Techromancy Scrolls_Westlands

by Erik Schubach

  Elaineia looked at her men with a slightly sour face, not liking what she turned to Celeste to say in a resigned tone, “I'll have to tell Mother Corrine of your arrival. We can evade the patrols now that there is a hole in their net and get a hunter to the Gateway at first light, to guide you to Aratreya.”

  Then she sighed. “Though I do not have much to share with my people at this time.”

  I looked at her and Celeste. She saw my decision and started to protest before I said, “I will travel with you to answer the questions your Mother may have. Send your uninjured men with our Greva so they can guide our squads to Aratreya on the morrow.”

  The men and Celeste were speaking over each other to argue the point. The Gypsy men didn't wish to leave their Sora unprotected, and Celeste was saying, “Absolutely not! You aren't going anywhere alone, Laney.”

  She stopped her next utterance as I turned to her and cocked an eyebrow, daring her to voice her next words, daring her to say she forbade it. She snapped her mouth shut at that look, and then exhaled in a long sigh, saying in English, “Fine, you unruly wench, but I'm coming with you.”

  And we were all surprised when Elaineia chuckled and said in broken English, “You two sound like an old married couple.”

  My smile bloomed as I responded with a sly grin, “Well, Celeste IS older than me.” Then I asked, “You know English?”

  She nodded, speaking again in Gypsy. “Most of the Cristea do now. The Avalonians insist that we learn so they can give us our orders when they pull people to the pits of the black pitch.”

  I added black pitch to the long list of questions I was compiling in my head.

  Elaineia asked toward Dru, her cheeks darkening in the light of the moons, “Are they always like this?”

  Our traitorous companions all chimed out together, “Worse.”

  I shook my fist at them all.

  Celeste locked eyes with Alexandru, knowing he would not like one bit what she was about to say. “Dru, get the rest back to camp and debrief. Have them signal the base camp at the river. We will expect the Squads at first light in Aratreya.”

  Alexandru leaned forward in his saddle, a look of frustration painting his brow as his eyes narrowed. He shook his head in disbelief and growled out, “Yes, my Sora.” He took his responsibilities as our Garda Personala more seriously than breathing, and he didn't like us being out of his sight. But Celeste was playing his responsibility against his loyalty to his Soras and his Mother. It was a dirty trick, and he knew it.

  I cringed at how closely he would be guarding us after this in retaliation.

  I mounted Goliath smoothly and sidled up to the man, I mouthed, “Sorry,” and leaned over the space between our mounts to kiss his cheek. Then I took the reins of the fallen man's horse from him, to return to the Cristea.

  He held his chin high and pointed a finger at Celeste and me and said to her, “And this, my dear Sora, is why I love Laney just a smidgen more than you.”

  Celeste chuckled and moved to his other side and leaned to kiss his other cheek. “Better?”

  He nodded smugly. “Much.” Then he looked to the other Cristea men. “With us.”

  The taller of the three men looked almost pleadingly at Elaineia. “Sora, you will be unprotected...”

  She cut him off. “Rigel, I will be with two Femeie de Sabie of Old Home, who are among the touched. The guns of the enemy had no effect upon them.” She motioned a hand airily toward the conveyance that was an indistinct smear in the growing night.

  Guns? Was that what the flash sticks were called?

  She said with the hardness of an order in her tone, “Go with their Greva and bring them to Mother at first light. I will be fine.” She patted the blade at her hip, some leather cracked, and flakes fell to the ground. “I have the blade of Mother Racina herself to protect me.” She nudged her head and the exhausted looking man who Syl had healed, and he mounted and come to her side.

  Mother Racina... wasn't she... my eyes bulged and looked at the old weathered blade again. Mother Racina was the leader of the band of the Cristea who had undertaken the journey to the West all those centuries ago. My hand drifted absently to Hera's hilt, another ancient blade steeped in legend. I felt awed to be in the presence of such a blade, no matter its current state of disrepair.

  Rigel huffed and grudgingly mounted his chestnut mustang as the other man did. Sara looked torn as Dru just started back to the forest which looked so foreboding at night. She shook her head and said as Syl joined them, “You've no more sense than a three-footed duck. I fully expect to be riding to your rescue when Father Sol awakens.” Then she maneuvered her own mustang between Dru and Syl.

  Celeste chuckled. “Ye of little faith... sister.”

  I didn't miss Dru taking one last glance back at Elaineia, whose cheeks were still darkened as she watched him go, absently touching her hair. A smile slowly spread on my face as Elaineia mounted her spotted Mustang with as much ease as I did Goliath, I knew that look. She rode to me and put out her hand, her eyes haunted. I swallowed and handed her the reins of her fallen man.

  Then I turned to Celeste, scrunched up my face and asked, “A three footed duck?”

  My girl smirked and clarified, “I don't know either, but I'm sure she's speaking of you, not me.”

  My squeak of indignation was cut short when I heard Elaineia whispering out to the night sky, a line of the song of Great Mother Muriell and the Grevas, as she turned us west in the direction they had fled from, “One by one they gave their soul.”

  Celeste supplied solemnly, staring straight ahead into the darkness, the abyss reflected in her green eyes, “That others may live, and the stained did boil.”

  Elaineia swiveled in her seat in surprise. “You know of the ballad of the Grevas?”

  We just nodded, and she exhaled and turned back to the path through the field, toward the forest on the far side, as the ancient tune haunted my thoughts.

  Chapter 12 – Aratreya!

  The path eventually turned from a wide trail through the grain, to a hard packed road, then into a cobbled paved lane after we passed an empty farmhouse that was disturbingly dark, there should have been a family in there, preparing last meal. I looked back to it as we passed into the forest beyond.

  We didn't speak while we rode as stealthily as we could through that thick forest. The sounds of the night enveloped us as we scanned for a possible ambush by more Avalonians. It struck me that as foreign as some of the calls of the animals and insects were, that many of them sounded just like back home. It gave me some peace as I picked out crickets, toads, and hoot owls.

  When we saw an electric light burning on the lane far ahead of us, Elaineia quickly turned us onto a game trail and whispered, “That is the checkpoint. Guards with a heavy gun on a tripod, they enforce the curfew with deadly force. They have two man teams on all three roads into our village.”

  We nodded. This was a siege. Enforced by the superior power of their weapons. Weapons which were not magic though they appeared that way. Weapons of metal that used some sort of chemical reactions to spray death at those who defied them. Such a waste of resources, used for nefarious purposes.

  A few minutes later we emerged into a large village, behind a row of cottages. Elaineia led us through twisting and turning streets in the dark. All the street lights, which smelled of lamp oil, were extinguished, and not a soul was seen on the streets.

  That spooked me, keeping my nerves on edge, for even in Wexbury Keep, no matter the time of night, there were always a few people wandering the streets. It felt as if the entire village was holding its breath, lest a great predator come swooping down upon them.

  I was amazed at the craftsmanship of the architecture of the structures. Every exposed beam was carved, and even the stonework rivaled that of the stonemasons of Highland Reach. I felt as if we were moving through a storybook village like those in the fairytale tomes mother had read to Jace and me when we were young. I half expected to see a cotta
ge of gingerbread.

  My eyes widened in shock as we turned between two larger buildings with no windows, which were most likely supply storage buildings. Goliath must have felt me stiffen in the saddle, as he huffed and sidled a bit nervously.

  There in front of us, lit by the Three Sisters, was the most incredibly surrealistic building I had ever laid eyes upon. It was all angles and curves and stretched almost thirty feet or more into the night sky. Its irregular surface bulged like knotted bread, with gables and turrets blurring together into a fantastical creation born of fables.

  It was roughly circular in shape, a tower-like structure with dozens of doors with covered windows on every level which opened out onto tiny porches that reminded me of the porches on the Mountain Gypsy wagons back home.

  All in our small group turned their eyes to me as I gasped as I realized in complete shock what I was truly looking at. This small tower was constructed of dozens upon dozens of ancient Gypsy wagons!

  Elaineia gave me a knowing smile, pride reflected in her eyes. “Welcome to Journey's End, Soras. Where Mother Racina had decided that the Cristea had found a new home in this land so alien to them.”

  She said in a hushed tone, “They constructed this home to signify that we no longer had a need to travel and to honor all those who lost their lives in the quest. This is the monument that stands in the stead of Father Stone, where all Cristea can come to seek an audience with their Mother, and wisdom is shared.”

  Then she shrugged and looked so very young with a silly look on her face, her cheeks dimpling as she finished in English, “And it is my home.”

  I looked at her and the amazing, impossible structure and smiled back. I had initially thought her my age, but I cocked my head as I reappraised her. I think her determination and need to protect her people had me thinking she was older, but just then I believed that she was possibly only a year or two past majority. This siege situation she had lived through the last five years, for someone so young, had forced her to grow up far too quickly.

  She held a hand out for us as we reached the roadway that encircled the tower, stopping us at the end of the storage buildings as she looked up the road toward the checkpoint as the lights slowly swept what could only be their town square.

  As the light moved past, I could see dozens of finely crafted, old stone and wood tables that looked as if they had been there since ancient times. Some sort of dwarf oak tree in the center that stood only about fifteen feet high, with a trunk bigger around than Goliath's chest, and low hanging branches reaching out in all directions.

  There were dozens of unlit, antique lamps, and a central fire pit that just screamed of the history of the centuries which had passed around it, and spoke of the thousands of gatherings and celebrations it must have witnessed. I noted that the shape of the square made of well-worn cobbles was no traditional shape, but the shape of the Lower Ten, with the fire pit in the position of Father Stone. It was just as amazing a sight to see as Journey's End.

  But again, it felt like I was only looking at a painting of the scene, as there wasn't a single soul about, all the street lamps were unlit, and the windows all blacked out by heavy curtains. It was as if this beautiful village had been abandoned to the wolves at the door. Though I knew that all the people were here, I could feel it all around me – the fear. It was like an oppressive cloud pressing down upon my magik of the People. The magik of the spirit.

  I glanced at Celeste, whose eyes were intently trained upon the checkpoint, her high, sculpted cheekbones highlighted under the hood of her cloak by the light of the moons. She didn't seem to be feeling it, but then again, she only possessed Altii elemental magic. Though maybe she did with her other senses, because I could tell that part of her attention was on me though her eyes were elsewhere.

  When the light swept past, I prepared to move, but Elaineia kept her warning hand up. Then a light swept past from the other direction, then she was on the move, leading us into a large stable behind to the wagon structure. I swallowed, I would have been spotted if I had moved out, as I hadn't remembered she indicated there were three checkpoints earlier.

  We slipped into the building, and the recovering man quickly shut the outer door, enclosing us in absolute darkness. The world lit up around me, tinged in amber and I glanced to Celeste who was leaking emerald sparks from her eyes. We could see in this pitch black, but it was clear Elaineia and the other man were not of the touched as the Cristea girl slid off her horse and moved slowly with her hand out toward a hook on the wall with a lamp.

  I pulled Anadele and whispered, “Let me get that for you.” Then I fed my blade a tiny trickle of power and she started to glow with a light that even mundanes could see.

  Elaineia turned quickly to see my blade casting a dim glow upon the space. Her eyes were lit in wonder, then she looked at me and the lamp she was preparing to light and her brow furrowed. “You could see what I was doing?”

  Celeste provided with an eye squinted in apology, “All touched with the spark of magic can see in the dark.”

  The woman just shook her head in amusement, though her eyes were glued to Anadele. I'm sure my blade would have blushed under the gaze if she were alive. With apparent effort, she pulled her eyes away, lit the lamp, and started leading her mustang as my Lady, and I dismounted. “This way.”

  We led our horses past a dozen or so stalls, most, to my surprise, held great oxen, the size of which I had never seen. The oxen the Mountain Gypsies in Sparo have are bigger than any us Altii had. These beasts were even bigger still. I wondered if they got larger over the years here in the Westlands, or if they have just been getting smaller over the years back in Sparo.

  There were but four horses in the stalls we passed to three empty stalls at the end. We had to put Goliath and Canter in the same stall as the horse with the man's body strapped to it was hitched to a post outside the stalls.

  The man, whom I was embarrassed to say I still hadn't learned the name of, was quick to put a few pitchforks full of hay into their stall and then opened a valve outside the stalls and small troughs in all the stalls started to fill with water. What an ingenious system. In short order, we had our saddles and packs off the horses, and Elaineia gave us a smile with an ushering motion.

  Celeste wiggled her eyebrows at her and proffered an elbow as I slung my saddlebags over my shoulder. I could feel my cheeks heating as I took her offered arm. She always treated me like a lady. Then I cocked an eyebrow, realizing she was letting her guard down around the Gypsy. It usually took quite some time before she trusted someone new enough to let them glimpse beneath her armored shell.

  I smiled. Like me, she liked the young Sora already.

  I extinguished Anadele and sheathed her when we reached the doors and the lamp was snuffed. Then the man peeked out, and we waited for the searching lights to sweep by. Then we all dashing across the cobbles to a small door set in one of the wagon porches.

  Elaineia reached out and grabbed my free hand and drug Celeste and me through a twisting maze of rooms that had once been various sizes of wagons. The wonders I saw in each were amazing, it was as if each was a shrine to the families who crossed the Uninhabitable Lands so very long ago. Each wagon stood witness for them.

  Dim, stuttering light emanated from lamps in them. I could taste the last flickering vestiges of some ancient magic in them. I could feel the magic reaching toward us in desperate need, not wanting to sigh their last breath. I was about to wonder why they hadn't replenished the magic sparks that powered them when I remembered that Elaineia had indicated they no longer had anyone touched by magik. I was amazed that these embers had burned for so very many centuries.

  Mother Udele and Great Mother Ranelle have taught me that the magik of the People is mostly intent. So I could see people who so desperately believed that there were more lands beyond what they knew, putting enough intent into their magic that it would endure the centuries.

  Unlike Altii elemental magic, which was explosive in n
ature and burned itself out as quickly as cast, unless it was stored in ceramic containment vessels, the magik of spirit can endure according to the intent when cast. Like the charms and spells imbuing the blades and clothing that the touched of the Lupei gifted Celeste and me with.

  I think that my own intent on not letting these ancient sparks die out was causing wispy tendrils of magik to reach out from the mists around me to touch each lamp as we moved past, causing them to flare back to the brightness of their birth. I felt a melancholy satisfaction that my unpredictable magik could do this one thing for those long dead Cristea.

  It wasn't until we were pulled into a large room that looked like a meeting hall in some of the villages I have visited, that I realized the man was no longer with us. The floor was made of stylized hardwood tiles, as I looked out over the expanse, I realized they formed the crest of the Cristea band. I released both women as I looked up to the ceiling in the tower so far above. A wide circular staircase that started at two large doors I supposed was the main entrance, which had windows covered with heavy dark fabric, spiraled up to each level of the tower at the perimeter. If felt as if we were in some ancient lighthouse.

  The craftsmanship of the metalwork of the banisters and carved wood railings had no equal in Wexbury, and I would probably not be amiss by believing not even in all of Sparo. It looked like it belonged in the Great Library of the Techromancy Scrolls to me. Evenly spaced light sconces held by serpents, hawks, dragons, and fanciful creatures illuminated the entire chamber with the dancing and flickering oranges of flame.