“The first I’d not argue. For the second: if the future can be read, then it’s already written.”
Mar found he could not refute that last statement. Marihe, the Moon Pool, and even his own premonitions had revealed the future to him. But if the future was already written, it was not etched permanently on some monolithic stone but scrawled lightly in fading inks on a breath of the wind. He knew without a doubt that the course of events could be changed, for he had done so. With the power of magic, he had shifted death to life.
But was that proof of the existence of destiny or proof of its non-existence?
The Mhajhkaeirii had made him a king. He had not thought it possible, had promised himself that he would do whatever it took to prevent such a disaster, had not had the slightest forewarning that such an unlikely event could transpire. But here he was all the same, hiding from people whose very lives he could now literally feel if he listen-looked closely to the ether.
Marihe had foreseen his kingship and the Moon Pool had prophesied it. In hindsight, his choice to fight alongside the Mhajhkaeirii had almost decreed it. Although he had believed himself in control of his own actions, every choice he had made had conspired to place him exactly where he did not want to be.
Telriy tucked her brush away and offered him a hand. He pulled her to her feet without thought, a simple courtesy.
She interlaced her fingers with his and caught his free hand also, so that they stood close together, hands clasped. She gazed into his eyes with an unwavering intensity.
“You're the leader of all these people, whether you want to be or not. The Oaths make you their king and there is no way that the Oaths can be broken. Your only option is simply to accept the inevitable. I have, and you should too. Stop wasting energy and thought fighting against it.”
She rose up on her toes to bring her face close to his. "I'm your destiny, Mar, and you're mine."
Temptation and indecision flared, but Mar ignored both. And then, he knew. He was not sure if it was some emanation from the ether or a flutter of an eyelash that betrayed her, but he knew all the same. He laughed shallowly.
“You’re lying. You don’t believe that.”
Telriy frowned, released his hands, and then took a stiff step backward. “What spell tells you that?” she pressed.
“No spell. I just know.” And he did, with a clear indisputable knowledge as certain as his awareness of his own existence.
Her frown deepened. “Did your magic reveal my thoughts?”
Feeling somewhat vindictive, he shrugged. Maybe it had been just a lucky guess, but he did not want her to know that.
Intent, she searched his face, but gave no indication on her own of what she found.
“I do believe," she told him evenly after a moment, "that men and women have a predetermined path in life, a fate, though not in the sense most do. My grandmother always told me that the future is not written, it’s built.”
He blew air out the side of his mouth rudely. “The future isn't a house."
"But it is constructed just like a house. A house doesn't simply come into being, but is assembled stone by stone and board by board. Likewise, the future doesn't simply spring into existence. The future is assembled from each individual choice that a person makes. Everyone has choices, some big, many small. Some people have fewer choices, many people have their choices made for them, but no one has none. These choices construct the future, second by second, opening some paths and closing others, realizing some possibilities and irrevocably destroying others. Choices you make today will determine where and in what state you'll be tomorrow. You're the carpenter of your own future, building what will come tomorrow.”
“Alright,” Mar agreed, “I can see that, but that just means that a man’s circumstance is self determined. It doesn't prove that any man – or woman -- has a binding destiny.”
Telriy smiled. “It does when you consider that choices have different weights of importance and that therefore all choices don't have the same significance in determining the future. Some choices – many of them in fact -- mean nothing at all and have no noticeable consequence. Do you remember what you had for lunch on this same day five years ago? It certainly had very little effect on what's happing today.”
“Five years ago, I ate whatever I could steal. I very seldom had the luxury to be selective.”
“Oh, but you did chose, in a myriad of different small ways. You chose where to steal the food and who to steal it from. You chose to steal at any certain moment rather than go hungry longer. You chose where and when to eat the food. You made dozens of other choices I could not even guess at. My point is that all of these choices were insignificant, without consequence, and had no discernible affect on your future, your fate.”
“'Myriad possibilities, myriad futures,’” Mar quoted. “The philosopher-blacksmith Ehartj’hm said that in 510 AFE. A thousand different choices give a thousand different futures. I'd say that helped prove that there is no destiny.”
Telriy made a sour face. “Pah! A thousand choices but only one future! Have you been sectioned into a thousand different bits, one flying this way, one that? No! Has your soul been scattered to the winds? No! Are your thoughts strewn unconnected across the face of the globe? No, no, no! You are here, all of you, every facet of you, in this one place at this one time! There is one and only one tomorrow and after that the same for all your days!”
When Mar did not respond immediately, she continued. “Some choices are keys to the future -- they can change the entire course of a life. The day we met, I could have escaped you easily. This must have occurred to you by now.” She flashed her Maiden’s Companion at him and then made the blade vanish. “I chose not to do so and today we’re husband and wife. That choice was mine alone and it laid the foundation of the future we now live.”
“What of my choices? Didn’t they matter?”
“You’ve had them and you’ve made them.” Telriy stated flatly. “You chose to drag me along with you. In effect, you chose me.”
Mar rubbed his forehead tiredly. He had a sudden dull pain between his eyes. He did not know if she was right -- if he had already chosen his path and thereby determined his future -- but he could not find an argument that would proclaim her to be wrong.
"Now, Mar, are you going to embrace your destiny or keep trying to deny it?"
In place of an answer, he started walking. He had options. He knew this implicitly. Even if he had a fate, the only fate that he would accept was one that would suit him, not Telriy.
But she had been right about one thing: he could not escape those who had sworn the Blood Oath. Magic that he could not control had made him their king and he would remain so imprisoned until the day he died.
Unless he could discover a stronger magic.
Telriy caught up with him. "What do you intend to do now?"
He grimaced. "Whatever it takes."
TWO
As they made their way back through the trees of the woodlot to the edge of the barley field, they came across a gang of youths scavenging dead branches and foraging for dewberries.
"It's the King!" screeched one girl of about ten, startled by Mar's sudden appearance from behind the wide trunk of a canted elm. She dodged backwards, bumped into another girl and almost dropping the berries that she had gathered in the hem of her blouse.
"Oh! It is!" the second girl burst out. "Hryen! Come see, it's him!" The boy she called to, a bit older than both girls, ran over, hurdling underbrush and deadfalls in his haste.
As the young were want to do, the first girl recovered almost immediately from her fright and enfolded Telriy with eyes gone large. "My lady, are you the Queen?"
Telriy gave a half-smile. "I suppose I am."
Mar mumbled a curse under his breath, earning himself a sharp look from the "Queen."
"What did the King do to save you?" the second girl asked breathlessly.
Telriy cocked her head slightly. "What do you mean?"
"The good kings always save their brides from some terrible danger!"
"That's right!" Hryen confirmed. "That's the way 'tis in all the books."
"It's always something really, really hard!" the first girl chimed in.
"Well," Telriy began thoughtfully, "as it did happen ..." She let her voice turn conspiratorial. "In an ancient city far to the north, beyond all known habitations, in a lost land where the Empire still reigns in all its glorious splendor, he found and rescued me from a terrible inferno in the greatest library in the world. Disguised as a boy to escape the vile intentions of evil sorcerers, I had been seeking clues to an ancient treasure when he saved me and took me for his own."
As the trio oohed and ahed in appreciation, their compatriots, nearly a dozen with the oldest no more than fifteen, congregated around the royal pair, clamoring in their excitement. Some went so far as to touch their clothes in awe, while others only stared.
Mar, disgruntled by the delay, pushed on without a word, but the children happily tagged along and the small parade attracted considerable attention as it proceeded through the encampment of the refugees. More people came up to them, mostly children and curious adults, with the majority of the latter being women of all ages and circumstances. The adults, by all indications, gathered for the sake of idle curiosity or simple boredom while the children seemed drawn by the prospect of an exciting spectacle. The refugees swirled around Mar and Telriy in a fluctuating cloud, and a steady noise of laughter, chatter, and whispers followed them.
Mar overheard some of the comments.
“Not very old, is he?”
“No, but maybe it’s this magery that makes him young?”
“Eh, I hadn’t thought about that. I wonder if he could do anything for the wrinkles around my eyes? I think that they’re starting to make me look old.”
“Pah! You are old, dear.”
“Fifty-two’s not old! And, anyway, I’m younger than you!”
“No, you’re not! Your younger sister is younger than me! And besides --”
Embracing her newly minted royal role with cheerful disdain, Telriy soon attracted a train of younger children, including a toddling girl in one hand and a slightly older boy in the other.
“I’m holding the Queen’s hand!” Mar heard the boy inform a sibling proudly.
About halfway back to the skyships at the crossroads, one adolescent rake, braver than most, ran up and planted himself directly in Mar's path.
“Can you make me fly?” he challenged with only a modest quaver in his breaking voice, watching not Mar's reaction but alternately that of a girl of his own age that had joined Telriy's retinue and those of a squad of boys who watched expectantly to one side.
His thoughts elsewhere, Mar absent-mindedly infused the lad's boots and belt with a slightly shifted variation of the lifting sound-color, then asked him, “Where do you want to go?”
As he rose a fingerlength from the ground, the boy tensed, wobbling slightly, and the rims of his eyes went white. “I didn’t actually mean right this second!"
“Knew you didn’t have the guts, Ihrol!” a companion hooted.
Ihrol’s face clenched in annoyance and he shot the other lad a sharp look.
“Clamp it, Bhel! What I meant was --" The boy's eyes danced over the temporary awnings, improvised tents, cook fires, and trampled vegetation. “-- over there!” He threw out an arm to point across a low stone fence into a small area devoid of bedrolls or cook fires.
Most of the adults and children had gathered about, watching intently. Mar, struck by the abrupt concern that these battered Mhajhkaeirii might react negatively to his magic, especially were a child the object of it, started to set the boy back on his feet, but stopped when he saw Telriy give him a quick wink. Taking a quick poll of the expressions of the women and few older men standing about, he tried to gauge the mood of the crowd. Seeing no antagonism or distrust, he flexed his shoulders in a careless shrug. It seemed a poor use of time, but truthfully, he did not know what else he should be doing instead.
He started immediately to send the young supplicant on his requested flight, but decided to indulge in the theatrical. Raising his hand in what he hoped to be an arcane manner, he intoned, “Then be gone to where you wish!”
The boy squalled in delight as he rose above the heads of the crowd and sailed out into the clearing. Many of the children squealed and shouted, and Ihrol’s band ran after him whooping.
“Me next!” another boy implored.
“Me too!” cried a girl.
Stopping, Mar spent the better part of an hour flying the children about. Some of them had stout enough shoes and belts to travel a goodly distance, but most, especially the smaller ones, received only a quick hoist and a few twirls. The exercise was neither tiring nor difficult and it was also, he came to realize, completely without purpose and utterly harmless. This realization improved his mood. It cheered him to show that magic could be used for more than war, death, and destruction.
Telriy appointed herself arbiter of the game, forming a queue and scolding those who tried to repeat the ride. After a bit, women began to approach her both singly and in small groups. None tarried long, but conversed earnestly and made way for others that waited.
Finally, the queue came to an end. The children wandered away to play or were called to lessons or chores. The adults likewise scattered to attend to more pressing needs or tasks. Eventually, Mar and Telriy were once more unaccompanied
“What was that about?” Mar asked her as they continued.
“The women?”
“Yes.”
“They wanted me to intercede with you on their behalf.”
“About what?”
“Missing husbands, sons and daughters conscripted to the militia and not heard from, the lack of basic needs. Some wanted to complain about conditions. A few had suggestions.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I told them that the King would look into their concerns as he was able. That’s what they expected me to say. That’s how it’s done. Subjects have the right of petition. They all know that.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Mhajhkaeirii haven’t had a king for nearly two thousand years but they all know how it’s supposed to work. They’ve all read the adventurous stories and the classic poems and seen the plays. They memorized the nursery songs as children. Rationally, most of them would say that they accept the dry history that scholars teach them in school -- that kingdoms were oppressive, burdensome, and inefficient political structures designed for the enrichment of a single man. In their hearts, though, they believe the myths – that a king is the champion of the people, their defender, and their guide, a paternal leader whose purpose is to perform heroic deeds and succor them in times of need.”
“That’s a wagon load of horse dung.”
Telriy twitched her shoulders in a shrug. “Belief is a powerful force, Mar. Don’t neglect it.”
When they were nearly to the crossroads, traveling down an irregular lane formed by a dozen or two large, white canvas tents that must have come from the stores of the fallen Western Redoubt, a middle-aged woman of some heft appeared in Mar's way. She started to bow, obviously thought better of it, tried an inexperienced military salute, and then simply rolled her eyes dismissively.
“You’re the king, are you?” she asked hurriedly. “The one that can do the magery?”
“He is,” Telriy spoke up. “Both.”
“Can you help the child? My niece, that is? She’s of a fever.”
Mar shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried such a thing.”
“Well, can you look at her?” It was not a plea. It was clear that the forthright woman was interested only in finding a solution to her problem.
He started to shake his head again, but thought of the things Telriy had said of kings and reconsidered. “I’ll do what I can. Where is she?”
The girl -- ten years old, her aunt said -- lay sweatin
g on a simple pallet in one of the tents. Half a dozen other children ranging in age from about eight up to nearly grown occupied the shelter with her. The oldest girl was platting braids in a younger sister’s hair, while the four boys were occupied with a simple finger sign game. Aside from a few thin blankets, the family had no possessions.
“She won’t hardly take anything but water, and not much of that,” the aunt informed. “There’s no meat for a proper broth.”
Mar knelt at the girl’s side. Hazel eyes smiled up at him.
“Are you the King like Mheherie said?”
“Yes,” Telriy answered for him again. “He is the King.”
“My name is Kheaelie,” the little girl whispered seriously, “and I know that kings are not bad like Ehv said.”
One of the smaller boys whiffed angrily but did not interrupt.
Mar laid the back of his fingers on the girl’s forehead. The heat of the fever was instantly notable.
“Where’s her mother?” Telriy asked the aunt.
“Missing since the Monks attacked.”
“Her father?”
“Dead, as far as we know. He was in the militia.”
Mar closed his eyes and focused inward. He had saved Ulor, had successfully knit his ripped flesh back together with little effort, but then the damage had been obvious and the nature of the repairs equally so. Here, he had no idea of what he should look for. He delved the ether about the child's body, looking deeper than he ever had, searching for some obvious wrongness. He found uncountable multitudes of sound-colors: streamers, meshes, spirals, waves, and other complexities that defied description in an incomprehensible muddle.
There were simply far too many; he had no idea of where to begin or what to do. He opened his eyes.
“You, Ehv, come here.”
The boy looked anxiously at his aunt. “I didn’t mean it! I promise I didn’t, Aunt Celhis! I promise!”
The woman hesitated.
“I need a reference,” Mar explained. “Someone that I can look into to see what’s wrong. The boy doesn’t have the fever, does he?”
“No, they’re all fit as best I can tell. Do what you’re told, Ehv.”
Key to Magic 03 King Page 2
