Bones of the Earth (The Equilibrium Cycle Book 1)

by Jason A. Gilbert

  "I guess we should do the same," said Connor, now anxious to get home, away from the crowds and the conjecture.

  "Yeah, maybe it'll make more sense in the morning," said Tristan.

  Connor saw his mother leaving the amphitheater and quickly made his way over to her. They walked in silence on the way home, neither addressing the obvious questions, as there would be no answers tonight.

  The next morning came and went without any abnormality. Connor helped his mother around the house with various odd jobs, both of them distracted and distant. While running to Morgan's house to get some of her mother's butter rolls, Connor saw Icarus leaving Cyrus's house, speaking to Cormac. Connor was too far away to hear what they were saying, but Cormac had a pensive look on his face as Icarus spoke. Connor had to make his way back to his house, and he was not able to see the rest of the exchange.

  As the day went on, Connor did not think Icarus would come see him and his mother. The chances had been low anyways; his mother did not hold a high position within the clan, especially after the loss of Connor's father. She helped where she could and did her best for Connor, but they were not in line for any kind of leadership, especially for something like a Warden. Connor began to wonder if Icarus had gone to see any of his other friends, Tristan or maybe Nico. Tristan lived for the old stories, so having an actual Magus in his home would have sent him over the moon.

  Connor was cleaning a large cook pot behind their house when he heard his mother's voice from the front of the house.

  "Greetings, Magus."

  He came! Connor thought. I wonder why he would come see us?

  Connor dropped the pot he was cleaning and bolted into the house. He came flying through the small curtain that separated the back half of the house from the main living space, barely catching himself before running over his mother and the Magus.

  "Connor!" his mother snapped.

  "Sorry, Mother." He then turned to Icarus. "Hail, Magus."

  Connor bowed low, hoping he was showing the right amount of respect. As he bowed, he noticed the slight hint of a smile on the Magus's face.

  "Please, child. There is no need for that. Tradition is useful for gatherings, but here, in your home, you honor me merely by allowing me to be a guest." The old man's voice was soothing, easing any tension in the room. He then bowed low to both Connor and his mother.

  There was an awkward moment as the three of them stood in the main room. Finally Icarus broke the silence. "May I sit? It has been a long day and my legs are not what they once were."

  "Of course, Magus. Please, sit here." She motioned to the small table that she and Connor used for meals. Icarus lowered himself down into the wooden chair, letting out an audible sigh.

  "Thank you, Lady Mina. And please, call me Icarus."

  "Yes, Ma—Icarus. Would you care for a glass of tea?" Connor noticed the small pot sitting on the cookplate, steaming. She must have known that the Magus was coming.

  "That would be lovely."

  Connor's mother moved to the cookplate, grabbing two small mugs and pouring the hot tea in. As she did, Icarus turned to Connor.

  "Come, have a seat, young man. We have much to talk about."

  Connor raised an eyebrow. "We do?"

  "Connor!" his mother snapped again.

  "Sorry." He turned back to Icarus, embarrassed. "We do, Magus?"

  Icarus laughed again. "I appreciate your attention to decorum, but you have no need to call me that either, child. And yes, I believe we do."

  He motioned to one of the other chairs, and Connor took his seat as his mother brought over the mugs, one for Icarus and one for herself.

  "I've been told of what happened to your father. I was sorry to hear of his passing. I knew of him, and his reputation was honorable."

  Connor simply bowed his head in response.

  "Well, I suppose you would like to know why I am here," Icarus began, taking a small sip from his mug.

  Connor and Mina looked at the Magus expectantly.

  "I heard the story of your encounter with the bear from your friend Tristan. He's quite the storyteller." Icarus smiled.

  "Oh, there's not much to that," Connor responded.

  "I beg to differ, young man. According to Tristan, you were overcome by a mighty spirit and flung yourself at the bear from high up in a tree, screaming like a banshee as you struck the creature." His voice took on an air of grandeur, imitating Tristan's own telling.

  "What is this now?" Mina turned to look at Connor, a horrified look in her eyes.

  "It's Tristan, Mother. You know how he likes to exaggerate." He tried to brush past it.

  "As I thought as well," said Icarus.

  Connor shrugged and lifted his hands, as though to say, See? But then Icarus continued.

  "However, something did eventually strike me about the story. And while I have no doubt your friend was embellishing much of it, the fact that you had the courage to try and save your friends was not exaggerated. If anything, I don't think Tristan fully understands what it was that you did."

  "What I did? What do you mean?"

  "Did you feel different before you jumped out of the tree to save your friends?"

  "Different? How?"

  "Overcome by anything? A feeling, a thought. Anything like that?"

  Connor hesitated. He had not spoken of the blue light or the overwhelming feeling that had washed through him as he had watched the bear about to maul Cyrus. And yet, the Magus had asked about those specific feelings. He stared at his hands on the table, unsure of what to say. He could feel both the Magus and his mother's eyes boring into him, searching for the truth. He took a few breaths, still unsure of how to respond. He raised his eyes to his mother. He could see the worry etched clearly on her face.

  "What is it, son?"

  Ever since his father had died, his mother had been overly protective of him. Even at seventeen years, she looked at him still as a child. There were times it bothered him, when he felt that she was not allowing him to grow up alongside his friends. But he knew that her protection was sourced in love, and even when it bothered him, he tried just as hard to protect her.

  Connor finally turned to Icarus. "Yes."

  Icarus clapped his hands together. "Sacred earth! Tell me about it, child."

  "I'm not sure. I saw that Cyrus was probably going to die. Tristan couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t do anything. My bow was on the ground beneath me. I just...I just wished I had something, a weapon, anything. Then I felt this weird feeling. Like something running along my back, and... I don't know. A blue sword...light...thing, just appeared..." He trailed off.

  Icarus's smile stretched across his face. "Wonderful. Simply amazing."

  "What?" Mina asked.

  "Your son is very special, Lady Mina. The first to be born for thousands of years. I only wish I had known of him sooner. It would have been easier. But much has already been lost, and our time continues to grow short."

  "I…I don't understand," said Connor.

  "I know, child. All will be explained. But, for now, I must be off. I will see you this evening. Be ready."

  With that he stood quickly from the table and bowed to Connor and Mina, leaving the two of them staring blankly at one another over his nearly untouched mug of tea.

  For the second night in a row, Connor sat in the amphitheater, anxiously awaiting what would transpire. Tonight he sat with his mother—she had insisted. The clan was gathering again, taking their seats around him. He had seen Tristan from a distance, but his friend had not been able to speak to him. The talking stone was arrayed much the same way it had been the previous night, although this time without the large jar of sand. Icarus sat on the bench, conversing with Demetri, as they awaited the arrival of the rest of the clan.

  The last group to arrive included Cyrus. Connor watched the young man walk in next to his father, head held high. If there were to be a young man chosen for Icarus's task, it would likely be Cyrus, though the strange conversation C
onnor and his mother had shared with the Magus earlier stuck with him. Icarus had told him to prepare himself, but prepare for what, Connor couldn’t be sure. No one even knew what Icarus was going to ask of the clan.

  When everyone had arrived, Demetri stood to address the crowd, just as he had last night.

  "Greetings, Custos!"

  "Hail, elder!"

  "We are gathered again tonight in order to hear the request of the Magus, Icarus. Are there any here who now deny him that right?"

  There was no answer this time.

  "Then I leave the floor to him." He turned to Icarus and bowed. "Custos is at your service, Magus."

  Icarus lumbered to his feet. He gathered his heavy robes about him as he moved toward the front of the talking stone.

  "I will make this short, my friends. You have shown me great hospitality, for which I am grateful. There are many places in this world that do not look on the Magi so kindly. Your clan has held to its promise for two thousand years. And now, I must call upon that promise. Thousands of years ago, there would have been far more ceremony to this event, and the request I make now would have been made of all three clans. But you are all that is left.

  "I have need of a guardian, a warrior. One who will journey with me. My travels will take us far, likely through many dangers, but my mission is of utmost importance."

  The gathered crowd remained silent, waiting for the Magus to reveal his choice. Connor felt anxious. Before yesterday, he wouldn’t have even hoped to be chosen. Now, however, with everything that had happened, he wasn't sure what would occur. He glanced over at Tristan, who was watching the Magus intently. Nico and Alpin sat utterly still, focused on Icarus. Then he saw Cyrus. His chest puffed up, and his father's shoulders were straight and proud.

  "I would ask the permission of the clan to be accompanied by one of your fine young men.”

  The Magus stopped, looking out over the crowd. His eyes seemed to hover over a few of the boys. They seemed to linger for a long time on Cyrus. Then they shifted to Connor. Connor could see the sense of desperation in those eyes—and the sense of time. The Magus did not seem to be ancient, but his eyes showed something more. A deeper rush against forces beyond his ken. Then, breaking Connor’s study, the Magus’s voice rang out.

  “Connor Seward."

  Connor felt his breath catch in his throat. His mother let out a short gasp, her hand covering her mouth. In an instant, the entire clan turned to look at him. He felt all those eyes bearing down on him, the weight of the entire clan. Without conscious effort, he stood and was ushered forward by the shocked crowd. There were whispers among the crowd, some of surprise, some of contempt.

  He reached the talking stone, and Demetri met him halfway up the surrounding stairs. His face was as shocked as the rest of the clan's. Icarus waved him up onto the stone. The murmuring settled slowly, but one voice rose up above the rest.

  "A challenge." Cormac's deep voice boomed.

  Connor turned to see Cormac and Cyrus on their feet. Cormac's face was a mask of anger. He did not look at Connor, instead staring defiantly at Icarus.

  "Truly?" asked the Magus.

  "Not from me," Cormac explained, turning to the side to allow Cyrus to step forward.

  "You then, young man?" asked Icarus of Cyrus.

  Cyrus looked back at his father. "Go on, boy," said Cormac.

  "I...I challenge…" The words tumbled out. "I invoke the right of..."

  In the pause, Cormac jumped in. "He invokes the right of challenge by combat."

  "Cyrus must be the one to claim that right, Cormac," said Demetri, his eyes wide at the interruption. "You cannot invoke it for him!"

  Cormac looked intently at his son, as did everyone else in the amphitheater. Connor felt his anxiety increase. A challenge by combat. There was no way he could beat Cyrus.

  "I do," said Cyrus, his voice strengthening. "I claim challenge by combat."

  "The Magus does not have to honor that request. His claim comes from ancient times. What makes you think a simple challenge would be—"

  "He has the right, elder," said Icarus calmly.

  Demetri opened his mouth to speak again, but then cut himself off, realizing that arguing with Icarus would be futile. He nodded his head in acceptance.

  "Are you sure you want to do this, young one?" asked Icarus, turning to Cyrus. “You may come to harm.” Connor was still frozen halfway up the talking stone.

  "Yes." This time there was no hesitation in his voice.

  Icarus nodded solemnly. "So be it. You shall have your challenge."

  Cyrus stepped from behind his father and made his way to the talking stone. Connor noticed now that he had his father's sword strapped to his back, the same one he had tried to use against the bear yesterday.

  "Go on, Connor," Demetri whispered to him. "This has to be done."

  Connor felt as though his legs were buried in mud as he climbed the rest of the way onto the talking stone. Cyrus faced him from across the stone, sliding his sword from its sheath and testing its weight. Icarus walked over to Connor.

  "I cannot help you in this, child. You have to believe in yourself. I am here for you. Nothing must get in the way of that."

  No pressure! thought Connor.

  The Magus addressed the crowd once more. "Cyrus claims the right to challenge by combat. I will honor this request. The first one to yield forfeits their legitimacy for my claim as a Magus." Icarus’s voice did not carry much conviction.

  Demetri walked to Connor, carrying an ancient blade. "Use this, Connor."

  Connor took the sword, still dumbstruck by the series of events. He couldn't beat Cyrus. Cyrus was the best swordsman among the younger generation; some people even thought he might be better than the adults as well.

  Cyrus raised his sword to Connor in the traditional manner. Connor returned the gesture hesitantly, trying to get a feel for the sword Demetri had given him.

  In two quick steps, Cyrus was on him, and Connor brought his blade up gracelessly, trying to avoid Cyrus's swings. The clash of metal rang out through the amphitheater as the clan watched. A challenge by combat was rare, but not uncommon, though it was usually Cormac who initiated it.

  Cyrus swung up at Connor, his blade singing through the air. Connor jerked to one side, just catching Cyrus's sword and batting it away from him. Cyrus used the momentum, swinging in a full circle, and he struck out at Connor's legs. Connor jumped away, just avoiding contact.

  He's not holding back, Connor thought.

  Connor caught a glimpse of Icarus over Cyrus's shoulder. He was watching intently, but Connor could not read the emotions on his face.

  Suddenly the sword in Connor's hand rang out, and he felt it ripped from his hand. The blade spun through the air, skidding to a stop at the feet of the people in the front row. Cyrus expertly brought his blade back to a guard position, advancing on Connor.

  Normally this would be the time for Cyrus to ask for Connor to yield. The fight was obviously over. But Connor saw something else in Cyrus's eyes, an anger that he had only glimpsed before. He knew that Cyrus did not always like him, but this was more than simple dislike. And there was something else in that look. Fear. Cyrus was afraid of failing. Cormac was a leader within the clan. Cyrus had the potential to be the next elder. But Connor had been chosen by the Magus, and it was a blow he could not justify. A blow Cormac would never let him live down…if Connor lived.

  Connor took a step backward, approaching the edge of the talking stone. No one stepped up to stop the challenge. They all waited to see what Cyrus would do.

  Cyrus's sword seemed to move in slow motion as he brought it up over his head, ready to strike down on Connor. It arced through the air, thirsty for blood. Connor raised his hands and closed his eyes in a futile attempt to stop the strike.

  A surge ran down his spine, and he felt a pressure in his arms and expected it to be followed by pain. Are they really going to sit by and watch this happen? Then he noticed that there was no
sharp, cutting pain. He opened his eyes and saw the strange blue light emanating from his hands in the form of a sword. Cyrus's own weapon was held against the blue blade, stuck fast.

  Cyrus's eyes were wide, and he made no attempt to move. He could only stand and stare at Connor and the strange blue sword. Connor stared as well. The light did not disappear as it had the day before. The surge continued down Connor's spine, and he felt the fear dissipate. As it did, it was quickly replaced by anger and frustration. Cyrus had tried to kill him. Had been about to kill him.

  He threw Cyrus and his sword away from his body. Cyrus stumbled backwards, his sword falling from his stunned hands. Connor brought the sword up to Cyrus's chest, staring dangerously into his eyes.

  "Yield." The command was simple, and Connor was surprised to hear the conviction in his own voice. Confidence flowed through him, giving him a strength he had not known he had.

  Cyrus raised his hands slowly. He then lowered himself to one knee in front of Connor, his hands dropping to either side.

  The blue sword disappeared as Connor lowered his own hands. The confidence he had felt dissipated, leaving him feeling exposed in front of the clan. He turned to see the crowd's reaction. They all stared, unsure of what had just happened. Connor found Tristan. His friend was as dumbstruck as the rest. Tristan's eyes were wide and unblinking. Connor did not know what to do.

  "The challenge is finished!" cried Icarus, breaking the silence.

  The old man stepped up to Connor, putting an arm around his shoulders.

  "Do not worry, child. I will help you with this burden," he whispered into Connor's ear. He then turned to the gathering. "Connor Seward has proven himself in combat. Are there any who still wish to challenge his right to fulfill my need?"

  The gathering remained silent. Even his mother could do nothing but sit and stare, aghast. Connor saw Cyrus in the corner of his eye. He still sat on his knees, staring at his empty hands with an empty look on his face as though he could not believe what he had almost done.