The Spellmonger's Yule: A Spellmonger Series Short Story

by Terry Mancour

  “I’m guessing that it didn’t work out that way,” I said, pouring more wine. It was good wine.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “The Formless were weakened in the Dry, but they were cunning. They conspired to attack the Celestial Mothers in new ways. In an attempt to release their most powerful allies from the Deeps, they tried to destroy a great portion of Callidore and feast on the remains. They summoned a mountain from the sky and hurled it down at the land.

  “The last of the Celestial Mothers was able to keep the world from being destroyed, but at a terrible price. Titanic earthquakes rocked Callidore and upset the ecology so dreadfully that it never fully recovered. While they contended with that destruction, the Formless and their creations released their great brothers and began their war anew, from the security of the Dry lands.

  “In the end, the last Celestial Mother searched the universe and found a race willing to help: a race of plant-like beings whose tiny world was in crisis. A race they called the Met Sakinsa . As strange as they were, the emissaries of the Vundel struck a bargain with them. They agreed to serve the Celestial Mothers in return for sanctuary on Callidore. After long negotiations, they brought the core of their civilization here on the smaller of the two moons, using their magic and that of the Celestial Mother to affect the transport.”

  “That turned the tide. The newcomers had evolved on land, as a great living forest, and though they were a peaceful race they were stout in their defense. While the Vundel battled the Formless Foe’s incessant raids into the sea, the Sakinsa were preparing their own assault. They sent down thousands of seed pods from their green moonlet, bombarding the Dry with their scouts. When they sprouted and grew, they transformed the Dry. Many of the flora you see today on Callidore, outside of the humanized lands, are from that bombardment.

  “The Sakinsa attacked suddenly and viciously. The Formless were unprepared and surprised. The magic of the Sakinsa was elegant and subtle, but powerful, when applied. The greatest among them rallied their warrior class and slaughtered the dens of the Formless across the continents. Only a few desolate places were left untouched. The great ones from the Deeps were either slain or driven back down to their hellish exile.

  “And though the final battle cost the last Celestial Mother her life, her descendants, those we now call the Vundel and sail their great leviathans beyond the Shallow Sea, honored their pact with the Met Sakinsa. A small continent was granted to them in perpetuity. The Grandfather Forest was transplanted, and most of their race retired there, to grow their great forest home.”

  “That is beyond fascinating,” I nodded, “but I don’t see how it has anything to do with me. Or Alya.”

  “It has everything to do with you now, you idiot boy!” the old woman said, crossly. “You just don’t understand the axial role the Celestial Mother once played in the seas. She was more than a queen. She was more than a goddess. She was more, to the Sea Folk’s ancestors, than all the pantheons of humanity combined. The Celestial Mothers literally oversaw the way the world turns,” she said, reverently. “Their successors were divided and ill-suited to the task of holding the incredibly complex realm under the sea in unity and harmony.”

  “And I’m assuming that’s where the Alon and humanity came in,” I suggested.

  “Not for a long time. Though the Formless Foe languished in their prisons, the scars from their long war were devastating. The seas were in turmoil. The lands in most places blossomed with the remnants of the Met Sakinska’s passage.

  “All but in the places of the most damage. There, the scars were just too deep for a few hundred generations of forest to cover. And while the Sea Folk were divided and in disarray, the chaos on the land affected the seas. They needed additional help. After searching for thousands of years, they extended an invitation to the Alon. A... conditional invitation.”

  “Conditional... how?”

  “They gave us provisional control of many areas of the Dry, with the purpose of securing it against future incursions. And developing the richness of Callidore through our own contributions. I would like to say we were largely successful in that endeavor,” she mused. “In many places, the Alon civilization is as great or greater than on our homeworld.”

  “But not in the Duchies,” I supplied.

  “This is a backwater, even for the Dry,” she agreed. “A rough and tortured land doubly cursed: first by the titanic struggle against the Formless that wrecked the land, and then once again by the Alkan wars. You’ve read the sagas, but the truth is they weren’t nearly as elegantly organized as they are recorded. In dictating, we left a lot of the worst and most shameful parts out. They were horrifically violent, and eventually their scope was such that the Vundel took notice.

  “When that happened, the Alon were summoned to council and the terms of their invitation were reviewed. We were judged – not by our willingness to slay each other, but in involving the other races and endangering the harmony of Callidore. We were given a warning... and put on probation. If we dared disrupt the harmony again, we would be asked to leave.”

  “Asked... to leave? The world? ”

  She nodded, solemnly. “Yes, Minalan. The entire Alon race would be... evicted. It seems a drastic punishment, but the terms were quite clear... and the power of the Vundel, as diminished as it was from the mighty Celestial Mothers, is more than sufficient to do so.”

  “So, if they were so strict, why in nine hells did they let us settle here?” I asked, my mind bobbling.

  “For balance,” she supplied. “The Alon ruled many of the dry lands of Callidore, save for the Grandfather Forest and a few other places. But like the Formless Foe before us, the Magosphere here was far stronger than our homeworld’s. Our command of its complexities grew, and our civilization became more sophisticated. In our power, we became unruly. When your race appeared from the Void, without any kind of magic, the Sea Folk were intrigued. Those who spared the Dry any thought at all.”

  “That must have been jarring for your folk,” I suggested, diplomatically.

  “For some, it was the ultimate insult,” she agreed. “By that time the Alon had segmented firmly between Alka and the more ephemeral subspecies. And there was considerable unrest among them, particularly those on the margins of our society. There was much resistance to the idea of human settlement among us in any capacity – but the Vundel were in favor, and we weren’t in a position to negotiate.

  “Some of our folk were angry, when your race was allowed to settle, feeling entitled to all of Callidore. Especially jealous among the clans were some factions of Rulathi and some Versaroti fanatics in the lands granted you. They were already in exile here, among the simple Avalanti, and the ones most responsible for the wars. But as we were on probation, there was little we could do, once the Articles of Colonization were agreed upon. These lands were the ones most suited to human habitation, for one thing. And you promised to try to heal the hurts to the place, and make it a garden of human perfection.”

  “We... did?” I asked, confused. That seemed like a big promise.

  “That is the understanding the Vundel have,” she nodded. “Bereft of the wisdom and the guidance of the Great Mothers, they carry on the best they can, in a diminished capacity. Instead of conducting surgery on their world, the way the Mothers would have, they resort to folk medicine. Most would see the promise of humanity to restore the land as a solemn agreement,” she continued, “but having studied their culture in more depth, I see it closer to how they do. Humanity – and the Alon before you – were brought here for the same reason a wounded animal smears mud on a wound. The Dry – at least the areas of human habitation – is damaged, and it is hoped that by cultivating some passing... spores, some measure of healing will be achieved.”

  “Uh, can you explain that to me again?”

  “Humanity and the Alon were invited to settle Callidore – temporarily – in an effort to repair and restore the damaged lands. But they’re blissfully unconcerned with ho
w that might happen. Some molds and fungi have amazing healing properties, when properly applied. Others can cause infection and rot. The Vundel hope that our species, or some combination of them, can produce some curative that will bring some semblance of repair to their world.”

  “I suddenly feel used, in a biological sort of way,” I said with mock horror.

  She grinned. That’s what I liked about Lilastien, I decided. Her long association with humans had given her a far more human-like sense of humor than even Onranion.

  “You’ll get used to it, in a few more thousand years,” she dismissed. “To the Vundel we are, to extend the metaphor, a biological poultice on Callidore. Nothing more.”

  “And when our work here is done... we get discarded,” I guessed.

  “Or if we become an irritant, we get scraped off,” she agreed. “And they could do it. The weaponry they used to combat the Formless Foe, and darker foes before them, could easily overcome anything either of us could do together.”

  “That is a seriously disturbing idea,” I shuddered. “You have proof of that power?”

  “It’s in their legends,” she nodded, gravely. “A small race of aquatic beings was invited, once, and took residence in a volcanic region. They immediately began trouble by tinkering with the edges of the Deeps, which was forbidden. The Vundel unleashed their power against them and all but exterminated them. Our residence in the Dry keeps us removed from their common notice, and they are slow to respond. But make no mistake, Minalan. Once they are aroused, they are decisive.”

  “So... humanity is on the hook for restoring the damaged lands?” I asked in disbelief. “Do they realize how unequal to that task we are?”

  “Perhaps,” she shrugged. “Perhaps not. Originally, it was your technology that you were to rely upon – your amazing tekka , as it is called, now. Yours was the only race to ever reach Callidore without magic, and that sophistication was astonishing to us all. The promise of your potential was enough to convince the Vundel to let you try.

  “Later, the arising of your rajira gave some hope, even as your civilization was falling. Not much, but some. In particular, the divine forces that you raised held the tantalizing hints that some great new power was possible. Unfortunately, as potent as the gods were, they rarely looked beyond their primal purposes or used their powers beyond often misguided attempts to aid humanity. When they did manifest, often as not they brought chaos, not healing. So the jealous among the Alka Alon undermined you, while others were afraid of the problems you might cause. Many were merely disgusted with the squandered promise of humanity.”

  “Well, that’s hardly constructive,” I chided.

  “That’s what I thought!” she smiled. “A few of us – a very few – rejected the Council’s reasoning, of course, and paid the price. I’m not the only one under internal exile. But thanks to our efforts, we felt we’d put humanity on a path that would at least allow your survival.”

  “That was kind of you,” I nodded.

  “You’re a wonderful hobby of mine,” she said, affectionately. “The Vundel are alien, but humanity is so deliciously similar to us – yet intriguingly different – how could a serious scholar not indulge in that?”

  “I see your point,” I shrugged. I was a scholar myself, of sorts. “And while I’m gratified by your interest, I still fail to see how—”

  “Minalan, we’re mold, ” she emphasized. “And now, thanks to your little experiments, not only have you created a unique magical mineral and a host of fascinating crystals, you’ve resurrected the ghost of one of the Vundel’s ancient gods... and put it in your cellar.”

  “It’s more of a chamber,” I countered. “It’s underground, but...”

  “You have something the Vundel have been missing for a hundred of their long-lived generations: the insights and power of the Celestial Mother.”

  “You think they would object to that?”

  “I think they would lose their godsdamned minds over it,” she countered, evenly. “There’s no way to predict how they would react. It could be anything from complete awe at some form of their ancestral leaders returning to complete extinction of both our races for the temerity of such an act. The politics of the Vundel are beyond our understanding.”

  “So... I have a reason to wipe out both our races in my castle.”

  “It gets better,” she smiled, madly. “You may have the key to repairing your wife’s mind.”

  “Explain!” I demanded.

  “From what I understand, the Celestial Mother was the central hub, part of a more complex system of subordinate creatures, each tasked with nurturing, protecting, and serving the Celestial Mothers while they ruled. The Mother was the center, but her attendants were vitally important in her administration. Together, working in harmony, they were able to rule every bit of Callidore and keep it within the proper Realm for a million years.

  “Among them was a creature known as a... Handmaiden, I suppose you would translate it.”

  “It served the Celestial Mother drinks?” I asked, amused by the idea. I had no clue what either creature looked like, so long ago, but I have a vivid imagination.

  “No, sustaining the Celestial Mother was the responsibility of pair of beings you could call the Butler and the Cook. Just as reproduction was handled by the Midwife.

  “But the Handmaiden... the Handmaiden was responsible for, essentially, maintaining the cohesion of the Celestial Mother’s complicated awareness.”

  “I... What do... okay, I don’t understand,” I confessed.

  “I’m not sure I do, either, but from what I learned about the Sea Folk’s mythic ancient history, the Handmaiden supported the Celestial Mother’s monumentally complex self-awareness by... well, think of it as maintaining the enneagram.”

  “It is far more complex than even that of a god,” I agreed. “I’ve made some quiet investigations.”

  “It would be,” she agreed. “Your gods are amalgamations of human experience filtered through your cultural context, informed by hundreds of individual perceptions. They grow like weeds, wild and untamed. And, because of that, they often behave erratically or even in ways that could be classified as insane.

  “The Great Mothers escaped that fate by employing the Handmaiden. She was responsible for cultivating the enneagram on behalf of the collective. Trimming away useless or harmful perspectives, regulating memory and experience, providing balance and harmony as the Mothers’ perceptions and experience added to their self-awareness.”

  “How is that even possible?” I asked, my mind a-whirl.

  “Magic,” she shrugged. “A far more advanced form of the way we make simple constructs or engage elementals. From what I understand, the special nature of the Handmaiden is such that it could comb and cut the vast enneagram to fit a greater plan. It could repair damage or avoid potential insanity as new patterns evolved.”

  “So, if we find the enneagram of a Handmaiden,” I reasoned, “then I have a potential took to restore Alya’s mind!”

  “Oh, there’s far more to it than that, Minalan,” she said, patting my arm. “The Handmaiden could not only restore Alya, it might be able to restore the Celestial Mother’s enneagram... assuming this Snowflake of yours is as mutable as you say,” she added, doubtfully.

  “You mean... bring back the Celestial Mother, in full awareness, inside it?”

  “With the Handmaiden’s assistance, I think it is possible,” she agreed. “Whether or not it is wise is another matter.”

  “Isn’t this all a moot point?” I asked. “If the Handmaiden existed within the Grain of Pors, I think Ruderal would have found it.”

  “Mayhap,” she agreed. “But in my many journeys, and on my many researches, I have encountered at least one place where such an enneagram may exist,” she said cautiously. “The great vein of Ghost Rock under the citadel of Anthatiel. I believe there is a strong possibility that it exists within it. The Grain of Pors was small and portable – it could be brought before th
e Celestial Mother. That lode, on the other hand, has been stationary for millions of years. The Great Mothers were creatures of the Deeps. There is no way they could make it that far inland.

  “But among the other duties of the Handmaiden was investigation, and I think it’s possible that the enneagram of one has been captured in the lodes of Anthatiel.”

  “Anthatiel has fallen,” I reminded her. “It is Olum Seheri, the lair of the Necromancer, now.”

  “Still, that is where it may lie. The Ghost Rock veins under the island are among the greatest in all Callidore. It has been a place of pilgrimage for my people since we discovered it, but its capacities are vast, and hold the record of ages. You say Korbal has control of it, now?” she asked, alarmed.

  “We flooded the lower levels and destroyed much of the city before we left, which will make accessing it difficult for him. But yes, he does.”

  “Then our danger is far greater than I thought,” she said, gravely.

  “Why?”

  “Because the lode has been a place of pilgrimage for others, long before my people discovered it. The Formless controlled it for centuries, and even darker forces before that. Their enneagrams are within, just as mine and all the Alon who have ever surveyed it. If Korbal is allowed to restore the Formless to incarnate forms, once they adjust to their new bodies they will return to their age-old obsession: releasing the Great Brothers from their prisons in the Deeps. That will void the agreements between our species and the Vundel,” she said, shaking our head. “That must not be allowed to happen.”

  “Do you think Korbal would do that?”

  “He and the Enshadowed have been plotting this sort of bold stroke for centuries,” she assured me. “They are fanatics, devoted to ancient, archaic ideas of cultural and genetic purity. They covet power at all costs, the power to avoid death altogether... and the power to control all Callidore. If Korbal has the opportunity to unleash the Formless Foes, or even darker forces, he will.”