A Bitter Brew

by Greg Curtis

  Then the spinning silver scythes returned, streaking down out of the sky in a long arc and slicing off the end of one of the creature's feet on their way through, and she watched as another massive piece of the beast tumbled to the ground.

  Too late the beast finally realised it was in trouble, and it tried to turn around and flee. But with no eyes it no longer knew which way led to safety, and when it wheeled about it actually turned in a full circle and ended up flying further into the heart of the attack. Straight for the city walls. An entire flock of the spectral hawks were tearing into it by then, and she knew the beast wouldn't survive much longer.

  The end came even sooner than she had expected though, as the city cannon suddenly roared their action, spraying shot at the beast, and by some miracle the beast's neck unexpectedly came apart in mid flight. Marnie watched it crash to the ground, dead well before it hit. The violence of the impact left a shallow crater in the grass and shook the ground.

  After that there was silence. Shock and disbelief had robbed everyone of their wits. Even the soldiers on the wall were left standing there in silence as they stared at the giant corpse. But then someone yelled out and the rest joined in, and soon the best part of fifty thousand people were screaming in victory. Marnie screamed with them, unable to help herself. She didn't care that tears were streaming down her cheeks, or that blood was leaking from her nose. It didn't matter that she looked like a fool as she joined the others in dancing and leaping about. The victory, and more than that the relief of having survived the attack, was too great.

  So she continued screaming and yelling like a mad woman, sometimes crying out her thanks to the Benevolent One, and mostly losing herself in the moment.

  But at some point while she was leaping a dancing like a mad woman she realised that she had just been given another reason for going through with Hendrick's plan and gaining more spells. Because she had to find a way to kill these things herself. Never again would she be left lying helpless on the ground waiting to be torn apart by them. She needed some warspells – powerful ones. Because these things, whatever they truly were, would only keep attacking. And Hendrick with his hawks might not always be on hand.

  Never again, Marnie vowed to herself! Never again would she be helpless before these things. She would find her spells and then she would destroy every one of these things that crossed her path.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The temple of the Benevolent One was a beautiful, serene place, much as Hendrick had expected. Much as the Abbey he had been raised in had been. It was what he'd expected from the moment he had seen the symbol of the crossed pilgrim staffs across the front doors. The size of the temple however surprised him.

  It was a huge building with a lofted roof standing surely forty or fifty feet above his head at its highest point. The rows of pews set out for worshippers on both sides of the aisle were thirty deep. Easily five hundred people could be seated as they heard the words of Tarius from the priest, or sang the songs of praise to their lord. At the front of the temple was a huge fountain where Hendrick guessed the supplicants threw their stynes before they went to the temple to receive Tarius’ blessing. It was much larger than most houses and had been painstakingly carved with the images of Tarius' disciples.

  Hendrick wondered from time to time how much coin would fit in that fountain. Probably more than he would ever see in a lifetime. But he didn't begrudge it.

  Some of that coin would go to the upkeep of the temple he assumed. But most of it would be used for the temple's good works. The Temple of Tarius the Benevolent One ran orphanages like the one he had been raised in, as well as schools and infirmaries throughout the realm. And the priests in every temple and the monks in every monastery took it upon themselves to do good works for free.

  Life in Styrion was hard for the poor, the old and the infirm. For the churls and low born. For the sick and the injured who couldn't work. For those children without parents. For the elderly. You had to work if you wanted to eat. There was no one to blame for that of course. It was simply the way it was and always had been. Those who were unable to work would have faced starvation in this land but for the Temple of Tarius.

  It wasn't a solely benevolent operation though. The orphanages were run for free, but among those who were raised in them, a goodly number were expected in time to become priests. He had thought of taking the vows himself, save that the lures of ale and women had called to him more powerfully. And though the schools were also run for free, what the students were taught included more than just reading, writing and numbers. There were also a lot of teachings on the tenets of the faith so that the word was spread. As for the infirmaries, though there was never any charge levied on patients, there was an expectation that they would make donations when they were able.

  As his mother would have said, even among those who soared on the wings of the gods, there were a few goat hairs on their legs. He imagined that the same would be true for his plan. The Temple had agreed to care for the afflicted who came to acquire new spells, and to provide a place for the ceremony as they were calling it. But no doubt they would expect something in return in due course.

  The priests had done a splendid job, Hendrick thought as he walked out of the temple into the west garden which had been provided for them. It was both private and beautiful. But then the priests valued beauty as well as function, and they were enthusiastic gardeners. When he'd lived in the Abbey of the Benevolent One in Burbage he'd very often found himself on gardening duties – as had most of the other children. Trimming flower beds, weeding the vegetable gardens, pruning trees that were threatening to grow out of hand. He imagined that the children in this temple had to be doing the same. It would have taken an army to keep this place as it was.

  But he wasn't here to admire the handiwork of the priests and their charges. As pretty as this huge circular garden was, it was a place of business for him and the other afflicted. Because it was here that they would absorb their new spells – those who had chosen this path.

  It had been a political decision deciding where to do it. One made more difficult by the fact that he had no premises in Styrion Hold of his own. Of course, when he had sent out his message for the fragments to be sent to him in Styrion Hold, he hadn't particularly considered where he would be living. It had quickly dawned on him however, that if he lived in the royal household – which he assumed he was permitted to do since this wasn't Styrion Might – he would be placing the fragments and the afflicted themselves under the direct control of the King and the Court. The King could then decide who amongst his subjects would gain new spells and who wouldn't simply by limiting access. He would also learn what spells each of the afflicted had. And many of the afflicted wouldn't want that. They didn't trust the King or the nobility and they wouldn't come.

  What they'd needed was a place where the afflicted themselves could be in control. But that would have required something like a guild for the afflicted, and there was no such thing. So the next best option was to gather the fragments and the afflicted together in a place where control was left in the hands of those who could be trusted by all. Those they knew who would have no reason to try and control them. The priests of the Benevolent One were the obvious choice, and their temple the obvious location.

  So he had said farewell to his mother at the city gates – it was the last time he had seen her since they had entered Styrion Hold – and accepted a bed in the temple where the fragments of magic metals were being sent.

  There was another reason that he had decided on the temple. The priests of the Benevolent One took it as their sacred duty to care for the sick and injured, and even if this went perfectly Hendrick expected many of the participants to need to rest afterwards. Some would need to sleep for several days. Absorbing a spell changed a person, as it transformed more than just one’s blood and skin. It did something to the whole being. That took time to adjust to, and it began with sleep as the spells slowly made themselves at home in their new hos
t.

  That was why there were a number of priests discretely standing off to one side looking on at the small gathering of afflicted milling around the centre of the west garden. They were there in case they were needed. Beds had also been prepared. In fact an entire wing of the living quarters had been put aside for them.

  In many ways living in the temple had returned Hendrick to his childhood. Of course, then he had lived in a wing of the Abbey with fifty other children. This time he was here with other afflicted. And though they weren’t here to live, pray and get a basic education, they would still be learning. Only the nature of the lessons differed.

  They would stay here and learn to become more capable spell-casters Or wizards perhaps as Marnie kept telling them. She really was a bit of a muck-spout he thought. And though she tried to hide it, he suspected she had her own agenda. One that she wouldn't share with him. She might be more civil to him now than she had been when he had met her in Styrion Might, but that didn't mean she trusted him with her plans. Or he, her.

  In keeping with the purpose they had set this garden aside for, the main focus of it was the seven barrels that had presently been set out in a line in the middle of it. Seven barrels for the seven magic metals.

  That seemed wrong somehow. Given that they were to house the greatest concentration of magic in the realm, they really should have had big ornate containers to hold them. These were pretty ordinary looking barrels he thought. Much the same as the barrels he used to transport his ale in to the various alehouses. Too plain for what they contained.

  “So, your grand plan finally comes together!” Marnie greeted him in her usual sarcastic way.

  “Actually, in case you've forgotten, this was your plan too. You wanted to rebuild Altanis. If that happens this is where it begins.”

  “This?” She stared at him as if Vitanna's mist had stolen his thoughts.

  “The city is a myth. Your wizards of legend are no more than a bard's tale spun for stynes. But we, the afflicted are real. And this is a step toward us no longer being considered as merely afflicted. One day I hope we will simply be seen as people with magic. Useful magic. In time we may actually form a guild, provide magical services for stynes, and education for others who have been marked. We can walk the streets with pride. You can call that Altanis or whatever you like. I call it hope. And this is where that begins.”

  “Vitanna's dreams! We will never be accepted until we have the strength to stand alone in our own city!”

  “Actual dreams that we can make real,” he corrected her. He wasn't sure why she believed so strongly in the ancient magical city. Or why she was so desperate to find and claim it. But he understood the pain of being afflicted.

  “Lady Marda said that some of the strictures on us could be lifted if we stood by the King. Being unable to charge for our services is the first of those strictures that I intend to see lifted. If we can charge for what we can do, that will be a large step towards becoming respected instead of despised.”

  “In any case, if you don't believe in this, why are you here?” With that, he dismissed Marnie from his thoughts and turned to study fellow volunteers.

  They were a diverse group – as he'd expected. A mix of men and women, they were of every shade of skin colour, and every age from roughly eighteen up. Tall and short. Stout and thin. Some of them obviously worked hard for a living, their faces burnt from the sun, their hands heavily calloused. Others looked to have easier work with quills and parchment. He could see the ink stains on their fingers. And of course there were mothers. Women who he imagined should be home with their children.

  In one respect they were all the same. Everyone was wearing much the same cut of clothing. Either cotton or woollen vests and jackets that revealed the lower arms. Or else leggings, skirts or dresses that exposed the legs below the knees.

  The reason for their choice of garments though, was obvious. It was vanity, pure and simple. They were all marked. So wherever he looked he could see arms and legs covered with lines and traceries of the different metals. But always only one arm or one leg. And everyone had clearly decided that one marking was enough. If their left arm was marked as was his, then they would rather add more lines and markings to that arm than mark new flesh. That after all was why he had chosen to wear a short sleeved jacket and vest.

  Everyone that was, save for Marnie. She was wearing a long dress with heavy brocade down the front that exposed her lower arms. But when he looked he could see no marking on either arm. Why? He knew she had magic. He had seen her use it. Illuminium flowed through her veins. But he could see no sign of the palest of pale green lines and whirls he should have seen on her exposed skin.

  “Where are your markings?” The question escaped him before he thought about it. But he realised immediately it had been a mistake asking her the instant he saw a scowl darken her face.

  “None of your damned business!” She snapped at him.

  “Sorry.” Hendrick apologised immediately, even though he didn't know what he was apologising for. He hadn't thought it was a question that would cause offence. It seemed so innocent. But he did wonder why all around him others were laughing at him. And when he raised an eyebrow in question most of them turned away hurriedly – and laughed even louder. What exactly had he said?

  “As you should be!” She snapped at him before walking away to talk to some of the others.

  “It's not your fault.” Charie, wearing the markings of purest white that were Radiant Quicksilver, told him. “She's just sensitive.”

  “About her markings?” He supposed he could understand that, though it seemed a strange thing to be when she was surrounded by other people all of whom had their own markings.

  “About where they are,” Charie clarified.

  “Where they are?” He didn't understand.

  “Well she was a baby when she became afflicted. Still in her swaddling cloths. And her mother was changing her. She sat her down on the grass, and there just happened to be a lump of Illuminium there.” Charie stopped there to let Hendrick work the rest out for himself.

  “S'bet's hairy legs, she sat on it!” The words just burst from him as he realised what Charie was saying. And then he started laughing, unable to stop himself. Not even when a very red faced and extremely angry Marnie unexpectedly appeared in front of him.

  “You think that's funny oaf?!

  “No! No!” He tried to deny it. But his protestations of innocence would have been more convincing if he wasn't laughing so loudly. If Charie wasn't laughing herself silly beside him. And if others weren't joining in. And though he tried to apologise, it didn’t help that he couldn’t stop laughing even as he did so. As a consequence she kicked him in the leg – hard. But that just made everyone else laugh even louder.

  “By all the gods, I hope I get a spell of transformation! So I can turn you both into toads!”

  Hendrick would have apologised once again – had he not been almost doubled over with laughter. The words just wouldn't come. He simply didn't have the breath for them. Eventually Marnie stomped off angrily to stand with some of the others who had somehow managed to maintain a more diplomatic silence.

  Eventually Hendrick regained control of himself, though he still couldn’t help but think it was one truly unfortunate place to be marked. He'd heard of others who'd been marked in their sleep as they slept outdoors. Usually it was their shoulders or backs that got marked as they rolled over in the night. In one unfortunate case he'd heard of it covering a man's cheek. But never on their arse!

  Hendrick went over to talk with some of the others as they waited. There was still a little time and he was curious about his fellow volunteers. He'd suggested ten bells as the time for the ceremony, and that hour was fast approaching. So were the rest of the volunteers. Even as they were standing there chatting and waiting, he looked up a few minutes later to see a priest escorting another small group of afflicted through to the garden.

  When the clocks finally tolled ten bel
ls though, the conversation died, and he gathered everyone together.

  “Well I suppose there's not much to say,” he began, a little awkwardly. “We all know why we're here. We can all see the barrels full of fragments of magic metal. The tongs beside them.”

  “The priests are here to watch over us. They are here to stop things if it looks like they're going wrong. They've also prepared a chamber for us to sleep in if we need to.” And he was fairly sure they would need to. “So, before we begin, are there any questions?”

  “Yes! Who put the bespawling muck-spout in charge?” Marnie was quick to ask.

  Hendrick sighed as the others tittered. He should have expected it he supposed. He probably deserved it too. “Any more questions?” He emphasised the 'more'.

  “Only one that matters,” Tyrollan answered him calmly. “Can we trust the King? Or is he going to be as treacherous as his soldiers? Are we making a deal with a dragon?”

  “I think we can trust him. It was Lady Marda who made the deal, but he has agreed and my mother has confirmed that. He will not go back on his word. He may be in no hurry about it though. I expect he will want to see what we can do first. Only after that will he start delivering what he promised. And it'll be piecemeal. A small concession here. A modest one there.”