by Cory Huff
Still screaming, she rolled up onto her right hip, then muscled up with one leg to standing. Sophronia was standing, sword in hand, breathing hard, but on both feet. She took a step toward Mindee. Mindee headed for the door. She hopped over the still writhing Michael and nearly fell down again. Glancing over her shoulder, Sophronia was moving forward, her jaw set grimly.
“Your death is imminent, sorcerer. You violate the gaeas,” said Mindee. Her voice was hard and flat. Then she hobbled out the door and down the street.
Sophronia collapsed when the would-be assassin ran out the door. Waves of pain rolled through her shoulder, down her arm, and out through her chest. The knife was still embedded in her left shoulder, oozing dark blood. She was grateful she’d had the strength to stand long enough to drive off the assassin with pointy ears. That fencing advance that she’d performed was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. She had barely been able to see with how dizzy and nauseous the pain was making her.
She squeezed her eyes shut and reopened them to clear her vision. Luke was laying there, unmoving. Michael was groaning, blood oozing from between his fingers that were covering his ruined eye.
What the hell just happened? Why had that assassin called her a sorcerer? Who knew that she had been experimenting with magic? How had they known?
She had to get help for this knife wound. She was afraid to pull it out for fear it would bleed worse. She was already so weak. She took a deep, painful breath, then stood again, and stumbled past Luke, past Michael, out into the street.
“Help me!” she yelled, her chest on fire. “Help.”
She heard a door open. “What’s going on?”
“Help me. Please.” She wasn’t sure her voice was louder than a whisper. Her vision swam again.
She felt hands grab her. “She’s been stabbed! Here sweetie, sit down. Anders, go get some water, a lantern, and bandages. Hurry.”
She started to sit and nearly fell, but another set of hands grabbed her, both people easing her to the ground. “It’s ok Sophronia, we got you.”
“Luke. Michael. In the house,” she muttered. She was becoming incoherent now. She had to make sure they understood. “Lu…Mi…hurt…”
“Oh, Creator!” she heard someone yell. “He’s dead. Someone killed Luke. Someone killed Sophronia’s brother.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Cùmhnantach
A tall, straight backed old man walked onto the street, coming from one of the many hidden alleys behind the houses. He caught attention, even among the younger women, for his striking good looks. At six and a half feet tall, with swept back salt and pepper hair, and an aquiline nose, Kaufman was a sight to behold. Well over 60 years old, he was an official Atanian leader, holding a seat on the Elder’s Council. He carried an air of wisdom and authority. He was always courteous and polite. His sharp mind and eyes had not dimmed with age, and those who crossed him learned to be intimidated by his probing questions. They spoke carefully around him, because his pronouncements were often harsh, delivered with the rough side of his tongue.
Atanians went to the five member Elders Council when there were disputes between merchants, families, or friends they couldn’t resolve themselves. The Council listened, asked questions, and pronounced judgement, which Atanians were bound to follow.
He nodded and acknowledged people as he walked. He stopped and shook hands. He knew the people loved and feared him, and he reveled in it. He was single. His wife had been dead for years. Very few people had known her, having been a bit of a recluse.
Just as he finished saying hello to a mother with three children, shaking their hands, asking after their schooling, and admonishing them to study hard, he seemed to blank out. As he turned to go, he missed a step and stumbled. A man caught his arm, “Are you ok, Elder Kaufman?”
He didn’t answer. His face, his attention, was turned toward the Southeast.
“Elder Kaufman?” Asked the man again. Elder Kaufman’s grip on the man’s arm spasmed and became hard as iron. Surprising for such an old man. “Sir,” Said the man, “You’re hurting me.”
Kaufman started and seemed to see the man for the first time. “Oh, yes, sorry about that. Nearly took a spill. Was more than a little startled. Thanks for your help.” Kaufman’s deep, rich voice soothed the man and he went back to his business.
Kaufman took off at a brisk walk, then after several minutes, he slowed to a more stately stroll. He did’t want to appear worried. But something was happening, and he needed to get to an area where he could investigate.
The hooded figure pulled a book off of the shelf. It was a heavy tome, dusty on the spine from years of disuse. It blew the dust from the spine and traced the characters as it read them silently.
Conas draíochta a fhoghlaim: Deich
Good. Just the book it was looking for. It carried it over to its desk. There was a lot of work to do. There was a problem with the gaeas. It’s masters wanted to understand the problem, which meant to had to go back to the fundamentals of his studies. Understanding how the ley lines intersected, and how to access those intersections, was paramount to this problem.
When the gaeas was put in place, it cut off humanity’s access to the Ogham. They would never again be able to access the magic as they had done. Using a long-developed sensitivity to the forces of the primal earth, the figure’s order had been able to manipulate the flow and direction of the energy that spilled off of the lines, even managing to divert some of that energy. When the Hartland war was brought to a close, the Cumhneantach was included in the leadership circle created by the denizens of the Sidhe.
They had given up much to gain access to that circle. They had agreed to be sentinels. They had agreed to prevent the mass of humanity from ever again accessing the Ogham. They had agreed to enforce that ban on pain of death. In return, they had been given the right to freely travel between the realms of the mortals and the Fey. The Cumhneantach had discovered incredible advances in the Art through diligent study over centuries. The senior members of the order even rivaled Tarkin Songcrest, the leader of the Amhranaithe Sidhe - the fearsome Blade Singers, whose magic and martial prowess were the final group to prevent Cyric the Warlord from entering the Ogham gates into the Sidhe with his armies and wreaking havoc.
And now the figure’s superiors were saying their agreement was in danger. Humans were again accessing ley lines, in increasing numbers. The elves had sent someone to deal with them, but the number of incidents was increasing. The elves were accusing the Cumhneantach of not keeping up their end of the bargain. So now the figure was being called upon to go back and look at the fundamentals of ley lines, to see if he could find some explanation for what was happening. The gaeas was supposed to be permanent.
The figure considered all of this while moving toward a desk. So much to know. So many ways to approach this field of study. More sitting and more reading.
The formulas are quite complex. Holding an arm or a leg just at the right angle to access the energy coming off of the ley lines. Holding fingers in the right sequence. Breathing in just the right time. Ensuring that you didn’t take in too much, but still drew enough to make your Art work. It was a process that the masters had perfected over the centuries, through watching and observing in the Sidhe, and studying with the people, or Aos Sidhe. The Fey and the fey-kin were adept at the magic. They were steeped in it from the time that they were children. They were born for the Art. Humanity had to learn it, had to struggle and study for it. Even at the height of their power, the senior members of the Cumhneantach struggled to maintain control over the ley lines and the Ogham gates, much as Cyric the Warlord had done. In the end, this struggle defeated him, and would defeat them as well if they were not ever vigilant, and ever careful about when and where they used the Ogham.
The gaeas ensured that was the case. Any mistakes in the careful, mathematical formulas would invoke the punishment of the gaeas. Any overt acts of magic, things that were bent the normal human understanding
of how the world works, and the spell would strike, causing nausea, confusion, exhaustion, or even a coma in the unwise wielder of power. This was why so many humans were experiencing Happenings. Someone or some group among them had begun tampering with the Ogham, and sharing what they learned with others. Some of those tamperers were destroyed by what they were doing. Some were merely driven mad. But the worst part was that more and more humans in Atania were becoming aware of the existence of magic, and the Fey realm that paralleled their own. At least they hadn’t rediscovered the Ogham stones and gates.
Once upon a time, humans using the Ogham would have been commonplace. Before the coming of Cyric the Warlord, the Cumhneantach had been a great academy. Mortals from every nation had studied with the Sidhe. The books and scrolls had filled libraries like this one, but many times more vast. Underneath the ancient City of Atania, there had been a vast network of vaults carved into the rock caverns. The library had required dozens of people to administer it, and students would frequently wander through the library for hours, poring over manuscripts written in various languages from all over. The library, along with the Atanian Palace of King Darian the First, had been home to one of the rare Ogham - a stone arch that permitted transit between the Sidhe and the mortal realm.
There had been no gaeas then. Every mortal was free to study Ogham without the penalty of that powerful enchantment imposed upon the world to protect the Sidhe from Cyric the Warlord.
Now that a few humans had rediscovered magic, the Cumhneantach had to find a way to stop them, without invoking the curse of the gaeas. For if they didn’t, the Archfey, in all of their power and glory, would come back to the mortal realm and remove all access to the ley lines, and the magic, destroying the Cumhneantach.
The figure remembered its early days, when it had been allowed to walk the libraries under Atania. It remembered the wonder and majesty, the joy of being seen as one of the star pupils. The purple robes brought prestige and the fringe benefits of power. But more than that, the Art itself had been enjoyable. Getting the formulas right, feeling the power of the ley lines coursing through the body, had brought the kind of ecstatic state that nothing else ever had. The figure had done everything possible to be included in the Cumhneantach’s discussions about what to do about Cyric the Warlord, including sharing stolen notes from its master. Everything had been given up to join them outside of the mortal realm, in this in-between existence. Family. Friends. All of them were gone. A hundred years gone.
But the figure still had the Art, still had the masters.What the humans were doing in what remained of Atania would be uncovered, and stopped. Preserving the Ogham was all that mattered.
Liam gasped and sat up. Everything was a mess. His tools were scattered. The bits and pieces of leather were tossed everywhere. Pieces of his fence were hanging askew. Things were getting worse. Last time there had just been a few pieces scattered.
Liam wasn’t one to get angry. He had always been a quiet boy, and a thoughtful, introspective teenager. His father, before he disappeared, had often commented that he was in his head too much.
But right now, Liam was quivering with anger, frustration, and fear. He stood up. It was not ok for Aaron to steal from him. He was tired of being taken advantage of because he was quiet and slow to react. Their entire lives growing up in this neighborhood, Aaron had continually bullied Liam and others their age. He wasn’t sure what was happening to him. He wasn’t sure why this kept happening. He stood up and whirled around to head out the gate. He would put a stop to this.
There was a small child standing in the door of his shop. He was no more than eight or nine. Brown hair, freckles, and a serious look on his face.
“Hey, are you ok?” he asked in his high pitched little voice, looking around the shop with big green eyes.
“Uh, yes, I’m fine,” lied Liam. “Did you need something?”
The fresh-faced child looked uncertain for a moment. Whose child was this? He couldn’t quite place the face, and he knew most of the neighborhood babes by sight at least, if not by name. “We were just wondering what happened,” the child said.
“What do you mean?” Liam tried to keep his voice steady.
“Well, we saw Aaron leave, and then your fence, like, shook. Its broken over there. When it stopped and nobody else came out, well, they dared me to go look.”
Liam walked past, looking into the street. Maybe he’d recognize an older sibling. Nobody was out in the street. He heard laughter and running fading around the corner.
“Who dared you?” Liam asked as he walked toward the corner. He rounded the corner and no one was there. The other children had just disappeared. That sometimes happened. They were shy around him because he didn’t talk very much.
He stepped back around the corner. “Where did your friends go?” Liam asked with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
“Aaron went that way, if you want to find him.” The youth pointed toward Main Street, the wide, muddy thoroughfare that ran North and South along the Eastern edge of the village.
“I don’t mean Aaron. Where are your friends? And, I’m sorry, remind me who you are?”
The child walked past him toward Main Street. As he got closer to the street he pointed West. “Aaron said he was going to catch up with the Pearsons in the South Wood. Don’t you want to go catch him?”
Liam did, in fact, want to go catch him, and give him a piece of his mind.
“Yes, thank you. Now where are your parents?”
“I’ll go home. I hope you find him.”
“Thanks,” said Liam, “run along.” And with that, Liam shut the gate to his workshop and strode off, down Main Street.
The young child watched him go with a satisfied look on his face.
Aidan’s hands had developed some callouses during the week working for Anrei. His hands were stained with the dust from the red bricks. It hadn’t really been that bad. He’d carried a lot of brick around in a wheelbarrow, and Anrei had grumbled and cursed at him, but he was more loud than mean. Aidan had taken actual blows at the hand of his father, and Anrei never even took more than a playful swipe at his head. Anrei even said that he’d done a good job, and that if he wanted to stay on and work with him longer, he might be able to find some work for him.
Aidan had been noncommittal in response, and Anrei understood that not many boys wanted to lay bricks when they had the possibility of training as a soldier laying in front of them.
Strom had kept his word, and the Lord Commander had told Aidan that he could begin practicing with some of the other soldiers in training, as long as he also attended religious instruction and took care of his home duties.
They had also fed him well for the whole week. Aidan hadn’t eaten this well for a solid week in a long time, maybe as long as he could remember. He had even been able to sneak some of the leftovers home to share with his brother. He had shared some of it with his father too, but he wasn’t sure if his father remembered it after he ate it. He wasn’t sure if taking the food home was stealing, but he figured that since the church had given him the food, they wouldn’t care if he ate it, or if he shared it with his family. Besides, they gave away a lot of food to help those in Atania who really needed it.
He snapped to attention when the Lord Commander walked into the training yard. This was his first day of weapons training, and later today would be his first day of religious instruction. He was excited to try out a sword or maybe a bow. Preferably a sword.
“Brethren, we have a new recruit to welcome on a trial basis,” said the Commander in his solid, deep voice. “This is Aidan. He will be studying with us for some time to see if The Creator lights this path for him.”
Aidan wasn’t really sure what that meant for sure, but he looked around and raised a hand as the other, older, soldiers welcomed him with nods and smiles.
“Since Aidan is new, we are going to review hand to hand drills today. Pair off. Drill falls and basic punch routines. Aidan, you’re with Stro
m first.”
Aidan turned as Strom stood in front of him. He looked at Strom expectantly.
“Show me your best fighting stance,” said Strom.
Aidan shifted his feet and lifted his fists. He had been in his share of street scrapes. He did what he had seen other scrappy young fighters do.
Strom nodded. “Turn your body to make a smaller target. Shift your back foot back a little, and balance your weight. Good. Raise your fists higher. Good. You’ve been in a fight before, right?”
Aidan nodded.
Strom threw a straight jab and Aidan flinched back. Strom smiled. He stepped in and threw another straight, right jab. Aidan ducked to the side as Strom extended and Aidan countered with a right jab of his own to Strom’s stomach. Strom was rock hard and Aidan’s punch had no effect. Aidan danced back out of the way as Strom grinned. “Good,” he said. “You’ve got good instincts.”
Strom exploded forward jab, jab, jab. Aidan ducked the first one, weaved to the side for the second, weaved the other way for the third, and Strom’s right hook caught him on the jaw and sent him sprawling.
Strom grinned at him again. “Now you have to learn how to anticipate combinations. We’re going to work on your footwork. You’re quick, but because you don’t know what you’re doing, I was able to set you up for that hook.” Strom offered Aidan his hand to help him up. Aidan took it. He had a red mark on his face, but he wasn’t crying. It was good that he could take a hit. Strom hadn’t hit him that hard, and it looked like Aidan realized that.
“Fighting isn’t just about throwing the hardest punch, or the most punches. That will work for the neighborhood toughs, but not for a trained fighter. The barbarian tribes that attack Atania? Their warriors hone their skills fighting against each other on the Thir. They know this stuff. So imagine fighting a warrior with years of experience fighting like this. They’ll have weapons, of course, but we learn with our fists so we know the movements.”
