The troupe had six average-sized wagons of their own, so in addition to the two that belonged to the heirs, eight carriages set off on the Day of the Tanner for a voyage to Pont in Lorelia. Yan, Corenn, and Bowbaq sat in the larger wagon, leaving Rey and Lana alone in the smaller one, to the actor’s great joy. Grigán and Léti preferred to ride at the convoy’s side. The warrior enjoyed this position because it allowed him more freedom of movement. Léti, on the other hand, chose to ride alongside the warrior out of respect for the title of bodyguard, a role she took very seriously. She imitated the master-at-arms as often as she could.
For his part, Yan was thinking of Kaul, and of Eza and Norine’s home where he had grown up with Léti. Everyone felt emotional ties to their homes, but reason seemed to be pulling them farther away.
Yan told Corenn how he had fainted after casting his Will against the wardrobe. The languor had knocked him unconscious, even though he had thought he could withstand it. The Mother listened to the story attentively, and had no trouble explaining what had happened.
“You were almost certainly strong enough before you unleashed your Will,” she assured him, “but too weak afterward. Don’t forget that your mind uses the same energy as your body. You have to account for that when you are trying to anticipate the languor. You have to anticipate your weakness.”
Yan nodded; magic was not easy. Even for him, a natural-born student.
“I know several exercises,” Corenn continued, “a few tricks—ways to enhance your concentration. I had intended to teach you all of them once you understood the theory. That seems ridiculous now, since you have already advanced so much in your magic. You’ve already seen the Sublime Essence!”
“I don’t feel that skilled,” Yan replied seriously. “On the contrary,” he said, sulking, “I can’t control anything.”
“Even kings must breathe,” Corenn recited with a smile. “Since you have no problem concentrating, I think it would be a good idea to teach you how to use forces outside of your own body, to diminish the languor. This should help you master your power.”
“Didn’t you tell me that this technique is quite dangerous?” asked Yan.
“Of course. All magical techniques are dangerous, Yan. That’s why we don’t teach them to idiots,” said Corenn.
Bowbaq, who was driving the wagon and listening intently, said jovially, “Another reason I should stay out of it.”
They laughed, happy to finally be free of any immediate danger, but the moment was short-lived. Bowbaq’s comment reminded Corenn of their recent discovery, that all erjaks were magicians. She had never thought to understand their abilities in this way, but if she revealed their powers as magic, half of them would be killed in a single moon. The Arques were a superstitious people. It was best she kept the idea quiet, thought the Mother.
Inversely, all magicians would be powerful erjaks if, like Yan, they could see an entity’s entire spirit. While erjaks acted without method, instead using a power they could not explain, magicians immediately ascribed this power to having an innate understanding of the wind element. Erjaks acted instinctively, but the Arques had many established rules and taboos to prevent any erjak from abusing power. Though a magician would have to work to attain the instinctive power native to erjaks, no such taboos or rules would hold her back from abusing the power. The idea that her fellow magicians could use their Will on people’s souls and minds as if they were miserable guinea pigs froze Corenn with fear. For this reason, she thought it best to keep the knowledge a secret. Then she realized that this same discovery could have been made hundreds of times, and at each occasion, people could have made the same decision to protect other magicians and erjaks from the truth. Thus, the secret remained.
How many similar secrets were closed away in ancient books, centuries-old temples, forgotten ruins? Corenn had always believed in the supernatural, which, though unexplainable, still existed. But what they were confronting now went well beyond her prior beliefs. Immortals, children gods. So many questions and no responses. Yet . . .
“How does this technique work?” Yan asked, unknowingly pulling the Mother out of her reverie.
It only took Corenn an instant to recover and answer, “With serenity. You must be in complete control of yourself to draw energy from a foreign body, to manipulate it, and to unleash it on another object. It more than triples the difficulty in a typical spell, but if you master it, you can avoid the languor.”
“And what part of that is dangerous?”
“All that power in your hands is difficult to handle, even for the most prudent magician. The power is intoxicating. We always have a tendency to accumulate too much force, since it seems inexhaustible. It isn’t, though. Eventually there comes a moment when the object providing the force shatters. If this happens, the languor will overcome you with twice the force.”
Yan swallowed nervously. He could hardly imagine the effects of such a powerful shock. It would be a violent and painful death.
All this talk both kindled his curiosity and made him nervous, as all things magic did. He took a moment to gather his courage, and then finally asked Corenn a more pressing question.
“Bowbaq can teach me to be an erjak,” he said in a shaky voice. “I am curious . . . if you agree . . . I mean, could I . . .”
“Why do you want this power?” Corenn asked gravely.
Yan dropped his eyes and looked out on the countryside, until he saw Léti riding next to Grigán. He followed her with his eyes for a moment.
“Knowledge,” he finally responded. “I am curious what Bowbaq sees and feels, when he ‘speaks’ to his lion. Aren’t you?”
Corenn eyed him with a light smile, before letting out a frank laugh.
“All right, all right,” she conceded. “For knowledge. It’s only that, right? You will study a new discipline of magic with another teacher. Wind requires little force, but rather an expansion of your mind. It can’t hurt you. It is out of the question to stop our lessons, though. Those will continue regardless of your curiosity,” she said, falsely scolding.
“Oh, no!” Yan assured her candidly. “I would never dream of it.”
“And above all else,” the Mother said, serious again, “never try, never test your powers on a human again. The mind is a fragile thing, Yan. Bowbaq can read it, so much the better. You can alter it, though, Yan. That is much too serious a thing to be playing with.”
Yan nodded his head slowly. It was the first time Corenn had forbidden him from doing anything. He swore he would respect her command.
Soothed by the wagon’s irregular rocking, Lana gazed at the dreary countryside surrounding Romine. Like her friends, she was wondering how she had arrived here, so far from her home, her daily chores, her entire life. Previously a Maz of the Grand Temple, she was now a simple mortal thrown out on the street, another unknown future twisting in the wind.
Two moons earlier, the only life she had ever known was in the Holy City and a small part of the Grand Empire. Since leaving, she had passed through the Baronies, the Land of Beauty, and the Old Country. Now she was crossing the Wet Valley, with its sinister reputation, in a troupe of Rominian entertainers hostile to Eurydis. How strange all this was. How sad.
Lana tried to pull herself together, not wanting to fall into self-pity. It was a feeling that contrasted sharply with the three morals of the sage goddess Eurydis: knowledge, tolerance, peace.
She forced herself to find the manifestations of those three morals in her own journey. Eurydis had allowed her to survive the Zü’s blades, and the goddess had given her friends for her journey: the proud Grigán, Corenn, Léti, Yan, sweet Bowbaq, and finally, the libertine Rey. The goddess had, up until now, kept them all from irreparable harm. And, despite the difficulties they had faced, their quest continued, progressed, and now was finally starting to make sense.
Wasn’t that a sign?
Lana was no theoretician, and didn’t pretend to interpret divine signs, but in her heart of hearts,
she felt that Eurydis guided their way, that the goddess wanted them to succeed. The Maz attached herself to this idea, finding in it the courage to continue.
“Look over there.” Rey pointed. “Red pigs!”
Lana watched a drove of thirty or so pigs sleeping, shaded by a copse of cadenettes, the thin yellow-leaved trees that pocked the landscape. Insects hovered about the animals, making a cloud that hung over them, visible from fifty yards away.
“The Rominians eat the flesh of those disgusting animals?” she asked ingenuously.
“Not always,” Rey responded. “Sometimes it’s the opposite. I suggest you don’t get down right now; they would devour you in an instant.”
Lana looked back at the wild pigs with a frightened expression, and the actor couldn’t help but push the sham a bit further. “I’ve seen a group smaller than that one completely destroy a convoy like ours. Look, I think they’re starting to move . . .”
“Reyan, you’re lying to me!” the Maz realized. She continued, amused, “I am certainly a believer, but not that gullible.”
“But I’m not lying,” Rey insisted, acting offended. “And I would prefer it if you called me Rey. Reyan sounds much too fourteenth century.”
“But it’s the name of your ancestor!” Lana exclaimed. “Aren’t you proud . . .”
She let the sentence die in her throat. One might able to explain the other. Anyway, it was much too personal a subject for her to give her opinion.
Rey kept quiet and the conversation stopped for a moment, leaving them both with a forced smile.
“Tell me,” the actor suddenly broke the silence. “How is it that someone as beautiful as you is not married to an old, grumpy, bearded Emaz?”
“Reyan . . . Rey . . . I am a widow,” Lana said, not trying to hide the fact. “For two years, already.”
“I am very sorry,” the actor responded sincerely.
He had no desire to question the priestess on that story. The news was doubly bad; how could he compete with the dead?
Lana perceived the Lorelien’s trouble. She didn’t want to give him any false hopes, but she couldn’t stand to see him so sad.
“Rey,” she said gently. “You saved my life twice in the Deep Tower. I am deeply grateful for your courage and consideration. Without them, I wouldn’t be here. I will pray for you.”
“Blessed be Eurydis!” the actor said cynically.
There were no more jokes for the rest of the day, and after lunch Rey chose to ride alone, leaving Corenn to take his place next to Lana.
The convoy stopped well before nightfall in Deshine, the last town before the wild and deserted Wet Valley. Grigán couldn’t help but notice that their first traveling day hadn’t taken them very far, and that at this pace it would take them more than a dékade just to reach Pont. But as long as the entertainers earned money only with their arts, Deshine was a nonnegotiable stopping point.
Apart from the size, the town looked exactly like Romine. Once again they were surrounded by tall, painted houses showing the Uranian eagle, and narrow streets leading from house to house. A few dangerous-looking natives with brocaded capes marched in the streets like tormented souls. Deshine looked like a simple outskirt of the Rominian capital, and Yan wondered how the artists made any money visiting sad little towns like this one.
They left the wagons outside the walls, as the laws of the city demanded. The street performers quickly installed their camp. The chore had been done thousands of times before, and the camp went up without a hitch. When dinnertime came, each of the “families” ate separately. The heirs followed suit, happily hosting Gallop and Anaël—the master of wolves—who shared the same wagon.
Yan had heard about wolves in the Matriarchy, so he kept an eye on the beast they called Merbal. That fact that the beast bore the name of the legendary brigand who drank his victims’ blood didn’t help ease Yan’s fear of the wolf. Quickly, though, he got used to the elderly animal’s presence, as did his friends, and they all waited their turn to pet his ears when he came around. Only Léti had to push him away, two or three times, the wolf being attracted to the strong smell of her fresh leather armor.
Bowbaq had made friends with the wolf without the use of his erjak powers. It was just more proof, if they needed any, that the giant had a way with animals. Though the wolf was attracted to Bowbaq, it helped that he fed the animal more than half of his meal. The heirs couldn’t tell if that was to befriend the creature, or to keep its attention while the rest of the group finished their meals undisturbed.
Yan watched the giant’s method, looking for tricks he could use to refine his magic. Bowbaq appeared to be without any, though, or at least none that one could call a method. What Bowbaq would teach him would go beyond natural charm or gentility. It would be something greater: an expansion of his mind. Yan knew he needed a delicate and sensitive touch to be able to enter an animal’s spirit without making it mad with fear.
With his good-natured demeanor and his poor practice in the Ithare language, Bowbaq might not be the best professor for something so complex. This thought crossed Yan’s mind briefly, and as soon it did, shame surged through him.
The colossus Nakapan came around to call the troupe together, and Gallop and Anaël left to prepare for the show. The chief stopped long enough to propose that Rey join them, following Gallop’s advice.
“We can never have enough amuseurs here,” he explained awkwardly. “I will pay you a half-monarch for the night, if it interests you.”
Politely, Rey refused the offer, and the man left without insisting. But the exchange didn’t go unnoticed.
“Amuseur?” Léti asked. “What exactly is that?”
“It’s a pretty boring job,” the actor responded. “Amuseurs don’t do their own numbers. They simply act like idiots and make fun of a few people in the crowd in between other parts of the show. The Rominians love it.”
Grigán responded, “And to think, we had one for free all this time!”
“Never would I dream of making fun of a lord such as you,” Rey retorted maliciously.
The warrior walked away without responding, not at all sure he would win an exchange of words like this.
As they had arranged with the entertainers, the heirs were in charge of keeping an eye on the camp during the show. And while there was some trust between the two parties, the artists still left someone to keep an eye on the heirs.
For Yan, Léti, and Rey, their curiosity got the better of them, and they left camp to see the show. When they insisted that some of the others come as well, Corenn and Bowbaq joined them, leaving the camp guarded by only Grigán and Lana. Given the proximity of so many hostile Rominians, the two were left feeling alone and unsettled.
The warrior watched his friends walk through the gate, and felt uneasy. If he could have, he would have forced them all to stay at the camp.
Every time they separated, catastrophe followed. There was no reason to think this time would be an exception.
The troupe entered the city with their costumes on, accompanied by a raucous jig on a vigola. Their goal was obvious: to attract as much attention as possible. Yan, Léti, Corenn, Rey, and Bowbaq followed the colorful parade from a distance. The heirs were torn between a desire to participate in the party and the wisdom to not get mixed up in it.
Each artist showed off a taste of their talents. First came the three horsewomen, displaying five magnificent horses with skin as white as cream. The horsewomen were also acrobats in their own right, and they pulled off a long series of somersaults and mount changes without ever touching the ground, and then they stood on three horses riding side by side.
The horsewomen opened a pathway through the crowd for the others, and the remaining actors all surged through the gap. Behind the horsewomen was Nakapan the colossus, who took the place of honor as much for the prestige as for an excuse to keep an eye on his two daughters. Nakapan shouted to the crowd to follow if they were curious. His only performance was to occasionall
y flex his muscles, moving his body into awkward positions to show off his strength. By the grace of Eurydis, he didn’t notice that the Rominians were more impressed by Bowbaq, whose mere presence was enough to steal the show.
Behind Nakapan, his wife, typically a fire-breather, played an echoing vigola. Right behind her was Gallop, juggling five wooden balls that were replaced one by one with objects the clowning dwarves stole from the onlookers. The Lorelien soon returned the stolen goods to their owners, then replaced the fire-breather at the vigola, allowing her to spit fire and show off her skills.
Then came old Anaël and the wolf, Merbal, outfitted for the occasion with an impressive spiked collar and held back by a short leash, which his master held with two hands like a great huntsman. The wolf played his role perfectly, growling at anyone who came too close.
Behind them came the amuseur, who was just as Rey had described. The man wore a gaudy costume covered in the cross of Jérus. Even for a Rominian, the robe was over the top. Everyone knew how the Uranians hated the Jérusnians, and the outfit had its desired effect, especially when the amuseur made his character look daft: falling, tripping over the smallest obstacle, even letting himself be “bitten” by the wolf.
Tonk, the cruel master of monkeys, was next. His favorite trick was to let his chained animals scurry up to an onlooker and dishevel their clothes until he yanked the mimastins back. Inevitably, the victims would lose buttons, brooches, sometimes hair, leading their friends to burst out in laughter. Corenn began to understand the troupe’s success; the Rominians got pleasure from the misfortune of others. If she were honest with herself, they weren’t that different from other people.
Shadow of the Ancients Page 11
