the Hall of Memory.”
“I suppose that will have be enough, then,” Dara smiled. “Lead on, and let’s see this Hall of Memory. You do remember how to get there, don’t you?” she quipped, earning a giggle from the tiny maiden.
Chapter Six
Revelations in the Hall of Memory
It seemed strange to Dara that a building as large as the Hall of Memory seemed so inconsequential in a place like Carneduin. It was tucked to the side, against the cliff wall that extended up to the peaks above, which helped diminish its noticeability from the ground. With that great whopping mountain above it, the elegant building seemed small by scale, though it was more than half as big as the keep of Sevendor. With the swath of trees obscuring half of the building from view, it seemed even less important.
The walk along the way was pleasant enough – the weather was cool but sunny, the air sharp with the scent of hundreds of blooms unfamiliar to her nose. And Astalia was a good companion for the long walk to the Hall. The fact that she was naked, greenish, and barely reached Dara’s waist did nothing to detract from the experience. A wizard’s life is odd, indeed, Dara reflected.
“You are the Spellmonger’s apprentice, Lady Lenodara?” the Alkan maiden asked, politely.
“One of them,” Dara agreed. “The youngest. And mostly by accident,” she confessed. “But strange and unusual things tend to happen around Master Minalan,” she reflected, absently pushing the single white shock of hair in her red mane out of her eyes.
“He has had a singular effect on our society, as well,” Astalia agreed, diplomatically. “I have not seen Carneduin in such a state since I first came here.”
“When was that?” Dara asked, curious.
“Only forty-two years ago,” Astara said, a little sheepishly. “It was a great honor to be asked to serve, here.”
“Forty-two years!” Dara gasped. That was as old as her father! “Just how old are you?”
“Only a hundred and twenty-one,” Astalia said, a little self-consciously. “I was younger than most who are honored to be invited to Carneduin. Why? How old are you?”
“Fourteen,” Dara said, shaking her head in wonder. She knew the Alka Alon were lon
g-lived, and her friend Ithalia was several centuries old, though still considered a maiden among her folk. Astalia seemed close to her own age, but was alive in ancient times. Well, olden times, she corrected herself.
“Fourteen . . . and already nearly mature!” Astalia giggled. “That is amazing!”
“I’m a little young in age for my position, I suppose. Like I said, it was mostly accidental.”
“And your people are . . . the Narasi?” Astalia inquired, hesitantly.
“Sort of,” Dara said, carefully. “We speak Narasi. But my . . . clan’s legends say we lived in the Westwood before the Narasi came to the Riverlands. Just before you were born,” Dara said, giggling at the thought.
“And I have projects older than you!” Astalia said, shaking her head. “What a strange world we live in!”
“How were you . . . chosen to come here?” Dara asked.
“I’m unsure of the exact nature of the process, but I was recommended by my . . . teachers? Masters? Instructors? I am still getting used to the Narasi language,” she added, apologetically. “I only learned it last year.”
“Don’t worry, there might not be a word for it,” Dara suggested. “I somehow doubt, for instance, that there’s an Alka Alon word for tailor. So you weren’t born here?” she asked, hoping it didn’t sound too nosy. Master Minalan asked her to keep her eyes open and ask subtle questions. She hoped this counted.
“No, I was born in a refuge in the . . . you call them the Wilderlands,” Astalia explained.
“That means you’re probably . . . Avalanti kindred?” Dara guessed.
“Yes,” Astalia agreed, pleased. “Not many of my kindred are selected for instruction here, unless they were born in Carneduin. It is more typical for the Versaroti to study here. Their nature delights in scholarship, lore and discussion. But I have always had a fascination with such things and was eager to come. Many in my family did not understand my desire to study thus, but . . .”
“I understand,” Dara sighed. “My father wasn’t particularly keen on me becoming a mage, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Sometimes the gods push us in ways our sires can’t see,” she reflected. “I thought I was supposed to marry a nice boy from Sevendor, about now. Instead, I’m a wizard’s apprentice on a strange mountaintop talking with a naked fairy maiden. Not exactly the life my father envisioned for me.”
“I was supposed to undertake study in the deep lore of trees and plants, or devote myself to music or explore the secrets of the natural world . . . not come to bury myself in study with a bunch of boring old Versaroti sages for a century or so,” Astalia replied. “But places like the Hall of Memory are why I came,” she confessed. “I’ve always been fascinated with the humani, too. This is one of my favorite places in Carneduin, because it has so much about your folk, here.”
“Why would you have an entire hall – a really big hall – dedicated to studying . . . us?”
“Oh, originally it was built as a kind of . . . academy? A place of study where our two peoples could learn about each other. But after that unfortunate business with Perwyn, it was filled with as much about your old civilization as could be preserved. It is used as a kind of storehouse, now. An aid to remember what your people once accomplished.”
“Sinking an entire island?” snorted Dara. “I think we’d rather forget about that!”
Perwyn was the first place humanity came to, on Callidore, Dara knew. It was an island of legend and fable, filled with fabulous things and amazing wonders. It was where the first magi arose, and then the Archmagi. The Archmagi had ruled Perwyn for wisely centuries before one of them had a spell go wrong or something and caused a cataclysm that sank the entire island beneath the waves of the Shallow Sea.
History recalled that the Archmagi continued to rule the vast coastlines of Merwyn after the flood as the Magocracy, a sprawling empire ruled by wizards, as they tried to rebuild the wonders of Perwyn on the mainland . . . until the Narasi barbarians of the north invaded and put a stop to the Magocracy. And a lot of magi. It wasn’t exactly something the surviving magi celebrated much.
“Oh, before the tragic Inundation of Perwyn, it was a magnificent place,” Astara assured her, as they came to the doorway of the hall. It had no door, but some sort of barrier was there, and quickly removed by a short tune from Astalia. “One of the reasons this hall was built was to commemorate Perwyn, and share a bit of its wonder with my people. Only a few of us were lucky enough to travel there, before the Inundation. This hall was built to help the Alka Alon get to know the newcomers and their ways.”
As they entered the hall, Dara could see the builders had a lot of intriguing things to say about human beings. Each lesson was displayed in a separate section, clustered almost like little shrines devoted to one aspect of human life or another. The images seemed to be painted with impossible realism on broad sheets like glass. Tiny models displayed various elements of biology, including the location of major organs and anatomy. Though the models were small and lacked blood or other fluids, they were horrific enough to see. Sort of like she imagined a goblin’s kitchen.
“Ick! Why would your folk want to see us without any skin on?” Dara demanded.
“Your biology is fascinating to us. To some of us,” she corrected herself. “It so different from ours, yet so similar.”
“I suppose you can learn a lot from someone’s guts,” Dara conceded, reluctantly. She’d learned quite a bit about rabbits and birds Frightful caught by examining their stomachs. It was not her favorite task in falconry.
“The truly interesting stuff is farther in,” Astalia assured her. “You probably already know most of the introductory lessons,” she said, as she escorted her past a far-too-realistic display of how a human ate, digested food, and eliminated wastes.
“Yes, I think I’ve mastered that part,” Dara agreed, without further comment. “What’s the interesting stuff?” she asked, curious what the Alkan maiden would find fascinating about boring old people.
“This one,” Astalia said, with a tiny grin, stopping in front of a shrine-like display filled with spheres that hovered in the air. Dara thought they were magelights, at first, but they were some other magic, she learned. “This is where we are,” she began, waving her hand over the display. A handful of balls appeared to float in the air.
“We’re . . . where?” Dara asked, confused. She didn’t see anything familiar in the display.
“Callidore,” Astalia explained, excitedly. “That’s the world we live on. The blue-green ball in the middle, fourth one out, with the two smaller spheres around it. Those are the moons,” she emphasized.
“Wait, the moons? There’s only one moon!”
“You can’t see the little green one, this far north,” Astalia conceded. “Just the big white one. But that’s where we live, on the eastern side that northern continent, there.”
“Wait, that’s us? That’s our . . . that’s the entire world?” Dara asked, her mind whirling.
“Well, of course,” Astalia agreed. “Ours, originally, but we shared this part of it with your people, when they came. But this is the really interesting part,” she continued, while Dara’s mind spawned a thousand questions in an instant. “This is where your folk originally come from!” she said, triumphantly.
The ghostly image changed. One collection of spheres and circles was replaced with another. Dara was no less confused.
“That’s the world the humani came from,” Astalia proclaimed, proudly. “Only one moon! But bigger than Callidore’s two combined. The star is different, too,” she added, though Dara couldn’t see any difference. Or any star. Just a bunch of circles.
“Uh . . . what?”
“Before your people lived here, on Callidore, they lived on this world. It had a few different names, in your languages, but it was usually called Terra or Earth,” she explained, carefully. “It’s a little different from Callidore. But more similar to Callidore than our original world was.”
“Yo
ur original world?” Dara asked, more confused than ever. “I thought the Alka Alon were from Callidore?”
“No, we came here . . . ten thousand years ago or so?” the Alkan maid tried to recall. “Closer to twelve, I think. From a world called Alonaral.” She waved her fingers over the display again and another set of circles appeared. A small green sphere expanded in size until it was as large as Dara’s head. “The Sea Folk of Callidore gave us the land. We, in turn, welcomed the humani here when you came. Well, most of us,” she corrected herself.
“What do you mean?” Dara asked, knowing that Master Minalan would want to know that sort of thing.
“There have always been those who have opposed the humani settlement,” Astalia confessed, guiltily. “Sometimes, they have caused trouble. For both of our peoples. They are a tiny minority, however. Most of us don’t mind the humani at all.”
“Don’t mind us?” Dara snorted.
“I mean that many of us enjoy the treasures of the humani,” Astalia said, looking embarrassed at her words. “A few of us are passionate about you and your world. And some are . . .”
“I understand,” Dara sighed. “We have fanatics in our culture, too. Mostly, we ignore them. Unless they happen to be powerful.”
“Thankfully, those Alka Alon who . . . dislike the humani have little power,” Astalia assured her. “But they can still sometimes make trouble. That is one of the things I think is being discussed in council,” she said, her eyes cutting toward the distant meeting hall.
“Along with the goblin invasion. Gurvani invasion,” she corrected herself, knowing the proper term for the nocturnal creatures rampaging in the western lands. “Master Minalan will sort things out,” Dara assured her, in return, trying her best to sound confident. She had no idea if that was true, but if anyone could figure out a way to fix things, it was Minalan the Spellmonger.
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