by Jean Johnson
The somewhat elderly man smiled and bowed. “Vershu’da, Clergy Saleria. Natuska gar shuden ona faishoudo sbesidin.”
“Uhh . . . beg your pardon?” Saleria asked, confused by his words.
“Oh, right. I speak via Ultra Tongue, which translates everything I say so that both of you can understand, and allows me to understand each of you,” Ora explained. “But that does not guarantee that either of you can understand each other. Etrechim simply greeted you, and said he is honored to share this momentous occasion with such a lovely representative as you.”
The other woman, Lady Rora, nodded. “Several of us on the Isle of Nightfall have drunk the Ultra Tongue potion, and we’d all be happy to translate in between carrying out our duties.”
“I see.” Saleria looked at the priest, whose wrinkled face showed an equal level of comprehension. She bowed to him. “Please extend my greetings to the Clergy of Fortuna, and tell him that I am honored to be sharing this moment with him as well.”
“She greets you in turn, Holiness,” Rora translated, though it felt odd to Saleria that she could understand every word of the other woman’s efforts, “and is equally honored to be sharing this moment with you as well.”
“. . . I think I need to get a dose of this ‘Ultra Tongue’ translation potion as well,” Saleria said. “Is it expensive?”
“It can be, depending . . . Ah, excuse me,” the blonde Witch murmured, stepping back from all three. She tugged at the folds of her black robe. “It is time to bring across another holy voice of some far-flung nation.”
Saleria quickly shed her cloak and backpack onto a nearby bench, readying herself to catch whoever would stagger out next. “Translations can wait; comforting those who cross the Dark cannot.”
“Gar taknim lostock ona sbesido,” Etrechim stated, looking ready to assist as well.
The black-robed Witch swirled and disgorged another male, shaken and pale. He fell into Saleria’s arms and trembled, breath hitching in a near-sob.
“There, there,” she soothed, grateful she was a strong woman. She patted him on the back and hoped he understood her tone, if not necessarily her words. “You’ll feel better in a few moments, I promise . . .”
TWELVE
Guardian Dominor, she had met before. With those nice blue eyes, and that long, dark brown hair, he was an attractive Katani male. She might have been far more interested in Aradin, or even Teral, but Saleria could acknowledge he made a handsome figure in his formal dark blue velvets.
His wife, Serina, on the other hand, was a shock. Tall, thin, and pale-haired, for a moment Saleria mistook her for Guardian Ilaiea. A much more pleasant-looking, younger, smiling version of Ilaiea, with none of the usual superior airs showing.
Her shock showed in a sagging mouth and a double blink. The ex-Guardian of Koral-tai quirked her brows at Saleria, then at her husband. “Do I have baby spit-up on my shoulder or something?”
“I—no, forgive me,” Saleria said, blushing. This stately woman was too young to be the middle-aged Guardian Ilaiea. “For a moment, I mistook you for someone else.”
Dominor looked between the two of them, then snapped his fingers, pointing at his wife. “Your mother!”
“My what?” Serina asked.
At the same time Saleria said, “—Her what?”
“Her mother,” Dominor explained to Saleria. “Ilaiea Avadan, Guardian of the Moonlands. You met her via Guardian Kerric’s mirrors, remember?”
“She’s your mother?” Saleria asked, turning to his wife. At the other woman’s wince, Saleria quickly switched her surprise to a look of understanding. “You have my sympathies.”
The amber-eyed woman blinked . . . then tossed back her head with a laugh. That woke up the baby snuggled to her chest in a simple cloth sling with a disgruntled, “Meh!”
“Whoops,” Serina said, and quickly started humming, rocking the infant in her arms. The other half of their twins, cradled in a similar way to Dominor’s chest, only yawned sleepily. Speaking more gently, the ex-Guardian addressed Saleria, though she kept her eyes on her child. “I do thank you for your sympathies. Mother isn’t the best person in the world to get along with, and it got even worse when I became a Guardian, a near-equal to her. I wasn’t born with the mark of the Singer, after all.”
“The what of the what?” Even without needing a translation amulet or potion for this conversation, Saleria was still a bit lost. “Look, I just wanted to chat with you, Guardian Dominor, about sending one of those scrycastings to the Tower for Guardian Kerric to record and distribute. I thought it would be wise to make something that could be copied and replayed all around the world. This is the first Convocation of Man and God in roughly two hundred years. What transpires here should be made available for everyone to witness.”
“You have a point, though given how the Gateway to Heaven gets opened, I’m not sure if a scrycasting is even possible,” Dominor stated. “But a recording, that we can do. Let’s get Serina settled near the front, then I’ll take you over to the Fountain Hall and we’ll contact Kerric. That is, if we have the time.”
Saleria glanced around the Convocation hall, counting heads. “There are only fifty, maybe sixty people gathered so far, and it’s been at least half an hour . . . so I think we have time, yes. And since this Convocation is related to the Netherhells problem via Prophecy—”
Dominor winced, holding up his hands as he tried to shush Saleria. His wife narrowed her amber-gold eyes. “A what of the what is related to the what? Dominor, dear, is there something you haven’t been telling me?”
Within the span of one second, he switched from a hunched wince of regret to a square-shouldered, head-high stance. Staring down over the inch or so that separated him from his tall wife, the Guardian of Nightfall gave her a quelling look. “I did not tell you that the Convocation is related to the Netherhell forescryings you’ve been examining because you have been working on something far more important in the last month. The safe birth of our children, and the resolution of the Natallian/Mandarite mageborn imbalance.”
“Now that they have been born,” Serina stated, not in the least bit quelled, “when were you going to tell me? Or Mother Naima, for that matter?”
“After a full turning of Sister Moon. You heard Mariel,” her husband cautioned her. “The first three months of our twins’ lives are crucial to their good health, and that requires their mother to be well-rested.”
Saleria decided that, as she had spilled the news, she had to make up for it. “He is right, in that you don’t need to focus on it just yet. At the current rate the prophecies are unfolding, we still have several months to go before things get anywhere close to a head. Of the pattern-of-eight in at least two of the prophecies involved, we’re still only up to the second verse, and that after at least five or so months since the first one’s conditions were met.”
The ex-Guardian drew in a breath to protest, but the sleepy wriggling of the infant slung across her chest distracted her. She let it out, argument abandoned. Mostly. “Fine. I’ll agree that Galea and Timoran need most of my attention right now. But I do want copies of all these pertinent Convocation prophecies—and no arguing, dear. I have quite a lot of experience at extracting information from such things mathemagically.”
“Mathemagically?” Saleria asked her, wondering what that had to do with the words of the Gods as transmitted through Their Seers.
Serina smiled. “I’m an Arithmancer. Graduated in the top of my classes when I studied in the kingdom of Guchere.”
Saleria had no idea where that was. Once again, she was feeling her ignorance of non-Katani matters, and resolved to find a map of all these far-flung places.
“A really good one,” Dominor agreed, giving his pale-haired wife a fond look. “I’m not bad myself, but Serina is a master-class mathemagician.”
“Ah. I never really did all that well at
mathemagics. I am a mage-priestess, but that doesn’t really qualify as a specialization, per se. I do know a really good Hortimancer,” she added. “But that brings me back to my idea about the scrycasting mirrors. While we’re talking with Guardian Kerric, Guardian Dominor, I can ask him if he can send over a copy of the prophecy scrolls for your wife, if you like.”
“I’ll do that myself,” he stated. “Or I’ll never hear the end of it. Let’s get to the Fountainway before something else crops up.”
Trailing behind, Saleria followed the pair down the hall where they had met, around a corner, and into a large, oval chamber filled with columns . . . and a shimmering, pulsing sphere that spewed colorful ribbons in all directions. The look of them, the feel of the energies wafting against her inner senses, was familiar. It took her a few moments to realize the ribbons were streams of differentiated magic, much like the sap-dripping vines of the Bower. But where those fed pools on the moss– and cobblestone-lined ground, these vanished into sculpted pipe mouths.
Dominor did not lead them to the shining spark-in-a-bubble that was the Nightfall Fountain, however. For one, there were subtle shimmering walls in the way, protective wards that would prevent anyone unauthorized from getting close. Saleria knew the commands for similar wards for the Grove, but rarely used them, as they required a great deal of energy to invoke prior to attunement. For another, that wasn’t the reason why they were here.
Instead, the Guardian of the local Fountain led them to a mirror hung on one of the artfully carved walls, set in the center of bas-relief knotwork carved by some mathemagically precise hand. Used to the chaotic natural lines of the Grove, Saleria couldn’t help but admire all the formal symmetry and smoothness, the timeless stillness of all the images she had seen carved so far.
“Anan!”
The spellword, backed by a faint but still tangible pulse of power from the tall, dark mage, pulled her attention back to the mirror. Shaped out of the same materials for the frame and hung sideways just like her own back in the Bower, it quickly resolved into the familiar sight of the curly-haired Master of the Tower. He only glanced their way briefly, however.
“Ah, Guardian Dominor—please hold just a few moments, I’m almost done here—” The screen turned a soothing shade of blue for a long moment. Just when Saleria was ready to sigh with impatience, the image of Kerric Vo Mos returned. He smiled at them—then widened his eyes. “Guardian Saleria? With Guardians Dominor and Serina?”
“Yes. We’re about to start the Convocation of Gods and Man,” Dominor stated. He paused briefly when Kerric blinked and stared, and dipped his head in acknowledgment of the occasion. “And Guardian Saleria—who is here to represent the Empire of Katan—suggested we make a scrycast recording of the event. It was suggested to maybe try a live mirror-scrying, but given how the Convocation is opened, I’m not sure if that’s even possible. But you said you could capture mirror images for later viewing, so—”
“Yes, yes!” Kerric stated, recovering from his shock in a hurry. He twisted in his seat, or rather twisted it, making the bookshelves turn behind him. “Topside Control, I need five—no, six—recording crystals up here on the double! Pack an instruction manual with them, in the Katani tongue. They’re really easy to use,” he added to Dominor, his wife, and the Katani priestess as he turned back to them. “Just stick them to a wall with a good viewing angle of the whole chamber, activate them with the spellwords from the book, and they’ll do the rest. Normally we’d charge for this sort of thing, but this one’s on the Tower.”
“This one’s on the what?” Serina asked, frowning. “The Convocation is taking place here, not there.”
“I meant, everything those crystals record will be offered in free distribution to all kingdoms with access to Tower scrycasts,” he explained. “Normally all scrycastings come at a cost, because the Tower has a lot of expenses behind the scenes, but this is too important to the whole world.”
Saleria smiled at him, pleased he wasn’t interested in making gold off such a momentous event. “You are a credit to your Guardianship, Master Kerric.”
“Call me a Guardian for this,” Kerric muttered. “The Master of the Tower side of me will have to figure out how to juggle expenses for the rebroadcastings, and I’m not looking forward to that. Oh—don’t worry about editing anything on the crystals. I’ll have the Tower scrycasting mages review it for good angles, audio augmentation spells, and cutting out any unwanted or sensitive information. Here, let me dig up a contract for that; we sometimes record and recast scryings of important events for certain clients . . . such as Senod-Gra . . . ah, here come the crystals. Put a couple up high, so they get a bird’s eye view of things, and put the others just over head-height, so that they won’t have their viewpoints blocked by too many bodies in the way.”
Saleria thought about it, and nodded. “I think I see your point. I’ve climbed some of the trees in the Grove, and seen different views of the Sacred Garden. It changes everything . . . If you like, Guardian Dominor, I can place them around the amphitheater.”
His attention had shifted to his Fountain, but he nodded. “Since it was your idea, I’ll entrust it to your hands. No crystals are to be activated in here, though, and none directly across from the giant doors. I don’t want anyone seeing the exact layout of our Fountain.”
“Understood.”
The reply came from both Kerric and Saleria, who exchanged a quick look. Kerric dipped his head. “That’ll definitely be on the list of things to get blocked out of the scrycastings; you have my word as a fellow Guardian.”
Dominor moved off to catch the incoming objects. Idly turning to watch him, Saleria noticed that one of the copper-colored ribbons was ruffled. It was the same hue as the sap-pool for communications back at the Bower. Mindful of the sleeping infant, she nudged Serina. “Um . . . is that ribbon-thing supposed to be doing that?”
Just as Serina turned to look in the direction of her finger, Saleria saw the ribbon roil with the slightly distorted, strident tones of a familiar voice. “Guardian Dominor! Whoever you’re chatting with, get off the mirror and get my daughter!”
“Oh, Moons,” Serina muttered. “Mother.”
The one word clearly summed up her entire feeling on the matter. Or rather, the tone behind it. Saleria silently touched her arm, giving Serina some sympathy. Her own family loved her, and she loved them, but not every novice in the training temple had come from such a pleasant background. Sighing roughly, the tall, pale-haired woman strode toward the ribbon. Saleria, torn between her curiosity and the need to stay by Kerric, felt relieved when the Guardian of the Tower spoke.
“And . . . that should be it. You should have everything you need now. Those crystals can record up to twenty days’ worth apiece, so long as they’re not tampered with, and provided there’s enough light to read a book by,” he informed Saleria. “If it grows dark, that’ll use up the spellpower imbued into them.”
“I’ll let Guardian Dominor know,” Saleria reassured him.
He flashed her a brief smile and flicked his hand, ending the mirror-call. Faced with her own, ordinary reflection, Saleria ignored it and peered into the silvered glass, trying to see what Serina was doing beyond her shoulder. The Arithmancer seemed to be muttering to herself and tugging on her long pale braid with her free hand, then she stuck her fingers in the coppery mist-ribbon.
“Yes, Mother?” she asked tartly.
Saleria quickly raised her voice. “The mirror’s free!”
Serina nodded. “The mirror’s free, Mother. Would you like to make this a civilized call, or just rant via the Fontways directly?”
“I have had a very trying day with a very serious shock, child. Do not sass your mother. I’ll be on the mirror in a moment.”
The Keeper of the Grove watched the ex-Guardian of Koral-tai roll her eyes, turn around, and trudge back to the mirror . . . which chimed when she was not q
uite halfway there. Serina flipped her hand at their guest. Saleria reached out to it, activating the surface. “Baol.”
It responded to the intent shaping the magic behind her choice of word, even though it was a different one than Guardian Dominor had used. The older version of Serina appeared on the screen, her lips compressed into a thin line and her lightly tanned face a bit mottled from an indignant flush. She drew in a breath to make some comment . . . then stopped, squinted at Saleria, and quirked her brows. “. . . Guardian Saleria? What are you doing on this mirror? I know I connected the scrycasting correctly—Serina! What is this Guardian doing on this mirror?”
“Don’t answer that,” Serina muttered under her breath. Raising her voice to a conversation level, she dredged up a smile for her parent. “Greetings, Mother. How are you doing today?”
“Terrible!” Ilaiea snapped, scowling. “Do you know what your niece did?”
“Which niece, Mother?” Serina asked patiently. “At last count, I had five of them.”
“Reina, Ranora’s daughter?” Ilaiea clarified impatiently.
“Since I haven’t chatted with her directly in almost five years, and since you’ve rarely mentioned her when you and I chat . . . no, Mother. Do enlighten me,” the ex-Guardian told the Moonlands Guardian. “What did she do?”
“She has the eyes of the Singer!”
Once again, Saleria felt incredibly ignorant of other lands, because the Arithmancer’s bored expression changed in an instant to a shocked look. Eyes wide, she blinked at her mother. “Reina has the eyes of the Singer?”
“Yes! Today was her channeling day, when her magics were to have been given to the . . .” Ilaiea trailed off, her gaze sliding to Saleria’s face, then to Dominor’s, who was moving up behind the two women, joining them. “Never mind that. Priest Soren was doing it—we were all in attendance, all the extended family—and just as he raised the sacred stone to her forehead, the normal brown of her eyes drained completely away!
