by Kim Wedlock
Her cheeks burned pink, and she sat happily back beside her father, her arms slipping around him like a steel vice once again.
"As for the spell..."
"Will it work?"
"It's already in there?!"
"Yes, it may work," Eizariin replied, neither of them paying Anthis any attention as he stared somewhat agog at the wood, but his tone was hesitant, and the crease in his brow didn't buoy Rathen's hope. "But it's complex. It's a job to get my head around it, if I'm honest... But, these are no longer the spells my people would cast. I can't honestly offer a verdict until I see it applied, and I suspect the very act of doing so would render the need of said verdict redundant. But I am in awe of how you managed it, though, what with your rudimentary tutelage and impure descendancy."
Rathen's brow flattened. "Thank you."
"...Well?"
He blinked. "...'Well' what?"
"The spell--oh." He snapped his fingers. "A moment. Anthis, come closer, please. And bring the horses - you'll want them, I suspect."
The dizziness that followed was as unpleasant as always, but Rathen recovered quicker than usual. Aria, meanwhile, groaned in a moment of misery, Anthis staggered off-balance, and Eyila dropped to her knees, but while the former rather delicately shook it off, Eyila's eyes had glazed. Rathen rushed down to help her, but he quickly recognised the state. The surrounding magic, softly brushing against his senses like downy feathers, confirmed it.
And yet it barely touched him.
He rose slowly from the pebbles and looked out across the flat horizon, from the blaze of the lighthouse set out upon the still-standing tip of a collapsed headland in the east, to the edge of the foreboding Pavise mountains in the west. The white-capped sea roiled between them, studded beneath the surface with small, golden-sunset fish, and the rotten mast of an ancient wreck which broke the surface two miles out.
Whitemouth.
Silently, Anthis stepped up beside him. "Are we--"
"Looks like it."
"I can't see any--"
"It's under the water." Rathen's teeth gritted even tighter. "The bastard didn't lie. Salus really has done it." He sensed Eizariin join them. Dutifully, he took the Sah'niir from his outstretched hand and turned it about cynically. "If not now," he muttered, "when?"
Without leaving himself another moment to doubt, he raised his free hand, twisted his fingers into a brief spell, then took hold of the piece with both. The two watched closely from either side, apprehensive and curious, while Aria stared hopefully from beside Eyila.
A shaking began immediately underfoot, but it stopped shortly after it started, and Eizariin smiled to himself in satisfaction. The water surface continued to tremor, but the surrounding pebbles fell still. Anthis sent him a cautious look, but his attention was quickly dragged outwards.
The three listened, watched and waited, but the results were few and hard to discern. There may have been some unnoticed sound, though he heard nothing at that moment, and perhaps a smell or sensation already overpowered by the salt, but Anthis couldn't detect it. If Eizariin had noticed anything in his attention, he didn't share it. There appeared to be no change at all until the fish quite abruptly vanished, but whether they had ceased to exist, returned to darker camouflage or simply retreated to the depths was unclear. The sea didn't calm its unnatural boiling, and nothing else seemed to change.
His wondering ceased only upon Aria's warning cry.
Anthis was already turning when she hit the ground with a startled gasp, but Eizariin was faster. With a mildly confused glance around towards the charging tribal, he froze her immediately in place, even as Anthis rushed to her side.
"No!" He yelled, earning himself a bemused look of his own. "Release her, I'll hold her back! She'll be fine!"
"Do as he says," Rathen said gravely from beneath his concentration.
Eizariin glanced curiously at the two for a moment, but when he landed upon Anthis, his confusion passed instantly. His attention returned to the Sah'niir, and Eyila began to move. Anthis caught her as her vicious surge faltered.
"Aria, give Eizariin the Zi'veyn. Use it on her."
"What?! No, Rathen, he's--"
"Aria, do it."
Despite Anthis's protest, Aria obeyed her father in a heartbeat, fishing the Zi'veyn out of her pocket, stuffed inside when the first strange man had appeared in their barn, and thrust it into the elf's unwilling hands. He stared at it, pastel eyes filled with foreboding, even while Aria pushed him physically towards the struggling tribal. "Help her," she ordered. "It will still her magic and calm her down. Hurry!"
Looking from the child's urgent expression to the tribal's blind madness, reluctantly, he did as he was told. A moment later Eyila sank limp into Anthis's arms, and he pushed the ebon artefact back into Aria's hands with such haste it was as though it was diseased before his attention was pulled directly back towards the growing power of the Sah'niir.
Rathen's face was lined deeply in concentration. His skin shone with sweat in the nocturnal light, his shoulders almost trembled, and the crease in his brow inched closer to pain than to focus. He was beginning to exhaust. He felt as though he was a pot boiling dry on the stove.
"Don't try to use your full power," Eizariin said from beside him, but no matter how softly he spoke, there was a note of alarm in his voice that did little to help Rathen's struggle.
Not that it made any difference. A ragged breath later, his knees collapsed and hit the pebbles, and the Sah'niir tumbled from his hands. "I couldn't...if I tried..." He struggled to catch his breath, and rose from his hands with Aria's help to sit back on his heels. The others gathered around him. Eyila, as always, began to tend to his spent energy, and Eizariin watched again with interest. "It's broken."
"Broken? What is? The spell?"
"Well, frayed. But it comes down to the same thing." He accepted Aria's embrace, but didn't return it, shaking his head in self-reproach. "It didn't work."
Eizariin frowned. "...But it did."
His head rose sharply and he looked more carefully around the dark beach.
The water surface had fallen still. Even the tremors that had formed when he'd first cast the spell had ceased. And Eyila was fine - and looking back at him as she worked in astonishment. She felt it. So did he. There was no magic here.
All the creases vanished from his face, and his dark eyes widened in sheer wonder. "...It...worked..."
"Congratulations, Rathen Koraaz," Eizariin beamed, "you've just made history."
"That's not a first," he replied grimly, finally returning his daughter's vigorous hug, "but I'd rather take credit for this."
"Now you just need to fix it."
"Oh, is that all? It broke, Eizariin. It will break again."
"Unless you find the problem. The Zi'veyn didn't require a sign to use, did it?"
"No," Rathen admitted, suddenly a touch sheepish, "that was a safety precaution I added. In case Salus got a hold of it. A sort of...password. Why are you smiling? Is that the problem?"
"Oh, no," he grinned, "not as far as I can see. And I'm smiling because I'm just so...humbled. Your seals are such a handicap! Your Order's manner of thinking means there are things you just can't do. You think in seals and signs, and if you don't know the signs, you can't cast the spell. It would take too long to train that out of you, both as an adult with decades of such tuition, and with the impending matter...and yet...you've done this!"
"...So it's a compliment?"
"Absolutely."
Rathen nodded slowly, but he was too tired to try to pick out any hidden insults, and in truth, he didn't really want to notice them. He reached out and collected the Sah'niir, undented or scratched, and rose to his feet with the two girls' help. He held the wooden carving out towards the elf. "I don't suppose you have any suggestions?"
"Mmm...a faulty connection, perhaps. Your power leaked out, or over-charged it. Or the reinforcing spells were poorly cast. Or a bit of all three. It's over my head, re
ally; history is my field."
"But you're an elf..."
"And? You're a human. Can you educate me on the finer points of smithing?"
"Fair enough."
"Well," Eizariin began to straighten his silver-embroidered robes, though they seemed decidedly uncreased, as though they had just that moment been pressed, and passed the inert do'osos back into Rathen's hand, "it would be best if I left about now. This was a powerful demonstration and I really shouldn't be discovered near it."
"Wait!"
Eizariin blinked at the young historian. "No need to shout, I'm still standing right here..."
"Well, I...you don't use signs, so--"
"The elves will know where we are?" Eyila asked for him.
"Precisely where you are, yes. You had better leave, too."
"They are after us, then?"
"I said they would be, my dear."
"But we've not seen them," Anthis said hopefully, despite the elf's suddenly bleak look. "Not a trace."
"But they've seen you."
"Eizariin." Rathen stepped forwards, and on a strange, unspoken command, the others immediately fell silent. There was something in his tone that demanded precedence, some subtle detail in his voice and his bearing that had, for that brief moment, changed him entirely. Everyone felt it. Not even Aria, beaming and clinging onto his leg, took anything away from it. Only Eizariin found the courage to meet him directly. "Why are they after us?"
"Because you are raising the dust of the past. Some fear you will reveal our existence, and others believe we should come back to the world."
"And you?"
He smiled sadly. "It is not our world anymore. On that, Tekhest and I agree. But while I have no issues with being revealed - we are powerful enough to defend ourselves, should it come to that - others would just as well that we were hidden. For good. Keep the past in the past and focus on our future, remaining separate, avoiding a convergence of cultures and the repeat of our mistakes. But some of them are not above the idea of killing to keep it that way. And one or two...well, then we step into the realms of supremacy so many of us think we've left behind."
"What happened?"
"Magic, Mister Karth. What else? Power corrupts. Always. In one way or another. It can change the way you think, it can change what you believe. It can change a whole civilisation for the better, or the worse. We had it right, for a while. And then we didn't. 'Convenience' is a dirty word, my friends. We have since learned that. But the young are inclined to forget the old lessons - no offence, of course."
"None taken - but how many of those lessons are they actually taught? You might not want to reveal your ancestors' shame, but how will your people ever be able to grow past those mistakes if--"
"I know, Mister Karth. Believe me." He forced a smile into his staid eyes, but it didn't stick for a moment. "I must leave. Congratulations, Mister Koraaz, on your monumental achievement. Truly. I am honoured to be a part of it. I am just sorry it was necessary at all."
"As am I." He extended his hand, and the elf clasped it gladly. "Thank you for your help, Eizariin. Truly. I..." His harsh features softened with only a touch of contrition, and he smiled with honour in his eyes. "I am in your debt."
The old elf bowed his head, black-blue hair shimmering in the window of moonlight. Then, he vanished.
Rathen's eyes sank down to the Sah'niir. The others gathered and stared at it with their own curiosity. Aria, however, peered up through the gaps in the wood and into her father's face. She smiled proudly. So very proudly. "You did it, Daddy."
"Yes, sweetheart," he replied softly, smiling back down at her as heady disbelief began to set in. "...I suppose I did."
Epilogue
The night air was thick. It barely shifted in the lazy breeze, and hung heavy with the scent of smoke. Snow drifted through it as listlessly as soot, while the dusty glow of amassing candlelight far below chased out the darkness, bouncing across the snow-covered rooftops as though the buildings themselves held vigil. A sombre bell tolled gravely from the Temple to the west.
The whole city was shrouded in mourning. The country would follow, once word spread. Dirty smudges of light could already be seen flickering along the slush-trampled roads as outlying villages came to pay their respects to the fallen king.
Salus looked down across them from the heights of the palace's twisted dome roof, lost in thought, hypnotised in his weariness by the thousands of tiny, entrancing flames. The people were restless; they were frightened, they were uncertain, but they were outraged most of all, and all of that anger was pointing towards the red and ochre flags of the king's assassins. It was upon the military to deliver that fury, the condemnation of the country, and not least that of the young Crown Prince Ellory.
Named for his grandfather, His Royal Highness would be pushed hastily onto the throne, for the country would need a ruler during wartime, even if only a figurehead - and at the age of thirteen, he could lead no one but his nurse maid. But he would do. If just for the sake of his father's memory, the people and the military would rally behind him, and he would solidify his position without anyone batting an eyelid.
But there were benefits to his youth: he was malleable. Provided the Crown didn't sink their claws in too deep before he could, the boy could shape up into a very fine king indeed, with the right encouragement. And the Crown itself, the royal council, they would be in shock and turmoil. They were in the perfect position to be manipulated, too. It was the prime opportunity for change.
The Arana was prepared to leap at Salus's command. The boy-king would be snared. Portians could be trusted. And while they leapt, Salus would deal with the bigger issue himself. For no one else but he possibly could.
Something stirred in the air behind him. He didn't turn. The caustic chuckle that followed its disturbance didn't elicit the usual degree of disgust, but he stood instinctively taller all the same.
"Look at you," Liogan said softly, her rough, brutal accent injecting a natural venom into her words. "On top of the world. Well, I suppose you're allowed some posturing today." She drew up alongside him and peered over the edge of the cupola to the sea of candles below. "Congratulations, Salus. In spite of all your distractions, you've succeeded in cracking the borders. And upheaved your dear, beloved Turunda - albeit in not quite the manner I had in mind."
His eyes turned stonily upon her.
"Oh now, now, now," she cooed, "I conceded you your congratulations. Don't be ungrateful." She stepped back from the edge and began a leisurely pace around him, dusting the snow from her finely tailored shoulders. His eyes turned back out over the city. "You're almost done. Just one more simple little step, and your cherished Turunda will be free. Just crack the underside. Break it away, and carry her off to safety at last."
"How?"
She blinked. "...What do you mean, 'how'? Shift the force. A forward momentum with a lateral expression rather than a vertical one. I seriously need to tell you to break through it, not across?"
"So there's magic within the earth?"
"Why ever would there be magic within it?"
His eyes snapped sharply back upon her at the sound of the elf's light but sudden gasp. The smile that now wrapped around her plump and bitter lips stoked his irritation. What patience he'd had at her arrival was rapidly searing away.
"Oh. Oh, I see... I apologise. I thought you were stronger than that - you know: mentally. I didn't realise you would become trapped in such a secure way of thinking so easily. Well, don't fret your tangled little head about it." He jerked back as she patted his snow-sodden hair. "I'll find someone else to finish your dreams."
Her skirt flared as she turned away, and his hand flashed out to snatch her by the arm. His iron stare was piercing. "Tell me."
She met that stare directly, and all humour rapidly vanished from her lavender eyes. "You must come to know the country you love so dearly. Know it intimately. Know it from top to bottom. Inside and out. Seep into its very bones, and breathe
there. If it means as much to you as you claim it does, it should be an easy matter."
His fingers tightened through her damask and doe-skin coat. "Enough. A straight answer. Now."
"But that would be too easy."
His eyes narrowed. His lip curled. He could see she was playing with him. She was always playing with him. Even now, while the task she'd set him on was so close to fruition, she played games. And while he'd never turned upon her the force he had over Denek - perhaps because he knew it wouldn't touch her, or perhaps through some redundant sense of chivalry - he was quickly tiring of his own restraint. 'Just one more simple little step...'
And this wasn't the only game she and her kind were playing...
He closed the distance between them, his voice dropping like a stone, and spoke at last the question that had hounded him for so long. "What are your plans for Koraaz?"
But her lips only curved into a gleefully malicious smile.
"Why have you pitted him against me? Answer me!"
"There are tests in life," she replied with that same, unwavering smirk, "that must be overcome. Only then can one's true strength, of mind and of magic, be realised."
"So it's survival of the fittest?"
"No."
An exasperated hiss leapt from his lips, and his fingers tightened again. "Enough riddles!"
"But, my dear Salus, wherever would the fun be in that?"
Her foul smile seared itself into his sight. She vanished behind it despite his hold on her arm.
An instant later, he was standing alone on the sloping tower roof, clutching the falling snow and staring into the darkness, the people's grief glowing at his back while the endless toll of the bell hammered against the thumping in his skull. As the night's chill crept in beneath his rage, he could feel the elf's venom crawling through his blood. And noticed despite himself, lost in the smothering scent of burning wicks and oils, the indomitable trace of cinnamon in the air.
Thank you. Truly.
You have no idea what it means to me that you have read this far. Seriously. Not a clue.
