by G. H. Duval
Siare sighed, squaring her shoulders. “It seems you’ve decided to complicate things for me, young man.” She delivered this quietly, resigned, before turning to glance over her shoulder. “Ambassador Kerg,” she called. “Will you join us?”
As soon as his father reached them, seeming to have regained some of his composure though his color was off, she added, “Our departure will be delayed. Let us retire to a more suitable location, yes?” She nodded, apparently agreeing with herself, before turning back to her husband. “I think the war room should do nicely. As it’s far too late for discretion this morning, would you mind conveying us directly, Husband?”
Shavare chuckled and his eyes immediately flashed bright blue as his Air Aspect flooded him. This time, Mori felt the connection snap into place, and he realized that Shavare allowed it for his benefit. Another lesson in how he, one day, would connect with his Aspect. Despite the enormity of the situation, he thirsted for the many possibilities that lay ahead.
Shavare rose into the air and hovered there for a few moments before he uttered, “Just relax and don’t try to control your bodies.” Before anyone could respond or get an explanation of what that meant, Mori watched as those around him rose to join Shavare, who was now at least six feet from the ground. “You don’t expect me to help you, Mori?” He asked, looking down at Mori.
“No, sir!” Mori fell back on his typical demeanor of polite obedience. “No, not at all!” He opened himself, carefully so as not to draw too much power, and pulled currents of air around him. He joined the Formynder and followed as they floated up and up, rounding the far side of the Steading and leaving the courtyard behind.
*
Mina loved flying, even if she wasn’t the one technically doing it. As she watched the courtyard shrink away, she smiled and tossed her hair, letting the wind have its way.
Mori can do this…feel this…whenever he wants, she thought in wonder. Suddenly, she empathized with his complaints about restrictions in the use of his Aspect. Before this moment, she had assumed it was similar to how she was being groomed—her power slowly fed to her so that she could absorb it, understand it, and control it. But this, she realized, was an experience unlike any other.
She could not in any real sense conceive of how far up they must be but thrilled at the weightlessness of it. A part of her insisted she should be afraid, and certainly part of the thrill was the acknowledgment of danger, but she trusted Shavare and his abilities too completely to feel any real worry.
From this vantage, the full grandeur of the Steading and its grounds lay before her. To the north of the courtyard were the stables, and from this height, the large brown-and-tan structure appeared no more substantial than the blocks used to entertain toddlers.
She looked to her left, spying the covered bridge leading to what she thought of as “her” tower—the one where she and her fellow au L’espris lived and attended niche. From within, it felt cold and cavernous. Now, it was simply beautiful. Of the same architecture as the rest of the Steading, it was constructed of white stone and was a slim, circular tower that ended in an embellished point. Two-thirds up the tower was a balcony that circled all the way around, and Mina shivered slightly as she recalled the evenings she and Mother had walked it. The way the balcony swept away and up from the tower itself, it shielded her view of the grounds, and she never appreciated how high up they had been during those chats.
The very top of the tower housed a small room with a window and a cross-shaped shutter that she had not known was there. There must be some way to access it, she thought, and made a mental note to find the entrance. The roof of that section—as was the case with all the towers—was of a dark blue slate. It gave the Steading the appearance of having painted points of brilliance that only accentuated the stark white of the rest of the structure. At this time of day, however, it was a study in variations of grey.
To her right was a long, rectangular building that spanned two more sets of identical circular towers on each end. It was massive—several stories high. Even at this hour, many lights could be seen winking to life through the windows, shadows of students moving within as they woke and began their preparations for the day. All of the other Shepherds-in-Training lived there, but Mina had never been allowed to visit their quarters…not even to visit Spring; her mingling restricted to meal times.
Before she could work herself into a foul mood at the disparity in treatment between the students of the Natural Aspects and her own, Shavare swept them around another of the slim towers and a balcony came into view. He brought them down slowly, carefully placing each of them back on solid footing. There was a set of double glass doors leading into what she surmised must be the “war room” Siare had mentioned. However, the drapes inside were drawn across both the doors and the tall windows to either side of them. She could make out nothing of what lay within.
As soon as they were all back on their own feet, Shavare moved toward the doors. Just as he reached them, the drapes pulled themselves open and the doors swung inward, revealing a large room with a giant table in the center. Their small party followed Shavare through the doors, though he moved to the hearth while Siare got the rest of them settled at the table in its center. In short order, Shavare ensured the room was filled with light and warmth and went to stand behind his wife rather than take a seat at the table.
“Alright,” Siare began, her voice crisp and full of command. “As you know, we need to be off for Kirin.” She paused, looking to Mori and his father, who were seated side by side across from Mina. “Kerg, there can be no doubt now that Hirute has selected, in the perfect wisdom only He can marshal, that Mori should be our next Formynder. In the weeks to come, Mina should be able to confirm this.”
Mina looked at Siare, surprised. She had no concept whatsoever how she was supposed to do any such thing. Siare paid her no heed and did not elaborate.
“In normal circumstances,” she continued, “Lord Shavare would remain to help guide young Lord Mori, and you would be here to support him as well. These are most certainly not normal circumstances, however.” She took a deep breath. “First, we must see to Mori’s education and protection. At this stage, his control over his various Aspects will emerge unpredictably and, most likely, powerfully. He could hurt himself or others.”
Shavare nodded and added, “I think it best that he have several experienced Shepherds looking after him. As they’re familiar with Mina, I had already asked Captain Preon to hold his Crimson Complement in place and assume Mina’s protection while Culari and I are away. As Mina and Mori spend so much time together, and will do so increasingly now, it seems great sense to employ them as Mori’s new tutors as well. As a full Complement of veterans, they can assist him with any Aspect that emerges.”
Shavare seemed satisfied with his solution, but Mina was anything but. Her thoughts were agitated enough at learning that Mori could be the next Formynder…would be, she corrected herself.
She’d barely had the time to think through the implications of that. She liked Mori, of course. She liked him quite a bit, and he seemed to regard her with equal warmth. But now she was forced to think of being married to him. She was not even certain what it meant to be married in any concrete sense. She knew her parents cared for each other and had made a home together. They had children. How much of that was the same for the First Seer and her Formynder? There would be no children, of course, and if Siare and Shavare were the norm, she and Mori would be married for a very, very long time.
And what in All Names had Shavare meant by the Complement needing to protect her? Protect her from what? Besides, she had never perceived that he or Culari were acting in such a role to begin with! She sighed, exasperated, and everyone turned to stare at her.
“Apologies, Mina,” the Headmistress said, her eyes and tone chill. “Are we keeping you from something?”
Sorry, Mother, Mina apologized, instinctively seeking Mother Wilha mind to mind. “But you have to realize,” she added ou
t loud as she recalled herself. “This is all very…upsetting. So much is happening so fast. And you’re not making much sense.” She stared accusingly at Shavare, as irrationally, he had become the symbol for all her frustration.
“Are we in danger?” She asked testily. “Or are we the danger? I can’t tell from what you’ve said, but I can tell you I don’t feel safe!”
“Now, now,” Mother said. She was seated next to Mina and reached over to take her hands. “It’s alright. You’re absolutely correct, dear one,” she soothed. “I’m afraid there is so much that we take for granted, Mina. So much to which we are accustomed that we forget ourselves.”
She paused and shared a look with Siare. Mina could feel that something was passing between the two, but she could not join the connection without their sensing her, and she was not incensed enough to be that rude.
“There is so much change afoot that I’m afraid we’ve all lost our balance. Everything about how we found you, and, now, about how we’ve found your Formynder…well, nothing is occurring as it has in the past. You’ll have to be patient with us as we tread this new ground, dear one.” She squeezed Mina’s hands.
“Let me clarify what I meant, Mina,” Shavare added into the quiet that followed Mother’s words. “You are astute, indeed, in noting that I did not make it plain whether you pose a danger or are in danger. The honest answer, whether you should have to hear it at your age or not, is that you are both. As our First Seer in Waiting, you wield tremendous power. We’ve seen this in you already and your power will only grow. As much as this heartens the Coerdan people, Mina, there are those in this world who wish you’d never been found. The same goes for Mori as the prospective next Formynder.” He paused, assessing the impact of his words before continuing.
“These people would see us return to a simple monarchy—a pairing of a mortal King and Queen. Instead, they are forced to endure us as we are now: long-lived and supernaturally gifted. While the majority of our people accept our role on faith, not all feel this way. Remember your history. Recall that the power we now wield at one time belonged to the Great Houses, and there remain those who, to this very day, resent that. Perhaps, to them, we are even usurpers. That is doubly true for our neighbors to the north, south, and west. Is that not right, Ambassador?”
Mori’s father started, seeming to pull himself back from a daze. “Ah—well, I am not certain I would phrase it in quite those terms, Lord Formynder. However, I must concede that the underlying sense of being…constrained…by Coerdom and her Firsts is, unfortunately, accurate.”
“Mina,” Shavare said, voice sober. “I’m afraid you and Mori—like Siare and I before you—no longer have the luxury of childhood. Your gifts—your lives—do not belong to you. Not anymore. Our faith tells us that you were created and gifted solely that you serve the Coerdan people, and by extension, humanity. You will have to rely on one another, now. Is that understood?”
Mina considered what Shavare said, and just as much, the way he had said it. She liked that he did not try to soothe her, did not speak to her as if she were a child. Mother Wilha sometimes spoke to her this way, but not as often as Mina thought she should. She had been protected—against her wishes and against her wellbeing—quite enough for one lifetime.
Thank you very much.
She nodded. “Yes, Lord Formynder,” she responded, finally using his title, for she understood—perhaps for the first time—his true role. He was not simply a muscle-bound appendage of power to be used by Siare. That is not what Mori meant to her now, and that would not change. “I understand.”
She forced herself to look at Mori and found him staring right back at her. A fluttering took hold in her stomach as she held his eyes—eyes that seemed different, warmer. The set of his jaw was solid, more mature somehow. To look at him now…he seemed a new person altogether. She flushed—felt the warmth run up her arms and neck. She knew her face must be similarly aflame and was relieved to see that Mori was equally flustered. She smiled at him, for what else was there to do? To her surprise, he reached across the table and held his palm open until she placed one of hers against it. He smiled back.
“We understand,” he said to Shavare, though his eyes did not leave her face.
The conversation continued for more than an hour. The Headmistress summoned Preon, and the entire unit arrived to be briefed not long after. They received their instructions, and Mina realized what little privacy she’d had was gone, for two members of Preon’s Complement would be assigned to accompany her at all times. For his part, Mori would be shadowed by the hulking au Terre and the dark-haired au Ciele—Jate and Myrra, respectively—whom she’d met when they’d brought Mina and her family to Coer. They were expected to see after Mori’s safety and his tutelage, both. Based on what Shavare had said, Mina assumed any real privacy for either of them would never return. She belonged to Coerdom now, just as Mori did.
The adults discussed several more concerns and potential problems, settled on what they felt were the best solutions, and finally brought the impromptu strategy session to a close. Mina yawned, realizing all at once how tired she was. And hungry, she thought, recalling she’d not stopped to eat as it had been so early when she’d joined the Headmistress that morning.
“Why don’t we go back to my chambers and fetch you a bite?” the Headmistress suggested, and Mina was not surprised that she’d unwittingly conveyed her needs to Mother Wilha.
“Mori, you should join us.” Mina’s stomach fizzed but not due to her hunger. Perhaps she was soon to experience what Siare had so cryptically referred to earlier. Was there some archaic process by which the Seer in Waiting and next Formynder were to be bound?
Ever the obedient one, Mori simply nodded. As they rose to leave, Mori joined them, wordlessly slipping his hand around Mina’s. Together, they moved toward the new life awaiting them.
Epilogue
The Twilight of the Elder Gods
“Time destroys all things.”
–Helig Ra’d, Teachings of the Great Shepherd
The Primus stifled a sigh as Dezan’s list of grievances against Hirute finally drew to a close with the tiresome refrain, “Something must be done, your Worship.”
This. Again.
The Primus, being the first of Avelare’s Elder gods, had no need of the concept of time. He supposed if he cared to, he could determine how many times their world had revolved around their life-giving star. What his mortal worshippers called ‘a year.’ But the Primus did not care to do any such thing.
What he did heed, however, was cycles. Cycles were important. Essential. And he knew all too well in which cycle he was living now. Mercifully, the cycle would soon draw to an end, and he welcomed it. It was the cycles, not he and his fellow Elders, who were truly divine.
“Save your flattery, Dezan,” The Primus murmured, too tired to muster much more for this fledgling who thought his scant four centuries on Avelare qualified him to judge one such as the Primus’ son. His only son.
“You do not now, nor have you ever, belonged to me.”
“Yet I have always shown you, and all the Elder gods, the proper respect you are due, Lord Primus,” Dezan responded, affronted.
“Well of course you have,” The Maven spat, rising from her throne to the Primus’ right and descending from their dais to join her minion. “You’ve been reared by a proper deity, after all.”
The Maven was the Elder closest in age to the Primus and the goddess to whom Dezan actually belonged. Though Avelare had given the Maven form only one cycle after the Primus came to be, he and the Maven could not be more different. Where he was short and muscular, Maven was long and lithe. His complexion was the color of purest, shimmering onyx with the hard, marble eyes to match—his only hair that of his thick boxy beard. The Maven was of a dusky blue complexion with flashing violet eyes and flowing lavender hair. Like the elves and fairies who sprang to life from her mind, she was a thing of seeming frailty. An impossible beauty. Yet she was as har
d in her own ways as was the Primus.
Their differences ran much more deeply than the superficial outward appearances they’d assumed. For the Maven resisted the cycles, claiming it was their place as Elders to break them when needed. It was lunacy, of course. Try as she might, the Maven had not the power to break the cycles on her own. For that she needed allies. And though it hurt the Primus to admit it, she had garnered more to her way of thinking than he’d expected, particularly since the birth of their son. But she’d need far greater numbers than she had to remake this world outside of its designs. She’d need all the Elders. And she’d never get them. Not without his support. So here he sat, indulging her in yet another of her urgent private conferences.
“The problems the Younger is creating,” she continued, picking up where her minion had left off. “If you do not act, Brother, and soon, even we may not be able to undo what Hirute has unleashed upon Avelare.”
An image of a tiny human girl came to the Primus then, unbidden. Truly frail was this mortal. And yet, he felt in her the closing of a cycle. This image he did not share with the Maven.
“Sister,” he said, letting a measure of his fatigue with this fruitless discussion echo in his voice. “I wish to support you in all things. This you well know. But the constant haranguing of our son…”
The Maven cut him off.
“He is our creation, Brother. He is not our child. You must cease this insistence on aping the mortals on whom, perhaps, you have fed too long.”
She moved closer to the Primus, resting on the bottom step, and looking up at him. The picture of supplication. Of reason.
“Do not think I love him any less than you. I, too, birthed him. I, too, reveled in what we made.” She shook her head, and the Primus held himself very still lest a wry smile escape him.
She forgets that I am her worst audience. She should have saved this performance for the Council.
