The Spellmonger's Yule: A Spellmonger Series Short Story

by Terry Mancour

  “Pentandra will be gratified to know that,” I shrugged. “I was curious also about your mantle,” I said, nodding toward the long white garment she still wore. “The words on it are ancient Perwynese, but I’m unfamiliar with the vocabulary,” I said, diplomatically.

  She looked down at her breast, self-consciously. “Oh, that? That’s just the Medical Center logo – a kind of heraldic device. And that’s my name... sort of,” she smirked. “Here, you can read it better when it fits better,” she said, taking a deep breath and humming a little tune.

  I watched as she transformed into her transgenically enchanted guise. She grew double in height and gained weight, and her features shifted abruptly into something more human... but still distinctively Alka Alon. In a moment, a naked old lady who still retained the beauty of her youth stood before me in a white coat.

  Of course the nudity didn’t bother Lilastien at all.

  “That’s better! Everything looks so different, from up here! Anyway, my boy, when I began at the Medical academy, my name promoted some confusion. LIL-i-AST-ee-en, when spelled phonetically in Perwynese is coincidentally, very similar to the way a number of medical personnel spelled their names. I quickly tired of being referred to as LEE-la-stine, and correcting everyone.

  “I was going to change it, but I was taking a course on the history of human science, and had a better idea. As most humans, at the time, used both personal and family names, I added the name, with my nickname ‘Lily’, in the middle, as a kind of inside joke to the students,” she explained.

  “So who was ‘Jane Goodall’?” I asked, pronouncing the odd name on her coat.

  “A famous scientist who devoted her life to the passionate study of primitive animals,” she chuckled. “The students understood the context of the reference. I was there studying the primitive humani much as Jane Goodall studied her subjects, by living among them. Those were good days,” she recalled, fondly, as the music played. “Before politics messed everything up. Your people were reasonably wise, if misguided, sometimes. They were meticulous and scholarly. Before they began manifesting rajira , I got a taste of how things must have been on your homeworld, through the window of your history and experience of your culture. It’s sad that more of my people did not realize the incredible opportunity of your arrival, and chose to focus on the problems involved, instead.”

  “And all we have to show for it now is a pile of junk,” I said, discouraged, as I waved at the tekka on the worktable.

  “Not entirely junk,” she said, as she continued to poke around in the pile. “I mean, most of it is, but... ah, there are a few good items in here, tokens of your ancestors’ brilliance. This, for example,” she said, as she pulled a small object off the table and held it out for my inspection, “is a rather sophisticated general purpose analysis and diagnostic tool, with powerful computational and data capabilities. It even had a synthetic programable interface,” she said, admiringly. “Your entire civilization was run by such advanced technologies.”

  “I only understood about a third of what you just said,” I admitted. There was a lot of Ancient Perwynese that we lacked the context to understand, unfortunately. It wasn’t just a matter of vocabulary. We just didn’t have need of many of the words our ancestors used. “What was this thing used for?”

  “Survey teams, mostly,” she shrugged. “Checking on the progress of the biome integration, sampling water quality, investigating anomalies – of which there are plenty. Where did you find this one?”

  “In the molopor chamber in the cavern under Boval Castle, actually.” I told her, taking it and looking at the oddly-shaped thing. “Some of the loot we recovered, along with some gurvani texts. I haven’t devoted much time to it,” I admitted. “I’ve had more pressing matters. Why?”

  “That... might be important,” she said, hesitantly. “These devices were built to be incredibly durable, able to survive very extreme conditions over very long periods of time. Unfortunately, it isn’t connected to any of the peripheral devices that allow it to be terribly useful,” she said, frowning. “And I doubt there’s any power left. Still... let’s try connecting it to this ,” she said, taking the thing from me and attaching it to another... thing. “Supposedly these universal fittings would work across a wide array of devices,” she said, as if reciting an incantation. “If we place this in a window for a few days and let the sun get on it, who knows? Maybe it will recharge.”

  “What will that do?” I asked, curiously.

  “Nothing, if we can’t get it working. It’s intact, and might even have some residual power, but it’s been inactive for centuries,” she said, skeptically, as she placed it on the tower’s window.

  “But there’s always a possibility that we can find some way to find out what it knows. Depending on who carried it, and what they were doing before it ended up in a cave in the wilderness, it might be informative. And there’s no telling what else is on it,” she smirked. “Some of your ancestors kept a lot of their personal information on them, too. Songs, stories, records, all sorts of things. I suppose more Jazz would be too much to hope for, but there’s always a possibility.” She looked wistful, the memories of Lost Perwyn hers, alone. She shook herself from her reverie and placed one of the objects into her instruments. A light shone from its face.

  “It still works!” she said, triumphantly. “Only forty percent charged, but enough for my purpose.”

  “What is your purpose?”

  “To scan Alya’s brain for structural issues and monitor her recovery,” she explained. “I’m using modified songspells for that, now, but this equipment is calibrated for human beings. It can let me see her brain and test her blood and other things. And it is delightfully accurate,” she smiled as she tucked it into a pocket.

  “Then we’d best be going,” I said, as the noise from the Great Hall increased as the those who were decorating it for the court were interrupted by those who wanted dinner. “It’s almost Yule, and I’ve been gone for more than a week. Suddenly appearing to my subjects might be entangling.”

  “You must give me an extended tour,” she insisted, as I gathered up my own things. “Especially the Snowflake. Whether it is the source of our salvation or our doom, I would very much like the opportunity to see it.”

  “As soon as this crisis has passed,” I promised. “In fact, I have a feeling you’re going to be in Sevendor a lot, in the coming days.”

  *

  *

  *

  It was already dusk at the Tower of Refuge when I brought us through the Waypoint I’d established there by the simple expedient of following Alya’s. I always wanted to be able to find her, so I’d had one fashioned into the necklace she wore.

  She was laying in a cozy bed in a clean room, being tended by one of the nuns and one of Lilastien’s folk – both of whom were startled by our sudden appearance.

  The Sorceress got to work at once, removing her scanner and passing it over Alya’s face.

  She looked peaceful, I suppose. Her skin was pale, compared to her usual healthy tan, and her hair was limp and lifeless, without its usual shine. But there was a far more peaceful expression on her face than the blankness I’d become used to.

  “How is she?” I asked, before Lilastien was done with her spell.

  “She’s... she’s doing better, I think,” she offered, hopefully. “But why don’t you give me a few minutes and I’ll give her a thorough physical?” she said, patting the machine affectionately. “Go get something to eat. I’ll contact you shortly.”

  I sighed. It was too much to hope for that Alya would spring up, restored to health. Magic didn’t work that way. Neither, apparently, did the science of my ancestors.

  I sought out Sire Cei’s company. He was in the great hall of the tower, which is almost completely unlike a human great hall except that it had a big fireplace and was where most people congregated and socialized in the small community.

  To his credit, Cei was not reacting to the pres
ence of so many gurvani around him. As they mixed freely and easily with their Alkan, Tal, and human fellows, he watched them thoughtfully, puffing on his pipe by the fire.

  “This is a remarkable place, Minalan,” he murmured. “I’ve spoken with Tal who spoke as fluently as I, and as educated men. I’ve diced and drank with gurvan and human, while being served wine by an Alkan lass. All without discussion about class or rank.”

  “All are equal in their service to the Lady,” I agreed. “Lilastien is a unique mistress, and this a unique opportunity for many.”

  “How fares Alya?” he asked, finally turning to a subject he was hesitant to broach.

  “We’ll know, shortly,” I sighed. “I am assured she will be no worse off... and perhaps better,” I suggested, trying to sound hopeful.

  “We can only pray,” he added, solemnly.

  I didn’t know what else to do with my hands, so I took out my own pipe. “Regardless of what happens with her, this little journey has changed things. It appears that a foray into Olum Seheri is necessary for a number of reasons.”

  “Anthatiel?” he asked, shaking his head. He’d fought there, on the frozen lake, and nearly died.

  “Olum Seheri, now,” I said, bringing my pipe to life. “Lair of Korbal the Necromancer.”

  “That sounds like... an adventure,” he said, warily. There was a mixture of hesitancy and undeniable interest in his voice. Like a new father contemplating incredible, dangerous glory.

  “It will be. Probably several. But there is more at stake than I imagined, and I don’t foresee anyone else stepping forward to do it. Besides,” I added, as I inhaled the sweet smoke, “it might be the best hope to restore Alya.”

  “Then the Sorceress was unsuccessful?” he asked, with a heavy sigh.

  “The issue is beyond even her powers,” I replied, unwilling to go into detail. You can only bore a layman with technicalities for so long, as Lilastien proved to me. “But she led me to our best hope. It lies beneath the citadels of Olum Seheri, locked in the Ghost Rock. We seek the Handmaiden of the Celestial Mother,” I informed him. “An enneagram of great power.”

  “And that will restore Alya?” he asked.

  “That is our best guess.”

  “Then when do we depart?” he asked, as if we were wandering down to the pub.

  “Cei, I cannot ask you to forsake your wife and children for this mad quest,” I said, shaking my head. “Not against a dark lord like Korbal.”

  “I will count it an insult if you do not,” he said, quietly. “I will not abandon you when you need me the most, Minalan.”

  “A quest of that nature will require several forays, intense preparation and much planning,” I pointed out. “To do it properly it will require a very large company. I’m sure I’ll find something for you to do.”

  One of the human servants brought us wine, while we sat and smoked and waited. I was on my second cup and my third pipe when an Alkan woman approached me, and invited me to attend the Lady in her garden, to the west.

  It seemed an odd place for a consultation. The corridor spilled out on the place abruptly, a large open space filled with trees – mostly evergreens, I noted. A mixture of natavia and importasta , everything from blue spruce to kellisarth shrubs to juniper to Elf’s Hair. All was dusted with a light snowfall that began at dusk, and the flakes were coming down hard, big fat snowflakes that promised reinforcements, according to the color of the sky.

  The garden was lit by a slowly-rotating cloud of magelights, Alkan style, giving the scene a strange blue glow. Lilastien, her white coat finally fitting her larger body, was standing and watching. She felt me approach but did not take her eyes off of the object of her fascination.

  “She came out here of her own accord, when she woke,” the Sorceress whispered to me. “She hasn’t spoken, but there’s... there’s something there. More than when she came,” she said, with subdued excitement.

  I followed her gaze until I spotted my wife, her mantle discarded on the snowy ground, as she lifted her hands and face up to the falling snowflakes.

  “She’s...”

  “Reactive,” Lilastien said, cautiously. “I’m just beginning to go through the information from the scan, but my efforts were rewarded a little, at least,” she said, a faint smile on her face. “She has the beginnings of self-awareness. She’s responding to external stimuli. Those big pieces I stitched together were enough for that, at least.”

  “Can she... does she... talk?”

  “Not yet,” Lilastien admitted. “But it’s early, yet. I’ve never done this before, but I’m guessing it will take time for her to integrate herself to any great extant. Now that I can check her neurochemical levels and brain activity, I’ll have much better tools for adjusting my treatment.

  “She’ll have to stay here, for a while,” she added, finally looking at me. “I can care for her here, and she will be safe. But if you want her to continue to improve and have the best chance at a full recovery, then I’ll need to work with her. If you can recover the Handmaiden, and by some miracle it can repair her damage, then it will be best if she’s well-rested and prepared for the trauma of that.”

  “You think it will be traumatic?” I asked, wincing.

  “It’s trying to create a whole person out of shattered pieces. Some of Alya is just gone, Minalan. What I’m doing is remedial care, at best. Right now, her ego is like a tiny pat of butter in a vast sea of milk. The best I can do for her is to slowly encourage it to grow and hope the Handmaiden can fix things if I make mistakes. The next few days will be telling. Either she’ll begin to integrate what I’ve put together, or she’ll remain... vegetative.”

  I stared and watched my wife accept the sanctification of the snowfall on her face and hands until my fingers started to get numb. She just... stood there.

  “You say this is better?” I finally managed.

  “She’s reacting,” Lilastien emphasized. “Believe me, this early that’s a good sign.”

  *

  *

  *

  As strange as the place was, Cei and I settled into the Tower of Refuge quickly, as we waited for Alya to heal. Lilastien focused hours on her care, alternatively singing songspells and checking her humani equipment for progress.

  At first I haunted the infirmary where Alya was being cared for like a poverty-stricken heir, but I could tell I was making people nervous. When one of the nuns gently suggested that Sire Cei and I explore the lands around the ruins, I took the hint. There was nothing I could do that Lilastien wasn’t already doing.

  Cei and I decided to walk the bounds of Sartha Wood, for lack of anything better to do and in need of a distraction. The day was cold but clear, and the inch of snow on the ground was no impediment to our walk.

  “Let’s head for that summit,” I said, pointing to a huge pile of ancient Alkan masonry that had spent a thousand years as a home for rabbits and foxes. “I’d like to see the tower from up there.”

  “Tomorrow is Yule,” he remarked, gruffly, as we trudged up the path toward the tightest cluster of ruins. “How do you think Lenodara will fare at court?”

  “She’ll do splendidly,” I dismissed. “At least, she won’t do any damage I can’t undo. Dara is incredibly smart,” I praised. Not the sort of thing I wanted her to hear, of course, but after the tumultuous apprenticeships of Tyndal and Rondal, she was incredibly responsible.

  “You know, Sire Festarlan came to me at the Magic Fair – unofficially, of course. He inquired as to when Dara’s apprenticeship would allow her to wed.”

  “Festaran’s dad?” I chuckled. Ordinarily, I knew, one spoke to a girl’s father about such things – but Dara’s unusual status as both ennobled Lady of Westwood and my senior apprentice complicated matters. Her father, while a senior yeoman of Sevendor, was still a commoner. “Isn’t that a bit premature?”

  “The lass is fifteen,” he pointed out. “That is an appropriate age at which to consider such matters.”

  �
�Perhaps for village girls or the petty nobility,” I countered, “but Dara is a magelord.”

  “Which means...?” he asked, as he offered his arm to help me up an incline.

  “I have no idea what that means,” I admitted. “I was the first magelord, and I’m still inventing deeply-held traditions. I just know that she might have something to say about it, not just her master.”

  “She and Sir Festaran seem incredibly fond of each other, and have a growing affection,” he said, encouragingly.

  “Yet Sir Fes is not her only suitor,” I reminded him. “Gareth seems quite determined to win her affections. That was the point, I believe, of his uncharacteristically dangerous indulgence in Enultramar.”

  “Minalan, I’ve watched how she responds to both,” he confided with a smile. “As fond as she is for Gareth, I feel that she has a deeper feeling for Festaran.”

  “She’s a fifteen-year-old girl,” I pointed out. “Her feelings are apt to be fluid.”

  “A valid point,” he admitted. “I fear the day when I will have to start the worrisome process for my own children. Already I’ve been approached about finding a husband for Faresa, and she is but ten. The Riverlords begin the process as soon as a maid reaches her first bloodmoon, if not before. Very civilized.”

  “You’re a knight mage. Another newly-minted tradition. You are not bound by the dictates of your Riverlord neighbors.”

  “Yet I will likely be given estates in both of the Lensley baronies, after my service this summer,” he said, shaking his head. “That raises my profile among my noble peers. It seems many houses in the Bontal wish an alliance with the Dragonslayer.”

  “Bide, then,” I suggested. “If we do assail Olum Seheri and survive, then every house in Castal will want your step-daughter’s hand.” We’d made it to the top of the tallest pile of rubble – about the same height as the top of the Tower of Refuge, which we could see half a mile away.

  “What is that? Some sorcery?” Cei asked, as he gestured to a hill to the northwest that seemed to be producing clouds like my father makes dough. I considered telling him that was where the Sorceress manufactured rainclouds, but Cei is no fool.