Sleep was a withholding lover. Caius lay stretched out in his bed as the night toiled on around him. Exhaustion toyed with him, ran fingers beneath his heavy, ringed eyes, slipped in close then darted away. Time was immaterial in these twilight hours between the restful and the waking, a sensation that had become all too familiar to the second son of Gwayne. Sometimes the time of his death would come to him, inked in thin smoky lines across his dresser or desk. Weary phantoms, hallucinations of a mind that could only seem to rest when it had finally run itself into the ground. Caius, of course, was nothing if not resilient to running himself into the ground.
So the torture continued.
He was awake when the knock came, heavy, mailed fist a deafening thunder. Boom. Boom. BOOM. A headache immediately, the parting kiss of sleep as she sashayed away into the gloom. Raising slowly, setting aside the book neatly balanced on his narrow chest, Caius swung his feet over the bed and onto the cold floor. There was no need to undress, why pretend he wouldn’t have been up in another break or two anyways? Steal off to the library perhaps, see if Professor Nolan would not find his way there as well. The older scholar burned a candle at both ends, which suited Caius fine. After all, it was the library where he could earn himself peace. The print-making book, a familiar and complicated friend, called him back to its worn cloth cover, but Caius chose instead to rise and walk slowly to the door. Another shudder of noise shook the frame before he yanked the handle and opened the door.
Although he had recognized the telltale chime of mail, his mind had not yet connected it to his visitor. So it was with annoyance, surprise, and trepidation that Caius beheld the looming shape of the guest. The guard was not dressed for active combat, but his breastplate glimmered in the light of the hall candle. Tawny gold hair fell in ringlets from his crown around his ears. It was a face that might have been handsome were it not so common. Wide nose and slightly flat face, strong chin and brooding eyes with a faint moustache growing in like fledgling wheat.
He was armed, an old sword at his waist he was still growing into, but the pommel was carved the likeness of a gauntlet fist. Sword of a Knight, but certainly not new enough to have been awarded him. Hand me down then. Caius did not recognize the make of the armor (Not that he made a habit of identifying the Rynmere militia by small variants in metal) but the way the light caught it, dark, like ink had been rubbed into the finish. Something of it filled him with unease.
“Pardon my interruption,” the young man said in a way that suggested he neither wanted Caius’ pardon nor considered what he was doing an interruption, “You are Caius Gwayne, correct?”
“Who asks?” The noble asked suspiciously, already running through a catalog of possible misdeeds he could have committed. None came strikingly to mind that might warrant the response of this grim specter, though.
“I have a writ of summons,” The soldier answered, holding up the fist that beat Caius’ door. Clenched there was a rolled sheaf of parchment. As Caius took it, the guard departed down the hallway to fetch the candle and brought it back, holding it between them. Firelight made hollows of the guard’s dark eyes and Caius imagined he couldn’t have looked much better.
Immediately he recognized the wax seal of the Venora house, rose and thorns, stamped in red-black ink at the bottom. The content was simple enough, hardly taking up any room at all.
By Order of the King’s Inquisitor
Caius Gwayne is Ordered to Appear on the Night of Vhalar 122, of the 517th Arc.
Signed in careful calligraphy was the signature, Kayled Wine.
The name rang a distant bell to Caius, but his mind simply had not given up the dream of slumber, slow to respond and slower to recognize. Still, Caius could not very well ignore that crest. His stomach dropped somewhere low, perhaps toward his ankles, and he wondered if he might be sick. An official summons at such an irregular hour could never be something beneficial. Up came his mind, whip-crack, awake now to run the simulations of all the awful things it could be.
He entertained them one by one as he retrieved his boots and a coat for the chill before following the guard out into the hall. “Have you a name, ser?” Caius asked politely, turning the key in the lock (as if there was anything of true value to steal inside) and popping the fur collar up around his face to ward the expected wind.
“Alan, my lord,” Came the solemn response, drifting back to him, “In the service of Lord Inquisitor Kayled.”
“Lord Inquisitor?” Caius asked, “I…apologize, but I’m not familiar with that station.”
“Newly appointed,” Alan responded back to him, descending the stairs and stepping out into the night, “By Order of the King.”
“Ah.” Caius said it flatly, as the guard had given him precious little information while still somehow answering him. Aggravating. “And what is the purpose of the Lord Inquisitor?”
“To Inquisit.”
Caius wasn’t sure if Alan was joking or serious. He delivered each line so coldly he might have been a puppet of the approaching cold cycle. Caius chose not to push it, crossing his arms and following the guard down the streets away from the University. They had crossed nearly two blocks before he spoke again, “Mages, my lord. We’re to find and detain them.”
Ah. Now the name clicked. Earlier today he had heard mention from a gaggle of students in the library (talking much too loudly to merit secrecy) that an Inquisitor of some sort had arrived at the college earlier that day to examine the premises. A professor of Archeology, Thomas Terrance, had been accused of practicing magic and had been taken to the King’s dungeon. Since the incident with the mad mage Fridgar, whose face and tantalizing bounty taunted many a tracker even today, Cassander had grown steadily more wary of magical practices in his kingdom. Having seen little himself, Caius hadn’t yet formed an opinion of the matter. He wagered mages might feel a little bit like a man who knew the exact date of their death. There was a difference, a privilege that was both curse and blessing, that set them apart from ordinary men. Certainly the arcane practices could be dangerous, but Caius truly hadn’t encountered enough to draw a solid conclusion for himself.
It simply wasn’t his responsibility.
Their journey found them down the main thoroughfare of the Andaris market and at the steps of The Sacred, the oldest Rynalism temple in the region and dedicated to Andaris. A woman, aged unnaturally by the patterns of dirt and filth on her face and clothes offered up a tin cup, shaking the few nels inside against each other in the begger’s shanty. Alan paused here and knelt down, reaching to his belt and retrieving a small pouch of coin. Carefully he counted out four silver nels and dropped them, one after the other, to join their cousins in her cup and laid a firm, but comforting hand on her shoulder.
“Cold night, Greta,” He told her quietly, “Carry yourself to the inn on the corner and let them know I sent you. They’ll take two of those silver coins I gave you, yes? But no more. You tell me if they take a single nel more.”
“Bless you,” she cooed, revealing she was quite young, “Zi’ida comes sooner every Arc it seems like.”
“Pray Ziell lets us a few pleasant evenings more,” Alan smiled, “Now, off with you.”
Stumbling to her feet, the young woman blew a kiss at Alan and eyed Caius distrustfully before scampering off into the night. Alan took a few steps up the stairs and paused, turning back down to Caius. “He’s ahead, in prayer. Strict orders on who can disturb him. I take it you can make your way from here.”
Caius nodded and walked past Alan, not all that eager for an armed guard at any time of day, especially at such a late hour. It made him feel like a criminal, or some kind of delicate prize paraded about his family home with a contingent never more than a shout away…as if he’d somehow run afoul of the odd rabbit warren that tunneled under the garden wall to play merry with his mother’s garden.
The inside of the Temple was a quiet one, even more so now that the shadows under the austere marble eyes of the Paragons lengthened to make confessionals of alcoves. The host of priests responsible for maintaining the premises kept low, guttering flames alive in the old temple, beacons for those to lay offerings and prayers at the feet of their patrons. Few, if any, came to offer their praise or pleas at this hour. After all, there were no neighbors to measure ones devotion by their presence or remark on the marvelous pronunciation of endless names in lineage. Unbidden, the mantra of the Gwayne prayers festered on Caius’ lips but he managed to avoid giving them form.
Voices came to him as he crossed the threshold, leading him back to the regal pose of the Venora paragon, face lost in the gloom. All Seven were represented at each temple, but it was Andaris that held the honor of the sacred location here, in the city bearing his name.
“They won’t escape again, Lord Inquisitor, I swear it.” The shape of a kneeling man came into view as Caius rounded one of the central pillars of the edifice, head down and penitent. He wore the same armor as Alan, but with a helmet strapped to oily black hair that sought freedom along the edges of where metal met the back of his neck.
“No, you’ve done well, Dagget,” came the quiet, quick reply, “Describe to me what you saw.”
“When we charged the warehouse, I had ten men fire their bolts through the front. Few found their marks, my men report splintered wood at the base of the window, as though they had fired against a steel door.”
“Abrogation.” Came the other voice after a moment, “All of them?”
“A few bolts unaccounted for, my lord, and blood near where we might measure their trajectory. Some did manage to get through. We might have had more success, but a serpent shaped of flames roiled out from the window and kept my men at bay.”
“Your men?”
“Yes, My Lord, just my men. I managed to avoid the worst of it and enter the warehouse…however one of them was able to restore the broken door instantly. It slowed me down.”
“Hmm.” The sound of tongue clicking against teeth, “Anything else?”
“Ninacky,” the solider reported, “She appeared behind Edalene Burnett and pulled her through the portal, gone before my spear could reach her.”
“Were you trying to kill her, Dagget?” The Lord Inquisitor asked. There was a note of surprise in his voice, a certain weight to the question.
“I…” Dagget paused here, pressing both his hands together nervously, “I tried to direct my thrust, lord. A leg wound, nothing fatal.”
“Have you ever been stabbed in the leg before, Dagget?” This was a different voice and Caius could see the shape of another man in the shadows, cross-armed and small, leaning against the pillar opposite him.
“No.” Dagget responded after a moment of silence.
“The head, guided by the thrust, bites deep through skin and bone. At a close range, it is not unlikely for it to plunge past the muscles. Tearing it out leaves a ragged wound, one often difficult to conventionally treat. Owing to the numerous important blood vessels there, you’d be surprised how fatal spearing someone in the leg could be.”
“With respect,” Dagget began, “I am fully capable-“
“Enough.” The Inquisitor again and Dagget fell into a rueful silence. “Dukette speaks well. The Burnett Twins are not mages, not so far as we are aware. I won’t have you slaughtering them.”
“But sir, they’re clearly collaborators,” Dagget protested, nearly rising to his feet before thinking better of it, “Surely their crime-“
“Is a matter for the Lord Inquisitor to advise.” Came the immediate retort, “Unless you consider yourself a candidate for such a decision, Dagget?”
“No, my lord,” Dagget sighed, “I misspoke. Forgive me.”
“Forgiven. We have more pressing matters anyways. Were they all there?”
“When I arrived, I did not see Professor Nolan, Professor Vhalo, or Daevus,” he reported, “Daevus hasn’t been seen since that display this morning. We cannot even confirm if he was staying at an inn locally.”
“Widen the search. Spare what men you can and requisition the ones you can’t from the Iron Hand. I would like to at least be aware where they are before tomorrow.”
“Should we begin patrols for the mages?” Dagget held up something in his hand, something that glimmered like crystal, “It worked just as DuKette said it would.”
“No. We’ll see them bright and early,” The Inquisitor says, taking a long and measured breath from wherever he lurked in the darkness of the alcove, “No sense in running our men exhausted. They’ll go to ground for the remainder of the evening and lick their wounds. Fortunately, it seems they have more to mend than we. Take your men and return to the barracks. Switch them out with fresh recruits and seek out news of Daevus. Expect standing orders for the morning before the sun rises.”
“At once, Lord Inquisitor.” Dagget bows his head then stands, striding past Caius and affording him only the briefest of glances before disappearing back out the way he had come.
“My Lord Caius, please, join me if you will.”
Caius stepped forward hesitantly, still warding himself against the chill to find the Lord Inquisitor knelt at the stone feet of the Venora paragon, staring up into the darkness. Lord Inquisitor Kayled was a thin man, cursed with a figure that most would call scare-crow. Sharp, dark eyes were set deep in an almost skull-like face, framed with heavy, black, curly locks. His hooked nose was like the beak of a falcon, set prominently in a snake-thin face. He wore a similar breastplate to the guards who served under him and had a rose clasped between gloved hands. As Caius watched, he laid it gently at the feet of the Venora paragon and bent his head low, kissing the first two toes of the Venora’s left foot. Several bits passed before Kayled spoke again, his voice low and introspective.
“Lord Caius Gawyne, second son of the esteemed Baron Frederick and Jade Gawyne. You have my sincere apologies for summoning you at such an hour.” Kayled stands and looks up into the shadow of the statue above him, “There is an old story that makes rounds among the common folk in the Venora countryside. Cynere was gifted Fort Venora, in honor of her family, but the land was sick with blight. No crops they brought from the lands before seemed to take root well in the soil, even the most adept of farmers could find little success. They prayed to the gods for help but to no avail and as the seasons cycled through Arcs, it seemed that the dream of the Fort would be lost.” Finally Kayled turned on Caius, examining him. The Lord Inquisitor looked tired, much different from the arrogant bully he’d been described as through the library whispers Caius had overheard. “But Lady Cynere was never one to abandon her people and she vowed to make the land fertile. Now in that time there were rumors of old spirits living deep in Raven’s Holt. Some of the farmers had taken to worshipping them for fear of the wolves they’d send from the trees.” He chuckled, shaking his head, “Cynere had found no favor with the gods, but she took with her only a single torch, supplies for three days, and her horse into the trees of Raven’s Holt. Brave woman, but the people took her for dead when she had not returned after an entire cycle. Her husband had the forest searched, but to no avail. Go back far enough, and you’ll find record of a funeral…but when she emerged from the trees after, trials after she should have starved, they struck most of it from the records.” Kayled lifted a hand to appreciatively pat her shins, gentle and respectful. “She said she had gone in to seek aid for her people and found the Spirits in disarray and confusion. They too had found no help from the gods and blamed all of man for their ruin. Lady Cynere, the Devoted, refused to leave until the spirits had lifted their curse from the land and by virtue of her will, forced the spirits to come to an accord.” He smiled at Caius, “The land would bloom. Greater still than any land in all of Rynmere and in return she would never force the worship of Immortals in her domain. Some legends say it different. They say she must never abandon a child of her blood, as the spirits had been abandoned in the wild, but the more common story is one of the Immortals.”
Kayled stepped back from the Venora statue and rubbed his hands together slowly, as if washing them. “Legends are what religion is built on, isn’t it?” Raising an eyebrow at Caius, but expecting no answer, “In honor of the Seven…flesh and blood men, our empire has been rising and rising through the long arcs.” His voice echoed in the chamber, booming despite his slight stature. “Kings and Queens rise and fall, but the Seven are eternal. No city save Etzos can boast so many of a populous not devoted to the Immortals, and I find that…remarkable.”
He strode past Caius, motioning for him to follow, taking them out of the alcove and into the greater commons of the Temple. “We have never met before, my Lord. I am Kayled Wine, a humble servant. I found purpose as an investigator of crimes in Krome, serving the royal family there in what capacity I was able. Twenty arcs I have worked tirelessly to safeguard the people and have asked little in return.” Here, a pained smile, twisted. “The Venora found, in me, the kind of man who is willing to pass sentence…who is willing to bear the responsibility for bloodshed. Our King Cassander fears men of magic and I have been burdened with the responsibility of ensuring our King’s fears go answered.” Caius felt a chill run through his blood, summoned by the few historical accounts he had read tied to his religious studies. Mage slayings near a century ago, the burnings. “I was a lad, near eight arcs old when I first saw a miracle performed. A priest of Moseke, hailing from the burning sands of Nashaki, was passing through my village when the daughter of our tax collector fell ill.” Kayled finally paused and turned back to Caius, eyes distant, remembering, “The Rynalist monks aided in what ways they could, but the fever was too strong, too sure. I remember Monk Avery saying that it was the will of the Fates that she should perish. But that Moseke priest, he laid his hands upon the child and she was whole. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a Monk so furious for good news before.” A low chuckle, rueful, old, rattled the Inquisitor. “Ah, but afterward the Priest said that his power was granted him by an Immortal. That his power was for the people, and not himself. He served a King, just as we did, but it was not OUR king, you see.”
Kayled shrugged, “He left the very next day and Monk Avery spoke on the dangers of Immortal worship for nearly the entire cycle that followed. Maybe some of my countrymen laid their devotion to Moseke then. I know the taxman did, though he was not one much longer when the Venora got wind of the situation.” The remaining stranger in the dark shifted, reminding Caius they still had an audience. They were closer now, and Caius could make out a faint crimson luster to the man’s hair and the sheen of a waxed and outlandish moustache. His clothes were garish as well, even muted in shadow, they screamed. “Ten trials after the priest had left, a mage was discovered and in her haste to escape, set fire to half the village. The girl died, in agony, perhaps a far greater one than she might have faced at the fever.”
Caius was quiet, not sure whether he should interject or comment. Kayled seemed content to hear himself talk and as tuned to information as Caius was, he’d let the man reveal his own nature before trying to head him off. There was still no clear indication on why he’d been summoned. “I did not call you hear to talk of old stories, though,” Kayled seemed to answer his thoughts, “Nor to discuss your opinions on poets, authors, or artists…” He paused, “Though I am partial to the work of the Burhan poet sailor Tolse, the adventures of Finnegan Sweet, by David Goshen…of Fort Gawyne, I believe, and the landscapes of Alison Venora, if pressed to answer.” Kayled watched Caius carefully, but Caius held his expression neutrally. Clearly, Kayled had been researching him which left the noble at a disadvantage. “I want to ask you four questions, and I would ask you answer them to me as honestly and completely as possible.” Kayled held out his hands up toward the domed ceiling, lost in the night, “I assure you, no answer you give me will leave this temple. You have my word.”
Caius nodded his ascent, not entirely sure he could simply walk out at this stage.
“First, what do you desire?” Kayled tapped a gloved finger on his narrow chin, “What are your ambitions, I should say. Second, What do you think is the difference between Justice and Tyrany? Third, a hypothetical. You are to stand in judgement of a man. While this man has committed no crime of malice, to your knowledge, he stands allied to an enemy of the Throne. Banishment has been denied as a possible recourse. What, then, do you judge for this man who has committed no violence but breaks the law in the allegiances he holds? Finally, What do you know of magic, mages, and its history in Rynmere?”
The night pressed in around them, a conspiratorial blanket beneath the scales of Andaris. Caius felt the cold of the season seeping into his bones, slipping beneath his clothes to plunder what little comfort he had left. Kayled was a serpent, but not altogether an evil one. Something about him, small and slight, belied the presence he seemed to inflict on Caius and the men around him. There was something burning in the hook-nosed man, something openly on fire. Caius saw, in his minds eye, a lanky hound...like the wild dogs that sometimes prowled behind the University, baleful eyes and saliva dripping from a closed maw. It was hungry. Yes. There was such raw hunger here. It stared at him, scoured his blood, saw into his soul. The cold? This cold was nothing.
Kayled.
Kayled was a force, clothed loosely in the trappings of a man.
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Tommy and Mara eventually fell quiet. Malena rocked them instinctively, her eyes half-lidded with the exhaustion of her day. As the breaks passed and the candles dwindled lower on their wicks, the mages worked in relative solemnity. When Vhalo removed the second bolt from Nolan, the professor had swooned and gone limp. Gently, with such care that it belied the tremor in his old hands, Vhalo bound the ragged wounds and clasped Nolan’s limp hand. He didn’t answer Edalene at first, studying Nolan before adjusting his torn cloak to cover most of the long scars Aegeo had uncovered. “Perhaps,” he said without looking at her, “There may be other ways…but I can think of no other option that does not increase the danger significantly.”
“Eda,” Aeodan murmured her name from where he swooned against Aegeo. She abandoned Vhalo in an instant and spirited to his side, cradling his head against her chest. Feverishly she ran her fingers through his hair, again and again, the way she’d combed it when they were younger. Somehow, no matter how tangled her fingers were, no matter how much of him she touched, it was not enough to calm the fire of frenzy in her breast. “Eda,” Aeodan said again, trying to focus and sit up.
“Hush,” She said to him, stronger than he was at this point and keeping him still against her chest, “You’re bleeding, Aeo. Stop moving.”
“Edalene,” he tried again, “This is my choice.”
“Our choice,” She whispered, “We’re connected.”
“Anything for Thomas,” Aeodan affirmed, looking up at her with those dark, fierce eyes…when had they become so fierce? “A finger is a small price to pay.”
“And if they can’t return you to you? What then?”
“Then I will love you in any form. In every form. From now to forever.”
“But I like THIS one!” She protested, but without fight. Aeodan was difficult to sway when he had set his mind to something.
“I’m ready,” Vhalo called back to her, “Aegeo, could you help me?”
The Defier had been quiet since accepting help from Aeodan, but stood quickly when called and walked over to the table. Vhalo bent down to reorganize his tools for extracting the bolt. Aegeo easily lifted Nolan off the bloodied table, walking him across the room to where Ninacky had laid out some old furs. She shrank away from Nolan as Aegeo deposited him, red in her face the shame she felt at suddenly fearing her Guide. Aegeo only nodded, understanding. To Aeodan’s bleary vision it appeared as though Aegeo reached into one of Nolan’s pockets, pulling out a small polished mirror, a gleam of silver, before slipping it into his own pocket. It was only for a moment and Aeodan’s vision bled away again as he fought against fatigue and shock. Edalene held him and Ninacky joined her, wordlessly helping Aeodan to his feet and over to Vhalo’s table.
Laying him out, Ninacky retreated to Malena, who was dozing in and out of sleep. She murmured an exhausted thanks, both of them taking one of the babies to a corner of the room for her to lay next to them. Mara reached out a tiny hand in her sleep, met by Tommy’s who grasped it affectionately, shoving the thumb of his other hand deep into his mouth and suckling.
Vhalo loomed over Aeodan. “This will hurt, young man,” He said to him calmly, fitting a short piece of wood between his teeth, “Try and be brave.” Aeodan nodded and Vhalo once more took the tools to where the bolt set deeply in pooling blood.
To his credit, Aeodan did not scream. He simply passed out.
Edalene was sitting beside Aeodan long after Vhalo had finished his work and bandaged the boy up. Now he meditated near a window, ocassionally cocking his head to the noises of the city around them. Perhaps he was sleeping.
Ninacky had settled in with Malena and Aegeo was by the door, retying his injuries and muttering to himself. She didn’t linger long on the growling mage, her stomach turned when she had to deal with him too long. So much of her rage was pent up inside, striving to release itself. She wasn’t violent, not practiced with sword or shield. Sometimes, especially now, she felt almost useless…just the mouse who chronicled the adventures that had already happened. It was her bear that announced his arrival, a low growl which turned her attention to Nolan who had silently limped his way over to her. He smiled, but it was a pained and tired thing, adjusting his glasses before taking a seat near the table.
“I-I apologize if I misled you,” He started, waving away her protests with a shake of his head, “In t-truth, I much p-prefer the company of men.” Edalene blushed, nodding and Nolan let himself relax a bit against the wall, groaning as his wounds shifted. “Her name was Annise,” He started, tracing the line of both scars with one hand down his thin chest, “I h-had never felt that w-way about a woman before…but sh-she wasn’t interested in me.” Nolan smiled, shrugging helplessly, “Sh-she wanted my G-Guide, Adrian, a man I l-loved beyond the stars and b-back.” His eyes were distant, seeing past her and somewhere before her…some scene she was not privy to. “It was t-twenty arcs ago now. T-Thomas was not our cell leader, j-just a G-guide teaching Aegeo.” Edalene glanced toward the thunderous mage, but his head had lolled to one side and his chest rose and fell slowly. “Annise w-was everything I w-wasn’t. C-c-confident. C-controlled. Charming. I envied her, and I envied how she made Adrian feel.” Taking his glasses off, Nolan polished them slowly, methodically, “She asked him to do so many things…and the more he saw her the more he changed.” A shadow passed across Nolan’s features and for a moment, Edalene could imagine the gentle professor smeared with another’s blood, “She made him b-betray us, made him want t-to. Three good Seekers died, one of them he k-k-k” Nolan stopped and took a long, shaky breath, replacing the frameless glasses back on his nose. “He asked me to help him escape with her. I was his Initiate, after all, I had dedicated myself to his instruction. I think…maybe a little, he knew how I felt-t. Who he was, who he used t-t-to be…he would never have c-confronted it. Maybe in time I would have g-gotten over it as well. But she…she made him tell her everything and she USED my emotions ag-g-g-g.” Color rose into Nolan’s cheeks and he gripped a pocket bulging with other things, as if something in there might calm him. A vein in his neck popped and pulsed briefly before settling. Nolan took a few trills before continuing. “She underestimated me. What I would do. I don’t think even I knew I was c-c-capable.” Rage left him, leaving the scholar old and quiet again, sad, “I…I ended it. I ended them both, dashed whatever plan Syroa had.” Again he traced the scars, “I miss Adrian every d-day. It doesn’t get bet-t-ter. Easier to go on but never any less painful. Compared to that, these sc-c-cars are just marks.” Nolan looked over at the sleeping Ninacky, his face twitching with something like sorrow. “Sessfiends.” He said quietly, “I th-think what’s worst is knowing they’re right not t-t-to trust you. The beast is so much stronger when you try to be g-g-good and gentle. I think it sees, you know? Through my eyes. Locked in a c-c-cage it watches me live my life, furious and trapped. I…I don’t blame it for being angry, for wanting to hurt those dear to me,” Clearly, by his intonation, he did, “I j-j-just…no one knows…if the Sessfiend is c-c-created by Syroa, or if the m-monster was always there, just waiting to c-c-claw out.”
“I don’t think you’re a monster, Professor,” Edalene whispered quietly, “You’re one of the kindest people I know.”
Nolan smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes, and receded out of his lips quickly. “Th-thank you, Edalene,” he answered, kneading his own palm with one thumb, “It’s all I want t-t-to be remembered for. No th-this…thing inside me. Thomas found me an artifact to control it that I k-keep on me always. Thankfully I haven’t h-hurt anyone yet. I d-don’t ever want to.”
“May I see it?” Edalene asked, intrigued, “Your artifact, I mean.”
“Oh, no, I’m sorry,” Nolan patted the bulky pocket apologetically. “It’s a mirror. If anyone else but me is the last to be reflected, the power will break and the beast will be released.” Noting the flash of worry crossing unbidden across Edalene’s face, Nolan winced. “I…I assure you, you’re q-q-quite safe.”
“I’m worried about you, Professor,” Edalene frowns, reaching out to take his hand, “Are you safe?” At first he flinches away but relents, letting her wrap her hand, warm from Aeodan’s grasp, around his own chilled fingers. Nolan smiled, and this time it did reach his eyes and she smiled back. Nodding he stood, wincing and walked back across the room to the furs, laying down to stare at the ceiling. Edalene took Aeodan’s hand again and laid her head against the makeshift operating table, content to hear his breathing…steady. Steady. Steady.
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The house was burning.
Sheltered by cliffs and angled trees, the small cottage birthed tongues of flames in every window, roaring from the open door. Above, the sky whipped itself into a frenzy of orange-grey clouds, stormless and storming. Dry grass whispered like snakes around his ankles and Aeodan felt…displaced. There was no sun, but the light was late noon. The two story cottage was fully engulfed now, flames devouring the carefully carved sills and the words written above door, black and ashy now.
Ninacky stood a little ways ahead of him, her orange-red hair as bright as the flames themselves, watching it burn with him. She seemed younger, and then she was, maybe six years old and clasping a bird stuffed with feathers and made of faded dyed cloth. Holding it close to her, as if she might squeeze it apart, Ninacky took a few hesitant steps forward and Aeodan leaped forward, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her away from the oppressive sheets of heat. Vaguely, through the wide open front door, he could make out three figures in the blaze, no more than dark silhouettes, ashlings born of the space between light and darkness.
“Oh.” Ninacky said, looking up at him, her amber eyes aglow, “You’re here.” She didn’t sound surprised, looking back out at the house as it slowly collapsed.
“Where are we?” Aeodan asked, casting about for anything familiar, “Where did you take me?”
“Home,” Ninacky answered, pointing at the burning house, “And I didn’t take you here. You’re intruding.”
“I…what?”
“This is my dream,” She said, matter-of-fact, gesturing with the floppy bird, “Just had to stick your nose into my own business.”
“Not intentionally,” Aeodan snapped, unable to tear his eyes away from the beings in the flames, “This doesn’t…I don’t do this often.”
“My family, in case you’re wondering,” Ninacky says, sitting in the tall grass. She is herself again, lithe figure clad in little more than a simple wool shirt and leather leggings, her hair danced and soared like flames. “My father was devoted to Faldrun, like my mother. They always knew they’d return to the fire one day. It’s not a curse, like you humans seem to think. A lot of us want this. It’s the only pure way to go.” Laying her chin down on her crossed arms she continued to watch the figures flickering in the disintegrating cottage. “We live. We die. We’re like firefly asses, Aeodan, just bright maybes in a night so long that no one can remember the day.” She brought up a hand and pressed her fingers together, drawing them apart quickly and making a popping sound with her lips. “The other Seekers, they’re so…oh I dunno, they’re so upset. Everything is about control and secrecy, even Thomas…” she trails off, “And I really like Thomas.”
Aeodan opted to sit next to her and she leaned against him, pressing her face against his side and running two fingers over his knee, “We have so little time on Idalos. Why waste it with so much sorrow? Loss is all humans seem to understand. Can’t lose this. Can’t lose that. Can’t live without them. Can’t be complete without her.” Ninacky glanced up, catching Aeodan’s eye. Hers were bright and lively, mischievous. “Life is about so much more than loss, but we all get so scared once we have it. Firefly butts, Aeo, we just poof poof poof, so why not live it up?” The front of the cabin collapsed in on itself, revealing more figures burning in the dark there. Aeodan thought he recognized Aegeo, maybe Malena.
“I’m proud to be what I am. I’m a mage. I’m Aukari. I fight, and fuck, and gamble, and drink whenever I want. I choose to live. I CHOOSE not to be sad.” Up came her pert, shapely lips, nibbling on Aeodan’s earlobe. He drew back from it instinctively and she giggled. “Or…I mean…I wish I was like that. That’s how I should be.” The dark figures reached out to her and Ninacky offered a lazy hand back towards them. “I told myself I wouldn’t get caught up in it again, being afraid of losing. We’re all so…temporary, but…”
She gripped Aeodan, hard, her hands like vices on his clothing, she pulled him down to her. Those fierce, fierce eyes. How did he miss it before? How could he have? Desperation. Fear.
“I don’t want to die, Aeo,” She whispered, harsh, like it was some kind of dirty secret, “I don’t want my new family to die! I don’t want to be trapped here on this miserable rock, burning where people will spit on me! I want to be free…I want…” The house had collapsed to reveal a single pole in the conflagration. A rotund figure was lashed to the pole, a shape Aeodan knew and he was suddenly glad he wasn’t close enough to make out the details.
“I want Thomas,” She breathed, releasing him and rolling onto her back, staring up at the clouds, “I want Thomas and he loves Malena. Neither of them admits it, but I can tell. I know…I…” Tears sizzled on her cheeks. “I wish she was gone and I hate that I wish it.” Ninacky pressed the bird against her breast with both hands and blinked back tears. “How do you stand to love her so much, Aeo?” She asked, “Doesn’t it hurt?” Ninacky wouldn’t look at him, just the orange-red soot clouds wrestling far above them. “What if you lose her?”
**********************************************************************************************************************
Edalene did not mean to fall asleep.
She had been waiting for Vhalo to come and rouse Aeodan for the operation, but as adrenaline gave way to exhaustion, she found herself in the arms of sleep before she was aware. It was only when she started, jerking back to the waking world suddenly, that she realized she must have dozed off.
The room was eerily still, but all mages were accounted for. She could mark the bodies where they lay or leaned and was not immediately aware of what was wrong. Something was wrong. She could feel something was wrong.
No one was breathing.
Sudden panic hurled Edalene to her feet, immediately going to Aeodan to see that, he too, did not draw any breath. A scream was born in her throat and pummeled at her gritted teeth for release, but she forced it back, rocking on her heels as she took in the situation. How? How could they all be dead? What had-
But she could feel her connection to Aeodan. There was no loss, no sense of something torn. Gently her fingers ran across Aeodan’s exposed chest, feeling the warmth there. All was silent around her and Arturus chuffed quietly, drawing her attention to the smaller table near the door. A chair had been set next to it, but the table was no larger than could fit perhaps a single book, closed. Sitting in the chair was a new figure, tall enough that it was nearly disconcerting. The candles had guttered low and it took a moment for Edalene to realize that they were not flickering at all. All three tongues were bent into shapes, midway between a flicker, but unmoving.
Time had stopped.
The stranger wore a dark beard and simple clothes, vestments she recognized from the Viden library. He was dressed like a librarian, an assistant to fetch books and place the correct ones where they needed to be, a position she was well familiar with. He was reading by the still candlelight on the table, a book with an ornate and familiar cover, thoughtfully turning pages and examining what was written on each. She knew then, she recognized her book, the book of experiences she could call whenever she desired.
Ralaith, without introduction, was known to her as he slowly turned page after page of her book.
Awe shocked her, trembling with the devotion of feeling the god so close. Arturus was at peace, content to simply bask in Ralaith’s presence. For a few moments neither of them spoke, Edalene extricating her shock and awe from her natural curiosity and the god simply reading. Before she could break the silence, he did.
Closing the book, he ran a hand along the cover thoughtfully and then turned to look at her. His eyes were soft, brown, the deep wood-bark of a bears. There was enormity behind him, the sound of countless clocks chiming forward, ticking back. He smiled and her heart thundered. “Edalene,” a surprisingly soft voice for one so tall and strong, “Would You Take A Walk With Me?”
It was how she found herself in the still, cold night of Andaris, walking side by side with her first patron. Ralaith seemed to take in the night around him, pausing at windows to glance inside, taking the time to minutely adjust a torn blanket to better wrap around the beggar frozen mid-shiver in an alley. Edalene followed in devoted silence, feeling rather than knowing that he would ask her to speak when he was ready.
In that way they walked without word till they had reached the market square. A single pole had been erected around scaffolding, built up with wood, straw, and kindling. A pyre yet unborn. Here he paused and turned to her. There was no expectation in his face nor hint of other emotion. Strangely, he was alien to her, as if he had borrowed this face but was still not accustomed to using it.
“I Have Heard Your Prayers,” He starts with an awkward smile, “Every Word You Speak In My Name. Every Action You Dedicate…I See, I Hear, I Listen.” He motions her to follow him as he walks up on the scaffolding, laying a hand on the straight pole. “Remarkable, Isn’t It?” he asks, almost sadly, “Explain A Fact A Thousand Times And They’ll Still Forget How To Learn. Fear Makes Monsters Of Men.” Shaking his head, he turned back to Edalene, “Tell Me, Edalene, What Are You Doing Here?” The question caught her off guard at first but Ralaith didn’t seem disappointed, just inscrutable. “You Could Steal Into The Andaris Jail And Have Your Cure For Farafan. Be Away With Your Brother Before Daybreak And Halfway To The Tomb.” He inspected her, intrigued, “And Yet Here You Are, Risking Your Life For A Man You’ve Only Come To Know Recently.” Drawing his hands together, steepling his fingers, Ralaith nodded to her, expectantly, “Explain It To Me,” he coaxed, “Tell Me…Why Be So Reckless?”
