Trials

by Pedro Urvi

  Sonea smiled, but at the same moment restlessness took hold of her once again.

  “Then, I’m right?”

  “Yes, but they don’t mean to protect somebody, child. The grimoire’s purpose is to protect something… not someone.”

  “Something?” cried Sonea, intrigued beyond her wildest dreams.

  “Yes, Sonea. Some object of great power, which the Ilenian Guardian Mages had to protect. That’s what I make out of the analysis.”

  “But, what object, Master? What object?”

  “Well, if my conclusions are correct, I think it’s a… powerful jewel… a pendant… or perhaps a medallion.”

  “But that’s fascinating! What’s its purpose, Master?”

  “That, my dear girl, is what we have to find out. Something tells me that the medallion is the key to reaching an even greater mystery which is hidden within it… And this old scholar has a feeling about it… Yes, I believe we’re on the right path…”

  “So, what are we waiting for, then, Master? Let’s go and find out!”

  “Be calm, my impulsive child, there’s something else we must take into account…”

  “What is it?”

  “A serious and… unavoidable… warning. From what I can guess, the grimoire gives a clear warning: anyone who might try to gain its secrets without being of Ilenian blood will be punished.”

  “Punished?”

  Barnacus shrugged, and his expression darkened.

  “I seemed to understand a direct allusion to suffering a horrendous death, to the loss of the soul. And something about infinite suffering, as well… but I couldn’t decipher it completely…”

  When Sonea heard that, a chill ran through her body and she flinched. It was not the first time they had been faced with accursed volumes, or vulgar superstitions that some locals ascribed to certain supposedly mystical objects. But, for some reason Sonea felt this was not the case here. She was convinced that this warning was real, very real.

  “What are we going to do then? The danger might be great… but the reward will be greater still…”

  “Not necessarily. We must proceed carefully and take the most extreme precautions. I much fear that handling this arcane volume could lead to death or something even worse.”

  “But, Master, we must also consider what we might discover… It’s the first Ilenian magic object of any relevance which has been found, and it points to the existence of a yet more powerful one: this medallion that it must protect. Why? What mystery is enclosed within this medallion? How far can it guide us?”

  “Ah, Sonea… there’s so much which is still unknown… Such is life, Mankind’s existence, our reason for existing, such are the mysteries we must face… unanswered questions to solve… But we must proceed with extreme caution. I’ll inform the Council of Five and the Grand Master of this significant discovery and wait for their decision before going on.”

  “But, Master…” said Sonea, who foresaw a discouraging outcome from the illustrious leadership of the Order.

  “No buts, child, it’s too dangerous. We must proceed with care. I can see a close and constant danger lurking in these golden pages. I don’t wish to accidentally activate any of the spells in this grimoire that could kill us. In fact, now that I come to think of it… it’s very possible it has a spell on it…” Barnacus shook his white mane unconsciously, revealing once again how worried he was. “Mintel, the master Archivist of Arcane Knowledge, must give us his help immediately. We need a mage who can control the power inside this grimoire before we try to handle it and something terrible happens. To continue without assistance and without the blessing of the Council would be too dangerous, Sonea.”

  She wanted to object, but she knew it would be useless. Her tutor was good and learned, but also strict and just. He would not act without permission on something which might endanger their lives. She had to resign herself and her spirit and joy fell into a black well. She shrugged her shoulders and said farewell to her Master, who was already leaving with slow steps in search of the members of the Council.

  At sunset Sonea was summoned to the great Council Hall in the North wing of the Great Library. It was the first time she had been summoned for anything other than warnings from the rulers of the Order. When she walked into the room she saw that the five elected members of the Council were waiting for her, seated in enormous armchairs covered with red velvet. They wore their silver dress robes, with the eye of knowledge displayed on their chests. All those eyes and the men who wore them made Sonea very nervous. She felt she was being both studied and judged, without being able to defend herself in any way. Behind the five members of the Council, against the tapestry covered walls, were huge shelves filled with hundreds of volumes of all kinds, sizes and colors. The Illustrious Counselors sat in a semi-circle at the center of which stood a huge elaborately-decorated desk. Facing the desk, Barnacus and the Grand Master of the Order awaited her.

  “Go ahead, Sonea. Come closer, please…” said Lugobrus, the Grand Master, in his characteristic deep voice and stern tone.

  Sonea walked up to them. Under her arm, carefully wrapped, she carried the precious Ilenian grimoire.

  Barnacus smiled and welcomed her with open arms. Sonea smiled back at him, then, following his indication, placed the grimoire on top of the desk and un-covered it so they could all see it.

  “Thank you, Sonea,” said Lugobrus as he came to stand by the desk. He looked at the golden arcane book, with his dark eyes apparently unable to leave it. “So this is the object of our present worries…” he said thoughtfully.

  Sonea noticed something else in his tone, a vibration she had never heard before in the Grand Master’s voice. It was fear, an almost palpable fear. The five members of the Council approached the desk slowly, warily staring at the grimoire from a distance, without daring to touch it.

  “Barnacus, are you sure this is an Ilenian grimoire?” said Counselor Rubulus, Master Archivist of Historic Knowledge.

  “Absolutely, Rubulus. I haven’t any doubt about it. Members of the Council, I realize it may be difficult to take in this information, but this volume is most certainly an Ilenian grimoire, containing Ilenian magic. Its origin has been verified by the priests of the Temple of Light in Rogdon. After studying it myself I can only agree. There’s no doubt of its authenticity.”

  “That being the case, the most prudent course to follow would be to leave it buried where it has been for the last three thousand years,” said Counselor Inocus, Master Archivist of the Knowledge of War. “Nothing good can come from the Lost Civilization.”

  Mintel, master Archivist of Arcane Knowledge intervened anxiously at this point.

  “I don’t agree at all. We need to study the magic it contains. Who knows what spells we can discover in its pages! Let’s not forget they are Ilenian spells… magic of the Lost Civilization… They could be extremely powerful. If we can master them, if we can understand and control them, we could use them for the good of our Order. We can’t ignore such transcendental knowledge, it would be against the principles of the Order of Knowledge!” he concluded forcefully.

  “And what about the risk that implies for all of us? We don’t know what we might face if we handle the grimoire,” said the Master, his voice unsteady. “Its magic could kill us all!”

  The hall filled with the arguments for and against the crucial decision to be made. The five Counselors expressed their opinions strongly, each fully convinced he was correct in his view of the complex and dangerous situation.

  Sonea heard the discussion rise into a crescendo and sat down in a corner, waiting for the Counselors to finish making their points simultaneously, growing louder as they went on. It all gave way to a heated argument in which the voices of the Grand Master and Inocus stood out above the rest. The argument lasted several hours, which did not surprise Sonea very much. The Counselors did not reach decisions hastily: that would be against their philosophy of life. Knowledge required years of hard work, theref
ore a decision about such a complicated matter did not look as if it would be reached in a short time.

  Barnacus sat beside her and winked at her. Sonea heaved a great sigh. To her it looked as though the Counselors were doing nothing but waste time, and she was sure they would never reach an agreement. Meanwhile the precious grimoire rested on the desk, right there, within reach, immaculate, waiting to be studied… Without any conscious intention she reached out her hand, so close… she could almost touch it. How she would love to feel it under her fingertips! Barnacus’s hand hit the back of Sonea’s and she came out of her reverie. She looked at her dear master, who returned a smile, but with a clear shake of his head. The young apprentice had to smile as she accepted the silent scolding of her tutor.

  The heated debate lasted well into the night. At last, the Grand Master imposed order in the chamber and the Counselors reluctantly sat back in their seats. One by one each of the five Counselors gave a final defense of his point of view, whether in favor or against, about dealing with the grimoire.

  Finally the Grand Master Lugobrus said: “It’s time for the members of the Council to vote.”

  The five Counselors centered their attention on Lugobrus at once and fell silent.

  “Illustrious Counselors of the Order of Knowledge, those in favor of studying the grimoire to reach the enlightenment it holds within it, even at the risk this implies, please say so.

  “I, Mintel, Master Archivist of Arcane Knowledge, vote in favor.”

  Sonea stood up straight away and watched the scene with renewed spirit and optimism. Barnacus stood beside her and stroked her head affectionately.

  The next Counselor stood up in front of his chair and said:

  “I, Inocus, Master Archivist of the Knowledge of War, vote against.”

  Barnacus muttered a protest and ruffled his hair.

  Rubulus, Master Archivist of Historic Knowledge, stood up and said, looking fixedly at the grimoire:

  “My vote is for.”

  Sonea was so excited she nearly applauded.

  The next Counselor stood up and took a step forward.

  “I, Martos, Master Archivist of Natural Knowledge, vote… against.”

  Sonea felt rage grow inside her. She ground her teeth.

  “The last vote will decide the course of action of this Council,” said Lugobrus inviting the last of the Counselors.

  “I, Nuntis, Master Archivist of Scientific Knowledge…” said the last one in a trembling voice, no doubt aware of the importance of his words, “vote… vote… vote against.”

  “No!” cried Sonea in despair, disappointment surging within her.

  Barnacus complained bitterly, raising his arms and waving them like a windmill while his white hair seemed to take a life of its own.

  “The Council of Five has spoken, and as the ruling body of the Order its decision is law. The Ilenian grimoire will not therefore be studied or handled by the members of this order. No librarian, apprentice or master, will dare touch it on any account,” said Lugobrus in a tone as stern as unequivocal.

  He turned and looked straight at Sonea and Barnacus with a look which was both cold and threatening, making sure they understood perfectly well what had been decided.

  Filled with rage, Sonea cursed under her breath, and left the hall before her fury could explode, leaving her to regret the bitter words her rage would force her to utter. Barnacus followed afterwards, muttering between his teeth.

  Endless River

  The merchant galley moved peacefully along the sleepy river Nerfir, with her sail unfurled towards the south to catch the breath of the gods. The painted black hull of the enormous trireme cut the water, while the powerful keel carried her on her way effortlessly. The great yellow sail swelled massively as it caught the evening breeze. The scorching sun was like a punishment from the gods, hanging regally in the blue sky. The breeze from the delta they were leaving behind them was the only relief for the bodies and spirits of the group.

  “This heat is getting unbearable!” roared Hartz, sitting uncomfortably, with his back against the gunwale, face and torso running with sweat.

  “Well, you’d better get used to it, because soon we’ll be coming into the great deserts of the Nocean territories and the temperatures will only get hotter,” said Kayti, beside him, as she pointed to the nearer shore of the endless river.

  Komir was standing a little apart, looking at the distant riverside, a dull sandy gold. They had been sailing more than a week, and each morning what had begun as a green shore with forests had gradually changed into an increasingly dryer landscape. This evening it was beginning to turn into a real desert. Komir could make out sand dunes —he had never thought he would see with his own eyes, something which only existed in the tales told by the elders of his village. And yet there they were, small wavy hills of pure sand which he stared at, mesmerized. He could not wait to set foot on firm land and sink his hands in one of them, just to feel the sand.

  He leaned on the wooden gunwale and stared thoughtfully at the turquoise expanse which surrounded them in a quiet which was almost absolute. The surface reflected the golden rays of the sun, bringing out a shining palette of blues and coral greens wherever the eye settled. Komir was amazed by that river: it seemed endless. To him it was a sea. He could see one bank, but the other faded into the horizon and only the tiny sails of other vessels were vaguely distinguishable. Kayti and Kendas had explained to him that this was one of the biggest rivers in the whole continent. Otherwise Komir would have believed he was crossing an ocean! According to what they had told him it took several days to cross from one bank to the other, and months to sail its entire length. “Months of navigation… a river… unbelievable…” This led him to think about the ship. He stretched his neck to appreciate the size of the galley, with real interest. He looked over the gunwale on both sides, following the long curved hull down to the great spur at the prow. There was a shelter at each end and a raised stern. He wondered what they were for. A thick rope went through four supports and joined both ends. In the middle stood a strong mast from which hung the huge rectangular sail. There were two rudders at the stern, like two long poles which ran into the water on either side. When the wind subsided the crew manned the oars, since they were sailing up-river.

  “Too much cargo, too many people crowded together like animals, this isn’t fitting or fair,” complained Kendas. From the beginning he had not been happy with the idea of traveling on that ship. The Rogdonian lancer was not happy about the harsh conditions they all had to put up with aboard that merchant galley. “We should have taken some other transport further south of the three great cities of the delta. Perhaps Kiafa would have been better.”

  Kayti went to him and whispered:

  “This was the only ship in all Alfasa which was prepared to carry foreigners up-river, and that’s the second biggest city of the delta. We had to grease the Captain’s palm well so that he wouldn’t give us away to the authorities. If we’d tried to go to one of the more southern Nocean cities like Kiafa or Lamura, the soldiers would’ve stopped us. It’s too dangerous to travel along the shore in Nocean territory. The war is raging and the Nocean soldiers will kill any foreigner on the spot. Too risky. This was the safest option, even if it means we’re forced to travel like cattle.”

  “I’m not saying you’re not right, Kayti. It’s just that I can’t bear to see all these people treated like animals. I have the feeling that what with these harsh conditions some of the passengers won’t make it to their destination, all because of the meanness of a greedy unscrupulous merchant. It’s not worthy and neither is it honorable.”

  Hearing Kendas’ words, Komir looked around. The truth was that the ship was filled with cargo of every kind, from bundles to barrels and huge vases. It was stored below deck, beside the oarsmen or above, over the entire ship. But what surprised him most was the number of people traveling huddled on the deck. Many others, young strong men, were below deck on the oar benches. It s
eemed that was the way they paid for their fare. Apart from all these, the Captain had a crew of some thirty experienced sailors, half of whom were black-skinned slaves who had been bought by the ship’s skipper. One of them was securing a rope a few paces away from them.

  Hartz came up to his friend and nodded in the direction of the man, “Have you seen how dark he is?” he asked him.

  Komir nodded too as he watched the slave.

  “I’d never seen men with such dark skin. The Noceans we fought against were tanned, but these are even darker. They’re absolutely black, Komir!”

  “Shhhhh, don’t raise your voice and stop staring at him, he’s going to notice,” scolded Kayti.

  “The truth is that there’s no end to the different peoples of Tremia, and they’re all different from each other,” said Komir with a side glance at Asti. “They’re certainly nothing at all like the peoples of the West we’re used to seeing and dealing with.”

  “The desert people have dark skins, and those of the deep South have skin as black as jet,” Kayti explained.

  “It must be that this blinding sun scorches their skin until it turns as black as burnt wood,” said Hartz glancing at the golden orb which shone fiercely in the clear blue sky.

  Kayti looked at him, sighed and smiled.

  Komir had also never seen men with such dark skins, and if the Noceans they had fought against in Silanda had surprised them, these did so even more.

  A big man with rough manners came up to them swaying with each step like a black bear, he was the captain of the ship. He stood in front of Kendas and looked at him in an unfriendly way. He was of Nocean origin, but looked more like a half-breed, since his eyes were pale green and his skin although tanned was slightly lighter than his fellow-countrymen. He had a thick beard, though not too long, and it was unkempt; he wore a beige sleeveless tunic of good quality which showed his weathered muscular arms, with several conspicuous scars. His hands were large and calloused: this man had clearly worked his way up to being a captain. He also wore baggy pants and leather boots in the Nocean style. He was almost as tall as Hartz but chubby. He was imposing all the same, and his deep grave voice seemed to come from the depths of a cavern. Two sailors, big heavily armed men, watched his back.