The Paper Sword

by Robert Priest

  Tiri Lighthammer yelled, “Let the sun see your glory then!” And with that he yanked the ceremonial helmet from the regal Pathan’s head. Vulnerable to the bright sunlight, Akka Smissm screamed and flung his white cape over his naked brow, but many had already seen it — the cracked crystalline facets of his forbidden face, the long, lozenge-shaped eyes with their deeply recessed sockets, the grim splinter of a mouth. Before Veneetha Azucena could stop him, Lighthammer tore the white robe away so that everyone who hadn’t already seen the Pathan’s features did so now. Many in the crowd had never seen even a masked Pathan before, let alone a barefaced, vulnerable one, and some laughed out loud and jeered.

  The sun glinted blindingly off the Pathan’s shocked face and most of those who saw it would remember it all the rest of their lives, for the Pathan’s diamond face quickly blackened as though covered with char on one side, and even as he screamed Veneetha Azucena succeeded in wrenching the white robe from Tiri Lighthammer’s enraged hands and covering the Pathan with it. Now she took charge. She signalled to the warriors she had hidden on the ramparts and in the alcoves and amongst the ruined seats and they stood up now and signalled back to her. She instructed her guard to take the groaning Pathan on a litter down to the harbour that he might be shipped back as quickly as possible to Pathar Deeps.

  Most of the kwislings had melted into the crowd, but a core group of five of them, who knew they’d risk the lives of their families if they mutinied here today, stood about the charred Prince of Pathans until a litter was brought. Then, surrounded by Azucena’s own guard, they carried him out of the stadium and away.

  At first, when the great double door slammed shut, the silence in the arena continued, with everyone, particularly the Thralls, whose ancestors had been kept in blood thrall for centuries, keenly aware of the implications of all that had transpired. But the atmosphere was not one of fear. In fact, there was lightness and laughter in the air.

  Not for Xemion though. All this time he had been looking for Saheli and he still hadn’t found her. He had that feeling again. Not just that she had slipped out of sight for a moment but that she was gone forever.

  “Now, I want this to be known.” Veneetha Azucena’s voice, with its high rhetorical tone, filled the whole stadium again. “Today we have prevailed all too easily. But it will not always be so. I did not plan it to happen this way and I wish it had gone better — but I tell you, it does not matter. Smissm is of a fading dynasty. He may come back as he promises, but it won’t be soon, and if he does it will be to face the best-trained Phaer militia in a century. We will prepare. We will toil. We will train our bodies and fashion the finest weapons. But we will not sacrifice the full round of the mind either, nor the needs of the spirit in this.”

  “Never!” someone yelled.

  “Now you have come all this way for one reason — to join us as soldiers of the new Phaer Republic. And so you have but one choice — commit to the full rigours of the ancient Elphaerean way. That means not only taking up arms but also taking up the stringent learning of yesteryear. So if you have come for easy glory, if you have come to be street-fighters, if you are bound over to another purpose, if you have contrary vows that cannot allow the vow I’m about to ask you, go now. All who choose to remain, like the Elphaereans of old, must make a vow — a full and sacred, unbreakable commitment to the endeavour we are all about to embark on. You must adhere to the Phaer code, and if you know you cannot keep it, leave now, while you still may.”

  She paused as if to allow a sudden exodus. “And remember,” she continued, “once you’ve joined us, you are fully complicit in all of this.” She waved her hand to indicate the place where Smissm the Pathan had stood. “I will not hear a whisper of complaint from anyone, for you shall be bound like I am, wed to the Phaer purpose that was ours long before we unriddled the Great Kone and spun the first accursed spell kone of our own.”

  “I will wed you,” a loud voice called out. There was laughter at this and it lifted the mood a little. Veneetha Azucena shook her head, allowed a little smile, and gave a mock bow. “Interesting you should say. We know there are some of you out there who already know you are beloveds. Even amongst the very young it is well known that the sense of the great bond between warrior beloveds is undeniable. So do not be afraid to account for yourselves even if you are young. This evening when we assign quarters here you must come and we will set you down in the lists. We will not keep you apart. We will adhere to the Elphaerean tradition in this. And you shall be housed, trained, and dispatched as beloveds.”

  At these words, Xemion’s panic doubled. Where was she? He felt as though he had seen every face now in the entire stadium and none of them had been hers. His hand ached where her hand had been. The way she had gripped him by the Great Kone, the way she had tugged her hand away from Vallaine’s red hand. Suddenly he saw another red hand in his mind’s eye, but it wasn’t Vallaine’s. It was a fat red hand. It was glistening. There was the sound of a cry in his memory. It came from him and he saw himself as a baby and he knew that other red hand belonged to the midwife who had delivered him. A shudder of fear ran through him and his hand tingled so intensely it almost hurt. The way it had whenever he shook Vallaine’s red hand … Then he realized why he was remembering. Remember well and go forward. The memory water was finally taking effect. How hadn’t he seen it till now? That red hand and that feeling of activation that came with his touch. Vallaine was a middle mage! When he had last shaken Xemion’s hand by the Great Kone he had bid Xemion remember and now Xemion was remembering. For several moments he stood there shocked, overwhelmed by images, sounds, smells from his own birth. They flickered through his consciousness like cards torn from a heap by a gusting wind. And then when the wind abated, the present-moment thought came — more important than any other. If he was remembering, Saheli was … forgetting! Twice he had seen her take that black bottle from her cloak and sip at it. How much would she forget?

  Abandoning all courtesy now, he pushed his way through the crowd. He was within ten rows of the front of the stage when he saw someone up the front tying up a topknot. He was only seeing her from behind but he was sure it must be her. He pressed forward and was about to call out to her but just then Veneetha Azucena shouted, “Now I ask you to stop wherever you are and turn and take the hand of the one beside you and shake it in our sacred vow of friendship.”

  Xemion’s attention had been so intent upon that topknot he had not even noticed those around him, but when he finally turned, there, standing so close to him they were almost touching, her black eyes impenetrable but intense, her face dirty and bruised and freckled … was Tharfen. He gasped. He barely had the time to whisper her name before the recital of the vow began. Face to face, hand to hand, they spoke the sacred words.

  I swear by the blood of my ancestors,

  by the tears of those yet to be.

  I swear by the will of the way

  and the way of the will,

  by fortune Phaer and fortune ill.

  Here, where Azucena paused to take a breath, Xemion spoke quickly and quietly to Tharfen. “Have you seen Saheli?” he asked. In the next breath they were reciting again, but Tharfen’s eyes were no longer indecipherable. They were filled with rage.

  I swear by sinews hale and strong,

  by hungry mind and trials long,

  by full moon and Phaer earth,

  by father’s toil and mother’s birth,

  with this one I shall bonded be.

  She commands me I am free.

  Her will is our freedom.

  So say we. So say we.

  Before Xemion could extract his hand from Tharfen’s or even think to ask her where her brother Torgee might be, Azucena’s words rang out again.

  “Now turn to the person on the other side of you and recite the second verse.”

  All Xemion wanted to do was get to that top-knotted figure at the front. But just as he caught a glimpse of the back of that top knot again, standing besid
e someone who might well have been Torgee, another hand took his. The grip, though powerful, was cold and wet. Xemion turned angrily and there, accompanied by his maliciously grinning thugs, was Montither. Squeezing each other’s hand with maximum strength, Xemion and Montither spoke the second verse of the vow together.

  Nor will I shirk from ceaseless work,

  with dagger, sword, shield and dirk,

  to learn the hallowed ways of blade

  until, in skin and burnished shield,

  my warrior self shall be revealed.

  I swear to strive

  in freezing shade or scalding sun,

  till I am knit with you as one.

  “Now, my beloveds, we cross our arms over our own breasts and reach across ourselves to one another —” Veneetha Azucena extended her right hand over her left hip her left hand over her right to illustrate. When Xemion did this he held Tharfen’s hand on the one side and Montither’s on the other. Gripped like that, crossed over himself, held in a great long line of cross-vowed promisers that went round and round the stadium, Xemion strained to see past the heads and shoulders in front of him to where she might be as he took up the third verse of the vow.

  To Phaer command I hereby yield,

  bound unto you shield to shield.

  And if I stray may every sickness bend my way,

  and every curse upon me stay,

  with succour driven far away,

  until my dying form shall haunt

  a burning field of endless want.

  And to this wisdom strong and Phaer,

  we pledge our honour to her care.

  And yay and yay and glory be.

  So say we. So say we.

  Lexicon of the Phaer Isle

  Arthenow: the continent across the western sea from the Phaer Isle ruled by the blood magic of the necromancer of Arthenow. Original home of the Thralls.

  Chimerant: living creatures who are blends of more than one species, usually as a result of spellcraft.

  Common magic: magic that can be initiated by the turning of a spell-kone rather than by the vocalizations of a trained mage.

  Cross-spell: contrary or contradictory or paradoxical spells invoked upon the same person or object or locality. Often the magic will compromise, pleasing one part of one spell and another part of another.

  The Crumbles: earthquake-ravaged area on the eastern slope of Mount Ulde.

  Elphaereans: the ancient people now departed from the Phaer Isle, who are thought to have created and written the Great Kone.

  Era of Common Magic: also known as The Phaer Era, this is the fifty-year period after the invention of spell kones and before the Battle of Phaer Bay. It was a period of increasingly ludicrous magical achievements.

  Examiner: an official of the Pathan government empowered to examine Phaer youth in order to detect spellbinders.

  Great Kone at Ulde: a huge, mostly subterranean cone-shaped structure. The downward spirals of text written upon it are reputed to be the ancient foundational spell-riddle of existence; also the koan that is written upon the structure.

  Ilde: the isolated western portion of the Phaer Isle dominated by Mount Ilde.

  Kagars: a piratical sea people who defeated the Phaerland forces at the Battle of Phaer Bay at the end of the era of common magic, but were prevented from entering the city of Ulde due to the efforts of Tiri Lighthammer. Surrogates of the Pathans.

  Koan: a mysterious story/statement meant to disrupt normal cognitive approaches; a riddle.

  Kone: a conically shaped structure upon which a spell or riddle or koan is written.

  Kone craft: spells invoked by the turning of a spell kone; textual magic other than that written on the Great Kone.

  Kwislings: traitors who have collaborated with the Pathans.

  Mage: a learned master of the spoken magic. Applied to both ancient Elphaerean mages and Phaerland mages. All known mages have been executed by the Pathans at the time of this tale.

  Magman: the Pathan Magma God.

  Middle mage: a mage with no power of his own, but who is capable of transmitting the power of another mage’s spell, usually by hand contact.

  Nains: a people of short stature renowned for their earthworking skills and their ferocity when forced to fight.

  Natural magic: the inherent biological magic present in small amounts in most Phaerlanders.

  Necromancy: blood-based magic most powerful in the continent of Arthenow.

  Panthemium: the stadium where athletic events such as the racing of gorehorses took place during the time of the Elphaereans.

  Pathan science: known for its achievements using reverse engineering on spell-wrought objects to advance technical knowledge. It is at odds with the Magman cult, a Pathan religion dominant in later years. Originators of crank and gear technology.

  Pathans: an underearth people whose armies have taken to conquering the surface world. They have a crystal-based biology.

  Pathar: city at the heart of the Pathan Empire located deep underearth, beneath the ocean.

  Phaer Isle: the mountainous, mid-ocean island, once the home of the Elphaereans and later home to the Phaer people. Lately conquered by the Pathan Empire.

  Phaer people: any non-Pathan residents of the Phaer Isle; also known as Phaerlanders.

  Shissillil: a former suburb of the city of Ulde. Due to the earliest known case of kone-based spell-crossing, a place reputed to be without friction.

  Spell fire: refers to the fire that occurred in the Great Kone when it stopped turning during the battle of Phaer Bay.

  Spellbinders: Phaerlanders, usually children, with the innate vocal quality necessary to become a mage.

  Spell kone: a crank-driven cone upon which a spell is written in one long spiral from the rim to the point. Turning the crank causes the cone to revolve while the eye or “witness stone” descends — thus “reading” and invoking the text of the spell.

  Thralls: descendents of those who escaped their enslavement to the blood magic of the necromancer of Arthenow and migrated to the Phaer Isle five hundred years before the events of this tale.

  Trait wraiths: disembodied parts of peoples’ personalities magically removed for purposes of punishment or self-improvement during the era of common magic.

  Ulde: the capital city of the Phaer Isle. The ancient village was formed around the Great Kone.

  Acknowledgements

  I wish to thank and acknowledge the generous contributions of many friends and first readers whose commentaries helped shape the narrative of this book: Barbara Gowdy, David Day, Allen Booth, Jane Mann, Sonya Kunkel, Carolyn Smart, Ken Setterington, Caroline Szpak, Sasha Graham, Alexandria Taylor, Verona Blackford, Marsha Kirzner, Eli Kirzner-Priest, Daniel Kirzner-Priest, Marie Wilson, and Chloe Wilson.

  Special thanks also to: Natasha Graham; Jane Mann for her heroic efforts on behalf of this book; the master gatherer, John Robert Colombo; Mick Gowar; and master satirist Sherwin Tija, who is also a fine fantasy cartographer.

  I also acknowledge the support of the Ontario Arts Council for a writer’s reserve grant during the twelve-year writing of this series.

  Copyright © Robert Priest, 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

  All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Editor: Allison Hirst

  Design: Courtney Horner

  Epub Design: Carmen Giraudy

  Map by Sherwin Tija

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Priest, Robert, 1951-, author

  The paper sword / Robert Priest.

  (Spell crossed ; book 1)

>   Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4597-0826-6

  I. Title II. Series: Priest, Robert, 1951- . Spell crossed ; bk. 1

  PS8581.R47P36 2014 jC813’.54 C2013-907401-5

  C2013-907402-3

  We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and Livres Canada Books, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.

  Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.

  J. Kirk Howard, President

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  Cover Design: Courtney Horner

  Sword © duncan1890/iStock

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