by Greg Curtis
Maybe he belonged in that ruined ancient prison he'd just left. After all, someone had to dwell there.
And yet he kept trudging, pushed on by something deep within him. A need to know. Even if what he would find was everything he feared. But he had to know.
Chapter Eleven
Time passed as it always did. One day followed another. And eventually the shock of what had happened to Stonely faded.
Was that a good thing? Chy didn't know. Nor did he know how many had been captured by the sprites and enslaved and how many had got away. Been scattered to the winds. What he did know was that a town of fifteen thousand now had maybe a thousand people left who called it home. That most of the businesses were shut, including those who bought his polished stones. And that from now on he would have to go to Charlton to trade.
He hated going there – most of all for the sorrow he felt when he did. Normally he liked Charlton. But now everywhere he went, every street he wandered down, he would run across a minstrel or a bard with a set of pipes, playing dirges for the dead of Stonely. There would be priests calling for alms for the newly poor who had escaped the town and who now had nothing, and prayers for the lost as they called the others. Most of all, there would be sorrow on the faces of the people and in their voices. The people of Stonely and Charlton were close. Many were family. This tragedy had hit everyone hard.
Chy knew that they weren't alone. About a hundred other towns had suffered the same fate, and that the King had sent out inquisitors to investigate. After all no realm could lose a hundred towns and anywhere up to a million people and not try to find out what had happened. And that was only in Ruttland. There were plenty of other realms out there. Dozens more at least that he knew of. The sprites could have struck at thousands of towns. They likely had. This was a disaster of a scale never before imagined.
He understood all of that.
What Chy didn't understand was why one of the King's inquisitors was bothering him. He was nobody. He'd worked hard for a very long time to make sure he was nobody. That no one thought he was anything other than a commoner. A peasant with a stone polishing business. Not that he got a choice in the matter – or got to ask why he was being visited. Not when the man had been sent out by the King and had bodyguards with him. Dangerous looking men in uniforms. Inquisitors were a law unto themselves. Even the town guards he understood, were wary around them.
“I've told you, Sir” he replied to the man in his neat black uniform with the shiny brass buttons, doing his best to be respectful as he repeated his story, “I don't know what it was. I've never seen anything like it before. It was like a slowly turning fiery whirlpool in the sky. A few hundred paces above the town. And people were flying around in circles underneath it like they were on strings, until the rain came down.” He held out his arms in frustration and helplessness. “What else do you want me to say, Sir?” And the one thing he knew for certain was that he wasn't going to tell the man the truth. That it was magic – or that he had magic.
“How you did it, perhaps,” the man suggested unhelpfully.
“Me?!” Chy squeaked in surprise, starting to worry. Why was the man accusing him of this? That made no sense.
“I didn't do that! No one could do that! Not even the greatest of scientists! And I'm not some mad technologist slaving away in a laboratory doing whatever. I just polish rocks!” He took a deep breath. “And besides when it happened, when the explosion tore through the air and the fire storm appeared, I was here with Myrtle and Mull. We all heard it together. In fact I was in the river with a pick. You can ask them.” Somehow he suspected that the man would.
“Also, when I was in Charlton the other day the crier was telling everyone that this had happened right across the realm. How could I have done that? I don't even have a horse! How by Alder would I get across all of Ruttland and create all these … things?”
“But you don't deny that you benefited from this?” The man leaned forwards a little to stare intently at him.
“Benefited?” Chy stared at him in confusion. It took a moment to realise what the man in his shiny black uniform was talking about. “You mean the goats?” Chy stared back at him, eyes wide. “They just followed me back. They were scared I'd guess.” And he now had three goats wandering around his front yard, chewing at his bushes and eating everything in sight.
“But if anyone wants them they can have them. Praise Alder you can have them! They're eating my bloody garden! And they don't seem to have any milk.” But he supposed they were friendly enough creatures – unlike the somewhat rotund cat that had turned up a day or so after them. It just lay out in the sun, demanded food and hissed at him if he got too close. Ungrateful pest!
He paused for a moment to take a breath and think. And then he decided he need to go back to the beginning. “But how could anyone do that? I mean it just wasn't possible! Myrtle says it was the Great Beast, and while I never really believed in it, I can't think of anything else to explain what I saw.”
And he'd described the great wheel in the sky to the Inquisitor just as he was sure a great many others had. He'd probably used the exact same words. And despite the fact that he knew what it was, that he could feel the magic within it, it was still impressive. How could the sprites have created such a thing? And why had it been filled with fire? But those were questions for another time. For the moment he simply had to make sure the man didn't actually think he was guilty of something.
“I mean we all know the scientists and technologists can do amazing things,” he continued, doing his best to sound like everyone else who'd seen the damned thing. Every other survivor. “There's this lightning in the wires and the dirigibles and all that what not. But people were flying through the air! Spinning and rolling through the air like they were swimming. Flailing around as if they were caught in a current. That's not possible! Not even if they were on strings!” And while he was talking he used a little of his gift to make his words more convincing. Chy didn't know why this man was making the accusations he was – maybe he was just looking for a scapegoat – but he didn't like it. And it was a minor cast. Nothing that would harm the man. And nothing that would be noticed. Not by the two soldiers with the inquisitor, and not by the man himself.
“But there was a man in Stonely,” he continued. “Myrtle was telling me about him. Some sort of street magician. Somebody the Magnificent. Maybe it was something to do with him?” He didn't feel too bad about ratting the man out, not least because whoever he was, the man was either a slave now or he had fled far enough away by now that he wouldn't be caught. He probably wasn't even using his real name. Besides he was probably little more than a cut-purse or a trickster.
“There is no such thing!” the inquisitor told him bluntly.
“I used to think the same, Sir,” Chy replied. And actually that was the truth. The only deception was that he had changed his mind when he was around twelve or thirteen and a vision of a guardian had appeared to him telling him what he was and what he had to do. That was when he'd realised that magic was real. And that it was a part of him. “But if it's not magic and wizards and what not, then surely it must be the Great Beast – and that's worse!”
The inquisitor didn't reply. But it was obvious from the look on his face that he didn't agree. And why would he? There was no such thing as magic. The important thing was that he didn't continue to push this dangerous theory that Chy was somehow involved in what had happened. And Chy could still sense in him the desire he had to find a simple answer. To find someone to blame for what had happened so all of this could go away. Which was when an idea hit him.
“Or maybe this whoever the Magnificent was actually a scientist of some sort?” He suggested it to the inquisitor as a mere thought, but then used a little of his gift to make the theory more convincing. And almost immediately he could feel the man responding. He could feel the hope growing in him that he had found an answer. More accurately, he had someone to blame.
“But you don't kno
w his name?” the Inquisitor asked eagerly.
“No, Sir.” Chy shook his head. “I'm sorry Sir, but it was a while ago and a lot's happened since. But someone will know what he called himself. There would have been people who watched his show.” Of course finding them was going to be difficult. Finding anyone from Stonely was going to be difficult. And then he decided to add to his seeming innocence.
“May I ask, Sir, is it as bad everywhere else? I've only heard what the criers have said in Charlton. But is it the same wherever else these things have happened?”
“It is bad,” the inquisitor told him. “But more than that I will not say.”
“Of course Sir. My apologies for speaking out of turn.” He nodded respectfully knowing that the man expected it. Knowing too that the more he sounded like a confused and frightened commoner the safer he was, if only because there was no way that a simple peasant could have done what the man had been told about. And a commoner would be extremely polite and scared when facing an Inquisitor. But what mattered wasn't the seeming impertinence of his question or his apology, it was the fact that he could feel the inquisitor's thoughts turning in the direction he'd suggested. The man had a lead, and he wanted to follow it. He suddenly had hope.
In fact the man was so dedicated to his new line of investigation that he abruptly decided he'd had enough of speaking with Chy. And soon enough he and his body guards were marching towards their horses and then riding away, hot on the heels of a street magician, having scarcely even bothered to say farewell.
But that was fine by him as he watched them leave. Anything was fine as long as the man wasn't throwing accusations at him. The last thing he needed was to be hung! Or to have to use his gift to fight his way out of a noose. Either way he would be in trouble.
Besides he was still worried about that portal. He'd seen it. He'd felt the magic, so he knew it was a portal. And he'd heard the ear shattering screech of the fire elementals, so he knew it was the sprites behind it. And he knew their purpose in abducting people was always the same – they wanted servants. But a portal full of fire sucking people into it? That was just wrong!
He hadn't been fooling the Inquisitor when he'd told him he'd never seen anything like that before and that he didn't know what it was. He really couldn't be certain of anything. He was just guessing.
In any case there was nothing he could do about it. It was already over and done with. All he had left to do were his chores. Chores were his life. There was firewood to chop – there was always firewood to chop. Chickens to feed and goats to shoo out of his garden – not that that would help as he didn't yet have a fence around it and if he tied them up they chewed through the ropes. So after the Inquisitor and his men had left he went and grabbed his axe. And soon he was working up a sweat.
Why was it he asked himself, that even with all the magic he had, his life didn't seem to become any easier? Of course it could be easier. He had enough strength now that he could have put the axe right through the firewood and the chopping block as well. But that wouldn't have done him any good. In fact it would probably have damaged his axe and cost him good coin to get it repaired. And if by some mischance the inquisitor did return and decide he was somehow responsible for what had happened, and then had him hung, he was probably strong enough that his neck wouldn't break. But then they'd just burn him as a witch! Even magicking up some silver to pay for firewood to be delivered would be a problem. People would start to wonder where he'd got the coin from.
It seemed to him that his magic for the most part was only of any value to him. In the real world it wasn't much help at all. But that didn't really matter. Because in the end his magic was his wonder. When he cast any magic it was him who had cast it. Not nature. Not an act of the gods. Not anyone else. It was special – to him. He didn't care so much about the rest.
So he chopped away, let the sweat run off his skin and enjoyed the feeling of health and vitality that ran through him. That was in part magic too. But his magic. Part of his very flesh and blood.
But then unexpectedly, between the impulse to bring the axe down and the bite of the metal into the wood, the world changed. It grew brighter and shimmered just a little. And by the time the pieces of wood were flying away from the axe, he knew it was a sending. He recognised the signs. He received a sending every six months, a week before he was due for each new visit to the temple.
He also recognised the figure he saw in front of him – Elodie. But he didn't recognise the pain he saw in her face. She normally showed no emotion at all. Just dispassionate calm. Sometimes a tiny amount of warmth. But the woman he saw in front of him was suffering. She had been for some time he guessed. And she had been weeping. That couldn't be!
“Elodie,” he greeted her worried by what he could see. Though of course she didn't answer him. This was a sending, not a true meeting of the thoughts. He couldn't speak to her. She couldn't hear him.
“To all who come to the Heartfire to receive your blessings, know that the Temple is closed. The sprites have attacked the Heartfire Temple and they have killed a great many Guardians. Much has been destroyed. Much has been lost. The portal and the road are both closed. And now the sprites continue their attack, trying to break into the Temple. Though they cannot.”
“Return to your homes and stand ready. Whatever madness possesses the sprites, it is growing. They continue attacking when there is no hope. Unleashing ever more elemental servants against the Heartfire Temple. Working through great books of enchantment, trying to break down the protections of the ancients with ever more complex magic.”
“They will not succeed. I will not allow it. If they somehow did it would destroy not just the Temple but also much of the order of the worlds. The Heartfire is the heart and soul of magic. If it is destroyed, what little order there is in the realm of the mystical, would be lost. It would become an inferno. That cannot be allowed. So the Temple will stand and they will fall. And then there will be punishment.”
“I will speak with you all again when I have more information to share. When the Temple is once more open for worship.”
With that she was gone and the brightness and the colour faded. But her words lingered. The Heartfire Temple had been attacked? Chy was shocked by that. He couldn't imagine that such a place would ever be attacked. But that it was the sprites that had done it? Somehow that didn't surprise him. Not after what they'd done to Stonely.
But punishment? That seemed unlikely. How did you punish an entire people? How did a guardian do that? Surely she was simply speaking out of pain. Letting her emotions carry her words and thoughts.
Then again, he realised, there was one thing a guardian could do to punish a people. She could stop them from using the Temple. That might not be a true punishment. Few sprites went to the Temple and those that did only did it the one time. They had their own magic and their own way of learning it. But it would be a slap in the face.
And then there was the other thing she'd said. That if the Temple fell it would somehow endanger them. Destroy the order of worlds, whatever that meant. So now they were in danger too? He hadn't imagined that. How could a temple in another world threaten his? He didn't know. And besides, while it might be possible for the sprites to destroy the Temple, he doubted that anyone could destroy the Heartfire itself. It was something far more powerful than any mere structure.
Chy gave up on the chopping about then. Instead he simply gathered up the wood that he'd chopped and carried the last few armfuls of it back to the pile to be stored for winter. And then he set about cleaning up. Putting the axe away, removing his vest and tossing it in the copper for washing, and wiping himself down before finding a clean one. Then he headed for the kettle. He had done enough work for the day.
What mattered, he thought, was that the Temple had closed. He was not due to return for more than five months. But when that time came, would he be able to return? He didn't know. And maybe too, the pain in Elodie's face mattered. That stuck with him. Maybe because h
e had seen so much of that pain in others recently. In the mirror too.
Then too, it was the sprites who had destroyed another piece of his world. He was truly starting to hate them.
But could he do anything? He doubted it. No one could go to the sprites' world. N'Diel was protected and the known portals guarded. The only people who went there were those the sprites wanted to. And they never came back. But even if he could somehow find a portal that led there, what would he do? The sprites had powerful magic. They were some of the most powerful casters there were. He was one man with a few spells? And now he didn't even have the ability to go to the Temple in another six months or so and advance in his craft.
When the kettle had boiled and he had a mug of tea in his hands and had taken a seat on the patio near to his portal, he tried. Just to open up a path to the grand portal on the terrace of the Heartfire Temple. But he couldn't. The grand portal was locked. And while he could think about taking the road, he had a hunch that that would be locked too. Elodie had said the Heartfire Temple was closed. He guessed she'd meant it.
