by T. A. Miles
“The coven in Indhovan housed an Ancient,” Ceth replied, eyes scanning the text. “That Ancient has spent the last several years in isolation, performing a Summoning.”
Ashwin glanced to his brother before asking, “Of what?”
Ceth didn’t answer immediately, so Eisleth did. “Of water.”
Witches were known for two things; pacifist idleness or sensational, retributive acts on behalf of the Malakym. They’d been led to believe that the coven in Indhovan favored the former of those, but it would seem that they were, in fact, an heretical sect.
“We don’t have enough present there to stop a Summoning,” Ashwin knew. He also knew that they couldn’t abandon that city, for a multitude of reasons that included the welfare of its citizens.
“No,” Ceth admitted. He held the sections of the book he wanted in place, looking to Ashwin. “But it requires immediate, if not drastic response.”
Ashwin understood what he meant, and found himself averse to the idea. “Our own ancient state is as a beacon to the Vadryn, in spite of our soulkeepers.”
“Yes,” Ceth replied. “But Feisa brought good word as well. The Vadryn’s activities have been negated, the demons themselves extinguished or rerouted.”
“In the event of the latter, they could return,” Eisleth reminded. “Korsten’s information suggested a purposeful gathering of a substantial number.”
Ashwin took as much time as he felt they could spare considering the information in front of him, then looked to Ceth, decided. “Be quick,” he said.
He ignored the expression cast in his direction by his brother, who evidently expected him to do nothing. Ashwin knew he had been overly cautious, especially in the last century. He knew also that they were being pushed to the very edge. Caution and inaction had become a precarious balance.
A map of the Islands had been added to the table now, as the assembly resumed, along with charts of the sea as far as it was known to them.
“It won’t come from the direction of the Islands,” Vlas determined quickly. “The land would disrupt the course, putting the brunt of the wave on one of the outermost islands. Unless the Ancient summoned a hurricane, there would be no assurances that the city would go under.”
“Right,” Cayri agreed. “And if it were a storm, we’d see evidence of it in the sky by now.”
“So, she must have pulled the earth, or the water itself...” Vlas considered aloud, pushing aside one chart in favor of another. “Inspired some sort of disruption.”
Again, Cayri agreed, this time with a nod.
“How are such things possible?” Deitir wondered and maybe didn’t expect an answer, as he moved on to the subject of strategy. “The Islands lay directly to the east of the city. The largest of them is several hours out by small boat.”
“The wave would filter through them like stones and perhaps create an unusually high tide,” someone speculated, “but it wouldn’t be the destructive force we’re led to believe the Ancient was after.”
“A northern route would risk Morenne,” Irslan pointed out. He was bent over the table, avidly studying charts that his uncle and Raiss Tahrsel may well have shared a hand in creating. “That’s presuming the alignment between the witch and the demon would have excluded Morenne, at least in the surface planning.”
“Yes, but beneath that surface,” Vlas murmured. “Betrayal...”
“From the south, then,” Deitir stated, tracing his hand along the curved peninsula situated below Indhovan on the map. The shape had always made Cayri think of the bent forearm of a horse rearing back.
Fersmyn looked on over the shoulders of Vlas and Irslan. He seconded the last and obvious option with a nod. “The city is completely exposed at that angle. We’ll be buried.”
“We’re going to create a Barrier,” Vlas told him, a note of impatience in his voice. He required sleep more than he needed to concern himself with how many times he may have mentioned the priests’ role in Indhovan’s defense.
“There are only two of you,” Fersmyn reminded with understandable skepticism, the very thing that required Vlas to repeat himself, and to be patient.
Cayri sighed quietly to herself.
“Priest Merran is, as we speak, imploring the local coven to assist,” Irslan inserted.
“They’re notorious for doing nothing, except complaining,” Fersmyn said, and another official nearly snorted his disdain.
“They’ve obviously been doing something,” Vlas countered. “This city suffers from a dire lack of awareness.”
Deitir took the criticism without argument and, by his expression, with some sense of responsibility. “If the wave is blocked, won’t it redirect its force at the Islands?”
“Potentially,” Vlas said. “Though the nearest one could afford to be cleansed.”
“The nearest of the Islands is uninhabited,” Irslan said. “In my uncle’s writings, he said he encountered nothing but apparitions and the remnant traces of a cult. The cult itself is embedded throughout the Islands.”
Vlas rolled his eyes in Irslan’s direction. In spite of the fact that both men were exhausted, Cayri believed they had a mutual respect for one another…especially in their current collaboration with Indhovan’s officials. Still, Vlas went on as if he was fond of no one. “Those traces are still there and more as smoldering embers waiting to rekindle. Better to douse it, I say.”
“So, are there or aren’t there any people?” Deitir wanted clarified.
Vlas looked at him and said, “There are no people.”
Irslan gave an expression of uncertainty, but ultimately of surrender, and didn’t argue.
“It may be that the water can be better channeled,” Cayri offered to Deitir, who accepted that with a simple nod for now.
“Thank you,” Merran said to Dacia, as she brought him to the entryway of an open forum. It was the place where she claimed that her mother would be addressing the coven. He’d had precious little rest at Irslan’s, but it was enough for now. His hand refused to confirm that it was still attached to him beyond an occasional tremor of pain that threaded lightly through it and into his wrist. He would be useless for casting most spells. The best he could do now would be to communicate their situation to the coven.
He stood in the high-arching entrance beside Dacia. Men and women loitered nearby, salting the area which surrounded a shallow bowl of seats. There were several sitting there, attention resting on Ersana Cambir.
The woman appeared to go through the motions of a commencement ritual, which was comprised of words and an occasional raising of her hands. Merran noticed that each such occasion resulted in a slightly brighter tone swelling within the crystals arranged strategically about the forum. Merran wondered automatically if she was performing a spell of protection on the coven, one that would seal them away from danger.
Dacia slipped away from Merran and went to take a seat.
Merran stayed where he was, debating how long he would wait before he interrupted the ritual.
Ersana halted within a few moments of the thought forming. She made eye contact with Merran while she was in the process of speaking to her audience less formally. “This morning I have sad news to offer.” She held Merran’s gaze during the pause that followed her words, letting her focus shift back to her followers when she continued. “The Ancient Mother has passed.”
The responses in the audience were reserved and reticent, though a few seemed to tense in posture. When Ersana looked at him again, Merran felt a rush of blame that she may have been poised to set on him. It was blame that would be true, in part. He leveled his gaze on Ersana and the gathering of coven members between them, waiting.
“She was interrupted,” Ersana continued, “by defilers of Nature. The worst of them. The Vadryn.”
Merran relaxed and let go ideas on how he might handle an incensed mob of witches.
“The interruption has sent ripples of irritation across the senses of the Malakym, who are by now enraged. Their ire was intended for the demons, but the demons are no longer among us. Now we must act to quiet the gods’ anger. We must soothe them by averting the tragedy that would befall all of us. All of us must meditate and unlock the crystals, so that the magic stored within them can be channeled through myself...and our priest guests.”
As she looked at Merran again, pointedly, others of the coven turned to see him as well. Various expressions of surprise and uncertainty crossed their diverse faces. They were men and women, old and young.
Before notions of protestation could fully form, Ersana called for their attention with further words. “The sea is coming, an emissary of the Malakym. We must face it and ensure our message to this emissary is clear; that Indhovan is yet pure, and that another is willing to assume the mantle of Mother.”
The end of her statement bore a somber note that caught Merran’s attention, above the fact that Ersana had reneged on her stubbornness. He required no clarification to understand that she intended to take up that mantle, and that, in doing so, she may have been condemning herself to the caves. Now he realized that, beyond the Summoning, the crone had been a source of energy...channeling what she collected to the coven. She had mishandled the magic and the trust she had been given, using that vast cache to perform a spell of destruction.
Would Ersana be a better mother to the coven? Merran believed she intended to be. It was possible that the crone had intended to be at first, many years before she may have been driven to madness by her power. Or perhaps she could think of no other way to contend with the Vadryn. Now was not the time to debate the moral base or stability of the coven, however. Undoubtedly, many of them would disagree fundamentally with the Vassenleigh Order’s methods for dealing with demons. If they only agreed in this moment, then so be it.
Vlas could scarcely quiet his mind since returning from the well. Oddly enough the Master Vadryn was dissipating from his foremost thoughts before anything else. He disliked the outcome with Vaelyx especially and he couldn’t still his worry over Korsten’s absence. He’d seen him leave with demons. Maybe if he’d heard of it secondhand, or the leaving hadn’t been with demons he would be less concerned. But he’d witnessed it. Where had he taken them? Merran had no better idea than anyone else and maybe it was also the fact that Merran had been forced to stay behind with an injury that was crippling for a priest that made the situation that much worse.
Thoughts of Imris continued to surface as well; Where had she been stationed? What was Rahl’s response to Vaelyx’ discovery and subsequent death? Had she told her superior by now? Would there be any cause for the two of them to see each other again once the circumstances were resolved? Did they require a cause?
Tapping the stone railing before him on the balcony, Vlas deliberately set his thoughts aside for the moment, knowing they would be back before long. He looked out to sea and brought his gaze slowly back inland. The water appeared deceptively calm and clear of Morennish ships. Granted, on the latter, they didn’t know whether or not they were headed south directly, or if they were advancing an attack onto Vynndoran. Either way, it would only be a matter of time and as for the wave...
Maybe the Summoning had failed. He wondered how long, with no sign of it, would be considered long enough? Was there any way that they could properly prepare for it?
A part of his answer stepped into his view several stories below the balcony. Merran had arrived and been granted entrance into the main yard. Considering the impatient response Vlas had given to the guards’ prior protest, he doubted they would be quite as stubborn about letting priests pass...at least not until they felt assured that the current lot had left their city. Unbeknownst to them, Vlas would like to leave their city in peace, but that peace might be a long fight.
Pushing off the railing, Vlas reentered the manor by way of the Lady Ilayna’s sitting room. He passed their hostess and Cayri along the route to the door. The remaining cast of decision-makers who were present in the manor had recessed in order to carry out various tasks assigned to them. They would be reconvening within the hour, so it was fortuitous that Merran had come.
Vlas navigated a path to the front hall, where his colleague was only just being led inside. “What’s the word?”
Merran and the man guiding him stopped at the first landing. The doorman surrendered the governor’s newest guest to Vlas and returned to his post. When he was out of earshot, Merran said, “Ersana Cambir has persuaded the coven to assist. We’ll have the augmenting power of their crystals to support us.”
Not us, Vlas knew, but didn’t point that out to Merran. His presence would be support enough, whether he could cast a spell to help or not.
It was in the midst of that thought that Merran let him know just how he was going to help, fully functioning catalog of spells or no. “When the time comes to act, I’ll alert the coven by casting a Lantern and raising it as high as it will carry. Members of the coven will be located along various high points throughout the city, watching for it. They’ll alert the others.”
Merran stepped around him and headed up the stairs and Vlas turned to follow. It was upon doing that when he realized that Merran’s information had not been for him alone. Cayri stood at the top of the stair with Ilayna nearby and also with one of the twelve last people Vlas would ever have expected to see outside of the walls of Vassenleigh.
“When did you get here?” he said to his mentor.
Patriarch Ceth waved the question off, delivering one to Merran instead. “Precisely what are the witches offering with their assistance?”
Merran walked partway up the stairs and stopped. “They have magic stores throughout the city. They’ll be granting us access to them in hopes of augmenting the Barrier we planned to cast.”
Ceth dedicated a moment to considering the information and undoubtedly aligning it with his own plans. Then he nodded once. “All right. Let’s hurry, then. We want to be waiting for the wave, not responding to it.”
As he was saying that, Ilayna skirted around the Superior and the Adept. Undoubtedly, it was to make her way to her son.
Twenty-Nine
“The casting needs to occur from the cliffs,” Ceth was saying to Indhovan’s officials, as well as to the priests who were present. “The augmentation provided by the crystals that have been placed throughout the city will carry the energy downward. That will render the Barrier as tall as the cliffs are high. With luck, that will be high enough.
“Now, it will last only for a matter of minutes. We have to hope that the water diffuses the peak of its energy with its first strike. The city could still take on some damage from the residual waves. The ships are out of their ports and headed north...they’ll have a fitful ocean to contend with, but total devastation should be averted. I cannot stay past the casting. We’re already risking that ancient masters of the Vadryn will take notice. This city is not yet ready for that level of attention.”
The elder paused to consider the maps, then cast brown eyes on Deitir. “You’re evacuating the area south of the inlet?”
Deitir nodded. “Yes.”
“Wise decision, and opportune.” Ceth’s attention went to the other priests. “We’re going to attempt to channel some of the water into this inlet by arranging the Barrier primarily south of it. What doesn’t return to the sea, will hopefully drive itself in there. It may result in some flooding of the area, but that will be less strain on the Barrier and less backwash potentially onto the Islands. We need to encourage allies, not plague our neighbors with our ill fortune.”
“The Vadryn’s been plague enough on the Islands,” Vlas inserted.
“Yes, we’ll talk about that in greater detail later,” Ceth said, and it was in moments like this that Vlas felt like one of the silk ribbons the elder inserted between the pages of his books. H
is mentor had a sort of rushed order to him that Vlas could never hope to emulate. He was certain he would only get flustered and wind up with a hastier decision made.
“You’ll place yourselves on the cliff, then?” Fersmyn asked, for clarification.
“Yes,” Ceth answered. “Have your constabulary bring people in from the docks and direct them to higher locations. Please, do so immediately and quickly. Once that’s accomplished, there will be nothing further for any of you to do except wait.”
Fersmyn looked across the table to Deitir, who said. “We understand.”
Merran seated himself in the Lady Ilayna’s sitting room, which had access to the highest balcony belonging to the manor, one which also looked out on the ocean. His task would be to stand watch there, waiting for the first detectable traces of the wave’s encroaching presence. He’d been instructed to take a few moments to rest first. It wasn’t long before the one who had instructed him entered the room.
Ceth had donned some of the simplest blue layers he may have had in his wardrobe, and still he looked from a place well outside of what the people of Indhovan knew. He was too old, and too long a priest, to not have an air of ancientness that could inspire nervousness in ordinary people. Considering what had been uncovered in the city, and on the nearest island, it was understandable.
Merran, however, felt comforted by the Superior’s presence. Ceth had been one of the most constant guiding factors in his life.
The elder crouched down before Merran’s chair, scooping his bandaged hand into both of his own. His slim fingers moved over the wrap and the crystal, which was eventually taken between thumb and forefinger and examined, before being ultimately left alone.
“Rudimentary as this is,” Ceth said. “I think it should stay, for now. I can feel it casting a Healing.”
“A very slow one,” Merran observed.
Ceth looked up at him. “Only your mentor would be able to have a hope at righting this today and, if you want my very blunt opinion, I feel that the damage might be enough to require a little longer effort from even Eisleth.”
