by T. A. Miles
“Put what we have left on the water,” Deitir decided. “I’ve come to the determination that we must stop showing them fear and panic. We’ve startled them with the ability to fight back at all, I’m sure, and especially with the mages. Let’s press that, to the hilt.”
Rahl nodded and swiftly turned with his orders to deliver them to others.
“Gods protect us,” Alledar sighed into his hand.
Ilayna only noticed because she was looking past him at Sethaniel, who mustered a look of satisfaction onto his tired, old features that reminded her exhausted and ancient self that she chose not to marry him for a good reason. In spite of that reason, she smiled at him as much as a smile could be managed under the circumstances, and then promptly raised her chin and went to her son.
Vlas had retreated to the top of the slope and laid down for only a moment during the lull, but apparently fell immediately asleep. When he opened his eyes, it was still the daylight he opened them to, and he could hear the various movements of bodies around him. Last he recalled, he was to accompany Lerissa back to the manor to relay and receive information regarding what had transpired and what their next detail would be. While he looked around the area from where he lay, he didn’t see his fellow mage anywhere near, so perhaps she had gone without him. He couldn’t say that he cared for that, but he did care for the sleep he’d just managed.
As he moved to rise, his arm caught on someone else’s. Looking, he found Imris curled on her side next to him. Unconscious, the stalwart constable looked just exactly like a very young girl. He found that quite endearing and immediately wrote it off to having just awakened after an exceedingly long and stressful night.
Mage Evin was not too far away, tending to his horse, which only seemed to justify Vlas’ response. Still, the man wasn’t really looking in Vlas’ direction, so he supposed it didn’t actually matter. Probably no one other than him was overthinking his situation with Imris.
“No matter how much I may appreciate you, Constable,” he mumbled. “I cannot keep you, you realize … nor you me.”
He looked over at her. She remained dutifully unconscious.
Vlas recovered his arm from beneath her and pushed himself to a stand. He walked toward Evin. “Has Lerissa gone?”
“She and the captain went to the governor, yes,” Evin answered.
Vlas accepted that. There was nothing that he could say that Lerissa would not. They were both very thorough and they both knew what had to be done in order to maintain the slope; more men had to be sent to replenish what they had lost.
In the meantime, Vlas gave the night’s battlefield a thorough scan beneath the light of day. Bolts, lost bits of armor, and bodies littered the middle section of the slope. It seemed more a tragedy to look upon the bodies during the day. One could see just how many there were and also the bent postures that were their death poses.
“Who’s that?” Vlas asked, watching a figure on foot standing very still on the other side of the inlet. The individual was so still that Vlas didn’t notice them immediately.
When he didn’t receive an answer of any kind, he looked over his shoulder at Evin, who was looking toward the figure himself. It seemed that he didn’t respond because he was still trying to sort it out for himself.
Vlas looked again, focusing better on the form. It was definitely a person … perhaps even a woman, though she looked bent by age perhaps. Maybe injury.
No … it was an old woman, one dark enough to be of the Islands. She was facing them, seeming to do nothing but watch them among a suspiciously orderly arrangement of rocks. The lingering haze obscured some of the scene, but Vlas was definitely able to discern a pattern of the small stones.
Imris arrived at Vlas’ side while he was beginning to contemplate measures to take against an elderly woman who was surely not as harmless as she appeared. The constable also noticed the figure and gave it thorough study. And then she said grimly, “We should have burned the bodies.”
Vlas looked over his shoulder at her.
“Why?” Evin asked.
“Because of that,” Imris answered, nodding toward the slope.
Vlas and Evin both looked. The bodies of the fallen soldiers were moving.
“Reanimation,” Evin guessed.
Vlas agreed, though not in so many words. “Gods damn the magic of the Islands,” he complained. He turned toward Imris. “Alert the soldiers, as quickly as possible.”
Imris went at once.
Evin located his spear and was gathering the reins of his horse. “Disrupt as many as you can.”
Vlas nodded. While the battle mage might have been referencing Blast, a Wind was being cast instead. Fortunately, he had rested, so he was able to muster quite an abrupt sweep of air, which raked across several of the rising dead before they were fully risen. A combination of Blast, Fire, and Evin’s spear was used to throw several, but those untouched by either of the mages’ efforts became more animated than they had been in life. They charged up the hill, like savage beasts. And it was then that Vlas also began to hear the sounds of the enemy’s weapons on the water again.
Ersana watched from her place at the head of the forum as, once again, a mage entered their place of gathering to motivate those within it. It was far easier for this one—a mere girl in appearance—to rouse the interest of several, many of which had only been seeking refuge from the invasion. It helped that she had come with a member of Indhovan’s troops with a request from the governor for all who were physically able to take up arms and assign themselves to battle. In the midst of the excitement among those leaving to fight and those who either couldn’t or who wouldn’t, the eruptions began again. The enemy had come with fire, after Mother had tried to bring water. The spirits of nature had already been rallied against this city. It could not survive.
And yet … her own family, the family that had trusted the Mother and been betrayed, had been given hope to stop the wave. It was the tireless determination of Mage Merran that had provided that to them, and motivated them to recover from the blows of treachery. The wave had been stopped, so perhaps this fire too could be stopped.
Ersana took steps toward the girl mage, pausing only briefly when Stacen reached to stop her. The man made no real effort beyond raising his hand, but when she looked at him, he decided against it. In his defeat, Ersana took his hand briefly and held only for a moment, long enough to convey that she understood he was afraid, and that many of their coven was and had been for years, since this began.
And then she continued on to the mage. “We can help you,” she said when she was within range.
The very blonde creature searched for the speaker, matching the voice to Ersana quickly. She stepped away from those she was helping to direct into a battle they may not have been prepared for beyond emotionally.
“We can help you,” Ersana said again, before the girl mage could say anything. “Tell Mage Vlas that the crystals will be prepared, that they may be used to channel magic for the city’s defense.”
The girl didn’t seem to know precisely what was being referenced, but she appeared to recognize the name of her fellow mage. The man who had come to stand beside her seemed to as well, and after Ersana had made her statement, they both looked to one another.
The girl mage then quickly looked about, and spotted the crystals throughout the forum. Taking hold of the soldier’s sleeve briefly, the girl said, “I’ll meet you back on the slope, Captain.”
“Right,” he replied, and saw her out. His gaze returned only momentarily to Ersana before he went back to his work.
Ersana knew that trust between his people and hers had been narrow, but the points of view of all of them should have broadened at least a little since the wave. Since what Ersana had witnessed from the arrival of the mages and their impact upon her coven and her daughter, her own perspective had broadened considerably and was continui
ng to do so. In fact, she had prayed more than once for Mage Merran. She would do so again during the empowerment of the crystals.
Merran found it somewhat difficult to orientate himself with the current circumstances. He had returned to the Seminary reluctantly with Korsten disappeared in the company of demons. Eisleth had cast a Sleep spell over him and he had fallen into it sure that his hand was damaged beyond repair. The nature of the spell had encouraged him to stay conscious mentally, and to revisit things he had no desire to experience again. The memories were fresh once more, inspiring frustration and depression over them as well as over having awakened to Korsten gone. Korsten had returned, only to abandon his station, and him.
Knowing that it was not quite as simple as his new state of consciousness would have it didn’t eliminate the notions that formed while Merran sat alone in his room trying to collect what didn’t want to be collected. He had a near immediate detestation for the condition of his hand, after the fact. It had very little to do with the restructuring of it—he imagined he would grow used to it—and more to do with the freshly haunting fact that he had come as far as he had and nearly lost his ability to do what he couldn’t stop doing. He couldn’t stop avenging his siblings. Over the years, he’d buried them and the constant realization that they were his motivation. Now, he felt as if he’d been set back to his early years … freshly scarred, ill-equipped for the role he wanted … having to learn everything….
He sat shirtless at the end of his bed, staring at the work Ceth and Eisleth had done to his hand. There were visible places were the skin and silver substance had fused by spell. Combined, both the original and new elements encompassed the same space and held the same shape. It looked like his hand, but his hand partly covered with a glove of odd fit. There was more of the silver visible than there was his skin. For that reason alone, it seemed to him like he should have no control over it, yet he did. The foreign substance responded even unconsciously, with slight spasms of stress in the moments he felt on the verge of an outburst. He stared at the new hand for a long time separately, then slid it over his other hand, startled by the fact that he could still feel the same with it. The sensation of touch to what technically was not his skin remained as it had before, perhaps slightly more sensitive. He suspected because it was yet so new.
Eolyn sat upon his bare arm, rubbing her white and black wings together. He felt oddly closed to her in his current depression, but as the moth was still with him, he deduced that the sentiment was his alone.
“Have you learned nothing, in all of your time with him?” he asked himself quietly.
Reference to Korsten brought his state to an acutely painful point that smeared welling tears across his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut to clear them, which led to tears dropping heavily onto his wrist and hand. He let himself cry for a few moments, partly over Korsten’s little explained absence and partly over the resurfaced murder of his siblings.
“Where am I going to find you?” he asked of Korsten before he had fully finished releasing his stress. The question issued helped him to calm down somewhat, and to better focus. He had no other option, as he was the one expected to find Korsten.
He determined in the following moments that he would.
Pushing himself from the bed, he set about getting dressed, ignoring the juxtaposed sensations of peculiarity and familiarity of his repaired hand.
The library was where Merran’s elders had chosen to meet with him once again before his departure. A part of him expected to be brought before the Council, particularly as he came to realize just how unorthodox and in defiance Korsten’s departure appeared. Ashwin himself had forbade Korsten from leaving, after having halted him by spell. Having been Neutralized himself by the very same Superior, Merran was both impressed and somewhat alarmed by the fact that Korsten seemed to have shaken the effects of the spell so soon after its casting. That Korsten felt the need to do so was disturbing. Yes, he was reckless and could become swiftly headstrong once possessed of an idea or some motivation or another, but he was not a fool. And Merran knew, even without always wanting to, that Korsten loved Ashwin too greatly to defy him. His inspiration must have been significant. Unfortunately, Merran imagined easily that such inspiration was over Ashwin. Korsten would surely defy Ashwin’s wishes, his direct orders, if the reason for his defiance was protection. Korsten would do that assuredly.
“It’s likely that Korsten has gone north,” Ashwin was saying, giving no indication that he was aware of the direction of Merran’s thoughts, though Merran knew that Ashwin would have already gone in that direction himself. Ashwin knew Korsten, at least as much as Merran did—better, given the nature of their association. “This is based upon evidence that he brought back with him; a small artifact that originated from that region.”
“What importance is it to him?” Merran inquired from his seat at the base of one of the library staircases.
“It belonged to his family,” Ashwin answered, “whom he came into contact with recently.”
Merran felt a helpless pang of fresh anger and depression over the mention of family, but did his best to suppress it. The wound was fresh again. It made the one at his shoulder feel fresh again as well, though it had been sealed and the memories that accompanied it buried beneath that seal for centuries.
“The piece was drawing him emotionally,” Ashwin continued to explain. “It was luring him with memories or visions of a parent.”
“Is this parent still alive?” Merran asked.
Ashwin collected his thoughts on the matter, then said, “It’s my impression that she is not.”
Eisleth stepped into the discussion, as if to relieve Ashwin of the weight of it. “It’s also of dire importance that you know the level Song has come to.”
“I witnessed it,” Merran tried to say.
But Ashwin nearly interrupted him. “Then you know he’s at risk of meeting the same fate as his predecessor.”
The impatience of Ashwin in that moment was not unfamiliar. It was a state that his feelings for Korsten could bring him to, and seemed to bring him to frequently whenever they discussed him lately. Merran was not ignorant of the reason.
“If the Vadryn overwhelm him,” Ceth began.
“They won’t,” Merran decided. He had no desire to enforce what he knew over what Ashwin feared. Ashwin’s fears extended beyond what was physically witnessed or accounted. Still, he had seen Korsten in the company of demons, and he had seen him keep his head and come away stronger.
“Merran, you know that you’re my strength.”
The memory was unanticipated. It threatened to take his thoughts back to the caves in Indhovan and otherwise assailed him with fresh awareness that Korsten was not present and might have been on his way to disaster, all for his stubborn, insistent desire to protect … and to continue to blame himself for what was beyond his control.
Ashwin exhaled in a deliberate attempt to even his own emotional state. Merran was reminded of when he’d first spell touched with Korsten. “Please,” the elder said. “Bring him back to us before he carries himself too far. I feel strongly that a trap is being laid for him.”
Merran’s mind came quickly to the force that might have been behind such a trap. An emotional trap had been laid for Korsten once before, and it was Emergence that spared him then, not Merran. “I faced that demon once,” he reminded, resenting the memories of having been incapacitated by the sheer strength of the demon’s presence. It resorted very quickly to torturous methods of trying to break him, until the presence of Korsten provided distraction enough for Renmyr Camirey to forget his enemy. “I wasn’t able to defeat him.”
“I think you know that you and Korsten inspire each other,” Ashwin fairly snapped. His expression was very quickly of impatience, and of disappointment. “I think you know that too well to put forward this level of obstinate ignorance.”
Merran paused, insid
e and out, taken aback by the comment as much as he might have been expecting a comment like it. He had searched for such a reaction, deliberately, he suspected … and he knew it was wrong. “I’m sorry,” he said, but it was spoken to the empty space Ashwin left behind.
“Please, find him.” As Ashwin had already gone, it was Eisleth who restated the plea.
Merran drew in a long breath and closed his eyes on the release. Afterward, he stood and said, “I will find him.”
Eisleth accepted that and left after Ashwin.
Ceth stayed long enough to offer Merran a sympathetic smile that Merran doubted he deserved.
“I’m grateful, for everything each of you and the Seminary has done,” Merran told him. “I regret that I’ve made it seem otherwise. Please, deliver my apologies to Ashwin, and Eisleth.”
Ceth nodded, raising a hand to Merran’s shoulder. He squeezed it with his thin fingers and said, “You’ve come very far in your day, Merran. We’re all very impressed with you, no matter how unimpressive you may find yourself to be. Try placing value upon yourself, ahead of this….” He gestured toward Merran’s hand, and then to his head. “Or even that, stubborn beast that it is.”
Merran looked at Ceth, and wanted to smile for him, but could not manage it.
The elder lowered his hand from Merran’s shoulder to his heart, tapping his chest lightly. “Aim here more often, my dear boy.”
Ceth mustered another smile, behind which lay a tremendous amount of stress, and then departed from the room as well.
In the quiet that followed, Merran looked over the library, toward the opposite stair and the walkway and shelving above, where Korsten had frequented during study. He reached back for his coat, slipping it from the railing where he had draped it for his conference with the Superiors, then carried himself to the door and out into the passages of the Seminary. He put the garment on while he walked.
He found Erschal in his place at the stables and wasted no time preparing him to leave, except for the helpless moment of pause that came when he discovered a lock of familiar red hair wrapped around a ring of the bridle. Merran fingered it lightly, aware in that moment that he had used his altered hand, and that he had felt the softness of the curl the same as if he had run his previously undamaged fingers through Korsten’s hair while he lay asleep beside him. He decided the leave the lock where it was for the moment, readying Erschal with a renewed sense of optimism, one that was still affecting him by the time he brought the steed outside and swung up into the saddle, urging him toward a Reach portal. He would begin where he and Korsten had begun, in Haddowyn.
