The Sah'niir

by Kim Wedlock

  But while eyebrows rose in surprise, she merely straightened and inclined her head. Not even a whisper of astonishment or satisfaction touched her lips. "I will do what I can."

  "Beyond that, we keep focused on the magic. Salus aside, the matter has become no less important. We can't let its lack of sentience distract us."

  All nodded in reluctant agreement, and upon the conclusion, Elle's demeanour abruptly shifted. Just as it had the first time, her attention settled entirely upon the black-haired mage and everyone knew that her matters with them as a group were finished. And Rathen had no feud with that at all.

  Until the others turned away, a touch confused, and her eyes softened in sadness. He understood the moment she embraced him, in grief and in comfort. "I'm so sorry," was all she said. They remained that way for some time.

  Her eyes had changed again when they released one another, and though she surely saw the remorse lingering on in his own, she didn't point it out. She smiled warmly instead. "Well. We finally have answers. I have to admit, I'm glad. It's been so long that I'd...forgotten how deeply those questions had burned themselves in..."

  "We have one answer," he corrected her, albeit softly, taking the hand she extended. "And it doesn't make anything any better."

  "Actually, it does. It just doesn't give us the last eleven years back." She smiled again, melting his resentment away - then she straightened, grinned cheerfully, and tucked her hands behind her back. "Now, I think there's someone I'd like to meet..."

  Chapter 13

  Aria stared at him from the saddle for a very, very long time. It soon reached the point that Rathen no longer had any clue of what she could possibly have been thinking, nor if her imagination hadn't departed with her entirely and skipped off into the hills.

  Finally, her lips pursed, slowly and tightly. "Why?"

  He cursed himself. He should have expected that. But as he inhaled to answer even while still gathering his thoughts, her sharp eyes hooked his and stopped his voice in his throat.

  "No, don't tell me. I don't want to know."

  They both sighed and looked away across the tall, sickly forest. The light was low, made gloomier by the mid-morning clouds, and the skeletal trees' crowns appeared more as leafy wigs than any sign of vitality. The others were scattered amongst them and waiting, just as they were, for Garon to return from scouting, and for the first time since Rathen had tucked the weary child into her blankets the night before, they had the privacy to speak. Which was turning out to be more difficult than he'd anticipated.

  He adjusted the grey mare's bridle for distraction as Aria's penetrating eyes bore back onto him. "You love her, don't you?"

  Once again an answer eluded him, and in that same moment the adulterous guilt he'd shut away for years caught up with him. He fled it in a desperate moment and focused again upon the bridle, but her stare wasn't so easily escaped. Though he frowned at what she said next.

  "You're a lot older than me. You didn't always live at home - our home, I mean. In the forest. You lived with the Order, once, in the cities. Kienza doesn't. She's like we are now. She has been for a very long time - longer, I think, than either of us think."

  "Sweetheart--"

  She leaned out from the saddle and hugged him. "I won't say a word about her. But I don't think Kienza would mind. Actually, I think she'd understand. But I still won't say anything."

  Rathen sighed and squeezed her, feeling that same guilt and cowardice creeping back into his gut.

  "Elle is very nice," she said as he let go and attempted to kick off the mud and what he hoped was algae from his boots before climbing up behind her. "And funny. And pretty. She said I'm pretty, too, you know."

  "I know. You're quite alike."

  "Am I funny, too?"

  "Looking."

  Her eyes flashed impishly. "No wonder," she replied with tightly reined intensity, "look at you."

  "Yes, very alike indeed," he smiled.

  "...You've said I'm like Kienza, too."

  "Yes. You are."

  She nodded slowly, no doubt further piecing the matter together.

  She soon turned away to watch for Garon's return, but upon no sign of him, she directed her attention upon Anthis and his beige dun several paces away, where he appeared to be reading over his scrolls. The drooping top edge of the parchment gave away his distraction. Eyila was waiting the same distance from him, studying the grim surroundings with even greater distaste than she had tirelessly regarded the forests. "Will we see her again?"

  "Don't be sly, Aria," he sighed, "you know we will. You overheard everything we said last night. "

  "Of course I did, I was right behind Anthis! Even with all your new elfyness, Daddy, you didn't even notice I was there."

  It had only been a note, a fleeting touch, but the hurt in her voice pierced his heart. She'd tried to hide it, pretend she spoke in jest, but those very efforts gave it away and this newest wave of guilt she'd managed to strike him with was paralysing. It was only through impulse that he managed to embrace her at all.

  Mercifully, it was then that Garon reappeared in the distance of the sodden forest, though he didn't appear particularly enthusiastic.

  "It only gets worse," he announced as he returned to his horse. "It's not a fluke. The marsh has expanded."

  "How could it when it was such a mild spring?"

  Rathen groaned. "I could hazard a guess..."

  They urged their horses after Garon's bay and ventured further into the marsh, the thud of every gingerly-placed hoof softened by the damp ground. With no clear path, the beasts were left to pick their own way around the labyrinth of puddles, some pierced with so many weeds they would be entirely hidden if not for the reflective glint of the clouds, and they soon began snorting poignantly in revulsion when the puddles became too vast to skirt and a smog of bitter stench was discovered gathering in the air above them. But as prudent as the horses were being, progress was still faster than had the riders been on foot. No doubt that had been Kienza's intention, even if she hadn't seen fit to verbally inform them.

  The Korovor Woodlands had always been scarred by marshes, the result of the Grey Lake's frequent flooding, but as the sun hit its zenith, the nearest and most westerly marsh should still have been another six hours away on horseback, not already long beneath their feet. But as the afternoon aged, none were in any doubt as to the cause of the expansion. The magic toppled upon them as suddenly as it always did with the same aura of curious, almost disturbing beauty, and a peacefulness that still only Rathen seemed aware of. And it felt stronger this time; he found himself actively fighting to keep his head.

  Despite the others' trepidation, Aria was not so unsettled by the change. She began to fidget in the saddle, twisting and peering all around them to be the first to spot their destination. But whatever ruins she'd expected, she was disappointed. There was nothing to see but a few old bricks grown over with moss, half-submerged in the muck.

  Rathen drew in the reins as she slumped defeated in the saddle, and slipped down from behind her to rummage through a bag.

  "This is it?" Petra mumbled doubtfully as she and the others came to a stop beside him, looking around very carefully for any of the usual abnormalities. But there were no gale-force winds, no puddles of sunlight, no phantom music or unexplained presences. Aside from the swollen marsh itself, nothing was out of the ordinary. But she wasn't so easily fooled. Quietly, she dismounted to the sludgy ground and placed her hand on her sword hilt, scanning the surroundings with a sharp, predatory gaze.

  Aria tried to follow as Garon and Anthis did the same, but Rathen quickly stopped her. "You stay up there," he said, and though she inhaled to protest, the abrupt sightlessness of his eyes suddenly stilled her. She nodded and made herself comfortable. Only Eyila remained otherwise seated, but her eyes had become glass. Aria watched her in concern.

  The thorns of the Zi'veyn glinted in the slivers of late afternoon sun, sending fragments of light scattering across the e
maciated tree trunks and glittering across the water. But Rathen didn't notice them, nor the puddles he managed by chance to step around, nor even the foul miasma that dragged a sudden choke from Anthis as he followed more tactfully behind him. Battling to keep his focus, he stared beyond the visible world and into something draped over it, enshrouding every rock, tree and reed, and followed a trail that lay beyond human senses. Then, finally, stopping at the edge of something no one else could see, he looked down at the artefact in his palm. He stared for a long while, lost in thought, wrestling with decisions. No one dared interrupt him.

  The marsh was silent; no birds sang nor insects chirped. There was nothing and no one around. But Petra and Garon continued to patrol with mindful footsteps, refusing for a moment to ease their guard while they knew hunters were converging on the forest from all directions. Within moments, everyone had grown skittish.

  Aria managed not to scream as she saw something silver yet fleshy moving around in the water beside her horse's hooves, but her sharp gasp brought Petra running all the same. And she, too, looked down in horror.

  "What is it?" Aria whispered as more appeared around it, breaking through the water surface to peep back at them with enormous, goggly eyes.

  Petra stepped back and grimaced as one of them hopped away. "Frogs, I think. With rosy lips and women's legs..." She shook her head. "It must be the magic. That place was full of nak--" She paused and cast her an awkward smile. "Full of strange things."

  Another movement and glint of pure sunlight sent her staggering backwards with a gasp. The silver frogs scattered but for the largest, which was already in the mouth of a grass snake that had burst out from the reeds, its long, sleek body quite impossibly solid gold. She swiftly flicked it and its meal away from the child's horse with the tip of her sword. "Aria, you stay up there."

  "I was gonna," she squeaked.

  Slowly, steadily, magic channelled into the relic, filling it like an ancient jug whose every crack had been painstakingly repaired, cautious of re-opening the old ceramic wounds. Don't pour too fast, don't over-fill it; be conscious of every drop.

  Then the stream stopped. Reshaped, tapered yet blunted, it began probing the edge of the spell, the intent of the charm. Magic swelled, gradually, carefully, to match the opposing strength, then pushed, gently; a nudge. A primitive order to move, directing the purpose out of the artefact and into motion.

  He felt it: the shift of intangible weight, of the slightest vibration of heat, of life, of activity. His heart was in his throat.

  The spell, the power, discovered the edges of the relic's scopic black interior. With another gentle push, it permeated into the unnaturally forged metal, trickled between every particle of ore, every trace of mineral, every grain of dust and motive that composed such a vessel. Deeper and deeper, until the microscopically ridged edge of the brush work gave way to its pressure.

  His heart jumped.

  The magic seeped through, channelled along the brushwork like water through a runnel, but only for a moment before lifting away from the surface where the detail coiled, breaking free like a samara seed sent spiralling off into the wind.

  The magic was unleashed, the spell, intent.

  And nothing.

  Rathen's heart stopped. His breath escaped in a single ragged puff and he returned at once to the marsh - and again almost slipped beneath the unnatural tranquillity. Battling it back into submission, he found Garon and Anthis watching him intently. He bit back the caustic oath that burned on the end of his tongue.

  But it seemed neither of them felt the need to ask. Garon dismissed him and turned away in a moment, drawing the curse back up. "We can't stay here," he declared as he headed back towards the horses. "We need to find somewhere safe before nightfall and keep ahead of pursuers."

  "We only just got here--"

  "No, Rathen, you've been standing there for half an hour and you've gotten nowhere."

  'Half an hour?!' The mage growled. "I came close--"

  "It can't be 'close' if nothing happened. We move. Now."

  His eyes burned daggers into the back of the inquisitor's head. Anthis clapped him gently on the shoulder, and at the historian's own identical grief, Rathen sighed and followed along, casting a brief and resentful glare down towards the pyramid in his hand. He tossed it into the saddlebag with nothing less than loathing.

  "Did Kienza not shake them?" Petra asked as she mounted and tethered the enthralled tribal girl's reins to her own saddle.

  "She did, but these weren't following our trail. Somehow Salus worked out where we were going and sent agents out this way. Once they get here, they'll start looking for us. The deeper into the forest we are, the better."

  "And here I was under the impression that ending this magic was important."

  He sent her a short sidelong glance. "We can't do a thing if we're captured." Then he snapped the reins and started off around the pools, leaving the others no choice but to smother their objections and follow.

  As the horses renewed their trudge, Aria spun suddenly at a low rumbling close behind her. But Rathen didn't notice, nor that the rumbling was coming from his own throat. He was preoccupied by the anger, shame and embarrassment that came with this newest failure, and while he resented the defeat, at that moment he wanted nothing more than to be away from the magic and the compulsion to try again, for it would only fail and embitter his mood all the more.

  He felt utterly useless, and the presence of that tiny black device in the bag strapped just beside him kept dragging his attention like a magnet, twisting his neck and setting his heart thumping.

  Finding himself staring yet again, he snapped his head away and squeezed the reins until his knuckles turned white.

  And discovered both Petra and Aria sending him meaningful looks.

  "She needs you," Aria whispered as the duelist waved him over for what it seemed was not the first time, but as he steered his horse towards her, he drew up beside Eyila at her gesture instead.

  The tribal girl, half-slumped in the saddle, lurched at his arrival, firing him a gaze both sharp and lucid. But it lasted only a moment. She soon stopped seeing him.

  His frown softened in understanding. She'd been the same in Fendale, and far worse in Khry's Glory; distracted, muttering incoherently, and apparently even seeing things - or searching for something - that not even his magic would allow him to see. And he had no doubt as to the cause.

  As brief as the experience was, the mage in the desert had seared herself into his mind to the point that he'd woken in sweats from lurid mirror nightmares three times so far. Here were too many similarities - they were thin and weak, but they matched up.

  He chose not to consider his own struggles beneath the influence.

  He handed Aria the reins, which she took eagerly, and lifted her bronze wrist carefully to keep from startling her again. Eyila didn't react in the slightest, but that only served to hike his concerns. Finding her pulse with his fingers, he extended his magic as Kienza had guided him while Eyila's own explanation of healing rolled through the back of his mind. He counted her heartbeat, brushed her aura, and seeped his magic in between every cell within her veins, both blood and arcane.

  While he wasn't sure what he was looking for, it didn't take him long to find it.

  In the first year of the Order, every mage was taught the tedious business of magical biology, lessons that had been drummed into Rathen often enough, even as a soldier, to recall the matter easily. Magic entered the blood from a fifth chamber in the heart, moving through vessels at the same pace as though it was blood itself - or, he'd come to note, as though it was merely riding along with the current. When utilised, it heated by one eighteenth of a degree, vibrating slightly and subtly, but otherwise continued to stream through the body leaving the blood undisturbed. As far as a well-balanced body was concerned, the magic wasn't even there. As for not-so-well-balanced bodies, they compensated well enough by a slight and unnoticeable heating of the blood, which itse
lf served to prevent clotting and kept the magic from speeding on ahead and upsetting cardiovascular rhythm. Ultimately, it kept the blood and magic flowing together. That ability to compensate was directly related to resilience. It didn't matter how much or how powerful a mage's magic was alone - if they didn't have the resilience to keep up with it, the magic couldn't be used to maximum effect, and if their resilience was low enough, the magic couldn't be utilised at all. And the ratio of one's magic to resilience never changed.

  Lately, however, that which was considered natural law was beginning to slip into question.

  Eyila's magic was vibrating, and her resilience was struggling to keep up. It was as though she was in the middle of casting a spell and yet was giving off none of the usual arcane disruption while doing so. It was isolated inside her, moving yet motionless, as though manipulated like a puppet on strings. And it was stronger than it should have been. Slowly, but steadily, her body was buckling to its influence.

  Rathen's jaw tightened. Kienza had said it had something to do with blood.

  He lowered her hand back to her roan's mane, and though he felt Petra looking patiently back around at him, her fair face wrinkled softly in fret, he didn't dare look up. She expected him to do something, and once again there was nothing this disgrace of a half-elven mage could do.

  He pretended to continue concentrating on something beyond anyone else's notice for a while, then finally steeled himself, swallowed his pride and urged the horse forwards. He told her everything he knew, but with no solution at hand, it amounted to very little. She said she understood, but she did a poor job of concealing her disappointment.

  Falling under even greater shame, Rathen rode on in silence, staring into space with a weary mind, unaware of the scowl Anthis was firing his way.