by T. S. Church
“That is not my concern, at least not yet,” Theodore replied, his own mood sombre for a moment. “The Imperial Guard are handling it. I will help when I am able, and when…”
“… when your duties are done.” Castimir finished Theodore’s sentence for him. “You see, young squire, I know you too well.”
“Your wits may be sharp, but how would your magic fare against the true steel of a knight?” Theodore drew his blade, the sharp sound of steel on steel reflected in the eager gleam of his eyes. He stood as if to attack the defenceless blue figure before him.
And then he laughed, lowering his weapon. It seemed as if it had been a long time since he had laughed so genuinely.
“I have moved beyond such childhood games, Theodore,” Castimir replied earnestly. “We no longer compete on the same level.” He opened his hand to reveal a dozen pebble-like stones resting in his open palm, with mysterious markings engraved upon them. The wizard smiled daringly at Theodore. “Do you think you could deliver a blow before I could stop you? Or do you lack the courage to try?”
Theodore’s eyes narrowed as he regarded his childhood friend coolly, but after a few seconds his icy demeanour evaporated and a large grin spread across his face.
“And what spell would you have used, Castimir? A fire strike?” The squire laughed again as he sheathed his sword. Yet the wizard remained serious.
“My abilities have grown considerably in the months since we last met in Falador. With these runes in my hand, I could snare you to the spot and bind your limbs.” He gestured dramatically. “You’d be defenceless! As for fire strike, that would be child’s play. It is one of the very first spells we wizards learn.”
“Truly, I remember when you first cast that one, Castimir. It was a day after the talent scout had identified your magical potential and gave you a few runes to practise with. You tried to kill that rat, and ended up setting fire to Rommik’s crafting store! No wonder he disliked you, even before you destroyed his entire inventory!”
It was Castimir’s turn to laugh.
“My uncle had tried to apprentice me as a crafter under Rommik’s guidance. What a mistake that was. I attempted to mould a ring and ended up breaking everything. He scowled at me for years afterwards!”
“Well, I hope you make a better wizard than crafter, Castimir. Your luck can only take you so far!”
Despite his words, it had always seemed to Theodore that Castimir had been the brighter of the two of them, and to have risen so quickly in the ranks of the wizards in the legendary tower only served to prove his point. It was a great accomplishment.
His face must have reflected his thoughts, for his friend spoke up.
“Let’s get something to eat, Theo,” he said, calling the squire by his childhood nickname, “and I’ll answer all your questions as we dine.”
The table was laden generously with food.
Theodore had heard tales of how the druids would only eat meat if it was specially prepared. The animal had to have been killed in a fashion that was respectful of its nature. Now several meat dishes sat between the two friends. Brightly coloured fruits, some of which he had never seen before, were piled in wooden bowls, their red and orange skins stirring the squire’s appetite.
“That one is chicken.” Castimir pointed with his fork to the dish that sizzled in front of them, his manners abandoned in the company of his friend. He seemed entirely intent on enjoying himself.
Theodore helped himself to the delicacy, careful to avoid filling his plate excessively. He noted Castimir’s wilful abandon, however, and a moment’s fleeting jealousy flashed through his mind when he considered his old friend’s new station in life.
Castimir was destined for great things, and even the shock of bright red hair that once had been such a cause of merriment now seemed to distinguish him from other men. It had darkened as he had aged but still stood out. And its owner moved with a confident assurance that he had lacked only a year before-especially in the company of Theodore, against whom he had always been physically weaker.
“I am nearing the end of my year’s travels.” Castimir said, recounting his wanderings. “I crossed over the mountain a few weeks after leaving you in Falador. The snows were not so bad, and I went with a party of travellers. If I had crossed alone, however, I doubt very much I would have survived. The wolves up there are huge, and always ravenous.”
He paused to poke his knife in the direction of White Wolf Mountain, using the moment to swallow a tender morsel.
“And Kandarin! When you get over the summit, round the highest pass, you see a land drenched in golden sunlight, and the ocean as vast as you can imagine.” He paused, and his eyes peered at something far away. “It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, Theo, amid the freezing snows and the howls of the white wolves!”
Theodore said nothing, though his envy grew unbidden. He had heard stories of Kandarin that lay beyond the mountain. Many knights had travelled there, and he had listened to their accounts with eagerness, dreaming of one day walking there himself.
“It has strange beasts as well. My mule died shortly after we descended the mountain. A wolf injured him near the end of our journey, and the poor creature did not survive. Thus, I was forced to purchase a replacement from a fur trader who had journeyed south all the way from Rellekka, the city of the Fremennik peoples who live on the northern edge of the world.”
Castimir looked at Theodore with an amused glint in his eyes, hastily swallowing another piece of chicken.
“It is a yak, Theodore!” he said, his enthusiasm youthful again. “A yak! He’s a stubborn creature, but he is a perfect substitute for my poor mule, and he is better suited to carrying my belongings with a purpose-built leather harness. I shall introduce you to him. I think he is far more useful when travelling in cold climates than a mule-he’s sure-footed and his shaggy hair is warm, if ever you need to shelter from the cold.” Then he looked wistfully at the rapidly diminishing food, as if debating what to eat next.
Theodore found himself turning sullen, yearning for the adventures his friend had already experienced. Before he could speak, the young wizard continued.
“I honestly think I might be the first person to bring a yak into Asgarnia. I thought I could sell him as a curiosity to one of these natural philosophers, but then they would probably cut him up to see how he works, and I couldn’t accept that!”
Then Castimir paused, studying his companion’s expression. He bit greedily into a rose-tinted apple and changed the subject.
“So how are things in Falador?” he inquired. “You look well-but then you never looked amiss!” His grin failed to turn Theodore’s humour.
“I have been with the knights since I was nine, Castimir,” the squire replied. “I have seen my parents only once in that time, when I graduated to the position of a squire after the long years as a peon. I still have another two years before I become a knight.”
Castimir gave him an encouraging look.
“It will pass quickly, Theo,” he said, certainty in his voice. “Of course, you must have doubts. What knight would you be if you did not?”
“A true one, Castimir! One who would not question my life’s direction.”
But the young wizard was undeterred.
“You don’t doubt your choices, Theo, you doubt your own ability,” he said. “Your parents weren’t rich, and many squires come from exclusive backgrounds. To them, having a spare mount or lance is something they take for granted. That is why you feel left out-you cannot afford the same entertainments as the other squires when they head into Falador for a night off.”
“I do not take nights off, Castimir.”
“And the others do?” A pained look appeared on his face, and Theodore stared down at the table.
“Sometimes,” he replied. “Not often.”
“Your hard work will be rewarded, Theo-I can promise that. Stick at it long enough and keep in the game, and you will be there at the end, ready to reap the
rewards.”
At that, they allowed the subject to drop, and both friends refilled their plates, Castimir unafraid of excess, and Theodore refusing to let the food go to waste.
SIX
“I want you to meet someone, Theo.”
The young squire’s mood had lifted since their meal. After they had refilled their plates, Castimir had gone over memories of their childhood, many of which Theodore had forgotten. They had brought the smile back to his face, and as they left the room he had gripped his old friend’s hand, in gratitude for making him remember what he had forgotten in the pursuit of duty.
Castimir spoke as they made their way toward the wizard’s lodging.
“This man has been in Taverley for several weeks, after returning from Catherby. He is eccentric-and possibly mad, I haven’t decided yet-but he is certainly worth meeting. I call him the alchemist because he has all sorts of strange theories about the world.”
“Nothing too blasphemous, I hope?” Theodore said smiling, seeing if Castimir would rise to the bait-for he had always been more open-minded than the squire.
“Well, he’s not a worshipper of Saradomin, Theo. I do not think he worships any of the gods as we know them. He believes them all to be one being, that each element of the traditional gods- such as order and wisdom from Saradomin, and chaos and death for Zamorak-are parts of a single entity. He believes that such differences are akin to different fingers on the same hand.”
“But surely he favours one aspect over the others? The wisdom of Saradomin, the balance of Guthix, or the chaos of Zamorak? How can you believe in all three when they run so contrary to one another?”
“That is what I said,” Castimir agreed. “And he remarked that the differences I had mentioned, just as you have done, are created by mortals to serve their own political ends.”
Theodore’s expression hardened.
“If he speaks too loudly, then, he will be declared a heretic,” he muttered.
“Maybe,” the wizard agreed. “But what kind of world would it be if it were true? Would your ideals change? Would you still pursue the followers of Zamorak with your sword in hand on your white charger?”
“You sound as if you almost believe him, Castimir.”
“I do not, Theo. The old gods aren’t so weak as to be knocked off their pedestals by the words of old men. But we wizards must be open to new ideas.”
They stopped outside a white-walled house with a thatched roof. Castimir entered without knocking.
The bitter smell was the first thing Theodore noted as he ducked his head under the low lintel. A large table stood in the centre of the room, behind which stood an old white-haired man. His thick-rimmed glasses glistened in the afternoon sunlight, which struggled to make its way through the fug in the room. Theodore’s hand instinctively covered his mouth as the smell began to choke him, and the man looked up.
“Ah! Leave the door open, Castimir,” he said. “Your friend is unfamiliar with chemistry!” The alchemist beamed with pride at the word, and said it with an exaggerated flair. “Chemistry!” he hollered. “Surely there can be no more noble an art.” He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the strange implements that lay scattered throughout the laboratory. Theodore noted test tubes suspended over the open fire or arranged upon the table, contentedly boiling away the suspicious liquids they contained, in some cases until there was nothing left.
“I had understood you to be interested in science, Ebenezer,” Castimir reminded him gently, and the old man’s eyes gleamed at the mention of the word. “What is this newfound enthusiasm you have embraced?”
“Science, yes, that’s right my young friend,” the man replied. “It’s one and the same. My chemistry is a study of science, Castimir-one of the many facets of knowledge that may reveal the workings of the universe.” A suspicious furrow wrinkled his brow, and he peered at Theodore. “But Castimir is a wizard, and wizards already think they know all there is to know.” He scowled darkly at the young man.
“Sir, Castimir told me that you don’t believe in the gods,” Theodore said cautiously. “Is this true?” He had met men like this before, men who preyed upon the discontent of the masses, preaching impossible solutions to the hardships of life. Liars, heretics, and con men, he thought.
But the alchemist didn’t respond as he expected. He shook his head.
“That’s not entirely true, squire.” The man gazed darkly once more at Castimir, pushing his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. “The evidence supports their existence, despite the fact that the prayers of the faithful still seem to go mostly unanswered. Yet in my travels I have seen miraculous demonstrations of faith, attributable to any member of the pantheon of gods who are currently worshipped.”
“Currently worshipped?” Theodore countered. “It is not for mortal-kind to pick and choose the gods.”
The notion was absurd to the aspiring knight, whose ideology was built around serving justice in Saradomin’s name.
“Isn’t it?” the alchemist parried. “I have seen terrible things done in the name of religion, by people who were good in all other respects. Isn’t the pantheon like a noble house, wherein each member is fighting for dominance?”
Theodore felt the blood rush to his face.
“It is not for men to pass on their own folly to the gods-they are above that!”
“A god above jealousy?” The old man seemed amused by the idea. “And yet legends tell of the God Wars, when the continents were devastated by their quest for dominance over one another.” But then he turned away, adding, “Perhaps you are right though. Who can know the will of higher beings?”
Theodore cursed himself inwardly. Was his faith in Saradomin so weak that it could be upset by a remark from an eccentric traveller? The Knights of Falador believed that Saradomin was the most powerful god, and their education was not accepting of all other religions. Some faiths could be tolerated, certainly, but those such as the followers of chaos, of Zamorak, were to be opposed wherever they were found.
He breathed deeply to calm himself before speaking again.
“I am sorry, alchemist, if my words seemed harsh. You have seen much more of the world than I, but surely you must acknowledge that Saradomin’s way is best? If all followed it, there would be no war, no dishonesty. Would we not have a perfect world?”
The alchemist raised his head.
“People boast too many differences for us to have a perfect world. What is perfect for you might not be perfection for anyone else.” He saw Theodore open his mouth to respond, and held up his hand to prevent him. “As for only worshipping Saradomin, that would make the world a boring place, wouldn’t it?
“But if the pantheon were incorporated as one god, that god would possess aspects of your Saradomin to reflect justice and order, and Zamorak to reflect the need for chaos. After all, even chaos exists in the natural order of things. The fox takes a rabbit where it can, following its nature-its attack chaotic, unplanned, the strong against the weak. That is how the natural world goes,” he said firmly.
“And what aspect of order does the natural world possess?” Theodore asked, his tone sarcastic. “Any at all?”
“Order is in nature every bit as much as chaos,” the old man replied, seemingly unperturbed. “If the fox eats too many rabbits there will be no more and it will starve. Thus there will then be fewer foxes the next year to hunt the fewer rabbits. In time, however, the rabbits will breed and once their numbers are back up then they will be able to sustain a greater population of foxes. There is order there, and chaos as well, but at a level that is hard for us to see. The natural world is something that is still largely hidden from us.”
Before the argument could continue, a door slammed, and a youth with dark hair and astonishingly black eyes appeared behind Ebenezer. He stood uneasily, looking at Theodore with what the squire could only think of as fear, hiding himself partly behind the alchemist as a shy child might hide behind its mother.
He looked about a
year younger than Theodore, an adolescent slightly taller than the squire. His teeth were very white, and his dark hair was thickly matted and unkempt, growing long to his shoulders. When he moved he did so with the natural grace of an animal, his thin body sinewy and tough. He noted Theodore’s gaze on him and stepped back farther still behind the old man, his white teeth showing in a feral snarl of distrust that startled the squire.
There was something about the lad that made him feel distinctly unsafe, as if he were in the company of a wild creature.
At the sound of the low growl, Ebenezer turned to reassure the lad, his hand resting on the youth’s shoulder in a gesture of reconciliation.
“You must excuse Gar’rth, young squire,” he began as the newcomer calmed. “He has had a hard life, and does not speak the common tongue. Plus he is hostile to armed men, even if they be of your righteous order.”
“He has nothing to fear from me, sir-unless he has broken the laws of the land.” As he spoke, Theodore was surprised to see Castimir glance knowingly at Ebenezer.
The old man shook his head.
“I found him on the road a few weeks ago,” the alchemist explained, “starving outside the walls of Taverley, a stranger to human kindness. Is a man guilty if he steals to prevent himself from starving?”
Theodore did not answer. In his mind theft was a crime, and crime-no matter what the cause-was inexcusable. His expression darkened, and Castimir moved closer to him, speaking quickly.
“You must excuse Ebenezer, Theodore,” he said. “He found the man that Gar’rth stole from and made full reparation. The farmer was entirely satisfied.”
“But has Gar’rth been punished?” the squire responded. “Simple reparations are not enough. He must be made to understand that what he did was unacceptable.” His hand had instinctively travelled to the hilt of his sword, caressing it unconsciously.
Before Castimir could reply, the alchemist spoke, anger colouring his voice.
“Did I not explain? He does not speak our language!” he said, his eyes flashing. “How can he be made to understand?” Ebenezer’s eyes darted between him and Castimir, and with a clear effort he calmed himself. “But I am teaching him. We are learning, aren’t we, Gar’rth?” He smiled at the youth as a teacher might smile to encourage a pupil.
