The Godseeker Duet

by David A Willson

  Mykel, Gwyn, and Bylo joined them just as Anne spoke. "Mykel," she said, pointing. "Please put your hand here."

  He placed his hand over the rock as she directed. As he did so, surprise crossed his face.

  "Feed it," she said. "You now touch the stone this rune is inscribed upon. As you do with your tattoo, when you're in contact with a rune, you can feed it with your magic."

  Mykel closed his eyes, and Nara saw something inside the wall—no, on the other side of the wall—begin to glow. The sound of rushing water inside the wall came next, followed by a grinding sound, stone on stone. A door slid open in front of them, a well-lit chamber beyond. Sounds of trickling water emanated from within.

  Mykel turned to Nara. "I just used magic! I opened a door!"

  "Yes, you did," she answered. She smiled at the pride in his voice. The joy. A growing sense of self-worth that the years with his father had suppressed, but perhaps not destroyed.

  The opening revealed a brightly lit room, perhaps thirty feet in diameter, with a high ceiling. Inscribed on the walls were numerous light runes. She wondered how the plants in the grooves accessed the seeds for food, until she saw the large holes in the upper part of the ceiling, obviously crafted to allow air and drifting seeds into the chamber.

  A stream of water dripped down one wall, spilling into a pool below. Blue water.

  "What's that?" asked Bylo, pointing to the stream.

  "That," Anne said, "is your ink."

  Bylo grinned. "Where does it come from?"

  "Let me show you." She walked over to the wall, then reached up to one of the runes and pressed her fingers against the tiny plants therein. When she pulled her fingers away and showed them to Bylo, they were stained blue.

  "The plants produce ink?" Mykel asked.

  "Not so much from these little ones. The big ones high in the cavern—they produce more, and the ink drips down. This pool empties into the river that flows through the center of the larger cavern," she added. "It's one of the reasons the water is so invigorating. It's full of magic."

  "It's full of life," Nara said. "Wow. I wonder what else that water could be used for. Treating sick people?" She looked at Anne.

  "Maybe you should try it sometime," Anne said.

  Mykel walked over to the pool. "It's blue," he said.

  Nara came alongside Mykel. On the surface of the deep-blue water, she saw flashes of red, green, and orange. The fluid was opaque, and she couldn't discern what lay beneath. Mykel reached in, startling Nara with his boldness. He seemed to be grasping at something.

  Wide-eyed, Nara threw a look of worry to Anne, whose calm visage betrayed no alarm.

  "There's something in here," Mykel said. "Maybe more than one thing, I feel them bumping around in the ink."

  Nara stepped back as he pulled out a long white stick. It was a staff, completely fashioned of ivory, and almost as tall as Mykel. It was bright white, almost shining, and bore ornately carved designs along the shaft. Two runes were inscribed on the head of the staff. Ink slid off the weapon, pooling onto the stone floor below.

  "It's light." Mykel swung it about with apparent ease. "Like a feather. And I can sense magic within. Maybe a lot."

  Gwyn took a step forward, eyes wide, as if she wanted to hold the staff herself. She then stepped back. Did she see something? Nara looked at the staff with her own vision and saw the warm, bright light of the weapon pulsing like a heartbeat.

  "Mammoth ivory," Anne said. "Charged with power."

  “Can’t be," Bylo said. "Mammoths are extinct."

  "Yes, they are," Anne said.

  "It has to be walrus, then."

  "Have you ever heard of a walrus with a tusk that long?"

  "No," Bylo said. "Oh, my. If that is mammoth, it must be very old."

  "More than a thousand years," Anne said.

  Mykel didn't respond, his eyes transfixed upon the object in his hands.

  "Still want a sword?" Nara asked, then chuckled.

  "Not a chance," Mykel whispered with reverence. Gripping the shaft with both hands, he swung it about cautiously.

  "He looks like one of the warriors of old with that thing," Gwyn said. "You know, those holy soldiers from eons ago with the white staves and bare feet?"

  "Yes he does," Anne said.

  "Nara, don't help him this time," Anne said as the next training session began. "Let Mykel do this alone. Use the earth to mute your own pain if you like, but don't interfere."

  Nara nodded.

  In this session, Gwyn used her sword, sharp and gleaming, without restraint. She thrust and slashed, low and high at him, fast and relentless. At first, Mykel was caught by her speed and ferocity and bled from multiple wounds. One slash cut across his forehead, down to the bone. Nara winced with each blow—not just because of the pain it brought her but also out of concern for her friend.

  "Anne, please," Nara said. "Is this really necessary?"

  "Bear it, girl. He'll be ok."

  The blood flowed into his eyes, clearly obscuring his vision, but Anne would not let him heal or counterattack, only to block Gwyn's blows. If he could.

  "Feel the staff in your grip. Let it be your hands, but also your eyes," Anne said. "Let it see for you in a new way."

  The words seemed like nonsense to Nara as Mykel suffered under the attacks, the multiplying cuts across his body certainly contributing to a mass of confusion and discomfort. She longed to reach out and soothe his growing angst, but didn't want to rob him of the training he was so eager for.

  "You are a living cepp, Mykel," Anne said. "A storehouse of energy. The staff is a weapon, but a cepp as well, having rested hundreds of years in a magical pool, absorbing magic. Learn from it. Flow with it like the magic that has been its home."

  Flow with it? How did someone flow like magic? Anne had not taught Mykel how to strike with the weapon, nor how to block. Was he supposed to figure these things out when he could hardly see, bleeding and weak as he was? Nara didn't know how long she could withhold aid.

  "Close your eyes!" Anne said. "Use the staff to see!"

  He closed his eyes, and Nara closed her own. She reached out through the earth to feel Mykel, to sense his thoughts and his movements, but she did not send him her strength. Not yet.

  Through the earth, through the magic, she could sense what he sensed. See what he saw. Runes. They were blurry, indistinct. The health rune from his hip was there, along with two new ones.

  A new, hot pain sliced through his right shoulder, metal striking bone, and Nara reached for her own shoulder in reflex. She sensed fear rise in Mykel, then he pushed it back down and focused on the runes again. He focused on one of them, and she felt him feed it, then look around.

  Awareness flooded Nara's vision through the shared link. Mykel could see the entire cavern at once—Gwyn moving in front of him, Anne standing a few feet away—and Nara could see herself through Mykel's eyes. No, not his eyes—through this new rune. He could even see the sword coming straight for his face.

  Nara opened her eyes to see Mykel step back and to the side, catching Gwyn's right foot on her instep. She lost her footing and fell, narrowly avoiding an impact between the stone floor and her nose, lost the grip on her sword, and moved into an awkward, poorly executed somersault. She rolled to her feet and raced to retrieve her weapon.

  Such speed and accuracy in that movement! How had Mykel done that?

  "It will be hard for you now," Anne said to Gwyn, smirking. "He found it." Anne moved a step closer to Mykel and said, "Mykel, you can counterstrike now, but be gentle with her."

  Gwyn retrieved her sword and engaged. Anne motioned for her to attack again, and although Mykel could now heal himself, his injuries must have sparked compassion in Gwyn. The blood on his face was now drying and caking in his eyes. He was utterly blind, and his red-stained tunic was slashed to pieces, hanging like rags about him. Fresh, gaping wounds were visible, caused by a dozen of her slashes and thrusts. He had lost a torrent of blood, and much
of it was smeared on the stone floor, creating a slippery surface.

  "Anne, this is too much," Gwyn said. "Let him heal."

  Nara looked to Anne, hoping she would relent.

  "No!" Anne said. "Attack! With everything you have!"

  "I'm ok," Mykel said. "Don't stop."

  Gwyn charged and came high with a thrust. Mykel used the staff to smack the back of her wrist as she jabbed with her blade, then he spun away as she passed him without connecting. She rubbed the back of her wrist as she turned back to face him. Despite being unable to use his eyes, Mykel had guessed her movements, her position, and where to attack. Perfectly.

  She came at him again, faster this time, sweeping mid-waist then high. He stood there, bare feet unmoving in a gentle crouch, blocking the attacks with alternating ends of the staff. He spun in an odd motion and caught her in the back of her head with the bottom end of the staff as he completed his turn. The gentle smack could not have produced much pain. He was wielding it like a master teaching a student who had performed a maneuver incorrectly. Exactly what kind of magic did that staff carry?

  Gwyn renewed her effort, sweeping toward his legs twice, then high with renewed resolve. She feinted and spun, yet he blocked or parried or dodged every time, hitting her softly in a dozen places, gentle taps to show his level of control, his complete mastery over the contest. Gwyn had no chance. None at all.

  Mykel smiled, eyes still closed. "I see it all," he said. "Before it happens. Not long, just a moment, but the staff knows what you are going to do. I know it."

  Nara looked over at Anne, who nodded, smiling. Gwyn put down her sword.

  "Heal yourself, son," Anne said. "Then wash. You have suffered enough for today. Good job."

  "How is he doing that?" Gwyn asked, her rapid breaths betraying her exhaustion.

  "You're looking at someone the likes of whom the world hasn't seen in hundreds of years."

  "What is he?" Nara asked.

  Anne paused before answering, and when she finally spoke, Nara detected a nostalgic tone in her voice. "He's a Guardian. The first in a very long time."

  27

  Crown

  Fairmont

  The Estate of Lord Vorick

  The liberation of Kavalin had been accomplished without delay, and Vorick's return trip to Fairmont was pleasant. When he arrived at his estate, however, Kayna was nowhere to be found.

  He thought for a moment how he might tell the girl about her twin. They would be together soon, providing for an interesting reunion. Kayna had never been the emotional type, but he wondered how she might react. Would she see her sister as a rival or ally? He hoped he could manage the chaos of it. Kayna was difficult enough to manage alone and having two of her might prove to be more than he could handle. Someday, they might lead his armies in a vast expansion of the Great Land. Or lead him to the discovery of new magics entirely, new powers to call his own. Regardless, they were his treasures, and he would let nobody else possess them.

  Following a good night's sleep, he summoned a messenger and sent a dispatch to Holland, announcing that he would be coming by the chancery to discuss some changes. Triff arrived at the estate a short time later, then helped Vorick don his armor and sword.

  "I'm off to claim what's mine, Triff," he said.

  He walked out the front door of his home and down the middle of the street toward the chancery. It was a long walk, but the energy coursing through the armor produced a drug-like high and he enjoyed every minute of it. Fueled by the magic, he strode confidently in the suit of coral plates, presenting a spectacle that brought shock to all he passed. He smiled back at them, the visor of his helmet open. They should know who would be so bold.

  Upon arrival at the chancery, Vorick scaled the steps and approached the large front doors. The tall columns and ornate carvings on the chancery exterior were magnificent but paled in comparison to the opulence that now walked into the building. Pages and politicians abounded, yet all stopped when they spied the man in the brightly colored coral. Once inside, he stepped to the center of the foyer. He stared at those who surrounded him. "What are you waiting for?" he said. "Bring me the chancellor!"

  Several young pages scurried about in response, flustered by the show. One of them must have found Holland because the portly statesman hurried into the foyer holding a messy sheaf of papers in one hand and a pair of spectacles in the other.

  "Hello, Archibald. How are you?" Vorick said.

  "What in the name of all that is holy are you doing here, Vorick? And what is that upon you? Coral?"

  Red-faced and angry, Holland practically stomped as he approached, but Vorick knew it wouldn't last long. After all, Holland was a watcher.

  "Take a look at me. A good look."

  In response to Vorick's invitation, Holland fell to his knees with a yelp of pain, covering his eyes in reflex. His spectacles fell, lenses cracking, and his papers scattered on the floor.

  "Bright, aren't I?"

  "What in hades is that?" Holland asked.

  "This is a paradigm shift in the power of the Great Land, Archibald."

  "What are you talking about?"

  Vorick stepped toward the chancellor, who was still on his knees. Vorick's voice took on a menacing tone.

  "You will call an emergency meeting of the council. You will hold it at the noon hour. Today." As he spoke, he placed his right hand on Holland's shoulder and squeezed. Holland winced as the sharp edges of the coral gauntlet bit into his skin. "I have some legislation for you to consider.”

  Vorick turned and walked out of the chancery, leaving Holland cowed. His next visit was to Archbishop Chayfus. It was a meeting without conflict. Chayfus had always favored Vorick and encouraged him to be ambitious. Vorick promised the greedy man a significant boost of wealth if the church would support his next moves. The treasure of coral that Vorick wore upon his person provided ample evidence of an ability to make good on the promise.

  The cleric was quick to agree. Upon his departure, Vorick was confident that the archbishop had already begun to imagine how to spend his new wealth.

  Vorick arrived late to the council chamber, which occupied its own hall inside the castle walls. It had been placed there to provide easy access for the royals in times past. Vorick wondered if some monarch, ages ago, envisioned a siege of Fairmont and the need for his advisors to be close. He likely never imagined that the power of kings and queens would fade, ceding authority to civilian council members.

  Vorick aimed to change the course of such things.

  As intended, Vorick's tardiness allowed the council ample opportunity to discuss his recent success in Kavalin, news of which had preceded his arrival in Fairmont. It also allowed them time to digest the news of his dramatic display at the chancery a few hours earlier.

  When Vorick approached the large chamber, he stopped shortly after entering. The buzz of conversations hushed and all thirty sets of eyes turned to him. A dramatically slow pace took him down the long central aisle, after which he stepped up onto the dais and motioned the gathered men to take their seats.

  Half a dozen remained standing, incensed and offering a silent rebuke for his audacity. Vorick looked at them all, bringing each of their names to mind. There were a few gifted in the mix but no watchers, aside from Holland. He glanced over at the chancellor, who sat in an abnormal silence. Several of the other ministers glanced back and forth between Vorick and Holland as if they expected the chancellor to do something. They would be disappointed.

  "Good afternoon," Vorick stated. "You may take your seats."

  Despite the second request, three remained standing. Vorick removed his helm and set it on the podium in front of him, visor closed and facing the crowd of men. The crimson color and menacing appearance encouraged two more to take their seats.

  "Fellson Weis, I believe," Vorick said, stepping off the dais and approaching the sole protestor. "Minister of Transport, if I recall?"

  "Correct. And I take personal offense to yo
ur manner today, Lord Minister," he said. "Congratulations on your success in Kavalin, but you're in Fairmont now, and I—“

  "Sit down and shut up," Vorick said.

  Weis stood slack-jawed, awestruck by the insult, but somehow found the will to protest. "I don't know who you think you are, and I don't care what sort of wealth you display here. I won't be intimidated."

  The man never spoke another word. Vorick didn't even gesture in his direction. So full of energy was his armor that the command he held over his talents was absolute and no movement was necessary to focus his thoughts. He simply willed it and Weis ceased to exist, shriveling in place, then collapsing. He turned to dust in scarcely more than a heartbeat, the energy of his spirit sucked into the armor.

  Stunned silence dominated the room.

  "Are there any other concerns we need to address?" Vorick asked the other noblemen.

  Dozens of mouths were agape. A few made nervous gestures, and one man fainted. Vorick was thrilled with the apparent respect this crowd now held for him. No, it wasn't respect, although that might come later. This was pure fear.

  "Excellent," Vorick said, stepping back onto the dais. "The first order of business for the day is a reinstatement of the crown's authority supreme."

  A hushed rumble passed among the lips of many in the chamber, but it lasted only a moment.

  "The royal abdication of 650 PB will be rescinded and the council's power abolished. Each of you will retain your positions as advisors only, with no vote on matters of state." He turned to one side and spoke to an elderly man in the front row. "Lord Minister of Administration."

  "Yes, Lord." The man was visibly shaking.

  "You will assemble the necessary paperwork?"

  "Of course, Lord, but…" He paused. "Forgive me. There is a small matter if I may be so bold?"

  "And what is that?" Vorick asked.

  "Agreement must be unanimous on this matter. Such a move is unprecedented."