by D. T. Kane
Agar himself had been a member of the Blades, brought up according to their doctrines of oppression and cruelty. But he had overcome his upbringing, orchestrating the rebellion that had resulted in the exodus of tens of thousands from Sykt. The Leveande. Survivors. Ultimately, the Leveande had settled in this land now named for Agar. Here he’d birthed a new order of the Keepers of the Blade. Naturally, they’d quickly taken charge of Agarsfar’s defense, maintaining and training a national army.
But the new Keepers’ purpose had gone far beyond weapons and bloodshed. Agar had sought to ensure that never again would government hoard the elemental knowledge that had allowed Sykt’s line of mad kings to oppress the populace with power and fear. So he’d founded the Symposium, a center of secular learning open to all. Those with elemental prowess and the ability to teach it were revered, elevated to the highest tiers of the order. All were welcome to seek the Keepers’ knowledge and study at the Symposium. Those with any elemental skill could train as lay students, benefitting from the Keepers’ knowledge and harnessing their skills into useful trades. Earth attuneds often excelled at farming, fire at smithing, and so on. In the arid North, water attuneds were sought after, as they could create mass quantities of water from the smallest bits of moisture and purify the sea’s salty waters. Ones with great skill, either in the elements, weaponcraft, or both, could once have enrolled in the Symposium to become Keepers themselves. The old moniker, Keepers of the Blade, was soon dropped in favor of Keepers of Agarsfar. Over the centuries, the name had been shortened further until most simply referred to them as the Keepers.
Today, that was all a distant memory, and for Ferrin personally, the Keepers were little more than stories he’d read in books relegated to this lower level of the library. Since the Keepers’ last leader, Grand Master Keeper Taul Bladesorrow, had allegedly contrived a peace conference to sell the South into the hands of the North, nothing had been the same. The Senate had voted to disband the Keepers altogether, essentially handing control of Agarsfar to the Temple and the Parents of Tragnè. The Parents had originally been founded by the altruistic Lady Tragnè herself, Agar’s wife. Their purpose had been charity, taking care of those less fortunate. A worthy organization on paper to be sure.
Yet, as with most good things it seemed, time had soured the Parents’ good intentions. Today’s iteration had elevated Tragnè from a great woman to a deity. They treated her writings as works of gospel, though in Ferrin’s view they’d twisted much of her writing to serve their ultra-conservative purposes. While the Parents still purported to care for those who couldn’t care for themselves, it increasingly seemed that the Parents didn’t think anyone who walked the land today knew how to care for themselves, and it was the Temple’s duty to show them the way.
The Temple also treated channeling as a necessary evil. Unlike the Keepers, who had embraced the idea of elemental knowledge for all after escaping Sykt, the Temple argued that the only true way to ensure the oppression of Sykt never recurred was to eschew and suppress elemental usage. They held particular disdain for the shadow. As best Ferrin could tell, the entire basis for this hate was a single line from Tragnè’s Oral Histories, in which she’d cursed the shadow after Agar had fallen during a duel with Ralmos, the Lord of the Elsewhere, during the last battle of the Great Shadow War. The Parents often seemed to bandy that story about as proof of both Tragnè’s divinity and the inherent evil of the North. As he saw it, though, Agar had been the true hero that day, laying down his life for all the land. And the North had merely had the misfortune of being the location where the mysterious rift had appeared, from which the shadow spawn had come.
But regardless, the Parents now held Agarsfar in their grip, as tight as a smith’s tongs about hot steel. Ral Mok was far enough removed from the power centers of the deep South to avoid much of the Temple’s influence on a daily basis. But the Western Province was still as much a part of Agarsfar as the rest of the land, and still had to bow to the Parents’ intentions.
Stories of the Parents’ hunts for shadow attuneds were legion. How they were locked away in “camps” in the dankest dark places of Tragnè City. Executions based on the slightest provocation. Even those who weren’t shadow attuned didn’t escape the Temple’s cruelty. From what he’d heard, one need only breathe the wrong way to have a Parent decrying him as a shadow friend, and under the Edicts that was virtually as bad as being shadow attuned. Worse yet, there was no recourse to question such a decry, so all a Parent needed to lord power over anyone was to insinuate calling the Edicts down upon that person. Resistance meant condemnation as a shadow sympathizer, forfeiture of all your rights in the eyes of the state.
And now the Parents were here at Ral Mok in force.
Through all this mulling, Ferrin hadn’t noticed the sound of approaching footsteps. He’d had little reason to notice. For years now he’d been coming down here and not once could he recall anyone else making an appearance. Not even the town librarian.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
Ferrin leapt up in surprise. Or tried to anyway. His chair banged into the wall, knees slamming into the edge of the table, sending books falling everywhere. He groaned at the pain and slumped back into the chair. His lamp wobbled precariously.
Raldon frowned at the lamp, though not with concern. If Ferrin hadn’t known better, he would have thought the man was trying to keep him from seeing into his eyes. In fact, Raldon looked awful, an odd sight for the always placid and controlled man. Hair rumpled, lines showing at the corners of his eyes, mouth drawn like a ship’s sails before a gale.
“Master Raldon,” he said, trying to stall for time while he mapped out the best way to get away without him noticing. The options were non-existent. As he’d just proved, he could barely get out from behind the desk, much less sneak away. He supposed he’d just have to suffer through whatever lecture the man had in store for him this time.
“Has anyone been down here?” Raldon asked. Not the question Ferrin had been expecting at all.
“No,” Ferrin responded after a moment’s hesitation to consider the query’s implications. “No one ever comes down here, Master Raldon.”
“I do. Sometimes.” Raldon continued to stare at the lamp, not meeting Ferrin’s eyes. His voice was contemplative, as if he were thinking of something else while speaking. Distant and distracted. Ferrin fidgeted in the prison he’d made for himself between desk and wall, growing uneasy at Raldon’s uncharacteristic demeanor.
They remained silent for some time. Raldon barely seemed to notice, but for Ferrin it grew increasingly disconcerting. This was bordering on the bizarre. Raldon was known for his implacable demeanor, certainly, but the man was also decisive, not one to ponder or wait around. Now it seemed as if he were lost for words. Or worse yet, wasn’t sure why he was there at all.
Finally, Ferrin spoke, just to crack the silence. “Are you here for a lesson? We haven’t had one in a while.”
“We had one two days ago,” Raldon said, still looking away.
Ferrin barely choked back a scoff, turning it into a cough instead. True, they had met the other day, but it had been little more than a lecture on the importance of deep breathing and concentration. Ferrin wasn’t sure the word channel had even crossed the man’s lips the whole session.
“A real one, I mean. One where you actually teach me some more advanced channeling techniques.”
Raldon finally turned his eyes on him. Ferrin was relieved for an instant, then almost immediately wished the man would go back to looking off into the Elsewhere. Anger was in his eyes. A scary thing, the rage of a calm man.
“What do you think I’ve been doing, all these years of private sessions? Do you’ve any idea how rare a skill you possess? Fully formed duo-attunement? Fire is perhaps your stronger, but your power in earth is nearly as great. Handful of times per generation, something like what you have occurs. And you wish to wield it about without any patience to learn how to control it properly.”
>
Ferrin tried to lean away from the torrent of the man’s words, but had nowhere to go. They hit him like punches, shocking him into silence.
Raldon took a deep breath before going on, less stern but still with iron in his words. “There is still so much to teach you, and so little time remains. The man who left you here tasked me... Well, no matter about that.”
The man who left him here? His father? Raldon so rarely spoke of him that Ferrin was too surprised to immediately speak. In fact, for a short while he’d begun to think of Raldon in the same light he imagined one might think of a father. Stern, yet devoted to his education and future. But the frustrations of his recent lessons had snuffed such thoughts. It was almost as if Raldon were holding things back from him. On purpose.
By the time Ferrin began to open his mouth, Raldon was already moving on.
“Have I ever told you that some students often don’t discover their strongest attunement until later in life?”
“What?” Ferrin said, thrown off balance by this seeming non sequitur.
“I suppose not. Well, it’s not uncommon. They tap into their weaker first. It’s barely a flicker of ability at all and they move through life believing they’re simply not a channeler, will never do more with their power than light a candle, or stir a light breeze. Only much later, usually by accident, do they realize that element has been their weaker all along. That they’ve been shunning the stronger of their attunements all that time.”
Ferrin stared at Raldon, mouth hanging half open with uncertainty. Finally he opted for speaking the truth.
“Master Raldon, you’re not making any sense. Why are you telling me this?”
A smile flashed across the man’s face, though it was quick as a rain cloud in the North.
“Oh, I guess I’m just delaying. Valdin... The Grand Father is at the early evening devotionals with the rest of the Parents now. So I’ve a few minutes before I must resume my duties. The banquet will be starting soon.”
Ferrin frowned, disquiet snaking through him once more.
“Why do you tolerate him so, Master Raldon? He’s not so great as everyone makes him out, I think.”
Raldon didn’t speak for some time, during which his face was a tumult of emotions, as if a struggle raged within him. More than once he thought Raldon was ready to erupt with fury. Moments later he seemed about to cry.
Finally, he said in an unsteady voice barely more than a whisper, “Sometimes, you must do things you wish not to in order to achieve those which you do.”
Usually Ferrin couldn’t stand Raldon’s wisdom-laden one liners. But tonight he spoke with such profundity Ferrin found himself nodding along. He could understand the sentiment. He’d no real desire to be laboring away his youth in this library. But he needed answers. Needed to know where he’d come from and why he’d been left here. Yet at this moment another question burned in his mind.
“What really happened at Riverdale fifteen years ago?”
Raldon grasped the edge of the table as if the question had somehow knocked him off balance.
“I cannot say.” He spoke the words as if something were actually stopping him from speaking of it.
“But Taul Bladesorrow was a good man. He showed up here when I was little older than you, Ferrin. A lad of no more than ten. And I trained him, just as I’ve tried with you. My life’s work. Preparing those who need it the most for the trials they’ll one day face.”
What did that mean?
“Do you care for Jenzara, Ferrin?”
Ferrin nearly choked on his surprise and tried to jump from his chair once more. His knees cried out as they again met the table’s edge. He slumped back down into the seat, feeling his face heat.
“Care for her? Well sure, she’s been a good friend to me all these years. Just a friend, of course.”
Raldon studied him. Ferrin was certain that smile had been back again for a moment. Then he blinked and the man’s brow was furrowed once more, eyes looking away towards the lamp.
“You’ll keep an eye on her, I’m sure, should I not be present?”
Ferrin opened and shut his mouth, unable to find words. What was this? Some sort of test? Trying to get him to admit something he certainly didn’t feel? Well the man would get nothing from him. He’d no feelings for Jenzara at all. Certainly not.
“Keep her safe, that is,” Raldon said.
Safe? What could she possibly need protecting from in Ral Mok?
“I know you will,” Raldon said. “After that episode with Jeremyck yesterday, how could I doubt?” That twitch at the edge of his lips again, then Raldon’s back was to him, moving away towards the stairs that led out of the cellar. Raldon got about halfway there before he stopped. Without turning back, he said. “You know the shelf in my study? The one you took my copy of The Lessons from?”
Ferrin raised his eyebrows, then had to suppress a laugh. Of course Raldon had noticed.
“Sure. The one towards the back. Always hard to see the titles, since the sun almost never reaches it save for high noon.”
“Yes, that one,” Raldon replied. “Should you...” his voice trailed off again, as if uncertain. Ferrin’s stomach clenched. He couldn’t say why, but Raldon’s hesitance was disconcerting. Perhaps it was just all the questions about Jenzara. Of course he didn’t like her that way. And he certainly wouldn’t tell Raldon if he did.
“Should you find yourself in need of assistance, stand before it. It’s just like the channeling you know.”
He strode away without another word, leaving Ferrin alone with his books and a mind swirling with questions. Little of what Raldon had said made sense, those last words most of all. Just like the channeling he knew? How could standing before a shelf be like channeling?
He scrubbed at his hair and considered a volume on government Raldon had assigned for class tomorrow. But all the will to read had left him. Now he needed answers that wouldn’t be found in any book. If the Grand Father’s appearance had put even Raldon out of sorts, then Ferrin definitely needed to figure out what was going on. He’d planned to skip the grand dinner tonight. But perhaps he’d better go now. He could learn nothing of what the Parents might intend sitting down here. And Jenzara would be there, so it wouldn’t be all bad.
Thinking of Jenzara reminded him of what Raldon had just said about her. Keep her safe? Certainly he didn’t think the Parents posed a threat to her. How could they? She was no shadow friend and she’d been nothing but prim and proper to all the Parents.
He squeezed out from behind the table, careful of his knees this time, and shook his head. He’d still no idea what Raldon meant, but if there was any danger he would protect her. He’d let nothing harm her. Not even the Grand Father himself.
14
Devan
The First Lesson: A Constant, be it an event or an individual, cannot be altered.
-From The Lessons
“PATH’S BURIED IN SNOW with light failing,” Devan cursed, turning back to Nellis. “You know who this is?”
The dwarf nodded. “Aye. O’course I do. Taul Bladesorrow. One o’ the few South-ners with any sense. And they killed ’im for it!” The dwarf’s voice was heavy in his throat.
Devan frowned, turning back to the man who lay prostrate within the depths of the wagon. He still didn’t know where this Bladesorrow moniker had come from. Taul’s legacy name was supposed to be Lightsblade. But the man laying before him was undoubtedly Taul.
The discrepancy was insignificant compared to the problem before him now. The famed Grand Master Keeper was shirtless, a jagged jet-black stone protruding from his left side. Dried blood caked around the entrance wound; a scarlet pool had formed beneath it on the wagon’s floor boards. The veins around the wound stood out against the man’s skin, dark webs spindling out from the puncture site. His breathing was ragged. Uneven. Coming in pinched, high-pitched gasps that sounded like screams his vocal cords lacked energy to produce. His eyes were clenched shut. He grasped a short sword of e
lemental steel against his chest as if it were the last thing in this life that mattered.
“He’s not dead yet.”
“Migh’ as well be,” Nellis muttered, turning his back. “Nob’dy recovers from a shadow heart wound.”
Devan’s face hardened. Trials like this were what the Path had made him for.
“This man isn’t nobody, Nellis Lonemage. If anyone should know that, it’s you.”
The dwarf turned back, leering up at him. Any ardor that had been in his face upon learning Devan was one of the Aldur was gone now.
“I once thought o’ Grand Master Rikar that way. But the assassin killed ’im easy enough. No healer can help Taul now.”
Rikar Bladesong, Taul Blade...sorrow’s predecessor, was supposed to have led a long life and died of old age. It seemed Val had done far more than meddle with the outcome of the Riverdale Accords. Stephan help him—that meant that fixing the immediate problem before him might not solve the chaos threatening the Path. But one thing at a time.
“Perhaps you’re right, master dwarf. But I’m no healer.” Then, in a tone that would have sparked mountains to action, Devan said, “Grand Master Keeper. Look at me.”
The man stirred. He lifted his head and squinted at Devan. Somehow Devan had known what he’d see, but that didn’t make the confirmation any easier to swallow. The Grand Master’s eyes were entirely black. No whites. Just endless black, like yawning caves. The memory of a child chained in the catacombs of the Alduric Cathedral flashed across Devan’s mind.
