“You’re a bastard, you know that don’t you?”
Ja’tar grinned, corked the bag and tossed the bag to his friend before he sat down on the log. He threw the last of their wood on the fire and waited for it to catch. The thin curls of white smoke rose into the trees before flattening out and skirting along the bottoms of the branches. The only sounds in the air were snaps and pops from the logs and crickets in the thicket.
“This was a damn good trip,” Zedd’aki said, pulling out the last piece of dried sausage, breaking it in half and handing the larger part to his friend.
Ja’tar ripped off a big chunk from the end and chewed as he alternated between bites with the sharp cheddar and the dried spiced sausages.
“When do you want to check out the tower,” Zedd’aki asked, stiff lipped while staring into the flames.
“We should probably wait until tomorrow; mayhap tomorrow evening would be better suited to exploring, fewer eyes are about.”
“Why wait, nobody will be in that part of the Keep?”
“I don’t want to risk anyone hearing anything, especially if we start setting off wards,” Ja’tar said, in reflection. “Besides, we’re going to be dead tired by the time we get back. I won’t feel like attacking old magic when I’m that tired.”
Ja’tar handed Zedd’aki his journal and the pen. “Here, you better write yourself some more notes so that you don’t think I’m crazy when I come to get you.”
“Can I do that? I’m no Keeper ...”
“You can if I allow it,” Ja’tar said, setting his hand over Zedd’aki’s and chanting. Zedd’aki felt his hand tinkle.
“Good idea,” Zedd’aki said, grinning. “Although we both know ye are crazy, old man!”
Ja’tar harrumphed, “I’ve been called worse, by better!”
Meager Choices
It had been several days since she had felt the Querd totems shutter her realm off from the magic of the Zylliac, the ethereal beast that controlled all magic in the realms. The initial pain had taken her by total surprise and had caused her to temporarily black out.
At first, To’paz hadn’t recognized what had happened, but soon enough, the symptoms of being without the gift screamed into her conscious mind. She felt a great void where the magic had been. After recovering enough to walk, she headed back to her stone house to think—and to put on the bracelet in which she had stored a reserve of magic, just in case something like were to happen.
Almost all the travelers prepared in such a fashion because being a traveler was dangerous business. She had received years of training prior to her assignment and perhaps more important, she had an opportunity to talk to other travelers. They had all emphasized the need to prepare for an emergency. Although the Guild didn’t teach or encourage such things, she had taken their suggestions to heart and sought the magic stones as soon as she could.
After she got over the shock of what had occurred, she had sat in her rocking chair for two full days pondering her future, or lack thereof. To’paz ruefully admitted that she had faced the uncertainty in a less than sorceress-like fashion, spending an exorbitant amount of time filled with self-pity, and had sullenly decided to give up. She had resigned herself to termination; if this was to be her fate, grow old and die in a matter of years, then so be it!
She stared down at the bracelet on her wrist. It held all the magic she possessed. She considered herself lucky that she had prepared and stored away magic in case of an emergency. It was hardly enough, but it could keep her alive for another ten or fifteen years. A pittance when one considered that she was destined to live for millennia or more.
She looked longingly at the necklace that sat on the table, the bright green stone sat dull and lifeless. She swore at herself for never charging it after her last trip to the Keep. She had put off the task for there always seemed to be tomorrow. The stone was large enough that it could have held enough magic for her to live another hundred years, maybe.
She beat herself up over her carelessness.
To’paz spent those several days thinking of options. She sat in her hand-carved rocking chair in front of the fire sipping tea, rocking and thinking—analyzing all of the recent events and options that were available to her. She compared one plan against the other; none of them was very good.
She could try to send a written message to the Keep, but that would use up the only trip her ring would allow. She stared at the ring and rolled it around her finger. She couldn’t go herself, not without a summoning, even if the realm had not been closed. The magic was set up that way to prevent someone else from forcing a traveler to use their ring, or from giving their ring to some other mage to use. It was better safe than not, but it certainly presented an insurmountable problem in this case. Of course, she could waste it and send any non-magic user back, but what would be the point of that? She sighed heavily. These things were never simple. Nothing was ever simple when magic and the gift were involved.
She petted the tabby cat that was sitting on her lap. The cat looked up at her and rolled over so that she could scratch his belly. She obliged. Under normal circumstances, she could hear and understand what the cat was thinking, but today, she didn’t dare risk using her magic. However, she knew what the cat wanted. The cat purred loudly, its eyes squeezed tight in obvious enjoyment of her touch.
She supposed she could live out her remaining years using the power of the bracelet to sustain her. She could hope they’d reopen the flow of the gift to the realm by then. Nevertheless, she would grow old, and more importantly, she didn’t believe they would reopen the realm any time soon. After all, it had been a very long time since a watcher had visited her, and as far as she knew, no realm had ever been reopened after a Closing.
Not that being mortal would be such a bad thing. She would be able to have close friends and live a normal life. She would grow old and eventually pass on, just like all the others in this realm. She would never be able to ascend. That bothered her. It meant that she would never live another life. This would be the end, and that was that.
She considered transferring her being into the bracelet, a bal’achar that she had stolen from the Keep the last time she visited. The problem was, once she was there, she was trapped until someone found her and then she would have to pray that the person knew how to get her out. Moreover, even if she were to be found and retrieved, there was the problem with finding a suitable vessel into which she would be resurrected. She gently rubbed her thumb over the milky-white soul catcher, watching the internals of the nearly clear stone swirl. She sighed, taking another sip of the minty tea.
The only other option that made any sense was for her to get pregnant and have a child. The child would have her gift, and she could train him, teach him. She wondered why she had assumed that the child would be a boy, prophetic wishing perhaps. However, it was more likely a slip of her subconscious mind. She could send the child through the gate because the Gates didn’t work on children before they reached maturity. The child could carry the bal’achar. She supposed she could put enough of herself into the bracelet that she could be transferred, even in her weakened state.
Was it a good plan? Darkhalla no, but it was better than no plan at all! The child could go through the gate even though the source no longer flowed. Her brother would be furious. Then again—let him! He wasn’t the one who was slowly rotting away. He could curse at her through the bal’achar. She was sure he would, and would take great pleasure in it too. Of course, he would use the shorter version of the curse. She could hear him now, ‘what the halla was she thinking?’
Yet, she knew she didn’t have nine months to have a baby. She would be lucky if she had four or five before she reached the age, where having healthy children was near impossible. Without the strong magic, the aging would be rapid at first. She would lose more than a decade in the first year alone.
It suddenly dawned on her that there might be another way. She could have the child sooner, but she would have to use most of he
r gift. She could have her baby in less than three weeks. Well, maybe three weeks was pushing her luck! However, would she have enough energy to transfer to the bracelet? That was the question.
She shook her head. She knew the rules. No children were allowed, not with those you were sent to guide. The Guild was very firm on that order. On the other hand, who would know and what could they do to her? She was walking dead either way. At least some record of her failing and her pitiful life would remain. She knew her father, bless his soul, would have been furious with her, so would her older brother, the Keeper. She also knew that he would not hold it against the child and would raise her son or daughter as his own.
The rule perplexed her. Why, she wondered, would you make a rule about not being able to have children with partners from other realms? What harm was there in that?
It most certainly wasn’t about the magic, and most definitely wasn’t as if the men of these realms were so vastly different or for that matter even in the slightest way ... inferior to those of her home. She just couldn’t come to grips with the rule. She knew that she must be missing something, but she just couldn’t put the pieces together. The one thing she knew for certain was that the Ten always had good reasons for the rules they put in place, even if the rest of the Keep didn’t understand them.
Whom could she get to be the father? Now there was a challenge. She thought about the qualities she needed, and whom she would choose to father her child. Someone she knew, or maybe even a total stranger. She knew it couldn’t be just anyone, the presence of the gift was necessary. She smiled, good looks and intelligence, would be a big plus.
Magic use in these parts was fairly primitive, at least by her standards. The entire realm had yet to be invited to join the Guild. That would only happen once their magic became strong enough that the Guild deemed that they required tutelage and control.
The only candidate she could come up with was Merl, a local mystic of some notoriety. She had met him at a teaching on the cleric ways at the castle Fenwick when he was a young upstart with wild ideas and initiative. Although his skills were rudimentary, he had a good head on his shoulders and was well educated. He had been more accurate than he had known with some of his far-reaching ideas. She also remembered that he was strong in the gift.
They called it ‘the sight’ here, the unknowing also called it luck. Nevertheless, his magic was different, not like the jiin. She tapped into the gift and controlled the flow of the energy it possessed, provided by the Zylliac, the ethereal magical being that haunted the lower reaches of the realm. She came to realize that she had no ‘magic’ in and of herself. Merl had no ties to the gift or the beast. As she understood magic; she had no idea how he worked his gift. It seemed improbable to her that he could control the magic of the earth. He wasn’t a Druid after-all!
She figured out that Merl pulled his magic from the earth and nature. He used all that lived to yield his power, and yet, he wasn’t a Druid. He was filled with the power that he attracted it to himself somehow. If she had time, she would have been able to master it too, but she had been too busy with her duties for the Guild to be bothered with that which she didn’t need. In retrospect, she should have made the time.
Regardless, with a little luck of her own, the man would remember her. He had been most impressed with her skillful arguments and knowledge of the ancient ways. She also remembered catching him staring at her during the lectures. He was known to be quite the ladies’ man and his reputation of bedding many of his understudies was well known amongst those of the realm.
Many of the local maidens bragged about it, hoped to have his son or daughter to raise their station. She smirked. He had always managed to elude their capture. She knew he would remember her, even after nine years. He would remember the slap across his face, if he remembered nothing else. Merl had deserved it.
Therefore, on the third day, she decided to stop mopping about, take her destiny into her own hands and swing into action. She didn’t care what the Guild would think, nor her brother, Ja’tar. She damned their petty rules and edicts! She wasn’t about to let her life count for naught! Her plan was not without its risks, but perhaps, if executed with precision, she would someday be able to roam the realms again, albeit not in her own body. Of course, that was just wishful thinking, but on the outside chance—she wanted a body that suited to her needs.
She decided on the morrow to pay an old acquaintance a visit and enlist his help. She knew she wouldn’t be able to complete her plan on her own. She only hoped that Merl would remember her ... fondly. It had been a very, very long time. He had been young then, an upstart around the realm—filled with grandiose ideas and plans. She wondered how he had aged and how his mastery of magic had progressed. She had heard rumors, of course. The realm was small and word got around. He had a lofty reputation, but she didn’t believe rumors and hearsay. She would see for herself in another day. She hoped he lived up to her expectations.
She desperately wanted to get started now, but it was too late in the day for striking out; the castle was a fair walk. Now that her mind was made up, she was anxious and antsy. She filled the rest of her day with distractions; she cleaned, she washed her clothes, she sorted her herbs. She prepared her supplies and smiled as she packed up her bag.
She would go to bed early in order to leave at daybreak the next morning. She wanted to give herself plenty of time to accomplish her task. She resolved that she would wake whilst it was still dark and set out for the castle before the frost was off the grass.
Out of Options
It was barely daybreak, and the frost was still heavy on the ground. To’paz set forth down the dirt path toward the castle. While it was just a brisk thirty-minute walk from her hut to the main road, the walk to the castle would take her the better part of the morning.
When she arrived at the end of her trail, she turned north onto the well-rutted road that meandered along the valley, more or less following the gurgling stream that led to a lake. The lake was at the bottom of the long, steep hill upon which the castle had been built, some two centuries ago. It was an idyllic location, defensible, with tall cliffs on two sides, the lake on the third and the only access up the well-exposed road.
She had left early, but already the merchants and traders were on the main road. With exhausted faces, they had started to make their way to the marketplace, their carts, pulled by teams of oxen straining against their yokes. The carts rocked and squeaked as they hobbled over the poorly leveled path. The drivers cracked their whips and shook the reins, urging the oxen on. Some just carried their goods in baskets on their heads, precariously balanced on straw rings. Others held the handles on small carts, with heavily callused hands. The two-wheeled carts were simple to steer and easier on the back for transporting goods than carrying them on a yoke.
She watched the merchants heading to the castle, knowing they were oblivious to her dilemma. She looked the same as she always had. A few waved or dipped their heads in respect, recognizing her as the medicine woman, but most just focused on keeping their carts in one piece as they wove their way down the pothole-laden and rock-filled road.
She thought about her home in the Winseer Mountains. It would still be early spring there. The snow would barely be melting, and the trees would be in the middle of bud break. The air was pure and clean, and the tall pines smelled heavenly when you walked through the forest. She loved the soft cushiony feeling of the fallen needles underfoot and the surprise patches of Paintbrush or purple Columbine with their little clusters of four trumpets opening to the sky as if to shout, I’m here!
Here, it was already the start of harvest. The leaves were changing from the light lush greens of spring to the full deep greens of summer. The days were already long and hot and bound to get hotter if old man John’s sore toe had anything to say about it. The spring vegetables were already up and the first crop of peas and greens were already cut. Soon, carrots and beans would be ready. She knew that it was likely she wouldn
’t live to see the fall harvest, not if her plan worked.
She reached the final leg of her journey, and after leaving the thick woods, stood in a clearing staring up at the huge castle. She walked purposefully up the tall hill upon which the castle was located, at times having to stop to catch her breath. The castle had no moat; it was surrounded by serrated rock outcroppings and only the narrow road allowed access to the gate.
They were just raising the heavy metal gate at the portcullis when she approached, and she could hear the men grunting with each yank on the strong ropes as they opened the grounds of the castle for the day. It was customary to close the gates at night to prevent thievery and to guard against the possible attacks of rival Lords. The merchants at the front of the line rushed and jockeyed to claim what they perceived as the choice spots to set up their wares.
The guards removed their hats and bowed as she passed. A few called out rude and crude remarks, but it wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before.
She went past the ramparts and through the main portcullis, walked along the barbican, and into the outer ward. Merchants were busy setting up their wares and tents for the day. She passed the barracks and stables, quiet at this time of morning because the soldiers had already ridden out on patrol.
A few horses whinnied, and the blacksmith was stoking his fire, getting ready for a sweaty day of shoeing. The stable boy had already finished changing out the straw and cleaning the stalls and was busy brushing out the horses. He waived at her as she passed. She motioned back in friendship.
She only noticed a few guards marching along the parapet; they occasionally looked out over the merlon for threats from outside the castle, although they were growing complacent. The realm had been in an unusual time of peace, and in all likelihood, they would not face an invading force—today.
That being said, the head of the castle’s armory was having his men practice their crossbow work. The lightly-armored crossbowmen practiced drawing their bows behind their pavices. The tall narrow shields had stakes in the corners and a brace in back used to provide protection while they were arming their weapons.
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