by Awert, Wolf
“As for the Oas’ magic, all the wisdom and the entire secret behind it we have put into a single sentence. It is as follows: ‘As it is in the earth, it is in the sky; and as it is high in the sky, so it is in the earth.’”
Grimala surveyed Nill with a penetrating gaze. Nill’s face was inscrutable. It was not the first time he had heard a cryptic sentence. Dakh-Ozz-Han had been a master of the mysterious aphorism, just like Ambrosimas. If Grimala wanted him to understand, she would explain in greater detail what she meant. Until then, he would simply have to wait.
Grimala seemed a little disappointed at Nill’s total lack of reaction, but then nodded appreciatively and continued: “You know when silence is the best option. Not many people can make that decision, men least of all. I will show you our magic, but first we will fight. You will use the elemental magic, I will use my own. It will save us a lot of time and quite a bit of theoretical explanation. At dusk, we will meet five hundred and twelve steps from here metalwards, closer to the waters. Until then, enjoy the rest of the day, you two.”
Grimala stood up, signaling the conversation’s end.
“‘Enjoy the rest of your day,’” Nill repeated incredulously. “First she tells us something about the way of the world, then she says she mucked up your life and that mine can drive me insane – and then she wishes us a good day.”
Tiriwi looked thoughtful. “Grimala told me nothing I didn’t know. I felt it in the first few days at Ringwall. And you? You’re looking for the truth, and truth you received. But I’ll admit that our wise women are a little… well, they take some getting used to. But does any of that stop us from doing whatever we want, at least until this evening?” She put her arm through his.
Nill enjoyed Tiriwi’s presence, but he had followed his thoughts into the past. He no longer wished to become a hero, nor a famed mage. He was the youngest archmage in Ringwall’s history, and would probably be the basis of at least a few tales. His dream of returning to his village an important man could be fulfilled at last – but did he even want that anymore? Nill tested himself and found nothing. Nothing at all – no triumph, no satisfaction, no joy, only emptiness.
“Tell me something, Tiriwi. Why do we as people have dreams and hopes and wishes, only to find that when they come true, nothing is left?”
Tiriwi looked up in surprise. She had been enjoying the wind, the sun and the countless fragrant smells coming from the flowers. When the air’s wet they smell best, she had been thinking when Nill’s question yanked her out of her daydream.
“We Oas don’t really have wishful dreams. The things we strive for are all found in our legends.”
“I don’t believe in legends.” Nill was starting to get annoyed.
Tiriwi looked at him with her big gray eyes and simply said: “If you don’t like the answer, don’t ask the question.”
Nill knew she was right, but her rebuke rankled him even more. They walked back in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Nill had laid his arm around Tiriwi’s waist to show her that he did not want to argue. But what had bound them together for two blissful moons, the unity between their souls, had begun to unravel. Nothing was broken or destroyed. But reality had picked away at it until the dreams were fractured and the spell threadbare. Deep within their hearts, they both felt it, and the first signs of uncertainty about how to handle it spread. But they would likely not really notice it until much, much later.
The evening arrived to swallow the day. The first mists rose from the meadows and the forest grew dark as the sun crept behind it. Between the light gray and the dark brown, a wide path of clear sight snaked along, where Grimala was waiting for Nill. Opposite her stood Ramsker, who did not budge until Nill arrived. Tiriwi stepped away reverently. She knew she was about to witness something utterly unique. No one had ever seen a wise woman fight before, as far as she knew; not for fun and not for training either. Even more confusing was the expression on Grimala’s face – she looked radiant, and it made her seem far younger than she really was, almost as young as Tiriwi.
“On Tiriwi’s signal you will attack. You may use all your force and skill, do not hold back. You can even use your Ancient magic of which I know and understand nothing.”
Grimala nodded at Tiriwi, who raised a hand.
Nill, not wanting to hurt the old woman or risk an uncontrollable counterattack, slowly raised a hand and flung a whitish-blue ball of Metal energy at Grimala. She let the attack hit her and nothing happened.
“That wasn’t an attack, that was an insult,” she complained. “I suppose next time you’ll shout whatever you’re doing out loud!”
Fine, Nill thought resignedly. A thin root to hold her arm in place should work. Let’s see if she can get out of that. He clicked his fingers and a creeper shot up from the ground and bounced straight off Grimala.
“Better.” She was laughing.
Nill was amazed. For the first time, he didn’t mind someone laughing at him – on the contrary, he was having fun.
“How are you doing that?” he shouted as he tore the ground apart beneath her feet, sending a wave of energy after her as she avoided the first part of the attack. It was huge, invisible and fast, but the moment it reached the Oa it split in half and left her untouched. “Can you read minds?” Nill asked.
“Almost. Not minds, but intent. An Oa will defend, but never attack unless it’s absolutely unavoidable.”
That’s not what I’ve seen, Nill thought, remembering the way Tiriwi’s thoughtspeak screams had forced a band of students to the ground.
“An Oa pays attention to the opponent’s intent. You can only hit me if you can hide your intentions.”
Nill had understood. His attacks were strong, but draining. An Oa could win simply through attrition. But he wanted to give it another try. He took the darkness of the forest and the moisture in the ground and merged them. He pulled the dark magic up and the last green of the meadows vanished, the forest became part of the magic and Grimala’s figure grew blurry. The black cloak of the ground was spread so far that even Tiriwi disappeared in it. Grimala could not avoid it. She raised her arms to the heavens.
“Anything that comes from the ground wants to get to the sky, and the sky decides whether to take it or not. Now pay attention.”
The black shades began to whirl around and flew into Grimala’s body, then puffed out in the gray sky.
“The skies took everything this time, it seems,” Grimala called to Nill. “The coming night helped, I assume.”
Nill was panting heavily. He had spent considerable strength on waking the darkness.
“How do you manage to conduct so much energy?” he coughed.
“Who says I do? It flows everywhere. Through my body, for sure, but also over and past it as well. I’m just part of the path. Everything else is the sky’s work. We are merely the bridge between the sky and the earth.”
“You could beat any archmage,” Nill remarked admiringly.
Grimala hesitated. “True, we do not fear the archmages of the elements, or even the magon who has access to other kinds of help. The Archmages of the Spheres share similarities; the Archmage of the Other World controls the earth, although he doesn’t know it, and the Archmage of the Cosmos knows the skies. We have both. I’m not sure about your old teacher, Ambrosimas, though. It was no coincidence that he chose you as his personal ward.”
The old lady is certainly sure of herself, Nill thought.
“And what if a wise woman were to meet Dakh-Ozz-Han?”
Grimala laughed, and proved why she had earned the title ‘wise.’ “The old druid would win handily. Any Oa who encounters him would be so awestruck she would forget her powers.”
“You have got to be pulling my leg,” Nill said. He did not understand why Tiriwi, standing next to him, stomped on his foot. “I will think about what you have shown me here,” Nill added, in a more humble tone. “The magic of sky and earth is unlike anything I’ve learned so far.” As he turned away to return
to the village, he could not resist the temptation to fire off a spider web from his open hands.
“You may come to me whenever you wish, but you should burn the webs. Small animals might get stuck in it,” Grimala’s voice followed him. She was evidently having fun.
The next morning, Nill received his first lessons in the Oas’ magic. Ramsker stood guard in front of Grimala’s home and lowered his horns threateningly whenever someone came any closer than he considered appropriate.
It was during one of these lessons that Grimala suddenly raised her head, stopping in the middle of her explanation.
“Do you feel it, Nill?” she asked.
Nill looked up. He still had issues connecting sky and earth and he needed to use his arms for it. Only when he stretched as far as he could did he feel that there was something beyond the clouds, trying to communicate. Now he dropped his arms with an irritated look on his face. He had been so close!
“Do you feel it?” she repeated.
Nill listened intently; he sent his senses out to check on leaves, bark and grass, to listen to the bird’s song and the wind’s tales.
“Something is shaking at the roots. Not much, but it’s everywhere.”
“Yes,” Grimala said. “Everywhere. As far as I can feel. Everywhere.”
Grimala fought to keep her composure. Nill knew his new teacher so well by now that he did not have to see her tight lips to know something was wrong.
“The day’s lessons are over,” she said. “I have things to do.”
“Shall I return tomorrow?”
“Yes, yes.” She seemed a little distracted. “But don’t be angry if I send you away again. Practice the things I have shown you, find the connection between sky and earth. Forget the bridge. Just sky and earth. Tell me what you feel tomorrow.”
Nill left Grimala’s hut and hurried over to Tiriwi, who was standing outside with the other Oas, gazing at the sun. Many had placed their hands on the ground, others simply stood there in a kind of trance. The smallest children had begun to wail, the older ones clung to their mothers. The young girls had paused in their games.
“What happened?” Tiriwi asked. “What did Grimala say?”
“She said nothing, but I feel a weakening in the magical patterns.”
No one slept well that night, and this time it did not even take the rising sun to wake the Oas. A light flickered all night in Grimala’s hut. Not much had really changed in the village. The Oas took care of their troubled children, prepared food and washed clothes in the nearby brook, freed the fields of weeds. But the usual improvements to clothes and huts were stopped. Wild herbs were left alone by gathering hands and the forest stood empty. No one left the village for fear of missing something important.
Messengers arrived at Grimala’s hut and left in equal haste. These messengers were not only Oas from neighboring settlements, but many druids were among them too. One of them, not very tall but stocky and muscular and of indeterminable age, arrived just before noon; he poked his red-haired, silver-streaked head through the door and stayed for more than just a moment. Every other visitor had to wait until Grimala called them inside.
“Nill, Grimala wants you to come!” a woman called suddenly.
Nill stormed to her hut and bowled through the door without knocking. He stopped as suddenly as if he had just trodden in tar.
“Dakh!” he managed.
The old druid hugged his erstwhile charge tightly. “I would have liked for our reunion to happen under happier circumstances, but time is running out.”
“Running out?”
“Ringwall has fallen.”
“Ringwall has – wait, what?”
“Fallen!”
“Who, what – when… how?” Nill did not understand.
“From what I’ve heard, King Sergor-Don of the Fire Kingdom conquered Ringwall and killed the magon and the High Council.”
“Sergor? Impossible.”
“Why?”
“I was at Ringwall with him. When we were students, you know. He was always strong, but nowhere near the level of a mage or an archmage. Ambrosimas would have dusted the idiot off without looking up from his meal.”
Dakh-Ozz-Han nodded thoughtfully.
“And yet, he toppled the magon, and that is a fact. Ringwall itself is no more than a ruin. A pile of loose rubble atop the mountain. I was there. I saw it with my own eyes.”
Memories of Empyrade, the master archivist and Growarth the cook tumbled through Nill’s mind. I hope they got out in time, he thought. But at the same time, a beam spread across his face that was completely at odds with the sinister news.
“But that means…” he began.
“It means…?” Dakh urged.
“It means I can’t possibly be the Changer the prophecy speaks of. I’m not the figure from the mists, the chosen one. That’s what it means, right?” Nill asked as waves of relief washed over him.
The druid’s head swayed slowly. “Hm… possibly. The surface of the world is rarely a true image of what lies beneath. I must admit that I currently know next to nothing. I don’t know what to believe in. Only one thing is certain: the last dams are broken. Pentamuria’s downfall has begun; perhaps even the entire magical world. As for you, my boy: I don’t know whether you’ll kick the world while it is down or save it. But we must leave. As soon as possible.”
“Why leave?” Nill asked, taken aback.
“Because half of Pentamuria is after you. The last mages of Ringwall want your skin because they think you’re responsible for what happened; King Sergor-Don wants you dead because you’re the last archmage; and I heard that something happened in Metal World that certainly made you no friends either.”
“Well, it could be worse. At least now I think my unknown enemy using the magic of the Other World has gone along with Ringwall.” Nill swallowed.
“Who?”
“Long story.”
“Tell me while we walk. We leave immediately. Pack your things.”
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know, wherever you want. But we have to get out of here.”
“Then we’ll go where my father is, or where the Oas’ sanctuary is. No one really knows either, so we might as well find them.”
“I can help you with the sanctuary if the Oas permit it. Your search for your parents remains your own. But I will accompany you, for I am also looking for someone who knows how to hide damned well.”
“I’ll go and tell Brolok.”
Word of Ringwall’s downfall had reached not only the Oas, but every other corner of the magical world quickly, and left it in a state of paralyzed fear. The five kings of Pentamuria each called meetings with their councilors and shut themselves away from everyone else. The common folk left their huts and houses and stormed through the streets, cheering and singing and screaming; many a reeve was glad not to be torn apart. In other places, the crowds gathered, frightened and quiet in the marketplace, praying for protection and safety. “What will happen to us now that the mages no longer watch over us?” was the most common concern.
In the cities, troops were set to patrol in emergency squads to break up gatherings of people. Heralds of kings and sovereigns called for calm and reason and the troops enforced them. After the first few outbursts, a leaden silence covered the land and everyone kept an eye on everyone else; all waited without knowing what for; and many prepared for the inevitable by sharpening their blades and improving their armor.
Only King Sergor-Don lost no time. He invited everyone who had hated Ringwall or its inhabitants to Worldbrand, and many came, far more than anyone had expected. Ringwall had not always been kind to those unwilling to bend to their rule. Arcanists with unique abilities, warlocks and witches, untrained sorcerers of unknown heritage who had only one or two spells, healers whose arts were not rooted in herbs, but in hidden sources of power they themselves did not realize; all of them had suffered under Ringwall and the nobles. Despite all the pomp and glamour at co
urt, nothing in the Five Kingdoms happened without Ringwall’s approval. Even druids and shamans found their way to Worldbrand, which looked more like an army outpost than a capital city these days. Not every new arrival trusted the new king, but word spread that the ruler of the Fire Kingdom was offering a place to all who claimed to have magical powers. Some received no more than a roof over their heads and hot soup for the night, whereas others were given further training by the court sorcerers. Every one of them was given a task and a goal to meet. The goal was to cleanse Pentamuria of all mages.
The king’s dustriders, just like his elite squads of riding archers, were split into small groups of ten to twenty men and enhanced by the sorcerers. They crossed the kingdom’s boundaries as though they had no more meaning, and fell upon Woodhold, the Waterways, Metal World and Earthland like a plague, caring not whether the other kings gave their permission to pass or not. They appeared in the night and murdered every mage they could get their hands on, then vanished without a trace.
The other kings watched the events unfold without lifting a finger. King Sergor-Don’s troops were divided equally among the cities and border fortifications, where they stood guard. In the hunt for the mages, many a village was burned down, but larger towns were left unscathed. Whatever Sergor-Don was planning, it was not an all-out war against his neighbors.
The White mages scattered throughout the land were easy prey. Unused to life in the wilderness and unwelcome in the cities, the flight was their lives. Those lucky enough to make it to the Borderlands knew a fleeting, deceptive sense of security before having to brave even greater challenges than Sergor-Don’s dustriders.
The Elemental mages were in a similar situation to the White ones, but they had always had the wits to keep their connection to their noble families intact. Although they had to hide in small, dusty rooms in their friends’ and families’ attics or cellars, they at least remained alive.
