Mercy's Trial

by Sever Bronny

  “What will really mystify you,” Mrs. Stone went on, “is that some of us theorize that the ancient Leyans built Absalon knowing that it would get buried over time. What is further fascinating is that the winds came just as the entrance started to get buried. Mere coincidence? Fate? Divine intervention? Or arcanery well beyond our understanding? One of the many mysteries we dwell upon.”

  Leera, shaking her head in wonder, cleared her throat as she focused on the legendary woman. “Uh, these might be awfully stupid questions, Mrs. Stone, but why aren’t your eyes black? Why do you still have your hair? Why is your skin not bronze?”

  “Fear not, for those are fair questions, young lady. Alas, it takes much time to become a true Leyan. Acceptance, patience, wisdom—all things I dare say I lack.”

  The friends blurted a flurry of questions now.

  “How does it feel to be young again?”

  “What was Ley like after the war?”

  “How much do you know about what’s going on in Sithesia?”

  “What do you do with your time?”

  “Do you know anything about the dragon realm?”

  Mrs. Stone raised a hand. “Mercy me you do go on. I shall answer each question in turn, beginning with the first.” She placed her gaze upon the starry horizon. “In truth, it is indescribable to feel young again. Yes, I am limber and strong and clear of mind, but that does not encompass the meaning of rebirth, does it? At times I marvel at my own fortune. I, who had always expected to perish in a duel, now see a never-ending dawn of opportunity. Time … time! For what an abstract and paradoxical and unfathomable articulation of existence. For example, a day is no longer just a day when one no longer measures time in that manner. And yet there are indeed challenges—deep challenges of the soul, of the intellect. Challenges I never thought I would have to face, the simplest one being, what is worthy of spending time on? I dare say it begins slowly, simply—the realization that the only thing that mattered, that matters in this moment … is mere choice.”

  The group of friends exchanged wondrous looks, for Mrs. Stone sounded so very wise!

  The venerable woman examined her youthful hands. “It is a strange thing indeed to be young again. And yet we Leyans still age, except the aging is controlled by our own thoughts. The more imbalanced our thoughts, the more we age. It is a difficult concept to grasp, one I have yet to fully fathom.”

  She put her hands behind her back and looked at the group once more. “As to what it was like here after the war, there was much discussion and thinking, mostly the latter. We pondered many ideas—and oh how impatient I was to begin bridging Leyan knowledge with Sithesia! How ignorant I was of the Leyan way of patience. I did much reflecting. Imagine standing still for days on end observing the sun passing across the sky. Observing dusk, dawn, twilight, sunrise, sunset, the stars. Feeling absolute stillness, for Ley is in balance once more.” She closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sun. “No wind. No sound. Just … stillness. And appreciation.”

  The friends closed their eyes and listened to the serenity. Mrs. Stone gave them a moment to experience it before continuing, her voice a vivid blade slicing across that profound silence. “To this day, I still miss some of my old life. I miss the scents, the people, the colors, the simplicities. I miss hot pine tea, the chirp of birds, the morning herald parchment. I miss walking the cobbled stones of the cities, the polished halls where intrigues weave intricate webs, the idle chatter of the commons.”

  She opened her eyes to fondly gaze at each of them. “And I miss you. Not a day has gone by when you were not in my thoughts. Your schooling. Your teenage struggles. The kingdom’s enormous expectations of you—” Her eyes wandered to the blade at Augum’s hip. “—and the burdens that come with those expectations. I miss it all.” She sighed. “But my mentor has taught me that time will ease the longing, and only when I have fully accepted the Leyan way will I become a true Leyan.”

  “Your mentor, Mrs. Stone?” Bridget pressed, smiling as she exchanged excited looks with the others. Who was this mysterious person? Who could teach the Anna Atticus Stone?

  “You have met him before.”

  “Krakatos,” Augum whispered. He was the oldest Leyan, the Leyan who had been around to meet Atrius Arinthian, the one whom many in Sithesia consider an Unnameable. Of course it was him! Who else could it be?

  “Indeed.” Mrs. Stone turned her back on the sun and looked to the stars. “He is up there somewhere at the moment, teleporting among the stars like a frog hopping from pond leaf to pond leaf. Truth be told, I have not seen him in many months. I have been told that he often travels for years, sometimes decades, before returning to speak only a word or two, sometimes nothing at all. Though after every journey, he enters our great library and records his observations in books. Curious, I was allowed to peek into one of these books.” She chortled to herself. “My word, imagine a four-year-old picking up a book on 20th degree sorcery. That is how I felt. It was … incomprehensible. Incomprehensible.”

  Everyone was looking at the stars now too. Augum found himself frowning—and he wasn’t the only one. Traveling among the stars? Might as well say the moon was made of sugar, or up was really down, it was just as believable.

  “As to the question of how much I know about the goings-on of Sithesia, I am afraid very little. Be that as it may, with my urging we Leyans have begun turning our minds to reconnecting with the world. We are preparing to invite the best and brightest of all the kingdoms into Ley—people who respect knowledge. We will continue to be about diversity. Diversity of experience, of outlooks, of cultures, which means a balance has to be maintained—”

  “You can’t invite Samuel Sepherin,” Augum blurted. “Please, Nana, he’s murdered countless Solians. He’s a fiend, a vicious and evil—”

  Mrs. Stone stilled him with a finger. “Have patience, Great-grandson, for all will be taken into consideration. Now as I was saying, in due time, it is my hope that permanent bridges may be erected—portals, if you will—allowing a sharing of knowledge. We Leyans have kept to ourselves for far too long. It is time to repopulate. Repopulate our world with the curious few while repopulating your world with precious knowledge, for much of it has been lost over the eons. But it will take time, I am afraid. Generations. There is arcanery in our library you would not be able to fathom. Arcanery no one would be ready for, let alone understand. And much of it, wielded improperly, would have disastrous consequences.”

  She smiled serenely as she idly drew in the sand with her foot. “On to the next question—what do I do with my time. I meditate and study. I walk and I tidy and I sculpt.”

  Leera’s brows rose. “Sorry, Mrs. Stone, but did you say you sculpt?”

  “I do indeed. Clay simplicities. Musings, if you will. I will show you.”

  Olaf cringed. “Do you … do you not eat?”

  “We do not need to eat, nor sleep, for meditation accomplishes both. As such, one is free to explore the richness of knowledge in whole. And as you shall see when you step into the ancient Library of Ley, there is quite a lot of knowledge to explore.”

  The friends smiled gleefully, for everyone was excited to explore the mythic Library of Ley.

  “As to your final question, we knew enough of the goings-on in Sithesia to deduce the direction things were headed—a possible return of the dragons. I once used to think history repeats, but that thought was shortsighted. I now believe history echoes. As such, I and a few others have been diligently studying that most mysterious of realms—Endraga Ra. And it is a frightfully dangerous realm. Fortunately, we need only explore a miniscule swath of its vast entirety, for your quest is rather simple in that regard.” She raised an eyebrow at them. “I am curious, do you know what your quest is?”

  Jengo straightened. “We have to learn how to summon dragons, Mrs. Stone.”

  “Indeed, Jengo, you do. But in order for you to be able to summon a dragon, you must tune with the entire concept. And there are nuanced details
involved in that tuning, which can only take place within Endraga Ra.” She pressed her fingertips together, a gesture Augum well remembered. “And to Endraga Ra is where we go now.”

  “Now?” the group chorused incredulously. “Right now?”

  “Right now. As I said, we have not been idle and there is much for you to learn. I have been preparing a course for you.”

  The friends stood gaping.

  “During your time in Ley and beyond, you will once more be my apprentices, and I your mentor.”

  To this, the friends all reacted differently. Bridget grabbed the academy crest on her robe with both hands as she breathed deeply, savoring the news. Leera jumped on Augum with an excited squeal. Jengo muttered something about needing to sit down, Olaf pressed his palms against his head in disbelief, and Haylee closed her eyes and smiled as if in a pleasant dream.

  “Now this is a birthday present,” Augum said, twirling his girl, who had wrapped her legs around him and was laughing and snorting happily, all while Mrs. Stone looked on amusedly.

  “What about the other Leyans, Mrs. Stone?” Bridget eventually asked. “Will they not be upset?”

  “We have all expected the old knowledge to wake. It was only a matter of time until Arcaners came through once again. We have already discussed our reaction. I argued that we should have made things easier by inviting you, but the elders disagreed, saying that the first among you would have to earn the knowledge.” She placed her gaze on Augum. “And so you did. But now comes a still greater and far more dangerous challenge.”

  “I won’t be able to summon a dragon without my shield returning to its full glory,” Augum interrupted.

  “And since you are bare of foot, am I to assume that you have already begun your pilgrimage, Great-grandson?”

  “I have, Nana.”

  “Sensible. This will not be rushed. You will have time to complete your pilgrimage before attempting the final trial, that I assure you.”

  “But part of the pilgrimage means I have to …” He couldn’t say it.

  “Kill a necromantic dragon?”

  “How … how did you know?”

  “As I said, I have been quite busy researching the subject of Arcaners, alongside a certain special someone you shall meet soon enough. But enough of that. I have shown you the above. Now it is time to see the below.”

  “What about the Canterrans, Nana?”

  “They shall arrive in due time, barring they do not break their assigned penance. The council shall convene and give them an opportunity to be heard.”

  “But Sepherin—”

  “I have already addressed the matter, Great-grandson.” Her voice held a hint of annoyance, a pale echo of the cantankerous demeanor Augum well remembered, one garnered from thirty-five years of being headmistress.

  “Yes, Nana. Sorry, Nana.”

  “But they won’t be allowed to summon necromantic dragons as well, will they, Mrs. Stone?” Haylee pressed.

  “It is a complicated matter, Dragoon Tennyson, one that shall be explored in detail. Now ready yourselves, for we go to Absalon and then to the great library. From there, we pay our first brief visit to the dragon realm. Then there shall be a memorial ceremony, finally followed by a marvelous birthday feast.” She winked at Augum, whose heart was bursting with joy. “And tomorrow, we begin your training.”

  For the umpteenth time that morning, the group exchanged wild looks of excitement. This was everything they had dreamed of and yet so much more, renewing Augum’s belief that they could save Solia—and perhaps, all of Sithesia—from Canterran tyranny.

  They linked hands and the young Mrs. Stone teleported them underground, where they appeared in pitch-darkness, until a floating ball of blue lightning popped into existence above them. Mrs. Stone’s lamp crackled as it gently floated, lighting a floor of huge square stone slabs the color of ash that continued into the darkness.

  “Walk with me,” Mrs. Stone said.

  And so they did, many lighting their own palms as they went. Augum found the floor surprisingly cold under his bare feet. He almost missed the warm sand, but also wondered how he would fare during the hot daytimes.

  “We are slowly rebuilding Absalon in preparation for opening Ley in the future,” Mrs. Stone went on. “Apparently there is an ancient arcane torch system built into the rock, but believe it or not, no one has quite figured out how to make it work.”

  The ironic remark drew chuckles from the friends.

  “There is light in some of the houses, but primarily you are expected to light your own path as warlocks. Last you three came,” Mrs. Stone went on, addressing the trio, “Leyans were wholly against opening up to the world. But things have changed. Attitudes have changed. Stagnancy and decay have given way to optimism, interest, and perhaps even excitement. The library has more knowledge than the lifetimes of a whole kingdom put together have to learn it. Nonetheless, that knowledge must be consumed for it to have any meaning, as well as for all peoples to advance and learn and better themselves. Thus, I find it fitting that you six, you Arcaner six, will be the first outsiders to step through its ancient doors in almost two thousand years.”

  Bridget stopped and staggered. “The first … in two thousand years? I think I’m going to faint,” she whispered, clutching her chest as Olaf shot to her side to steady her. “We do not deserve this, Mrs. Stone. I do not deserve it because of what I’ve—”

  “Merciful spirits, child, how you prattle on,” Mrs. Stone snapped, another echo of her old grumpy self. “If I were to dwell on my numerous faults as you do, I would hardly be fit to accomplish a thing. And I seem to recall mentioning that we shall be conducting a memorial ceremony later. Was that not the case, young lady?”

  “It was, Mrs. Stone,” Bridget mumbled, head low.

  “Condemnation of self is remarkably easy, my dear—and occasionally addicting. Take care that you find fault where fault needs finding, but also take care to rectify the faults instead of dwelling on them. Do I make myself plain enough?”

  Bridget sniffed. “Yes, Mrs. Stone.”

  “Good, then I shan’t hear any more fishing for pity.” As Bridget reddened, Mrs. Stone’s fiercely blue eyes flicked to Olaf, who instantly let Bridget go, wringing his hands like a chastened schoolboy and even stepping away from her.

  “Now let us leave the nonsense of Sithesia behind for the moment and focus on the task at hand—and focus you will need, as I expect nothing but your sharpest senses. Make no mistake—what you are going to eventually attempt will be one of the most difficult feats ever attempted in history. The last time Arcaners attempted this great trial, only a fraction survived. Think on that.”

  The group stirred uneasily. Augum did not dare contemplate if any among them would perish.

  “Your only advantage is having a mentor to serve as a guide. The first time, there had been no research, no books, no stories to draw upon. Arcaners attempted it blind, with only marginal help from Leyans. Their attempt was based on trial and error, which gave way to theory. And yes, that theory evolved over the relatively short time that Arcaners continued to take the trial and learn how to summon dragons. But take heed, for this trial has not been attempted in thousands of years. Thus I dare say it would be most prudent of you to focus. Does everyone understand?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone,” they chorused.

  “Good, because I will not have any of your sniveling nonsense muddying up that focus. Yes, we have much to catch up on, but when your attention is demanded, I expect you to give it with whole heart and mind.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.”

  Her floating lamp jumped ahead, anticipating her words. “Now let us move forth, for there are wonders for you to see,” and she followed her lightning lamp into the pitch-darkness. Although there were no reference points to mark their path, she seemed to know the way, guiding them over that ancient slab floor. At first the friends were subdued, but as she spoke about the Leyan plane—how they would find the food and weather and sky di
fferent and yet the same, and how the plane of Ley itself was large yet small and therefore mysterious in that capacity—questions soon came once more. Mrs. Stone answered each in turn with the patience of someone who had lived a long time and experienced time itself in a new way. Augum watched her as he listened, for this marvelous and interesting woman was methodical and to the point yet explorative in her thinking, unafraid to question not only history, but the point of it all—the point of existence. And yet she held on to the traditions of old, her Solian frame of reference unshakeable. She was their link to this strange world, something he was profoundly grateful for.

  At last, they came upon a set of worn steps that disappeared into the darkness on both sides. Each step was so deep that it took three strides to reach the next one. After ascending fifty of these ancient steps, they stood before a pair of the largest doors Augum had ever seen—they had to be at least one hundred feet high. They arched at the top and were inset into a gently curving slab-stone structure, much like an enormous well.

  Mrs. Stone’s globe floated upward to showcase the behemoth doors. They were made of a dark and dense wood not unlike rosewood, and were banded with iron. Carvings of books, scrolls, tablets, maps, quills and inkwells spanned both doors. In the middle of the carvings, with a liberal amount of space around it, was a circle containing two overlapping ovals perpendicular to each other. And floating in the very center of the ovals was a single dot.

  “The Helix,” Bridget whispered reverently.

  “What’s that?” Olaf whispered back.

  “It is the ancient symbol of Ley,” Mrs. Stone said, “representing the eternal moment within which we dwell.” She then raised a palm, adding in a solemn and loud voice, “Anna Atticus Stone.”

  The doors began to open outward. They were so silent and large that the young friends stepped back, spooked by the lack of sound from such behemoths.

  Torchlight greeted them from the interior, the flames caged behind crude iron spikes, forming malicious-looking thorn-like lanterns that sputtered with low flames.