Magic's Genesis- Reckoning

by Rosaire Bushey

  The streets in this quarter of Agubend were cold and paved with cobbles. Each was placed perfectly next to its neighbor, cut with the precision of a master butcher and laid with a skill that Lydria would attribute to magic if she had seen any indication of it in the Nethyn Plains. At intervals there were circles of bare earth where dead tree trunks grew with dead branches sprouting from the brown and grey masses. An officious man made his way to Wilmamen as if to tell her something. He looked like a minor government functionary, the type whose job is to relay messages and collect taxes, but a single glance from Wilmamen sent him scurrying back the way he had come, sparing only a glance for the large guide and three newcomers.

  As they continued, they turned down a side street and followed it for a time before turning up another, heading in the same direction as when they started. The further they walked, however, the fewer people who could be seen outside. Another turn, and another led them to a row of houses bordering the Shade, and when she saw the border lands Lydria turned to Dravud, silently asking him if Agubend’s borders were like to those of Herewist and Eigroth. Dravud looked out beyond the houses and then back to Lydria, nodding solemnly and then adding a brief smile of assurance as they continued silently in the wake of Wilmamen.

  A final turn onto a small street left no question where they headed. The only house at the end of the street called out to them. It was large and clean, and built between and as part of massive trees, with stone doing what the dead trunks could not. Visually it was as if Wilmamen had resurrected a burned-out home from Eifynar and transplanted it here. Around the house, several people moved slowly about their chores, continually cleaning the grime and soot that so tarnished every other structure. Alone Wilmamen’s home stood brightly in the darkness and as they ascended the first of a dozen steps to a wide covered porch, Lydria realized those engaged in cleaning the home were Qorghal. One, hunched as always, opened the door for his mistress and looked up at and then down from each member of the party as they entered the house. As Lydria walked by, the Qorghal held her gaze and she realized he had a hole the size of a horse’s bit on his neck, and the edge of another under his tunic. The servant stared at Lydria as she crossed the threshold, never lowering his eyes for her passage.

  “Before you ask, no this is not generally the place of the Qorghal,” Dravud said quietly as they stood in an enormous open foyer upon a grey rug Lydria thought must surely have come from Abulet’s shop. “The Qorghal may have their own place after they leave Eigrae, but it is not here. However, as Vul Griffis’ first lieutenant, Wilmamen has earned special favors.” Dravud blew out his nose for effect before continuing, “I think it amuses Griffis to see others subjugated as Wilmamen has enslaved these creatures.”

  It was not lost on Lydria or the others how Dravud had become more talkative since arriving in Agubend, nor how he spoke of Vul Griffis without his title, and with more than a trace of condescension.

  A Qorghal appeared in front of them from a side room and motioned for them to follow him to a large room at the back of the house, overlooking a wall of glass that was reminiscent of Karjan’s apartments. The difference, however, was that instead of looking into a fire-fueled darkness, Wilmamen’s windows could be gazed through in the relative luxury of upholstered chairs. Outside the windows was the twilight of a tame forest – a broad meadow and a small stream with banks that should be filled with flowers but contained only dried stems. The stream flowed from their right to left and passed under a graceful arched bridge made of stone and wood. The bridge was purely decorative as a child could easily jump from one side of the stream to the other.”

  Hokra and Haustis waited for Lydria and together the three joined Wilmamen, sitting in three chairs placed in a semi-circle facing their hostess. Dravud stood behind the travelers, his hands behind his back, his thickening leg muscles inches from the back of Lydria’s head where she thought they radiated a gentle warmth as would a living person in a land so devoid of life.

  A Qorghal servant brought a tray of glasses to Wilmamen and then to the others in turn. Dravud being the only among them who refused. The liquid, in clear crystal glasses made Lydria’s eyes widen in surprise. The scent was unmistakable, and in this place profound on her nose, as rare wine would be.

  “Wait until you taste it,” she said, raising her own glass and taking a less than delicate sip. She cradled the glass in her hand after she drank, her face betraying her tone. The liquid that touched Lydria’s lips did not taste like wine. It tasted of nothing. Even spring water would have given her more of a reaction, but the smell of wine lingered.

  “Despite embracing our fates, the privileges of Agubend are shallow,” Wilmamen said, placing the glass on a tray held by the Qorghal and thanking the creature by name as he made his way around the room collecting the glasses and leaving by a side door.

  “Dravud tells me that you want to see Vul Griffis and I have promised him I will answer your questions. But first, I wish to speak of the Spirit World and what has become of it.” She looked at Haustis alone for her answers, trusting the spirit guide of her people to answer her truly. “I dedicated my life to preserving the connection of our people to the spirits, and what has it gained me? An eternity of darkness; now with the knowledge that all my work was in vain.”

  “Child, I thought as you once did – as you do,” Haustis replied, leaning forward on her chair and adopting the soothing tone and cadence of a Haustis, comforting one of her tribe as if she were a child. Lydria knew from how she held herself, that Haustis was connected to the spirits and speaking through them to Wilmamen.

  “The Spirit World as you know it, has not always been with us,” Haustis continued. “The rise of magic, the new power of Eigrae, has closed the path on the old power. Just as the rise of the Spirit World closed the path to the power before it. In time, as it must, a new power will rise to replace magic. It has always been so.”

  Wilmamen asked what the Eifen of the East were like, and Haustis answered by telling her the long story of her people, their quest for Farn’Nethyn and a life of relative quiet for generations before the coming of the Stones of Power. She spent a long time describing Wynter and what he had done, his betrayal of the Fourteen and the dragons that roamed Eigrae. Wilmamen thought the dragons an interesting part of the story and looked quickly to Dravud several times during the telling and as she received answers to her questions. Many of the questions posed by Wilmamen Haustis could not answer directly, but she called from the Haustis’ past to provide for her what she did not know.

  Eventually, Wilmamen asked no further questions, but provided her own story on how, during her own lifetime, she was visited by spirits who showed her a blue sphere and explained to her that she had been chosen to preserve the ways of her people. “I was shown a sword and in my visits to the spirit world, I saw how to craft such a blade – a blade the likes of which had never been seen before. The blades of that sword do not dull, nor do they rust though you soak them with the blood of endless Qorghal and never lay a cloth to them.” She smiled inwardly and let out a small sigh. It was obvious she was proud of her work, and that pride was a point of disgust for her as well, as she knew now that she had been used by Griffis into creating the weapon that ultimately doomed her people.

  Haustis took the woman’s hands in her own and Wilmamen brightened, feeling the blood flowing in the living hands of Haustis. “We need to find your sword, sister, Haustis confided. “Wynter must not be allowed to return it to Vul Griffis and we must leave this place soon.”

  Lydria passed Wilmamen the stone sphere, asking if it was the same as what she had seen in her visions. Although hesitant at first, the Eifen took it and turned it over in her hand, studying it like a set of animal tracks. “This thing does not belong in this place.” She placed her hands on her knees and rose in a single fluid movement and looked at Dravud. “And neither do they. Come, I will show you the road to Vul Griffis. And while I wish I could take you there myself, that road is not open to me. Kno
w this sister,” and Wilmamen returned the stone to Lydria and rounded on Haustis, taking her by her hands and looking at the Eifen’s palms. “Know that I am sorry for my arrogance and my pride. I thought only to be a leader of, and an example for my people. Vul Griffis came to me as I searched for the Spirits, and he said he would help me craft a weapon that would free us all.”

  Haustis pulled the taller woman’s head toward her own and kissed her forehead. “You have been an inspiration to generations of our people, Wilmamen – your name will continue to be honored.” Wilmamen smiled and nodded tersely, pulling her hands away from Haustis and moving to the window overlooking the bridge and stream.

  “When Vul Griffis made me his lieutenant he didn’t do it out of mercy or gratitude, he did it out of hatred and spite. He told me the sword I made had only one true purpose – to free him of the prison that was made for him. The sword Wynter carries searches for its home, it pulls him to Vul Griffis, and with it, Wynter can get past obstacles you cannot. Still, I am not without power here. I have worked, with the help of others, to distract Wynter from his task and keep the sword from Vul Griffis for as long as possible. It appears I have not been the only one concerned with delaying him, as for days he has been harried by those of the Shade as well, and in his wrath, he has brought peace to many, though he does so unknowingly.

  “I have been hoping forever, it seems, that someone might arrive who could thwart him.” Wilmamen walked the length of the window wall and ran her fingers along their smooth surface, pausing quickly to peak into the room where the Qorghal had retreated with the empty wine glasses.

  She walked back to stand near the others and whispered to Lydria. “I cannot help you on your journey, it is a road you must win on your own. But I have been trying to help by doing for Wynter what Griffis did for me – I have been whispering in Wynter’s ear so that he could only hear his son, and I have kept him looking for something that does not exist. I believe I am not the only one engaged in this task.”

  “Wynter’s son is not here?” It was the first thing Hokra had said since they arrived, and the deepness of his voice seemed to catch Wilmamen by surprise.

  “His son has never stepped into The Grey, much less lingered there or sought to live there. He is not deserving of this place,” Wilmamen whispered quickly. “Ellaster, or what is left of her, does live within the Nethyn Plains. For a time, she haunted the Shade and when I found her, she told me much of Sol that I could use to torment Wynter. She seemed delighted that I should torture him by giving him false hope of seeing his son again; so much so that she left the Shade and I have not been able to find her. Still, she was useful to delay him. As you know, Lydria, the sword compels, but it cannot demand. That Wynter has been delayed can only mean that he loves his son deeply and truly. But he cannot resist forever, and so one day he will find Vul Griffis, and he will lose the sword, and Vul Griffis will escape the Nethyn Plains. If that should happen, then armed with the Sword of True Death and the stone it carries, he will turn Eigrae into a field of fire.”

  “Then we should waste no more time.” Dravud had stepped forward and was standing just to the side and behind Wilmamen, and when she looked up to him, he smiled at her. “They are ready, and they will succeed.”

  Wilmamen pulled her eyes from Dravud and stared deeply into Lydria’s eyes so long that it became uncomfortable. “They must succeed.”

  18-Unshegrig

  Wilmamen strode from her house with a scowl on her face, and with bare steel in her hand. She did not want anyone following her and by making it look as though anyone who bothered her would be sent back to the beach, she led Dravud and the others across her field and over the small bridge to the barren meadow beyond. Not far beyond the stream, the land dropped away quickly, a deep trench cut along the horizon. At the edge of the trench, Wilmamen pointed down and to the left.

  “There is a barely-visible stair in the wall that will take you to the floor of this gorge. Follow the stairs and the stairs alone. When you reach the bottom, follow the path until you can go no more. There you will meet your test. Only one of you must pass the test for all of you, or what’s left of you, to continue. Understand, if only one of you makes it through, you must follow where Dravud guides and push forward. Vul Griffis must not have my sword.”

  Wilmamen swallowed with difficulty after claiming the sword as her own. Even as she said it, she realized it was not true. The sword had never been hers. It had always belonged to Griffis. “I cannot tell you who should face the test, for I am not aware of its nature, only that there has only been one person to pass the test, and that person walks the Nethyn Plains even now.” The warrior turned to Haustis and held both her hands out to the woman, palms up. “May whatever Spirits that remain help you on your journey Haustis. I wish that I might go with you, but it is more than my soul deserves to have been able to stand with the Last Haustis. It has been an honor, and I am proud to have met you.”

  Without waiting long or speaking with anyone else, Wilmamen turned and started walking back toward the bridge, lingering only long enough to drag her fingers through the hand of Dravud who watched her walk away. She did not turn around.

  Dravud followed her with his eyes for several minutes and when he turned, he found the others had already started toward the rockface to look for the passage. When he passed them to point out the thin, miserable toeholds that passed for stairs, he nodded in thanks to Lydria for the moment alone with his thoughts.

  “I will go first,” he said, uncharacteristically, grabbing the shoulder of Hokra and pointing out the first few stairs, as his feet seemed to shrink in proportion to his body. The Chag Ca’Grae followed, lighting each of the stairs in a shimmering blue light as he passed so they could be more easily found by Lydria and Haustis who came last.

  They moved backward along the stairs, using the step above as a grip for their hands and helping place the foot of the person above on the step below. In this way they slowly and safely made their way to the bottom, where Dravud pointed in the direction they should follow, but did not lead, instead settling into the back of the line behind Haustis. It was Hokra who led the party, stopping occasionally to feel the rocks and always shaking his head when he began walking again, telling the others in this way that the rocks were dead.

  “Do you know what this test entails Dravud?” Haustis asked as they continued to follow the blackness at the bottom of the gorge. The stone walls never seemed to change, their height unseen above them in the starless sky.

  The guide didn’t speak right away but waited until the gap between he and Hokra closed, as he was sure it would. When he was sure they could all hear him speak quietly, he began. “I do. But to speak of it would give you no advantage and might deter you from your quest.”

  “Do you know the person who has passed this test and who walks now in the Plains?” Hokra’s question came without the Chag turning his head, his eyes glued to the path in front of them looking for anything that might be out of place or unnatural.

  “I know of this person, but we have never spoken together in this world. The Nethyn Plains, you must remember, are larger than the kingdoms here. Though they share similarities, those who inhabit them are different enough.”

  “So, there are tests like this in the other kingdoms?”

  “Of course. All of the Plains were built for the incarceration of a single individual – Griffis. It was made purposefully broad so that he might lose himself and be of no further nuisance to those in the Melting Grae. But, with such a place so large, the elders of the Melting Grae decided the Plains would be any easy place to dispose of undesirable elements. As more people found their way here, they ceded authority to Griffis, who eventually made himself Vul, a name with roots in a part of Eigrae I had not known existed, and he created the kingdom system we have now. There are five paths and each path contains four kingdoms, yet there is only one Vul and it lies at the end of every path. And waiting in Vul for travelers from each of the kingdoms is Griffis. M
ake no mistake, you are in his world, and while he did not make it, he has shaped it into something that he can manipulate and change, in much the same way he usurped Wilmamen’s sword. He is dangerous and while he bears no personal malice toward anyone who makes their way to him, he also harbors no soft feelings toward them. If you make it to him, he may treat with you out of respect alone.” All three of the living travelers stopped and looked toward their guide seeking confirmation of what he had said.

  “It is unlikely,” Dravud confirmed, “But he may.”

  Haustis looked like she was going to ask another question when Hokra turned to continue, and then suddenly held his finger to his lip, reached down to grab a handful of loose stones, and then pointed forward. With a quick look to Dravud, Lydria received only a nod, followed by parting words, something they rarely had from him. “If you succeed, I will be waiting beyond this place. If you fail, I will be waiting on the beach, though you may not remember. You have spent long in the Nethyn Plains, and if you were to die here now, here you will remain. If you can reach Vul Griffis, and return to Eigrae, then perhaps your deaths will take you somewhere more joyous. I hope we meet again soon and continue our journey to Vul.”

  Dravud stood still and said nothing while Lydria pulled Haustis and Hokra to her. “This is my test,” she said. The discomfort she felt in her gut as they climbed down the rock stairs dissipated almost immediately after she said the words aloud. There was nothing magical about the feeling. Her stomach simply churned at the thought that one of her friends would have to face something alone again. Hokra had already taken a risk, and while he was gone down the gem path her head had clouded with a thousand emotions and thoughts over what she would do if he did not return. She knew the burden they shared belonged to all of them, but she wasn’t ready to let Haustis jump forward, alone and without magic. Her sister would be a queen one day when they returned, and Lydria was determined that day should come for her sister who had already lost a brother, her grandfather, and her entire community.