By the time Lleryth was born Chael had been rebuilt, but because the magically scorched ground never recovered from Sediahm’s onslaught it had been necessary to move the city. Chael’s original site became among the most revered of places.
The room in which Niel sat listening to Lleryth was the same room where the elderly Galiiantha had been educated as a child. The room was also the same room where Sediahm made his promised return—only, the person who stood before young Lleryth and his instructor then looked no where near as old as he should have given the years that had passed.
In that room, Sediahm prophesied that in the years to come another outsider would arrive in Chael, a boy, who would ultimately herald the end of the Galiiantha way of life. Sediahm said the outsider would bring war unlike any ever known, a conflict to spread across the world itself.
That was when Lleryth’s terrified teacher threw himself to his knees and begged Sediahm to let his student go, pledging he would submit to whatever demands were made of him if only no harm befell Lleryth.
Annoyance contorted Sediahm’s face as he informed the groveling instructor it had been Lleryth to whom he’d spoken. With a wave of the Sediahm’s hand the instructor’s features bent and twisted, and his skin darkened and hardened to the semblance of polished wood.
“He placed in my mentor’s hand the gemstone you see there,” Lleryth said, concluding his story, “and told me that until the outsider he mentioned claimed it, I would not be permitted to leave this room. He also left dire warnings that while I might benefit from remaining in the stone’s presence, I was never to touch it lest my people suffer the most horrible of fates.”
Lleryth gave his pipe a thoughtful puff. “For a dozen lifetimes I’ve waited and watched, and now that you’ve arrived that wait is finally over.”
“I don’t understand,” Niel said. “How could you possibly be waiting for me?”
Lleryth considered him for a moment, then leaned forward.
“I know you have many questions. Before I respond, I must warn you my answers will be upsetting. The world as you know it is about to change, Niel, and for that I apologize. Had we more time I would surely give you a chance to gain a proper grasp on things to spare you an experience like my own. But then, I suppose, if we had more time we wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place.”
Niel shook his head. “I’m afraid I still—”
“—don’t understand,” Lleryth finished. “Yes, I know.” He settled back into his chair. “You are familiar, I trust, with the stories surrounding the figure known as the Apostate?”
“Yes. Why?”
“For a long time there have been people quietly combing the Lands, interested in finding the Apostate.”
Niel gave a disbelieving smirk. “That’s a nursery rhyme.”
Lleryth raised a finger. “The effort I’m describing is not put forth for the sake of mere fable. In fact, they now believe they know who it is.”
Niel’s stomach knotted. “Who?”
Lleryth took the pipe from his mouth. “You, child.”
Forever ago, the thing Niel had wanted most in all the world next to attending the College had been simply to see the ocean. Biddleby agreeing to the journey had been the single most exciting moment of his life. Now Niel sat, lost somewhere in the middle of Aithiq, trapped in a room with a Galiiantha who was clearly mad beyond help. He wished he could run back home, back to Biddleby, to all the comfortable mundaneness he had been so eager to leave behind.
Niel pushed his fingers through his hair.
“No,” he said as he stood, waving his hand as though to fend off Lleryth’s words. “I’m not the person you’ve been waiting for.”
Lleryth puffed his pipe.
“And,” Niel continued, “if you knew anything about me, you’d realize how ridiculous the notion is. You’d probably laugh.”
Lleryth blew out another plume of fragrant smoke. “What I know about you is that since you were young, you’ve had a perception that the ways of the world were not quite as they were being presented. I know that your life, Niel, has been spent in compromise, and that your desire to make magic has allowed you to endure what you knew even then to be harsh and unnecessary prerequisites.”
Unlike Arwin back on the Alodis, Lleryth plainly knew he was not engaging in clever deduction. He spoke with gentle but unassailable confidence. As Niel listened—bewildered, angry, fearful—he toyed with the dirty rope bracelet on his wrist.
“But,” Lleryth continued, “you have never given yourself permission to rely on intuition. For you, magic is natural, almost effortless. Yet you insist on the toil and the struggle because without it you are somehow illegitimate, somehow not truly a magician.”
“But,” Niel said. “Canon is—”
“Canon is a shackle fitted to those who might seek truth elsewhere, fastened by those who hide that truth to perpetuate their own self-appointed superiority.”
“With respect, sir, what would you know of it, or anything of the College for that matter?”
Lleryth offered a small, sly smile. “Suffice it to say that the ways of… subtle observation are not unknown to us.”
Subtle observation? The meaning took a few moments to come into focus.
“Spies?” Niel asked. “There are Galiiantha spies in Lyrria?”
“In Lyrria, among your aristocracy, and even within the hallowed walls of the College of Magic and Conjuring Arts. You may have even met one or two.”
Niel dropped into his chair, flabbergasted. “Inside the College? In plain sight? Well, obviously not in plain sight. But... even a freshman would be able to see the difference in how a Galiiantha might shine, wouldn’t they? How do they keep from being discovered?”
“Not to worry. So protected are they, not even death itself would expose them. However, what keeps them safe is not the magic of arduous memorization and clumsy ritual to which you’re accustomed. Our magic is the result of a deep, unwavering attunement to the world. A magic I know you already suspect, yet refuse to acknowledge.” Lleryth leveled his gaze. “A magic I could teach you how to attain.”
Niel bristled. “I have a teacher.”
Lleryth’s expression fell somber. “Yes. I know.”
“What does that mean, you know?”
“It means long before you were born we knew those wanting to find the Apostate could never be permitted to do so. It means that for our own sake, we’ve made continuous attempts to retain some element of control regarding Sediahm’s plans.”
“Continuous attempts? What attempts?”
Lleryth took a long, slow pull at his pipe, and just as unhurriedly exhaled.
“Very soon after Sediahm returned and spoke his prophecy, elders from all the cities gathered here in this very room to confer about what might be done to reduce whatever impact its fruition might have on the Galiiantha. Because the stone Sediahm left behind was so obviously magical in nature, it was agreed the person Sediahm foretold would have an aptitude for magic-making. And since we sincerely doubted whatever abilities this person possessed would be rooted in so-called Canon, a talent more resembling our way of magic-making seemed the reasonable trait for which to look.”
“You’ve been looking for this person? Looking for how long?”
Lleryth smiled. “A very long time. During which we watched, we listened. We read your books. We memorized your songs. We spoke, danced, ate and even played. And when we finally felt we’d learned enough, we organized a secret school to train our most gifted how to dwell amongst those in the College without fear of discovery. We trained them how to manipulate Canonic magic without corrupting their inherent talents. And most importantly, we trained them what to do when they finally did come across someone they sensed might have the potential to play Sediahm’s pivotal role—what we eventually understood was most likely the Apostate.”
A frightening comprehension coalesced in Niel’s mind.
“And what was it they did?” he asked, dread
ing the answer.
Lleryth gave a sympathetic sigh. “They observed them. And then as was customary, they purchased them, kept them, fed them, taught them, all the while subtly fostering within them an appreciation for our ways of magic. When that person was ready, they were sent off to the College to see how readily they took to Canonic teachings—which they always did.”
The shrieking, misshapen image from Niel’s recent dreams surfaced, that of Biddleby—long, lithe, almost feminine; just like everyone he had encountered thus far within the Forest.
Niel turned away as far as he could, as if unable to look any more at something grotesque. He cupped his hands to his mouth and bent at the waist, wondering if he really might scream. He didn’t, though; mostly out of fear that once he began, he might never stop.
“You’re telling me Biddleby is Galiiantha?” he managed.
“Yes,” Lleryth said.
The absurdity of the concept swept away the images from Niel’s nightmares like dry leaves. Instead of screaming as he feared, he let loose a cackle. “That’s even more ridiculous than the idea of me being the Apostate.”
“I see.” Lleryth pointed a slim finger. “Throw that at me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“There. Pick that up and throw it at me.”
Niel moved his elbow from the arm of the chair—it had always had arms, hadn’t it?—to see a dagger lying flat upon it. “I’m not going to throw that at you. In fact, I don’t even really know how.”
“You underestimate yourself. Besides, I insist.”
Niel shook his head. “No.”
“And if I told you that doing so might make all this go away?”
Niel sighed, then reached across his middle and gingerly hefted the dagger by the cold blade. It looked as long as his foot and, unlike Peck’s knives, had a satisfying weight.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Lleryth said.
Drawing on his growing anger and dismay, Niel stood, reared his arm back, and launched the dagger with all his might.
The distance between Lleryth and himself was no more than a few paces, yet the spinning dagger took far longer to reach the Galiiantha than it rightfully should have. Given the oddities of the darkened room, the strangeness of the dagger’s flight didn’t impress Niel as all that unusual.
What happened next, however, made his blood stand still: As the knife approached, Lleryth performed a quick motion with his hand, and the hurtling weapon plunged immediately into the floor at Lleryth’s feet.
“You recognize that gesture, do you?” Lleryth asked.
Niel nodded, barely. Lleryth had made the very same motion Biddleby used to stop the runaway cart some fifteen years before.
“Using our own magic where others might see was a risky bit of business,” Lleryth said. “Your teacher remarked that despite his best efforts at speed and stealth, his gesture caught your eye, even at such a young age.”
Niel said nothing.
“Can you think of a reason, other than what I’ve told you, for Biddleby to have kept you from the College for so long? Can you explain why after years of strictness he would grant you permission to sail across the sea, to Aithiq of all places, instead of sending you straight to the College?”
Lies. Had everything he’d ever known been based on lies?
Niel lowered his head, clenched fistfuls of hair and closed his eyes tight.
“I know this is difficult,” Lleryth continued, “but with my help or without, there are things to come that will find you. You must choose whether to be prepared and face headlong into them, or allow yourself to be overtaken.”
Still, Niel made no reply.
“And there is one last thing. Ghesalt does not mean ‘greetings’ in our language as your teacher told you. It’s actually a very old word that means ‘I am he.’ ”
Niel leaped from his seat. “That’s enough! I want no part of this!”
“There are many times in our lives when we are faced with unforeseen responsibility, Niel, and thus burdened with unexpected decisions. The morning I arrived in this room those many, many years ago it had been to discuss a collection of ancient songs, not to begin a life of guardianship on behalf of someone who wouldn’t be born for centuries.”
Niel’s fear and anger finally, fully burst forth. “Stop it! Just stop it! I don’t want to hear another word! I just want to go to the godsbedamned College!”
“Yes, child, I know,” Lleryth replied. “But that will never happen.”
The quiet certitude behind the words ran Niel through.
“How can you be so sure that I’m the one you want?” he asked. His voice felt small in his throat. His head hurt worse than ever.
Lleryth held out his hand. From his fingers dangled a small, black drawstring pouch. “Take this. Inside is a cloth. Hold the pouch open with one hand and with other, take the cloth and remove the stone from the statue.”
“For what reason?” Niel asked.
“You seek further proof. I offer it.”
Niel made no move to take the pouch, but instead gazed intently at the spinning stone.
Lleryth smiled. “You see it, don’t you. You see how it glows.”
“Don’t you?”
“Oh yes. But, I didn’t, not until after I’d been here a long, long while. Even now I doubt it’s as bright for me as it is for you.”
“What is it?”
“Doing comes first. Knowing comes after.”
Again, the image formed from his nightmares of a jabbering Biddleby standing over him, rabid and insane.
“Remember what I told you about being far from harm,” Lleryth said. “So long as you do not touch the stone itself, there is no danger.”
Lleryth’s soothing voice let fury and despair make room for curiosity. Niel took the bag, faced the frozen form of the kneeling instructor, and with his hand wrapped safely in the silk cloth, removed the dark gem from the statue’s palm.
Sheer, cold terror clawed through Niel as the wooden figure stood upright. With bizarre, jagged movements sickening to behold, its eyes searched the room before coming to rest on him.
Seek, Niel… it said in a fibrous gargle as it reached out.
Niel scrambled to get away.
Seek where the great divide has yet to begin…
As the long, knotty fingers moved to take hold of him, Niel thrust his fist up in front of his face to protect himself.
The statue crumbled to the floor the instant it touched his arm.
The clearly visible floor.
Niel lowered his arm, then turned a slow circle to watch the surrounding blackness swirl away like ashes in a breeze. In its place a handsomely furnished study appeared.
Parchments, scrolls and other volumes lined the walls on the circular room’s tall shelves. Nearby sat low, sturdy tables laden with maps and globes and various models for teaching. Above hovered a bright sphere that filled the space with a rich, honey-colored light.
Niel regarded Lleryth, who wore a distant expression.
“Just as I remember it,” the Galiiantha said softly. He looked down at Niel. “It’s been a very long time.”
“Lleryth,” Niel said, his wits settling, “even an apprentice knows there are lots of ways that statue could have been made to say my name.”
“True enough. And in case you weren’t convinced once you’d taken the stone, Sediahm left with me a single word meant to instill the importance of the events to follow.”
The ominous statement gave Niel pause. “What word?”
For the first time, Lleryth’s face seemed anything but pleasant.
“Sediahm’s true name,” he said. “Uhniethi.”
24
A fortress in and of itself, the College’s Main Library housed knowledge from all walks of life, from all corners of the world— rare and unique manuscripts spanning the epochs, allowing the resourceful and diligent who searched the Library’s endless catacombs to uncover secrets from the dawn of history.
; The Library’s custodians demanded absolute silence; a single word aloud brought banishment. Thick, deep-hooded gowns required to be worn by visitors at all times ensured anonymity. Should two patrons happen upon one another in the unlit, winding corridors—though, in all her years there, Ennalen had yet to run across another Member while inside—etiquette dictated each look to the floor and make no acknowledgment of the other as they passed.
No question lingered that the figure in her vision had been Uhniethi. The best hope in gleaning any further meaning lay with the only remaining tie to the ancient magician, deep within the Library’s recesses where few could find it—the Energumen. The five massive tomes, each roughly forty thousand pages, embodied the madness that reigned during their creation. The great books occupied a chamber unto themselves whose location and properties befuddled the minds of those without permission to view them.
Ennalen once calculated Herahm’s pace in composing the vast work: Two-hundred thousand pages over the course of eighteen years came to just more than eleven thousand pages a year, or about a page and a quarter per hour, every hour, day in and day out—an inhuman effort powerful enough to leave echoes within the very stones of the College, resulting in her vision.
As remarkable as the Energumen’s sheer mass were the methods the former Lord Magistrate had employed to create it. Experts noted when collecting the scattered pages that in many instances Herahm had used his own blood and even bodily wastes for ink and pigment whenever his demands for writing supplies could not be met.
And Ennalen intended to fully exploit that intimate association with the former Lord Magistrate.
After entering the room and wrestling the door’s rusted bolt back into the wall, Ennalen pushed back her hood and went to the center of the chamber where the books rested on a large, waist-high stone table. Using the single candle the Library allowed visitors, she lit the cobweb-covered, dust-scabbed oil lamp hanging above her head. The light faltered and threatened to die, then sputtered into a round, gentle flame filling the small space with weak amber. While any number of Conjuring Light variations would have made seeing much easier, the unpredictable attributes many of the artifacts within the Library possessed meant tossing incantations about was not the most prudent thing for a researcher to do.
A Mage Of None Magic (Book 1) Page 18
