by CM Raymond
Dwellers of the Heights had a different conception of time than those humans dwelling in the cities and even the woodlands of Irth. Just as Ezekiel and Hannah could lose time in meditative states, the mystics did as well. But their meditations had become a consistent state of being. For them, meditation was as commonplace as eating or sleeping for the rest of the world.
Just as he moved to knock for a second time, the door eased open, and a man nearly a quarter of Ezekiel’s age stood in simple robes much like his own. Only the younger man’s covering was pristine, unworn by travel in the world beyond the monastery walls.
The man stepped aside and tilted his head inward. An invitation to their hospitality. Ezekiel nodded, smiled, and stepped into a grand entry that spread into a vaulted ceiling designed to draw the eye toward the heavens. He stood just inside the door and waited.
The man simply stared at the magician, and Ezekiel wondered if his host had taken a vow of silence, a practice not altogether uncommon for the mystics as they plumbed the depths of the human mind.
Finally, he said, “Ezekiel, you are most welcome to the home of the Mystics of Irth. We have been expecting you.” A serene smile spread across his lips, and Ezekiel wondered if he was softened by drink.
Ezekiel, who was capable in mental magic to a certain extent, knew the dangers of the art. It was one that had its own consequences on its users. Traveling the earth through astral projection and stepping into the minds of others wasn’t an easy task, nor a clean one.
The community had turned to strong drink brewed in the bowels of the monastery to take the edge off the changes to their minds. He couldn’t blame them, but it made for awkward interactions such as this.
“Thank you, brother. It has been a long time since I have stepped into the Heights. It looks as though the community has suffered these years well.”
The man nodded his head. “Few make the trip to the Heights. Anyone attempting the journey is not here for harm, but for help. It makes life on Irth a dream.”
Ezekiel smiled and wondered if that dream would always last. “Indeed. I am here to talk with the master. Unfortunately, not all of Irth can experience the peace of the Heights, and I am going to need some guidance from the one I trained years ago. Can you take me to the master?”
“Follow me. I will talk with the master and confirm a meeting, but I know you must be tired. I hear that jumping from the lowlands takes its toll, even on one as talented as you. Let me show you your room. I will have one of the initiates bring food and drink.”
“Just tea for me.” Ezekiel knew that the elixir they made in the lower levels was the best in all the land, and he would be happy to imbibe, just after his meeting. He needed to keep his head clear and his intuitions sharp for what was to come. Strong alcohol was good for sleeping, but he had not come to the Heights for rest.
The man nodded and showed Ezekiel his room.
Alone in the chamber, he picked at the plate of food provided by a child no older than fourteen. The kid said nothing as he placed the tray on Ezekiel’s table.
As an early teen, he had already entered the age of training. The mystics started earlier than the Arcadian’s, which was one source of their power. Paired with the seclusion of their mountain paradise, the early education made the little ones powerful much sooner than their lowlands counterparts.
As Ezekiel’s stomach filled, his energy returned. Pouring a mug of piping hot tea, he slumped in a chair in front of the fireplace. Its flames danced, lulling him into deep thought.
The magician’s mind dwelled on the edge between waking and sleeping, and he thought of his newest student.
Hannah had something in her that was different than all the others. Maybe even different than Adrien. Ezekiel’s advantage was his diligence.
Hers was her spirit.
There was something about her that made the power within more pure and powerful than his would ever be. He wished that he could talk with the Oracle about her. Lilith would certainly untangle the mystery of the woman’s power.
But there wasn’t time for that journey, and he hoped that the Master Mystic might have some answers to his questions. They were not only powerful people but knowledgeable.
His mind passed from his newest pupil to his oldest. As a boy, Adrien was always different than the others. Ezekiel had attributed his morose attitude and cynical view to that fact that he was an orphan who did whatever it took to protect himself. Without a doubt, this contributed to who Adrien would become. But there was something that flowed inside of him that contributed as well.
It seemed that nature and nurture created a monster, and with Ezekiel absent to guide the young man, the monster had overcome Adrien’s better tendencies.
The magician cursed himself for leaving Arcadia in his hands. If he had only stayed, he may have been able to see the boy and the city to maturity.
The door squeaked open behind him and pulled him from his mental self-flagellation.
“Was the food appropriate?”
Ezekiel couldn’t help but smile at the odd turn of phrase that the mystics often used, but he followed the man’s lead. “Most appropriate, as is the rest of your hospitality.”
Nodding, the man stared at Ezekiel. The magician reminded himself that navigating the community took the utmost patience. Monastery life was not one that valued efficiency. After what felt like an eternity, the man said, “The Master will see you now.”
****
Climbing the stairs to the Master’s residence, Ezekiel felt the joy build in his heart. Master Selah was his primary pupil during his time in the Heights. Their work together not only laid the foundation for a community of magic users that were arguably the most powerful in Irth, but also a friendship that Ezekiel knew transcended time and distance.
While there was much to be discussed regarding Adrien, Arcadia, and Ezekiel’s newest student, he also yearned to catch up with the man whom he considered one of his dearest friends.
His mystic escort opened the door for Ezekiel and stepped aside. The magician stepped across the threshold and looked up, hoping to find his friend. But instead of the big, old, jolly man with skin darker than the night, he looked into the eyes of a young woman—no older than her mid-twenties—with a beauty that could start wars, and even stop them. Her hair was dark, with hints of auburn.
She rose as Ezekiel entered.
“Master Ezekiel,” she said through a perfectly white smile, “I have waited a long time for this day.”
He froze for a moment as if he were one of the mystics. “You’re...”
“A woman? Yes. Young? Yes.”
“Not Selah,” was his reply.
Her eyes cast to the floor. “Forgive me. I thought you knew of his demise. Your friend passed on to the next plane two years before now.” Her speech was steady and more like those who dwelled in the lowlands but still marked with the mystics’ idiosyncrasies. “His departure was swift and distinctly appropriate. I now hold his chair. Please, sit.”
Ezekiel took his place by the fire adjacent to the woman. Apparently, Hannah was not the only young woman who had special talents.
Some believed that the Age of Madness would be the great leveler. A catastrophe that would allow the world to emerge with people on equal footing, that it would wipe away the differences of race, class, and gender.
But Arcadia had shown him that it hadn’t come to pass. Rich men still held the mantels of power, but this woman and Ezekiel’s newest student may be indicators that the patriarchal society was passing. It was said that the Queen Mother had also been an outlier.
A woman to arise in a male dominated world. One that could show the power, might, and justice of the fairer sex.
“My name is Julianne. And it is my honor to lead the Mystics now in our pursuit of the greater peace.”
Ezekiel nodded. “How did you…”
She smiled and held up a finger. “First, a toast. We must proceed with procedural appropriateness.”
Picking up two goblets from the table between them, she handed one to Ezekiel. She raised her own, it’s crystal causing the flames from the fire to dance around the room. “To the Matriarch and the Patriarch.”
Ezekiel raised his glass and clinked hers. The scent of the strong elixir hit his nose before the wetness covered his tongue. He sipped slowly and took in as little as possible without providing offense.
In the absence of his old friend, the magician’s defenses were heightened. Among the mystics, one had to be cautious. They were good people, but they never minded burrowing into the headspace of those around them.
None of them saw it as trespassing. Everyone, in their experience, was a book open for browsing.
When it came to telepathy, nothing primed a subject more than a pint or two of strong drink. He would need to stay sharp until he could trust her—or determine that she, too, had been turned like Adrien toward manipulation and service to herself.
She licked her full lips, and color rushed to her cheeks. Tilting her head, Julianne said, “Your defenses are strong, magician.”
“Yes. Forgive me. I am not prone to allowing strangers to walk the halls of my mind.”
“Understandable. Where you’re from it is common for people to use magic for nefarious ends. We are not like the lowlanders, though. Entering one another’s thoughts is a way to increase intimacy and speed familiarity.”
“Yes. Well, we will take this slow. Forgive me. The world has shaped this old man into a creature of caution. Now about you…”
She nodded. “As you wish, Master Magician. As for me, I am too young to have known you when last you walked these halls. But your name is legend around here. Almost as much as the Matriarch and the Patriarch. I was born in a small village north of Arcadia, but Master Selah heard of my gifts on one of his pilgrimages and brought me here. My parents were more than happy to be rid of their freakish daughter.”
“I took to the temple quickly and was chosen as one of three to study under Master Selah personally. Succession was always on his mind, something he learned from you, no doubt. We were taught the mindfulness and the arts from the earliest of ages. Much younger than when most of the students began. I wasn’t meant to be in this room this early, but Selah’s transition came years sooner than any of us expected.
“On his way beyond, he chose me as the one to take his place. As you can imagine, it was to my surprise, and to those around me. The calling has been a most challenging one. But with enough time alone and drink to soothe my mind, it has been utterly tolerable and appropriate.”
Ezekiel grinned and sipped from the goblet again. He didn’t want to be rude, not to mention that the finest drink in all Irth called out to him. The second swallow he felt warm in his belly and move up to his face. “Indeed, there is a time to drink for all of us.”
Julianne bust out in laughter. “We mystics agree, but the time is always now. Granted, we have become experts at judging the extents of our little potion here. Always mindful not to allow it to take us too far. We have not forgotten the lessons of control that you taught Selah, and that he passed down to us.”
She paused to stare at the fire. Ezekiel put his defenses on high alert, concerned that she might be trying to burrow in. Then Julianne continued, “There will be time to become more acquainted, but for now, may I inquire as to what brought you back to our humble home here in the Heights?”
“Of course. I wish that I had come only by personal preference, but I have been driven here by events that have occurred below.” Ezekiel’s speech was already bending to match the woman’s, a habit formed over years of moving amongst the different people groups spread out over Irth.
Ezekiel went to lengths to tell the story—as far as he knew it—of Adrien and his cruelty over Arcadia.
She listened intently while sipping her goblet.
As Ezekiel’s tale ended, Julianne stepped in. “Yes, Selah had long been suspicious of your former student, a position I, too, share. Word comes back from the mystics that travel to Arcadia and into the further reaches of Irth. And, from time to time, I jump to places to take in the scene myself.
“Adrien’s thirst for power has been well documented. It is, as far as we can tell, insatiable. But do not think that his obsession extends only to within the walls of Arcadia. His desires go further, and these might be more troubling.”
“Magitech?”
“Yes. Our own approximations are that the tools he can imbue with magical power are being created as test pieces. He is concerned for things greater than magic powered carts and automatic doors. Something more global. Adrien desires to spread his philosophy of magic to each of the corners of Irth, and with it his power and influence.”
The old man nodded. “Your people, they still go on pilgrimage, even with the threat of Adrien’s power.”
Julianne drew from her goblet. “Some do. But less and less. It is a difficult thing. Our magic is best when we make the pilgrimage, but there are risks involved, from the lowlanders. Adrien has soiled their minds—he uses a man named Jedidiah, they call him the Prophet, to spread disinformation about the use of magic. It is a most clever deceit, as he does it in your name.”
Ezekiel remembered the old man in Capitol Park and how odd it was that the man was preaching about the Founder’s return, only to pervert Ezekiel’s own position on the use of magic. Now, it was all making sense.
The man was a plant—part of the narrative about magic and power that Adrien was trying to spread. The student was brilliant years ago and now seemed to be something of a mastermind.
“The bigger problem for us,” Julianne continued, “is that the pilgrimage was also a time for our people to look for others with the gift of the mystics—those with a propensity for the art of mental magic. In areas where Adrien’s influence has spread more rapidly, we are distrusted at best and attacked at worse. No one wants to join us in the Heights. Our number is dwindling and soon the art could cease to exist.”
“Magical extinction.”
“Of the most severe kind,” she agreed.
Knowing that their time was nearly over for the evening, Ezekiel drank deeper of the liquor. He needed the alcohol to ease his heavy heart. “Julianne, this is why I have returned. Adrien is a threat to all of magic—to all of Irth, and he must be stopped. But I cannot do this alone, and the Matriarch knows I would muster little magical support from Arcadia. I need the aid of allies beyond its walls.”
“I understand your proposition. But you need to remember that mystics are not accustomed to the martial affairs of our world. We are a people of peace. We traffic in the merciful side of justice.”
The alcohol and conversation welled up in the old man. He had heard the argument before, Selah was a man committed to the peaceful life. It’s one of the reasons the mystics holed themselves up in the Heights, which made sense in a time of civil rest.
“Julianne, mercy has its time and place. And it is the appropriate companion to the sword of wrath. But grace without wrath is impotent. It is time for you to help me stop this threat to Irth. Cutting off the monster’s head is an act of mercy for the oppressed beneath his heel.”
She nodded again, and he trusted she was taking in his arguments. But he needed more than such passive assent. He decided to play his final card.
“There’s more,” he said. “I have a new student, someone special, who has a unique gift that may be able to help us reclaim this land.”
“What is his name?”
“Not his. Hers. Hannah—and she has fed on the root of oppression and it has left a despicable taste in her mouth. She is ready to do whatever it takes to overthrow Adrien’s growing empire and to restore Arcadia to what we first meant it to be. And if we cut off the root, we keep the tree from extending to the rest of the world. We can keep it out of the Heights.”
