by Jordan Baker
The princess was perhaps one of the most beautiful young women Aaron had ever seen and he could easily understand Borrican’s feelings about her. Ariana was not only beautiful but, after their visit to Calthas' shop where she proved she could also be infernally difficult and even aggressive, for the rest of the day she had shown herself to be both charming and possessed of the most irreverent sense of humor. Some of the jokes she had told would have put half the young men in the Academy to shame. But while Aaron was grateful for the privilege of having met the princess, he had still not gotten over what he had learned this day. The questions that had arisen from his encounter with Ariana's mage friend still dominated his mind.
“You’re not still sore over that stuff with the wizard guy, Calthas, are you?” Borrican asked. “I admit it was a little impolite, but if people are making threats on her life, you know she’s got to be careful.”
"I don't blame the princess," Aaron said. "Her life must be very complicated."
"Ha!" Borrican laughed. "Welcome to the world of politics, my friend."
Borrican reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask that he had held in reserve until now. At every tavern they had visited that day and evening, Borrican had drained several draughts of ale at least and Aaron was amazed at his friend’s ability to drink as much as he did and still function. Borrican took a swig and held it out, offering it to Aaron who shook his head.
“Hey Aaron, all that stuff about you being a mage. That’s some pretty serious stuff. Tell me, honestly. You knew already, didn’t you?” Borrican squinted at his friend as if trying to read his mind.
“No. I didn’t know,” Aaron told him. “I still don’t know. I have never had anything to do with magic and any time I'm even near it, all it does is give me trouble.”
"Well, Aaron, you've got power and it is something you're going to have to figure out, learn to control it or it will control you,” Borrican told him then took another drink.
The question had been circling in Aaron’s mind all evening, making it hard to enjoy the night’s festivities. He had done his best and joked with his companions but had suspected that Ariana could see through his weak performance of good cheer. He looked over at Borrican who was again staring at the ceiling, shaking his head. His friend seemed more willing to let such things go. He did not treat Aaron any different than before except that he was more curious about it than anything.
“You should have seen it, Aaron. When Calthas started working that seeing spell or whatever it was, your eyes went completely black, but not black, like there were stars in them. It was like looking at forever. Pretty weird stuff.” Borrican rubbed his own eyes. He had known a few mages before and he had suspected for a while that Ariana had some powers but he had been surprised to find out that his friend Aaron was a mage and did not even know it. Borrican liked the other young man and had truly come to think of him as a friend. But the more he learned about Aaron, the more he turned out to be a mystery “You, my friend, are full of surprises.” he said with a smile then promptly passed out in his chair.
Aaron sat for a time, wondering if Borrican was really asleep, but his question was quickly answered by a deep rumbling snore that emanated from the drunken prince. Borrican was out cold. Aaron watched the sky outside his window begin to fade to that dark blue-grey of early morning and knew that both he and Borrican would have to leave soon for roll-call. He figured that he might as well stay up, lest he sleep through and sneaking back into the Academy after hours be for naught.
Aaron got up from his seat on the floor and with water from the basin, he splashed some of the tiredness, as well as the remains of the soot and dust from the day and night of revelry, from his face. On the shelf above his desk, he saw his copy of the book he had seen in the mage Calthas’ study. It had no title on the cover, just a symbol he knew to mean 'One' and he understood why it was named. He pulled it from the shelf and looked at it. He wondered at what Calthas had said about the book taking over a mage’s mind.
If Calthas was right and Aaron truly did have some ability with magic, even though it was locked away from him, he should probably not be able to look at the strange book. For some reason, the ever-shifting images did not seem to affect him and he did not feel any overwhelming urge to join the Priesthood and start wearing black. If anything, he disliked them even more.
The idea that someone would use power, of any kind let alone magic, to compel people to believe in something or to submit to their will was abhorrent to him. It was against everything he had learned from Tarnath and from his life thus far. People lived their lives. They chose what to believe in and what to do with their time, whether they wanted to plant barley in a field or wheat, or if they wanted to learn smithing or swordsmanship.
He tucked the book into his belt under his shirt and decided he would ask Anonymous about it later. Aaron set about rousing his friend, Borrican, the Royal Prince of Kandara. He wondered at this feeling of being so very far removed from the life he had known, so very far away now from the little cottage in the woods near Ashford.
CHAPTER TEN
A silent figure in a grey hooded cloak appeared on the path before the remains of the tiny cottage. Some villagers had told him where to look but it appeared that he was too late. Stavros bent his old bones to one knee where the signs of battle were all but faded and ground the dust between his fingers. He wandered through charred frame of the structure. It had been burned clear through and its roof had fallen in and what had not been scoured by the wind lay under a bed of dust and ash. He found what looked like a bed frame in one of the rooms and saw that it had been pushed aside. What looked to be a trap door had been left open. It was empty.
He wandered outside again and breathed in deeply, the scent of the trees, the dust, the grass, the rabbit picking its way through the underbrush nearby. He reached out with the tiniest amount f his power, stretching his senses even further, hearing the wings of a sparrow beat the air, a centipede crawling upon the forest floor and termites busily feasting on a fallen log. He felt himself drawn into the woods. A short way in, near a large rock he found the two burial mounds, set behind a rock near a large oak tree. Weeds and grass had already begun to grow among the stones.
The old grey mage Stavros stood over those mounds for a long time, sinking into a deep state of meditative contemplation. The sun had long set on that grey autumn day and the wind blew cold in the night when the man finally awoke from his mournful reverie and turned to leave. As he walked silently through the paper rustle of the turning leaves, behind him, the scent of flowers filled the air. The two mounds were now covered with flowers and wild vines growing where the old man’s tears had fallen to the dry ground.
*****
“Two questions,” Aaron said as he appeared through the stone wall. Anonymous looked up from a scroll, pleased to see his young friend come for a visit.
“Aaron,” the ancient mage greeted him with a smile but quickly noticed from Aaron's expression that he was about serious business this day. He pushed the scroll to the side and turned his attention to the young man. “What would you like to ask?”
He noticed Aaron held a book in his hand and something about it was familiar.
“This book.” Aaron held the book out to him. “Do you know it?” Anonymous smiled, rising and taking the bound volume. He did indeed. This was a book he had not seen in some time. Where had the boy gotten it, he wondered? Anonymous flipped it open and watched as the pages shifted with the intricate spells that had been woven magically into its pages. Aaron’s brow creased with concern.
“Worry not, young friend. This book’s power has no effect on me,” he told him. “Where did you get it?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve always had it. But what about this book. What does it do?” Aaron asked him. “I’ve heard the Priesthood use it.” Anonymous took a deep breath and sat again in his chair.
“Yes, I have heard that they do, though the one they use is a copy of the original.” A
nonymous said. “It is a very powerful thing, this book. Did you know that there are actually five true, original copies of it in existence? This is one of them. It is strange to me that you would have this. Have you read it?” Aaron frowned.
“I have opened it, yes. But there are no words. Only images, as if from a dream.” Aaron told him. He wondered whether he had been affected by the book the way that Calthas had said all mages would be. “I’ve heard that the Priesthood uses it to turn mages into their followers. Is it true? Can a book have that kind of power?” he asked. Anonymous smiled.
“You are all questions today, young Aaron. Very well. All books have power. It’s just a question of how that power works.” He held up the book. “This one, is a kind of window, to the mind. It is like a connection from the reader's mind to the thoughts and will of the one who hold the master copy, in this case, the book's master is a god.” Anonymous explained as he turned the pages. He had not gazed into this book in many years and wondered about the images he saw. “So yes, to answer your first question, yes, I know this book. Can a book have the kind of power you describe? I ask you then, can a god have that kind of power?" Aaron walked over to the table next to Anonymous.
“A god?” Aaron asked, somewhat in disbelief . “How can a book connect to the mind of a god?"
"Magic," Anonymous said cryptically.
Aaron was not satisfied with the answer. He wanted to understand why he could also read the book, but Anonymous' recognition of the book had been something of a surprise and Aaron's curiosity was now piqued.
"Why doesn’t the book have any power over you? It is supposed to affect mages.”
Anonymous laughed and held the book out to Aaron.
“The book doesn’t affect me because the pen that scribed it was my own, in a manner of speaking. What is your next question?”
Aaron sat back in his chair. He did not know what to think. Anonymous claimed to have written the book the Priesthood was using to control the minds and wills of its mages. It did not make sense, especially considering that no one was supposed to be able to read anything Anonymous had written. Aaron wondered about that. He wondered if the mysterious mage had been entirely truthful.
“There’s something you’re not telling me.” Aaron said.
“There are many things I am not telling you,” said the mysterious mage.
“You told me no one could read anything you had written, except me for some reason, and yet the Priesthood has been using your book to control mages. How is it possible?” Aaron asked.
Anonymous sighed.
“I never said I wrote this book. Aaron, you need to ask the right questions, then you will have much better luck in find the right answers. To satisfy your inquiry, I will say this: yes, it was my pen and my magic that fashioned its pages, but I never wrote it. I would never write a book such as this one. Even the small part I played in bringing that book into existence is one of the greatest regrets in my undeservedly long life.” Aaron had not taken the book from his hand, so the ancient mage placed it on the table between them.
“This book you have is not so much a copy as it is an original, one of five originals. It was part of an investigation I had made into knowledge, creating books that could connect with the mind and the spirit. How interesting would it be to be able to read someone, like an open book, just like the expression I have heard some people use. That was my purpose but despite my best efforts to prevent their misuse, these books have been used for another purpose entirely by one who would do such a thing. These Mage Priests, as they call themselves, have built a religion around this book, a powerful religion, one that serves a purpose, the purpose of the god they worship.
"What god is that?" Aaron asked. "The temples of the five have been empty for years. Is it one of them?"
"That, I cannot say," Anonymous told him. "I am not able to speak of the gods, of any deities. I can think the thoughts, but I cannot put them into words, even when speaking to you. Such is my curse."
"Then the book is the answer. You said there were five books, but I have one of them. Is there some way to use my copy to stop what they are doing?"
"Not exactly. But it might be possible, were certain things to happen. You would need all the books."
"And the Priesthood has the others," Aaron said.
I believe they have three copies of the book. The other is rumored to be somewhere in the east, Xalla I believe. And the last copy, one that somehow found its way into your possession, is now sitting right in front of me.”
“But how does it work?” Aaron asked him, his curiosity now piqued. If there was a way to stop the Priesthood, then things would be safer for the princess and for Calthas. “A mage told me that the book can control people’s minds, that it turns people into fanatics. Is it because of this god or whoever is controlling it? Why did it not affect me?”
Anonymous smiled tiredly and held up his hand.
“One question at a time, please. How the book works is simple. Imagine how powerful it would be to see a god or feel a god’s touch, how it would transform a person. In a lesser form, that is how the book works. It leaves a person awed by the mystery of the god who commanded its creation. However, the person who holds the book also has power, the power to direct the will of the reader. Once a person's mind has been made, shall we say, pliable by the book, then it is very easy to put that person under the deepest of compulsions,” Anonymous explained.
“But why does it not affect me?” Aaron asked. Anonymous smiled.
“For starters, you have your own copy and no one is trying to ensorcel you with it, except of course, the one whose mind it reveals, but from what I can tell of you, you are protected from such things. Things might be different were you to be shown one of the other copies, although perhaps not. You are a mystery, Aaron, regardless of the book. My curse has prevented anyone, even the gods themselves, from seeing or sensing me, or anything to do with me for nearly a millenium now. Then, as if out of nowhere, you come along and as though it is no great feat, you can stare right at me. Granted, there are those who might be powerful either in will or in spirit to be able to resist the pull of the book’s power. But you seem to be completely immune to it. That, I cannot explain. What I can say is this, that those who are able to resist the book are the only ones who can oppose the Priesthood and perhaps even destroy the books.”
“Destroy the books? What would happen then?” Aaron asked. Anonymous shrugged.
“Again, I cannot say, but it is interesting that I could say what I just did. It seems there might be a way for me to tell you certain things if I change my purpose in saying them," the mage mused. "As for your question, the future is not in my purview. I would imagine that the Priesthood would crumble. The magic of the book would be lost to them. They would retain the knowledge they have gained through their use of the book, but that is all. However, part of the book’s magic is that it takes power from those who fall under its spell. The recipient would retain that power." Anonymous paused again. "Interesting. If I speak in theoretical terms, it appears I am less bound by my curse. This is something I will have to reflect upon further."
Aaron thought about what Anonymous had just told him about the book. He wondered why he had not felt any of the things that Anonymous or Calthas had described when he himself had opened it. He did not feel any weaker, nor did he feel as though he were enthralled to some kind of higher being.
“You said that the book, these books, were created for a god, but you're not allowed to say which god?”
Anonymous sighed.
“The books were not created for any one god in particular," Anonymous told him. "But it appears the books are connected to one in particular. It would be safe to assume that this so-called one god of the Priesthood might be connected to the five in some way. I know my words are unclear, but that is all I can say on the matter."
*****
The next morning, Aaron awoke early, setting out across the city on horseback, taking advantage of
the little bit of free time he had, hoping to learn more about the book. He felt the book’s slender bulk jab into his side where it was tucked into his belt beneath his cloak, reminding him of its presence with every hoof beat. It made sense that people would be so enthralled by what it contained. What could be more inspiring than direct divine revelation, particularly if there were also some power at work effecting a spell upon the reader. It was magic, and there was a design to it. Anonymous, had said there were five books, and there were five gods that Aaron knew of. As much as the mysterious mage was prevented from saying more on the subject, it only made sense that one of the five gods was somehow involved with the Priesthood.
He wished Anonymous could have told him more, and Aaron knew that the mage knew more than he could tell him. The way the ancient mage spoke of the gods almost casually, as though they were mere people, made Aaron wonder. Anonymous had told him that it was his mission in life to learn everything he could, to discover secrets and chronicle them in his spidery hand. Aaron wondered how long the mysterious mage had been at this task, and if he had done things to warrant being cursed by the gods themselves, he surely had some contact with them.
Aaron had wondered whether he should tell Anonymous what Calthas had discovered about the ward, or whatever it was He had not felt comfortable since Calthas had told him about the ward and the magic and was not sure whom he should trust. Magic had always made Aaron uneasy and moreso now that he could not escape it. As much as he had wanted to, he had not asked Anonymous about the ward that the mage Calthas had found on Aaron’s mind. While he and Anonymous had become companions of a sort, Aaron did not entirely trust him yet. It had occurred to him that Anonymous must have done something more terrible than he let on to have been so cursed by the gods. He rounded a corner onto the quiet street that ran to the center of the temple district.
